Authors: Tyora M. Moody
When Rain Falls (5 page)
Chapter Ten
From behind the huge maple desk, the secretary tracked Darnell's approach, his black leather shoes noiseless on the plush beige carpet. Her gold-framed glasses sat almost on the tip of her nose, reminding him of a school principal from his past. The secretary's silver-streaked hair was pinned into a bun at the top of her head. This woman's knowledge could be valuable to him, so he needed to be nice. “May I speak to Mr. Harris?”
“Do you have an appointment, sir?”
Darnell pulled out his badge. “Don't need one. Can you let Mr. Harris know Detective Jackson is here to ask him a few questions?” He flashed her a smile.
The secretary pursed her ruby red lips and stared at him for a few seconds. Did he see a flash of panic across her face? If so, she recovered without missing a beat. “Wait one moment.” She turned her body slightly and pushed a button on the phone. “Mr. Harris? Yes, sir. I know you are busy, but ...” She glanced over her shoulder in the detective's direction. “There is a detective here who wants to see you, sir.”
The longer she talked, the lower her voice dropped. He had to strain to hear her.
“Yes, sir, I will.” Hanging up the phone, the secretary turned to face him. She still wasn't smiling.
“Detective Jackson, please have a seat. Mr. Harris has a visitor and will be with you in about ten minutes.”
Darnell leaned over the desk and smiled. “I will wait, but not for long. After ten minutes, I'm walking in. Understand?”
Hillary Green, according to the nameplate on the desk, pushed her seat back with a huff and slid back to her computer.
He took a seat across from the secretary's desk and picked up a
People
magazine, not really interested in the celebrity couple on the front, whoever they were. Just needed something to keep him preoccupied as he eyed Hillary.
People
magazine, not really interested in the celebrity couple on the front, whoever they were. Just needed something to keep him preoccupied as he eyed Hillary.
She glanced at him, pushed her glasses up her face, and turned back to the computer screen. Darnell grinned. She was nervous. Good. Nervous people usually spilled information. He needed to know where the junior partner, Pamela Coleman, fit in and if one of her colleagues had a serious issue. Serious enough to kill her.
A few minutes later Darnell tossed the
People
magazine he'd been pretending to read on the table. A loud voice, very feminine, erupted from behind the door. What was going on in there? He didn't have long to wait. Mr. Harris's door sprang open. The office occupant stormed out of the office, her eyes blazing. Surprised, Darnell stood. “Mrs. Johnson?” What in the world was she doing there? He stepped in her path.
People
magazine he'd been pretending to read on the table. A loud voice, very feminine, erupted from behind the door. What was going on in there? He didn't have long to wait. Mr. Harris's door sprang open. The office occupant stormed out of the office, her eyes blazing. Surprised, Darnell stood. “Mrs. Johnson?” What in the world was she doing there? He stepped in her path.
Stopping mid-step, Candace froze. “Detective, good. You're here. So you have something on Mitch?” Her eyes gazed expectantly at him.
“Mrs. Johnson ...”
“Candace. Call me Candace.” A half smile edged across her face.
The facial gesture threw him. She really was a pretty woman. Who should be home, mourning, not creating havoc in his investigation. “Okay, Candace. Give me a chance to question Mr. Harris. You know the rules, innocent until proven guilty.”
“I know that.”
“Candace, go home. Let me take care of this.” Darnell caught sight of Hillary behind Candace. The woman nodded and stepped forward.
“Detective, let me take care of Candace. I will make sure she gets on her way okay?” Hillary said.
He stood for a moment, watching Hillary place her arm around Candace and escort her out of the office. He certainly hoped Candace Johnson didn't intend to be a problem. That was all he needed.
Mitch Harris stepped from behind the desk and stuck his hand out. “Detective, to what do I owe this visit? I hope Mrs. Johnson hasn't put any ideas in your head.”
Interesting way to start the conversation.
He wondered what Candace had said to the man. Darnell grabbed the man's hand. He stood an inch or two taller than Darnell's six-foot frame. “Thanks for your time, Mr. Harris. I do hope we can talk about Pamela Coleman and her activities during the last week or so before her death.”
He wondered what Candace had said to the man. Darnell grabbed the man's hand. He stood an inch or two taller than Darnell's six-foot frame. “Thanks for your time, Mr. Harris. I do hope we can talk about Pamela Coleman and her activities during the last week or so before her death.”
Mitch Harris lowered his eyes and beckoned Darnell toward a plush burgundy wingback chair. “Yes. Have a seat please. This has been disturbing.”
