Authors: Tyora M. Moody

When Rain Falls (26 page)

BOOK: When Rain Falls

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Chapter Fifty-two

Drops of rain splashed off of the car as Candace pulled in front of the salon. She checked the driver's side mirror and noticed a car approaching. She might as well wait for it to pass. The street was pretty waterlogged as sheets of water poured from the sky.

When the car reached her, she glimpsed an older woman hunched over the steering wheel of the Ford Taurus. The poor woman was probably having difficulty with the visibility. Several times Candace had wanted to turn around and go back home. She'd continued to pray for protection as the sky opened up relentlessly.

Once the car passed, she opened the door and pressed the button on the umbrella. It was a good thing she kept rain gear on hand. Candace slammed the car door and sprinted to the sidewalk. A large puddle of water had formed in front of the salon door. She tiptoed as best she could, but still felt water seeping into her canvas shoes, soaking the bottom of her pant legs.

Where are the police?
It had taken her thirty-five minutes to get across town, almost ten minutes more than usual. The police station wasn't far from the salon, so someone should've been there waiting in the rain when she arrived.

She looked up and down the street. Not a single person was on the street. No other cars had passed by, either. She didn't want to stand out in the rain and risk getting soaked.

For a few moments, she fiddled with the key in the door. The lock sometimes stuck when it rained or when moisture hung in the air. Finally, she twisted the doorknob and rushed inside. The rain had caused the temperature to drop. She might have to turn on the heat while she waited.

After last night's incident, she made sure to punch in the code on the alarm pad on the wall.

That's funny!
The system was off. Maybe there was some glitch in the computers at Security Alarms.

“Might as well grab some paperwork and take it home,” Candace said out loud. Her voice echoed in the empty salon. Once in the office, she sighed at the mess on her desk. She really needed to organize the entire office.
Not now. Just grab a few folders.

After sifting through the pile, she extracted a few folders. These would keep her mind preoccupied for a bit. A horn blared outside, startling her as she tried to shove the folders into her tote bag. Papers spilled out of the folders and onto the floor.

“Great going!” She really wanted to get back home. Beulah must be having a fit about now. Candace bent down on her knees and retrieved the papers. Not sure which papers belonged in which folder, she stuffed everything into the tote bag.

The yellow cushioned envelope.

She'd forgotten about it.

Candace reached for the envelope with no return address. Who sent these photos to her? Someone wanted to make her, and apparently the media, suspect Mitch Harris. Could it be a setup, or was Mitch guilty? Nothing made sense.

Then, there was Avante. Had she come in contact with her husband's killer face-to-face? The thought of this guy following her all this time, peering into her and the children's life, truly frightened and angered her all at the same time. How else would he know about her and Pamela's friendship? All those times she saw him, he'd stared at her. Hated her.

A squeak from up front put the brakes on her thoughts. What was that? She stilled her body, hearing only her own breathing. She did lock the door behind her, but the alarm had not been set.

It was time to go. Her nerves were still frayed from last night. If someone was trying to stalk her or scare her, being in the salon alone right then was a really dumb idea.

There were times when one should listen to one's gut. Her instincts had practically been yelling at her from the time she left the house, and they were still having a fit. She placed the photos into the tote bag and headed toward the door.

The sky outside the salon windows appeared to be darker than when she arrived. She could hear the rain pelting the roof. It would be a slow drive home. She shut the light off in the office and then started to close the door. With her hand still on the doorknob, she scanned the salon.

Candace tightened her grip on the doorknob. Movement in the shadows caught her attention from the right. She turned her head toward the station where Tangie kept her equipment.

A mannequin fitted with a long wig stared back at her. Candace rolled her eyes. That stupid Styrofoam face got her every time. She shut the door. It clicked behind her.

Her hands were sweaty, so she wiped them on her pants. On her way down the aisle, she peered over at Beulah's station and then at her own. She should have turned on the fluorescent lights over the mirrors so she could really see. The only light came from the receptionist's area up front.

Candace stopped, her foot in mid-stride. There was no mistaking. In the mirror, she saw something move in the shadows behind her.

She wasn't alone.

A shape emerged from behind the clouded glass barrier that enclosed the shampoo area. Her heart started beating like she'd just finished running a marathon.

What could she do? Could she make it out the door and into her car? Did she bring her cell phone with her? As these thoughts bombarded her, she realized that even if she could make it to the car, the cell phone was at home. Someone had tried to intimidate her in the car last night. Racing for her life in the rain didn't sound like a smart option.

Getting back to the office and locking the door would prove to be difficult, as well.

Her options had just run out. She did the only thing she could think to do.

“Hello?” Her voice shook. “I know someone is there. Come out and show yourself.” Even as she spoke, Candace glanced around. She had sharp instruments all over the salon that she could use. Hopefully, the shadows and her nerves were playing tricks on her. “Who are you?”

