DIVA (30 page)

“We meet up in Chantelle’s apartment, but then AK says Chantelle gotta come with us, be the lookout.” Antoine shrugged. “What could I do? AK’s got his posse with him.”

“The two thugs that were chasing you today?”

“Yeah. The ones at NOCCA that day, in the parking lot.”

“Okay, tell me their names.”

Antoine looked away and heaved a sigh. “Man, I dunno . . .”

“I need names, Antoine. If you want me to help you, give me names.”

“Antoine,” Jonas Carter said in a warning tone.

The kid slumped lower in his chair. “Don’t know their real names, just street names.”

Frank said nothing, just stared at him.

“Spider,” Antoine mumbled. “And Dead-Eye.”

“Okay, so you and Chantelle and AK get in the Cadillac and drive to the store in Lakeview. Then what happened?”

Antoine licked his lips. Looked at his uncle. “Can I have some water?”

Without a word, Jonas Carter left the table, went in the kitchen and returned with three bottles of Aquafina. He handed one to Frank—company first—one to Antoine, and opened his own.

The three of them slugged down water in silence.

Antoine set his half-empty bottle on the table. Heaved a sigh. “Okay, so we get to the store and get out the car. AK tells Chantelle to hide around the corner of the store and watch for cop cars.”

“What happened when you and AK went in the store?”

“Man, I was shaking like a leaf. We go inside and there’s a white lady at the counter talking to the clerk. AK tells me go down the back, like I’m looking for something. So I go to the refrigerator cases along the back wall. Then I hear the lady scream. Not loud, just kind of surprised. Then AK says, ‘Gimme the money in the register, muthafucka.”

Antoine ducked his head, as though he expected his uncle to box his ears for the foul language. But Jonas Carter sat there like a bronze statue, his expression pained. Full of misery and despair. A world of hurt.

“Then what?” Frank said. The next part was crucial.

“I creep down an aisle, almost died when I see AK holding a gun to the lady’s head. Jesus-Lord, I told him before we went inside, ‘No guns, right?’ And AK said, ‘No guns.’ Shouda known he was lyin', gives me his evil smile. Anyway, the clerk opens the register, you know, and AK tells him to put the money in a plastic bag. The guy does what he’s told. But then . . .”

Antoine drank some water and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Then the door opens and this guy walks in. I knew right off he was a cop. Didn’t have no uniform on, but I could tell. He had to know what’s going down ‘cuz AK’s got his gun on the lady. He shouts ‘Police, put the gun down.’ And AK shoots him. Lord-A’mighty, thought I’d wet my pants! Then AK grabs the bag with the money and says, ‘Yo, partner, we outta here.’”

Antoine shook his head. “Like I’m his partner. But I wasn’t.” He looked Frank in the eye. “I didn’t wanna be there, I swear to you. I ain’t friends with AK. I hate his guts. What he did to Chantelle.”

“What did he do to Chantelle?” Frank said quietly.

“He made her . . . made her
do
him, you know? She didn’t wanna tell me, but I knew something’s wrong one night, she’s crying.” His hands clenched and his eyes brimmed with tears. “AK put a gun on her, made her give him a blow job. Said if I don’t do this robbery, he make her do it again.”

A sob wracked him and tears ran down his cheeks.

Outraged darkened Jonas Carter’s face. He put his arm around Antoine and said, “It’s okay, Antoine. You hear? It’s okay.”

Antoine brushed away the tears and straightened in his chair, mouth set in a grim line. “I couldn’t let him do that. So, I did what I did.”

Why didn’t you get her out of there
? Frank thought. But the kid was already in pain, no point second guessing him and making him feel worse.

“What happened with the cop?”

“He staggers outside, yells at us to drop the guns and come out with our hands on our head. AK makes clerk get on the floor and says don’t call the cops. Then AK shoots at him.” Antoine looked at Frank. “Not to hit him. If AK wanted to kill him, you know, he’d a done it. He shot up a bottle of booze on the shelf behind the counter to scare the guy. Then he grabs the white lady and says ‘We outta here.’”

Frank said, “For the record, Antoine, did you have a gun?”

“No!” Antoine stared at him, wide-eyed. “I never had a gun, never carried a gun, never shot a gun, don’t want to!”

“Okay. Then what happened?”