Darnell decided to stand for a bit. He scanned the massive office space; law books lined ceiling-height bookshelves. Fascinated by an African statue on one shelf, he walked over to touch it. “Wow, this is nice. Where is it from?”
“Well, thank you.” Mr. Harris eyed Darnell as the detective rubbed the statue. “I've had the opportunity to travel a good bit. That particular piece hails from Ghana.”
In what was kind of an unusual setup for an office, elaborate masks lined a wall opposite the bookshelves. Sometimes the wealth that people had bothered him. Not that he ever wanted to be rich. He just couldn't get over what people considered treasures. Darnell murmured under his breath.
“Excuse me?”
Darnell cleared his throat. “Did you have any concerns about Pamela before her death?”
“Pamela was like a daughter to me. You know her dad, Judge Coleman, was my mentorâ”
Darnell interrupted. “Really?”
“I watched her grow up. Very ambitious player here in our firm. Last week she was pretty consumed by a case, more than usual, so I tried to check in with her often during the day.”
A photo on the wall caught his attention. Judge Coleman on one side, Mitch Harris on the other. Pamela stood in the middle. “So, you are close to the Coleman family and Pamela?”
“We travel in the same circles.”
“I understand you and others in the firm attended an art gallery reception last night.”
“Yes, quite a few of us attended. Grand event. The owner is a client, recently represented by Pamela. I do remember seeing Pamela looking at the paintings. I lost track of her, though. We didn't get a chance to speak.”
Darnell had the feeling Mr. Harris tracked Pamela's every move and knew her more intimately than he was letting on. Hard to believe one of his top lawyers attended an event and he didn't speak to her. On the wall, Darnell recognized a younger version of Mitch and Pamela, standing together. Mitch's eyes beamed like those of a proud papa. Or was that something else? Why did this man have these types of photos in his office? Did he give this much attention to his other employees? “You didn't happen to notice if she attended the opening with someone? Or when she left?”
“I believe she came alone. I'm afraid I didn't see her leave.”
“Do you know if she was involved with anyone?” He observed Mitch shift in his black leather chair and then rub his hand across his graying temple.
“You mean, did she have a boyfriend?”
“Yes. I'm not sure how close you two were, but did she mention anything about her love life?”
“Well ... I hadn't heard of anyone. Pamela mostly stayed married to her work.”
Darnell was getting tired. This wasn't going the way he wanted. Last night's homicide suggested a crime of passion had taken place in Pamela's garage. He needed to know if the man in Pamela's life was responsible. “Mr. Harris, did
you
have an intimate relationship with Pamela Coleman?”
you
have an intimate relationship with Pamela Coleman?”
Up until now the older man had seemed relatively calm. Mitch slammed his hand onto the desk. “What? Where are you getting this information?”
“It has been reported that Pamela was involved with an older gentleman for some time. I'm asking, would that man be you, sir?”
“You can leave.” Mitch Harris stood up, causing papers to flutter around his desk. “I thought this was a police investigation. I certainly hope you are looking at the facts, Detective, not some grief-stricken friend looking to place blame.”
Funny. He hadn't mentioned that he'd talked to Candace at all. “Sir, it's a yes or no question.”
“I'm a happily married man, Detective. I have been for thirty years.”
Darnell stood. He had what he needed for now. “Thank you for your time. Sorry for the loss to your firm. We will want to search Pamela's office and her computer.”
“Our client information is confidential, Detective.”
“This is a murder investigation. This was one of your own. I will be back with a subpoena. Have a good day, sir.” Darnell saluted before closing the door.
It was a stupid gesture, but the man wouldn't answer a simple yes or no question, guilt plastered all over his pompous face. Darnell flashed a smile at Hillary on the way out, noting the secretary's stern look had been replaced with one of dismay. It was all good now.
Chapter Eleven
Like books suddenly without bookends, Candace felt as though she would topple over at any moment. The questions were
killing
her. Was there something she could have done? Should she have been more vigilant and nosed her way into Pamela's business? Now she would never know.
killing
her. Was there something she could have done? Should she have been more vigilant and nosed her way into Pamela's business? Now she would never know.
She couldn't take much more of the media. Picked up nationally by the Associated Press, the death of a high-profile defense attorney replayed on several television networks. Some had the nerve to dig deep into Pamela's family, contemplating if her father, Judge Coleman, had created enemies who wanted to get back at him by killing his daughter. Former lawyers who were now wannabe television celebrities went on and on.