She didn't need to ask anymore, as her guest emerged.

“Hello, Candace. I'm sorry for this.”

Sorry?
Candace eyed the black steel pointing in her direction. Confusion and fear ripped through her senses.

Chapter Fifty-three

Darnell looked back to where Brunson stood by the car. It was best he approached the building alone. He didn't want to scare anyone off. Just a couple of questions.
Like have you been on a revenge rampage?
How convenient of Avante to throw him off by showing the tape of Yvonne confronting Pamela in the gallery. None of the witnesses he'd talked to seemed to be aware of any tiff going on between the two women that evening.

Once inside the gallery he did a double take when he caught sight of the security guard. The man sitting at the desk looked almost ancient. He didn't recall anyone sitting at the desk to greet visitors the last time he came to question Avante. The old man ogled Darnell through thick eyeglasses that magnified his eyes.

The security guard stood up from the chair. “Hey, son.”

Darnell hoped the squeaking noise had come from the chair and not the man's knees. The guard was awfully frail looking and stood with a slight bend in his shoulders. He doubted the man could handle more than a fly.

“Can I help you? The gallery is closed right now.” The old man blinked. Behind the glasses' lenses his eyes appeared to be as huge as those of an owl seeking prey in the darkness.

“I'm here to talk to the owner. Is he here?”

“He should be back in a few hours. Can I take a message?”

Darnell pulled out his badge. “I would rather not. Mind if I look around?”

The guard stepped back, bumping into the chair. “Okay.”

Darnell felt something wasn't right as soon as he turned the corner.
What's up with all the security?
And he wasn't referring to the old guy at the desk. He peered up at one of the security cameras. Its lens was tilted in his direction. Someone could be watching his approach.

He could've kicked himself for not looking more into this guy. Everything had seemed legit at a glance. And since the jury had found Avante innocent, everything appeared to be fine. Lawyer confidentiality could be tricky. Too bad even the worst criminals had rights that a lawyer was bound to keep. He wondered what other secrets Pamela took with her to the grave.

Before Darnell could get any closer to the office, Avante stepped out, looking like a deer hypnotized by headlights. “Detective? What a surprise.”

Really?
Darnell was sure the man had watched him approach. He glanced up. Yet another security camera.

Avante had his hands stuffed deep down in his pockets. “What can I do for you, Detective?” He tilted his head as though he was confused.

“For starters, where were you last night, Mr. Lafayette?”

“Last night?”

Darnell noticed Avante's eyes appeared to be interested in something behind him for a slight second. “Is everything okay? You can vouch for your whereabouts?”

The man forced an uneasy smile. “Yeah, I've been out of town.”

Once again, Darnell saw that the man interested in something behind him. Not knowing what to expect, Darnell reached for his gun.

Ugh!
Avante crashed into Darnell, sending him flailing against the wall. The man sped around a corner. Darnell grunted and then grabbed the walkie-talkie on his belt. “Brunson, he's on the run. Heading toward the back.”

He sprinted over a bench just as the man burst through the exit door.

Not far behind, Darnell pulled his gun and flung himself through the doorway. “Stop, police!”

The man moved like a track runner. He didn't hear or care.

Darnell said a word under his breath that he hadn't used in a long time. His shoes smacked against the pavement.

Avante tipped over a trash can.

“Ah, come on.” Darnell dived over the rolling metal container as it barreled toward him. Holding his gun at his side, he yelled again, “Stop, or I will have to shoot.” He didn't want Avante to reach the street. There was no telling how many pedestrians might be out there, so he didn't want to risk using the gun. As he ran faster, his tie whipped around his face.

A stocky person flew out from the left, knocking Avante to the ground. The man rolled and started to get back up, but a gun appeared, stopping him in his tracks.

Darnell caught up, his chest heaving. “Man, Brunson, what took you so long? He almost made it to the street.”

Brunson pulled handcuffs from his side and winked. “Almost.”

Darnell couldn't keep the grin off his face. The old man still had it in him. Avante sat on the sidewalk, now handcuffed, appearing to be in a daze. His dark eyes looked almost cartoonish now: the only pieces missing were canaries floating around his head. From the distance sirens approached. It was time to get some answers.
Finally.

Chapter Fifty-four

Now it was time to get down to business. Darnell jogged up a flight of stairs and headed through the doors marked
NARCOTICS UNIT.
He walked up to Juan Carlos, one of the narcotics detectives. Juan was still wearing a bulletproof vest over his shirt, and his deep-set eyes looked like they were ready to sink farther into his skull.

“Detective Jackson, sounds like you got one of the ones we've been trying to get our hands on.”

“Oh, yeah. I took a look at Avante's records. Before the assault and battery, it looks like he did some time for cocaine possession.”