Antoine gulped some water. “I was scared the cop would shoot us. When I go out, I see the lady—she’s just a little bitty thing—clamped against AK’s chest. AK’s got the gun against her head, got the back door of the Caddy open, tells me get in and drive. So I did.”

“Okay, so you were driving. Where were AK and the woman?”

“In the back seat.”

“Where on the back seat? Behind you or on the passenger side?”

A crucial detail. The crime-scene techs had taken prints off the rear door behind the driver’s seat.

“First off they be laying across the back seat 'cuz the lady’s struggling, begging AK to let her go. Then AK hit her in the head with the gun. I saw him in the rearview. After that she’s quiet.” Antoine heaved a sigh. “Then AK shoves her toward the door behind me. I’m scared he’s gonna shoot me if I don’t do what he says, so I drive like hell, turn this way and that. Then I hear sirens, see lights flashing behind us, and AK’s opens the door.”

“Which door?” Frank said.

“The one behind me. He tells me go faster, take the next right, and when I turn right, Jesus-Lord, we had to be going sixty, he opens the door and . . .” Antoine shut his eyes, whispered, “He pushed the lady out.”

“AK pushed the woman out of the car?” Frank said.

Antoine nodded, his face clenched. “He pushed her out.”

“While your hands were on the steering wheel.”

“Yessir. I be holding onto that wheel for dear life. When I turn that corner, the door swings open and AK shoves the lady out the car, and I hear this thump. I wanted to stop, but AK puts the gun to my neck, says
Step on it, we gotta lose these cops
. So I did.”

Looking miserable and unhappy, Antoine sank back in his chair, sucked down some water and stared at the table.

Frank checked his watch, announced that the interview had ended at three-twenty P.M. and shut off the tape recorder.

“What happens now?” asked Jonas Carter, eyes full of concern. “Antoine done wrong, but it don’t seem like it was all his fault.”

“I can’t promise what will happen, but I can tell you this: We need Antoine to testify to this in court. If he testifies, the D.A. and the judge might cut him some slack.”

Antoine raised his head and looked at him, grim-faced and hard-eyed. “Testify against AK you mean?”

“That’s exactly what I mean. If you do, we’ll protect you.”

“Not much protection you come to NOCCA and call me down the office. AK knew I talked to you. Marcus told him. He’s in my jazz harmony class. Marcus been dealing pot, gets it from AK.”

“Marcus Goines?” Jonas Carter gasped. “Reverend Goines’ son?”

Antoine nodded. “Marcus. No doubt about it.”

Jonas Carter frowned. “The boy’s missing.”

Antoine gaped at his uncle, then at Frank. “Marcus is missing?”

His surprise seemed genuine. Scratch Antoine from the suspect list. Forty-eight hours and no sign of the kid. Frank figured it would be a miracle if Marcus turned up alive. AK and his thugs had tried to kill Antoine today. Wouldn’t surprise him if they had already killed Marcus.

“Marcus has been missing since Friday,” Frank said. “He never came home from school. Will you testify against AK?”

Antoine clenched his hands into fists. “I’ll testify, no doubt about that. Bad enough he pushed that lady out the car. Him and his buddies killed Chantelle. Nobody gonna rat ‘em out for it, but I know they did.” Antoine drilled him with a look. “AK gonna get the chair for killing that lady?”

“He will if I have anything to say about it.”

An imperfect form of justice for Chantelle, but it might be the best he could do. He couldn’t prove AK killed her and if AK’s thugs ratted on him, they might never live to testify.

CHAPTER 30

Monday, 13 November

With a palpable sense of relief, she turned onto her street. Almost home. She massaged the tense knot that had taken up residence in her neck during the plane ride. Meeting Jake’s parents, their dark eyes hollow with grief, had been an ordeal. Their funeral arrangements—the music, the tributes from Jake’s cousins, the rabbi’s poignant speech—had been beautiful. Everything had been perfect, except for the fact that Jake was dead.

She was all alone. Again. Unwilling to sink into self-pity, she gripped the wheel and gritted her teeth. Facing adversity alone was nothing new. She had survived the loss of her family, an unintended pregnancy and two heartbreaking affairs with married men. But now, thanks to her determination and talent and hard work, her career was about to take off.

She noticed a black van parked in a driveway three houses down from hers on the opposite side of the street.
ACE PLUMBERS
, according to the white letters on the side. Nothing new there, either. Since Katrina everyone on her street had experienced intermittent sewage or water problems.