The suspect, as far as she was concerned, stood not more than twenty feet from where she sat, on the other side of the grave. She could barely contain herself, observing Mitch Harris with his wife, looking like the couple they weren't. For a brief moment, Yvonne Harris caught her staring. The woman looked puzzled, and then something like pity passed over her face.
Candace tried to focus on Reverend Jonathan Freeman as he spoke. “As we lay Sister Pamela in her final resting place, we know her spirit ...”
Her thoughts strayed again.
Why, God? First, Frank. Now Pamela.
On her right side, her son, Daniel, sniffled. She glanced over at him. His shoulders quivered. At last, his determination to remain strong for his mother was lost in the finality of the scene before them. Candace felt guilty about her children having to experience these tragedies. For the past few days, she had longed for comfort but had found none for herself. Only questions. No answers.
Why, God? First, Frank. Now Pamela.
On her right side, her son, Daniel, sniffled. She glanced over at him. His shoulders quivered. At last, his determination to remain strong for his mother was lost in the finality of the scene before them. Candace felt guilty about her children having to experience these tragedies. For the past few days, she had longed for comfort but had found none for herself. Only questions. No answers.
She put her arms around the back of Daniel's chair, careful not to touch him, knowing he was embarrassed by his tears.
That's what mothers do. They comfort their children.
In some small way, she found peace in comforting her son, no longer her baby boy, well, at least not physically.
That's what mothers do. They comfort their children.
In some small way, she found peace in comforting her son, no longer her baby boy, well, at least not physically.
Reverend Freeman's voice droned. “This is not good-bye.”
Candace watched the minister wipe his forehead with a handkerchief, and then she stared past him at the hundreds of headstones surrounding them. The sun should've been shining; instead smoky gray clouds swirled across the bland bluish sky.
She glanced around, making eye contact with Frank's old partner, Brunson. The craggy old man stood on the outside of the tent. He passed her a subtle smile. She missed ole Brunson. His brusque sense of humor didn't make people feel warm and fuzzy, but he did manage to lighten up dark situations. A dull pain started to vibrate behind her temples. It was hard not to think of Frank.
Brunson's new partner stood next to him. Detective Jackson looked more like a
GQ
model than a cop, dressed in a sharp black suit. Candace wondered if the detectives were paying their respects or were here for the suspect. She wanted to question the detective about his conversation with Mitch. The investigation had taken a backseat for her as she tried her best to support Desiree, who withdrew day by day. Even Judge Coleman had lost all his boisterousness.
GQ
model than a cop, dressed in a sharp black suit. Candace wondered if the detectives were paying their respects or were here for the suspect. She wanted to question the detective about his conversation with Mitch. The investigation had taken a backseat for her as she tried her best to support Desiree, who withdrew day by day. Even Judge Coleman had lost all his boisterousness.
She blinked and then gazed at the handsome detective again. Pamela would have really liked him. He would've matched her friend's height right on.
A man's face appeared in her line of vision, over Detective Jackson's left shoulder. He seemed to be staring back at her. There was something familiar about his face, but she couldn't place him. She remained transfixed on his face, trying to recall where she had seen him before. Without warning, the man's mouth curved into a rather crooked smile.
A surge of dread ran through her body. Who was he? she asked herself.
The detective moved, blocking her view of the man. Now she found herself staring at the detective. As her heart rate slowed, she was grateful for the change of scenery. Detective Jackson had a striking face, owing to his angular jawline, the goatee, and his eyes. From where she sat, she could tell he had lashes most women spent a fortune on mascara trying to create.
Candace slid her eyes back to Reverend Freeman. She had to catch herself. For some reason she wanted to compare the detective to her Frank.
Was this the beginning of her losing her mind?
Frank. Pamela. Her world had shifted in a direction where she no longer had two people she held dear to her heart. It was cruel and unfair.
Reverend Freeman's baritone voice broke through her thoughts again. She tried to focus her tear-brimmed eyes on the man's solemn face. “The Coleman family would like to extend a heartfelt thank-you to all who have gathered here today, during their time of bereavement. We want to leave these last few moments for family and close friends. Please join the family at the Victory Gospel Community Center.”
No sooner than Reverend Freeman concluded the funeral than, like ants at a picnic, folks dispersed from under the Freeman Funeral Home tent. A slight wind gust sent the temperature dropping. It was a sweet relief from the unusual afternoon stickiness. It was October, but the humidity continued to cling.