Juan laughed. “Avante is a slippery one. Been in and out for years. Thought when he did this art thing, he turned over a new leaf. We're pretty sure he's had something else going on besides the painting.”

“Really? Tell me something. How do you think he managed to pull in so many respectable donors for the art gallery?”

“Mmm.” Juan rubbed his bristled cheeks. “I don't know. I will tell you this much. Some of the operations he handles, he's not smart enough to do it alone.”

“You think he has a partner?”

“I'm pretty sure. Though we could never nail down who it is. Somebody makes sure he's lawyered up real quick when he gets in trouble.”

Interesting.
Darnell headed back downstairs.

As he passed by his partner's cubicle, Brunson whistled. “Hey, you need to check this out.”

“What's that?”

“Got the bank statements.”

Darnell took a look at the computer screen. “This is a lot of money. From the art gallery account?”

“Yep.” Brunson nodded. “Look at this. I'm interested to see this inventory list of paintings. They sold quite a few pieces in six months. Made a killing. Two hundred thousand dollars.”

Darnell rubbed his chin. If he didn't shave soon, he would have a full-grown beard. “That doesn't seem right. Wasn't the whole reception at the art gallery a grand opening? This means they were in business long before.”

Brunson sat back. “Maybe this raised Pamela's suspicions, too. You know, it probably made her uneasy. A lawyer could get into some serious trouble if they accept dirty money for payment.”

“You got a point. Let me get the printout. I'm ready to talk to Avante.”

They both had agreed earlier that since Darnell wasn't in the department during the shooting incident involving Frank and the officers, it would be best to let him do the questioning. No need to tip the guy off.

The first thing Darnell noticed when he entered the interrogation room was the knot forming on the side of Avante's head. Brunson had walloped the man real good. Darnell wanted to lay another one on him for knocking him down in the gallery. Then, on top of that, he had to run after him.
Just keep your cool.
He removed his overcoat, rolled up his sleeves, and took a seat.

“You all right over there?” He waited for the man to look over at him, but Avante stared at his hands on the table. “Got a few questions for you.”

The man's dark eyes reflected rage.
Must not be sleeping too well
. The dark circles gave Avante a rac-coonish look. He gritted his teeth. “I want my phone call.”

Darnell tried not to sigh. He decided to try something else. “Sure. I hope for your sake you didn't have anything to do with the death of two people. We're talking death penalty here. No way is a jury going to let you off the hook.” Darnell got up from the chair, scraping the floor.

“What? Man, what are you talking about?”

Was that fear in his eyes?

Avante stuttered, “I haven't killed anybody. You definitely can't pin two people on me.”

Darnell sat down again and folded his arms. “Let's start with your whereabouts last night. I understand you've been harassing Mrs. Yvonne Harris.”

Avante frowned, creating a thick crease between his eyebrows. “She owed me the rest of my money.”

Darnell pulled out the bank statements. “Five thousand dollars was deposited in your account about four weeks ago. Surely, that was more than enough for taking photos.”

Avante grinned. “That was for keeping the photos out of certain people's hands.”

“Excuse me. I know you had to make a killing when you sent those photos to the media.”

“I didn't send the photos to anybody. I wish I had.”

“You expect me to believe that? Those same photos showed up in newspapers all over and on the Internet.”

“It wasn't me.”

“I'm not buying that, man. You sure Yvonne Harris didn't have anything else for you to do? Like off somebody?”

“I'm about getting paid. I'm not about killing anybody.”

“You sure? Could look real bad for you.”

Avante leaned forward. His eyes sparkled under the light. “You got nothing on me.”

Darnell sat back. He knew he needed to be careful with the interrogation right now, but he couldn't help but say, “What did Pamela Coleman have on you?”

Avante licked his lips. “You're crazy! You trying to pin the Coleman lady on me.”

Darnell started gathering the papers on the table. “I have a witness that says you met with her the night she was killed. At a coffee shop. That makes you the last person who saw her alive.”

The man shrugged. “She wanted to talk.”

“Mr. Lafayette, I don't like being lied to. You failed to mention that tidbit when I talked to you. You must have something to hide.”

Avante's body was taut, like a spool of thread. Darnell wanted him to pop loose.

While he had his suspect's rapt attention, he continued. “You know, whatever you said to Pamela was pretty upsetting. You sure you didn't threaten her?”

“It was nothing like that.”

Darnell pulled out Frank's photo. “Did you talk about him?”

Avante stared at the photo in silence, and then he responded with a smirk. “He deserved whatever came to him.”

Darnell reached over and grabbed Avante by the shirt, dragging him across the table. “There are a lot of cops in this building who are not too pleased with cop killers.”

“He killed my brother,” Avante huffed.

