Dead End Street (21 page)

And the pieces came together in my head. Raheem knew Vee. He had seen Tyrone and Cherisse together. Maybe in his mind he thought he was helping her, or that Tyrone was somehow insulting him by running around on his wife in the old neighborhood—Raheem's turf. What conclusion he had drawn might or might not be correct, but he'd landed there with both feet. What had he done?

“Is there a problem here, Nell?” James's voice made me jump. I hadn't heard him come up behind me, but I was overwhelmingly glad that he was there. I took a step back so I was standing beside him. Heck, I wanted to duck behind his broad back and hide, but that would make me look foolish.

The little drama that followed, played out on a broad public sidewalk in the center of a busy city at rush hour,
would have been highly entertaining—if I weren't in the middle of it. Vee looked predictably confused; she had no idea who James was and what he was doing there, much less why he had stepped in and come to my assistance. Raheem, on the other hand, realized his control of the scene was being challenged, and somehow managed to make himself look bigger. Like a tomcat trying to scare off an adversary by fluffing out his fur, I thought irreverently. Of course, it didn't work. James didn't react, merely pulled aside his suit jacket so that Raheem could see his badge and gun. He didn't have to say a word. Raheem's expression changed quickly once he knew what he was facing. He took a step back.

His eyes flicked back at Vee. “I can see I ain't welcome here, Ronnie. But we gotta talk. You gonna listen, you hear me? You owe me.” He gave James a long look—like a kid on a playground saying,
You don't scare me, nyah nyah
, then turned on his heel and walked away. He turned down the first street he came to and got into a waiting car, which disappeared quickly.

James watched until he was out of sight. “I guess I wasn't late,” he said.

I resisted the strong urge to throw my arms around him. “No, I'd say you were right on time.”

“Would you mind telling me what was going on here?” James asked. It seemed a very reasonable request—but I couldn't explain much.

I turned to Vee, who was standing stock-still on the sidewalk, looking mortified. I was pretty sure she would rather I hadn't seen that confrontation. But what would have happened if I hadn't been there? “Vee, that was Raheem Hill, wasn't it?”

That made her spin around to face me. “How do you know about him?”

I glanced at James, who appeared to have made the connection, now that he had the name. Then I said, “I think we need to sit down and talk about this. Maybe with the police?”

That startled Vee. “What? Why?”

She actually looked like she didn't understand what I
was talking about. I wavered.
Should we try to sort out what was going on here, or should we go straight to Hrivnak's office before we jump into the story?

“Raheem Hill is wanted for questioning in connection with Cherisse Chapman's death.”

“You mean, when Tyrone . . .” Now Vee seemed completely at a loss. I glanced at James for guidance.

“Call the detective,” he said.

I checked to make sure Vee wasn't going to bolt—unlikely in those designer heels—then walked away a few paces to make the call. Luckily Detective Hrivnak answered.

“What do you want?” she barked.

“Don't you ever go home? We've found a link to Raheem Hill, and you need to hear it, now. In fact, he was here just a minute ago, but he's gone now.”

“Crap,” she muttered. Maybe she had a life outside of work after all. “He didn't happen to tell you where he was going?” Her tone was clearly sarcastic.

“He got into a car and it headed toward the river, but it was a one-way street, so the driver didn't have much choice. No way we could follow him or see where he turned.”

Hrivnak sighed. “Where are you?”

“Corner of Market and Eighteenth streets.”

“I'll meet you at your place in ten.” She hung up.

I walked back over to where Vee and James were standing, as foot traffic flowed around them. “We're meeting her at the Society. Have you two introduced each other yet? I didn't mean to be rude, but I get kind of flustered when cornered by large, menacing men.”

“Yes, we took care of the formalities,” James told me. “We should get over to the Society. We can't do anything about Raheem right now, so let Hrivnak send her people after him.”

“Vee, you okay?” I asked. She still looked stunned.

She straightened her back and looked me in the eye. “Yes, I'll be fine. Let's get this sorted out.”

We piled into James's car and circled the block, making our way back to the Society. James scored a parking spot in the lot across the street, mainly by flashing his badge. It could have been a plastic copy of almost anything—the lot attendant didn't examine it too closely, just waved the car in.

We crossed the street and stood huddled in the doorway, watching for the detective. “You've never seen our collections, have you, Vee?” I asked, just making small talk.

“No,” she said tersely.

“You should come back sometime, when we don't have other issues to deal with, and I'll give you the grand tour.” Unless Vee was somehow implicated in whatever had happened with Tyrone and Cherisse and ended up in jail. So much for that generous consulting fee. Easy come, easy go.