As the crowd dispersed
,
only Judge Coleman, Mrs. Coleman, Candace, and her children remained around the casket. Out of the corner of her eye, Candace caught a movement. There was the same man watching her. He stood on the outskirts of the cemetery, near the cars. Another wind gust caused the tent's edges to flap. Candace observed the darkening sky. She looked back where the strange man stood. No sign of him.
,
only Judge Coleman, Mrs. Coleman, Candace, and her children remained around the casket. Out of the corner of her eye, Candace caught a movement. There was the same man watching her. He stood on the outskirts of the cemetery, near the cars. Another wind gust caused the tent's edges to flap. Candace observed the darkening sky. She looked back where the strange man stood. No sign of him.
This was too much for her. Willing herself to rise from the folding chair, she noted that the stiffness in her legs did not match her thirty-nine years. She walked over to the beautiful mahogany casket. Pamela's parents had chosen to keep the casket closed during the funeral service. It was probably a good idea, but Candace felt unsure her friend was in there. Denial still wanted to raise its ugly head. Barely a whisper, she moved her lips. “Girl, I will see you later.” She touched the casket, feeling its smoothness under her small hand. Candace gulped down a sob that begged to escape. Behind her, someone lightly touched her shoulders.
She peered over her shoulder. Relief set in as she saw Daniel. Any traces of tears from moments before were gone and replaced with urgent concern. Only fourteen, he'd become the man of the house with an astonishing maturity beyond his years. Candace disliked the forced grown-up role, but was grateful for the lack of rebellion she expected at his age. She needed Daniel to be stable now more than ever.
Bending slightly, Daniel whispered in her ear, “You okay, Mom?”
With a weak smile, she nodded her head as her son put his arm around her shoulder. To her dismay, puberty had arrived almost overnight. She couldn't believe her baby boy now stood a few inches taller than her. Of course, it was bound to happen. Both her children had inherited Frank's height.
Rachel stood patiently a few feet away. Not saying a word, Candace searched her daughter's eyes, understanding her grief matched her own. Both of her children loved Pamela. Not having children of her own, Pamela had adored and spoiled both of the Johnson children, and especially her goddaughter. She was the closest thing to an aunt they had known, with Candace being an only child and Frank having only one brother, who enjoyed bachelorhood too much.
Candace looked one last time over her shoulder. Judge Coleman and his wife stood at the graveside. The judge appeared to be holding Desiree up. The woman's peachy complexion appeared pasty. Candace was grateful the Colemans had insisted that she and the children ride in a limousine.
Near the coffin, a tall, bony man cranked up the crane to lower Pamela into her final resting place, while a shorter, pudgy man stood on the other side. She had a sense of familiarity with the pudgier man. Two years ago she'd stood at another graveside. It seemed the last time she saw him, he wore the same shirt. The faded Johnson C. Smith University sweatshirt was wrapped snuggly around his protruding gut. His deep-set eyes nonchalantly reflected years of placing caskets in their final resting place. The man and his partner worked swiftly as the rain started to fall, increasing in intensity with each second.
“Mom, let's go. We're going to get drenched.” Rachel held an umbrella above their heads.
Candace huddled under the umbrella. The rain pounded the umbrella, splashing off headstones as they sprinted across the muddy cemetery.
“Nana!”
A familiar voice from the past ripped through Candace as they reached the open limousine door. She turned to watch a woman approach. Candace swallowed hard, thinking this was a cruel joke, as an image of her mother, older and bustier, drew closer.
Panic spread through her body, until she realized the face was not her mother's, but belonged to one who held a close resemblance, Aunt Maggie. Why was she here after all these years?
Candace held on to the car door, not sure what to do.
Aunt Maggie stopped, her crow's-feet prominent and gray hair peeking out from under the large brimmed hat.
Her aunt spoke softly. “Nana, I'm sorry.”
She couldn't do this. Not now. Her children were in the limo. She shook her head at her aunt, mouthing the word
no
. Candace entered the limo and held her hands to her mouth, trying to catch her breath. It was no use. The bottled sob in her throat didn't want to be held back anymore. So she wouldn't choke, Candace let the howl escape from her throat. What did she do to deserve this fate? Why did God continue to release his wrath on her?
no
. Candace entered the limo and held her hands to her mouth, trying to catch her breath. It was no use. The bottled sob in her throat didn't want to be held back anymore. So she wouldn't choke, Candace let the howl escape from her throat. What did she do to deserve this fate? Why did God continue to release his wrath on her?
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