“Your brother was in the wrong place at the wrong time, doing some wrong things, and you know it.” Darnell shoved the man back in his seat. “Your lawyer found that out. She didn't want to represent you anymore. Especially when she found out all of the extracurricular activity you've been up to. I'm not talking about with a paintbrush, either.”

Avante shouted, spraying spit, “You got nothing on me. Neither did she. I wish I had knocked that cop off.”

Darnell sat back and glared at Avante. He was hoping for a confession. It would make it so much easier to clear Frank's murder, provide some peace to Candace. “Okay. What did you talk about that night with Ms. Coleman? It must have been something pretty intense for you to conveniently forget to mention it earlier.”

“Nothing. She warned me to keep it clean. I had all these people supporting the gallery. Big-name folks.”

“That's all she said? You sure something else didn't come up to cause her some discomfort? You were stalking her while you took photos for Mrs. Harris.”

Avante held up his hands. “Just doing my job.”

The two men stared at each other.

Darnell broke the silence. “You can hold your tongue.” Darnell stood and pointed at him. “I know you were involved in Ms. Coleman's and Detective Johnson's deaths. Why else would you be bothering the Johnson family?”

Avante smiled. “I bothered no one.” He shrugged. “I might have paid my respects to the man's widow. Seemed like a decent woman. That's all.”

Darnell didn't like the fact that the man had pointedly mentioned Candace. Candace hadn't characterized any of her encounters with Avante as pleasant. “We will see, Mr. Lafayette. We got a warrant coming now to search your gallery and your residence. I'm pretty sure you're not smart enough to not leave us any clues to your activities.”

“Man, you can't hold me.”

Darnell walked out.

Avante ranted behind the door. “I want my phone call, man.”

There was a lot that was not adding up to Darnell, though. Why had Avante got a lawyer from the Harris and Harris firm in the first place? The man had to have known Mitch Harris defended Frank Johnson.

That really didn't make sense. If Avante was his man, how did he manage to get inside both of the victims' homes? They both had had alarms set. Avante was not that savvy in the intelligence area.

Maybe Candace could help here. The Harrises had hired help coming on and off their property. He didn't recall noticing if Pamela hired outside help, but it was worth finding out. Darnell returned to his desk and dialed Candace's number.

“Hello.”

“Yes, is this Candace?”

“No, Darnell, this is Beulah. We're waiting on Candace to get back. She's been gone over an hour. I already brought the kids home from school.”

He sat up fast in his chair. “I thought she was staying put. Where did she go?” He was pretty sure the guy responsible for harassing Candace was in the interrogation room down the hall. But there were still too many unanswered questions.

“An alarm went off in the salon. She went down to check it out. The police were supposed to meet her down there. You think maybe she got caught up in some paperwork?”

Darnell wished he could give a response to his aunt's question. “Do you know the name of the alarm company she is using? I'll check on it myself.”

Beulah answered, “Sure. The company is Security Alarms.”

Brunson walked up to him as he hung up the phone. “So did he talk?”

Darnell shook his head. “Not much from him. But he has to be working with someone. There are some parts of both cases that seem impulsive, fitting his character, and some are just premeditated. He's not that bright.”

“So, what's your next move? We can hold him while we search his places, but we're going to need something more substantial, especially if we think he's our killer.”

They did need to move fast and methodically. The DA would be down any minute, asking about their progress on building a case against Avante. Who supported Avante? He had to have some relative or a trusted friend working with him.

“Brunson, can I see that newspaper clipping again?”

Brunson retrieved the clipping. Darnell looked at the ten-year-old photo of Avante holding up his mother. He stared at the mother's face. The mom had long been dead. “Hey, Brunson.”

“Yeah?”

“Were there any other siblings besides Avante and his brother?”

It took a few moments for Brunson to respond. He reached over the cubicle. “You know, there's a half sister. She wasn't at the trial much. I think her and the mother didn't get along. We did get a statement from her, though.”

Darnell took the statement. How did he miss this one? The last name was different, but he'd recently met someone with the first name. Then he thought back to the first time he interviewed Avante at the art gallery.

“Hey, man, I'll be back. I may give you a call in a bit.”

“Where you going?” Brunson yelled after him.

Darnell shouted over his shoulder, “Crown of Beauty Salon.” He raced down the steps, his stomach muscles tightening by the minute. He had a bad feeling he couldn't shake. A possible burglary at the salon this time of day seemed out of place. The salon normally would be open for business. He dialed Candace's number again.

“Beulah, any word from Candace yet?”

“No, I'm afraid not. I'm praying hard.”

“That's a real good idea. Can you do me a favor? I need a list of names of any ladies who had appointments rescheduled today. Better yet, over the last two to three weeks.”

“Okay. I have the appointment book in my bag, but why?”

“Beulah, I need that list now.”

BOOK: When Rain Falls

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