She pulled into the circular driveway in front of her house, got out and rolled her suitcase up the walk. A box sat on the floor of the porch, pastries from Mr. Silverman probably. Why did he do it? He knew she’d be away. They would be stale and even if they weren’t, she wouldn’t eat them. She left her suitcase in the foyer, went in the kitchen and put the box in the trash.

Home at last. She kicked off her shoes, took a bottle of iced tea out of the refrigerator and gulped half the contents, her mind racing with things to do. For some reason she felt more energized than she had in years, as though she’d shed several layers of skin and the real Belinda Scully had emerged.

She wandered down the hall to the office. Not Jake’s office, her office. She was looking forward to the concert in Louisville. Music had always been her salvation, a soothing balm for emotional turmoil. Just what she needed to survive the holidays: Thanksgiving, Christmas and New Years. Family holidays, and she had no family. Fortunately she would be busy. She opened the folder that lay on the desk and checked her schedule: ten concerts.

The phone rang. She picked up and answered crisply, “Belinda Scully. May I help you?”

“Hello, Belinda, it’s Barry. I’m happy you’re home safe and sound, but I didn’t expect you to answer. You need to rest. You’ve suffered a terrible loss. That takes a toll on you.”

She made a face. She hated it when people dragged her down with negativity. “I’m fine. It’s time I got back to work.”

“Then we need to talk about your security arrangements.”

A dull ache pulsed behind her eyes. “Not now. I have work to do—”

“You’re alone in that house, Belinda. You need someone to protect you, someone to take over Jake’s duties. My schedule is quite flexible. I can come over right now and—”

“No. It’s kind of you to offer, but I’m fine. Really.”

“You say you’re fine, but Jake’s death had to be a shock. I don’t blame you for feeling down. One doesn’t expect one’s friends to die so young.”

She frowned. Jake’s death was a shock, and Frank’s statement last Friday had been equally shocking.
Jake’s death was suspicious. Everyone is a suspect.

“I’m sorry, but I can’t talk right now. I’ve got to unpack and—”

“Did you find the muffins? I thought you might appreciate a treat when you got home.”

She rolled her eyes. “Yes, I did. Thank you, Mr. Silverman.”

“Barry.” His voice hit her ear like a pistol shot.

Shocked, she held the receiver away from her ear. She didn’t want to call him Barry. That implied they were friends. They weren’t, and they weren’t going to be. She did need help with the business until she hired a new manager, but Silverman seemed to think he had a lock on the job.

You only think about yourself. And your career.
Dean’s words.

She took a deep breath. Let it out. Kept her voice even. “It was very thoughtful of you to buy the pastries. Thank you.”

“What are your plans for the Louisville concert?”

Irritated, she snapped, “I plan to play a magnificent performance.”

“Of course you will. You’re the best young flute soloist in the world. But you need a security plan. We can fly to Louisville together—”

“Stop!” she shouted. “Didn’t you hear what I said? I’m
busy
. I’ve already made my arrangements for Louisville. I don’t need you to go with me.”

A brief silence. Then, “That’s a decision you might regret. You must be tired. I’ll speak with you later. Welcome home, Belinda.”

Forcing herself not to yell, she said, “Goodbye, Mr. Silverman.”

Just as she was getting back on track a new problem surfaced. But she refused to let Mr. Silverman ruin her upbeat mood. She was playing the Zwilich
Flute Concerto
and the Gershwin in Louisville.

She shut her eyes and recited her mantra.
Never give in to fear. Act successful and you will be successful. Believe in yourself and you cannot fail.

She opened her eyes and smiled.

The concert in Louisville would be perfect.

______

“You sure the kid will testify?” A.D.A. Eddie Rouzan, a tired-looking black man, shot a skeptical look at Frank, another at Vobitch, the three of them huddled inside Vobitch’s office with the door closed. “Half these kids are no-shows when the court date arrives.”

Frank glanced at Vobitch. He looked as tired as Rouzan and way more annoyed. The media frenzy over the Lakeview case continued unabated. In fact it was getting worse.

“Antoine will testify,” Frank said. “He thinks AK murdered his girlfriend to keep her quiet. I think so too, but we don’t have any evidence on the Chantelle Wilson murder.”