Hrivnak pulled up and parked on the street, oblivious to traffic. She charged up the steps to where we were waiting. “We going in, or we gonna stand here and freeze our butts off?” she asked me while scoping out Vee. Apparently the detective was not in a happy mood. Vee kept her own gaze steady.

“Just waiting for you,” I said. “Hang on while I disarm
the alarm.” I unlocked the massive front door, then quickly punched in the key code, and the others filed in. I shut the door behind them and said, “Conference room?”

“Yeah, fine,” Hrivnak said, and marched off in the right direction. She'd been here before. Too often.

We all trooped into the room and found seats, James taking the farthest one. Once again, he had no active role in the proceedings, yet here he was. Hrivnak was going to think we were joined at the hip.

“Can we get this over with?” the detective demanded. “I'd like to get home sometime today.”

“Fine. Detective Hrivnak, do you know Veronica Blakeney? She's Tyrone's wife.”

“No, I don't, although I know
of
her.” The detective studied Vee, and I wondered if she was trying to picture her and Tyrone together. I had to admit it was an odd pairing.

Vee didn't flinch at the scrutiny. “I go by Vee, detective. As you may already know, I'm a vice president at Dillingham Harrington, and I invited Nell over to my office for a meeting this afternoon.”

“And you need me here why?” Detective Hrivnak demanded, glaring at me. Definitely in a bad mood.

Since Vee hadn't volunteered any information, I decided to go ahead and explain what I had seen when we came out of the building, up through the point when James had swooped in and saved us. Well, I didn't put it exactly that way. James did not interrupt. I wrapped up by saying, “I asked Vee if the man was Raheem Hill, and she said yes. After that we decided we needed to talk this over with you.”

“Good,” she said. Then she turned to Vee. “What's your connection with Raheem Hill?”

“He's my cousin,” Vee said curtly, and stopped.

One of Detective Hrivnak's eyebrows twitched; apparently this was news to her. “You are aware that he is a drug dealer, with a criminal record?”

“Yes, I am.” Vee stopped again. I was beginning to wonder if it would be legal to shake her with a police officer present.

“Do you know that the police are looking to speak with Raheem Hill in connection with the shooting of your husband and the death of Cherisse Chapman last week?”

That brought the first real reaction from Vee. She cleared her throat, fighting for self-control. Then she said more calmly, “I was not aware of that until Nell told me, a short time ago. I have had little contact with Raheem for years, by my choice, but my . . . relatives have kept me up to date on his activities.”

“First cousin, is he?” When Vee nodded, the detective pressed on. “You grow up in North Philly?”

Vee's chin went up half an inch. “Yes, I did. I've never made a secret of that. I did well in school, got a scholarship to college, and never looked back. My parents are dead, and I have had little reason or desire to visit my old neighborhood.”

“Huh,” Hrivnak said. “But you still know people there. You're married to Tyrone Blakeney.”

“Yes.”

“He from the same neighborhood?”

“Yes. He was a few years older than I was, so we didn't
meet when we were growing up. We met after college, when we were both working on a community project.”

“You know the details of what happened last week, in your old neighborhood?”

“Of course. Tyrone told me about it. In part that's why I wanted to talk to Nell, to see if there was some way to make it up to her for what she stumbled into with Tyrone.”

“Did you know Cherisse Chapman?”

“Only by name. Tyrone had mentioned her, said that she worked for the City on abandoned properties. Why is it you think that Raheem had anything to do with that?”

“We caught the guy who did the shooting, and we're holding him for murder. He told the police that Raheem had hired him for the job.”

Vee looked sincerely bewildered. “But why?”

“We thought maybe you could tell us that.”

“I have no idea,” Vee protested. “I mean, I know Tyrone spends time in that neighborhood, but he's never said it was unsafe for him. I don't think he's made any enemies there—certainly no one who would want him dead. He doesn't do drugs, and he doesn't sell them. He's trying to do something good there!”

I broke into their dialogue. “Detective, Raheem said that Vee owed him, after what he did for her. Vee, does that mean anything to you?”

“I have not seen the man in years. I have not called him, texted him, e-mailed him, or passed on a message through friends—nothing. I did not ask him to do anything for me. Nor would I. If he's been trying to get in touch with me, I
don't know about it. Maybe he doesn't have the right number. Maybe my secretary has been screening my calls.”

“What about at home? He ever call you there?”

“I don't . . . think so. If he didn't leave a message, I wouldn't know. Maybe Tyrone has picked up? He's in and out a lot. Or maybe the calls came to his office. But if he did hear from Raheem, he didn't pass on any messages to me.”

“Maybe he and Raheem have something going?” the detective asked.

“Like what?” Vee said.

“Maybe they're cutting a deal to clear the drugs out of part of the neighborhood so your husband's project can go forward?”

Vee shook her head vehemently. “Tyrone doesn't operate that way. He believes in law and order, even though that's not always easy where he comes from, as I'm sure you know. I assume you've checked his record—he's never been in trouble, right? Even a hint of trouble?”

“No, he's pretty squeaky clean,” Detective Hrivnak admitted. “Unless he's real good at covering his tracks.”

I was having trouble sitting still. Was there a point here? Would it come out before Christmas? “So what was Raheem talking about today, when he said he did something for Vee?”

“I think we'd better have a chat with him and find out,” the detective said. “Problem is, we've had some trouble finding him. He moves around a lot. Can you help us with that, Ms. Blakeney?”

“I don't exactly send the man Christmas cards,” she said. “I have no address for him.”

“Yeah, but you know who his family is. They still there?”

“Some,” Vee admitted.

“Write down what you know, and we'll check them out. He's gotta live somewhere, even if he moves around.” Hrivnak pushed a pad and pen across the table toward Vee. Vee looked into space for a moment, then began writing.

I glanced at James, who sat in rocklike silence. Okay, fine, this was not his game. I started musing out loud. “So somebody shoots at a car with Tyrone, Cherisse, and me sitting in it, in a lousy neighborhood. The police find the guy with the gun. He says Raheem hired him to do it. Raheem turns out to be related to Vee. Then Raheem shows up on Vee's doorstep today and says she owes him because he did something for her. Vee says she hasn't had contact with him for years. The shooting is really the only connecting link. I'm pretty sure I can say that Raheem wasn't looking to get me. That leaves Tyrone or Cherisse or both. Am I on track here?”

The detective nodded, looking amused. “Yeah, you're doing great.”

“Thank you. Vee here says her husband is a saint, although spouses have been known to hide things from each other. Well, let's say as far as any criminal activities Tyrone is in the clear. You checked out Cherisse, you told me, and she's exactly what she appeared to be—a nice middle-class girl from the burbs with a City job. Unless
she had a serious drug habit that she hid very well, she would have no reason to cross paths with Raheem.”

“ME says no drugs,” Hrivnak said.

“So why would Raheem order a hit on the car?” I think by now everyone realized where this discussion was going. “Vee, I don't exactly know you well, and you may find this question offensive, but was your husband having an affair with Cherisse?”

It was almost physically painful to watch Vee's brittle, carefully polished facade crumble. “I don't know,” she whispered. Then in a stronger voice she added, “But I have to say I've wondered. They spent a lot of time together.”

I thought for a moment that the detective was going to jump on that and run with it, but in the end she didn't. We probably all knew what that kind of suspicion was like. At least in theory. I glanced at James, and he looked steadily back at me. I had a very hard time believing that he could ever cheat on me, but we hadn't been together long. No way could I guess what kind of relationship Vee and Tyrone had.

Detective Hrivnak actually looked kind of pleased. “Okay, then. Let's go with Nell's theory, and say those two were doing the deed. Let's guess that Raheem found out—saw them somewhere they shouldn't have been, or looking too cozy together. What would he do?”

“You're asking me?” Vee protested. “You think I have a clue how a drug-dealing lowlife would think? I have done everything in my power to separate myself from that whole poisonous environment. And things have only gotten worse there since I left that behind.”

The detective cocked her head at Vee, with an expression of something like pity. “Maybe I've got a better idea. Say he's a big man in his territory—it's his home turf, he knows people there, he's got family. You may think you cut your ties, but people know about you, where you come from, where you've gotten to. Maybe they're happy for you, or maybe they think you've gotten too big for your designer britches. But to Raheem, you're still family. He sees your man messing around with someone who isn't you—that's an insult to family, and to him. So maybe he decides to do something about it. Kinda like defending the family honor, you know?”

Vee was staring at her with a look of horror. “You're suggesting that because my husband
might
have been involved with a colleague, Raheem
might
have decided to kill him? Or her? Did he mean to? Or was he trying to send a warning?”

“Can't say for sure. The guy he hired wasn't exactly the brightest bulb. Maybe he misunderstood his instructions. Maybe he's a lousy shot. Maybe he saw Ms. Pratt in the car and got rattled. And maybe it's time I sent a car over to your house and your husband's office to see if Raheem shows up looking for him, to finish the job.” With that she stood up abruptly and pulled out her phone, walking out into the hallway to make her calls.