Murder on the Down Low (39 page)

“The defendant hasn’t been charged with the other murders
yet
,” Martinez said, “but she will be.”

She didn’t like the smug look on Martinez’s face. “It’s my understanding that the state has no credible evidence linking my client to any of those murders. Hence, they’re irrelevant to this hearing.”

Vernetta hated the way Special was sneering at Martinez. She had specifically warned her not to do that. At trial, the jury would convict her on that basis alone.

The bantering between Martinez and Vernetta went back and forth for another couple of minutes. Then, as expected, Judge Winston granted Martinez’s motion, revoking Special’s bail. It took an hour before Special was escorted into the meeting room to see them again.

As soon as the deputy left the room, Special lashed out at them. “What in the hell did you call that?”

The sharpness of her tone could have sliced Vernetta in half. “What’s the matter?”

“
What’s the matter?
That man stood there and talked about me like I had a tail and you barely opened your damn mouth! I know I’m not paying y’all, but if this is the kind of defense I’m getting, I need to find me some new attorneys.”

Vernetta couldn’t believe Special was attacking them. “You have to be kidding! If you hadn’t been harassing Eugene, your ass wouldn’t be in here. We’re not magicians. We can’t—”

“Cut it out, you two,” Nichelle pleaded. “This isn’t helping.” She checked to see if the deputy was coming, then patted Special’s shoulder in a gesture of calm. “The judge wasn’t going to let you out on bail,” she said gently. “We had no valid legal basis for putting up much of a fight.”

Special flung Nichelle’s hand from her shoulder like it was a flake of dandruff. “I don’t care about a legal basis,” she shouted. “There were a bunch of cameras rolling in there. When people watch the news tonight, they’re going to think I’m guilty. Just like y’all apparently do.” She burst into tears.

The deputy appeared from nowhere and popped his head into the room. “Is everything okay in here?”

“Yes,” Vernetta and Nichelle said in unison.

“We’re fine,” Vernetta said.

The deputy stepped outside, but planted himself near the door, watching them.

Vernetta looked at the tears rolling down her friend’s cheeks and her anger dissipated. Special was scared. And Vernetta was just as scared for her.

“We don’t think you’re guilty,” she said softly. “We did our best.” Vernetta felt a big, sad lump in her throat.

“I can’t stay in here,” Special sobbed. “I just can’t. You have to get me out of here!”

It took them a while to get Special calmed down. Vernetta was emotionally drained by the time they left thirty minutes later. When the elevator car opened, they came face-to-face with Martinez.

“Hello, ladies,” he said.

Nichelle nodded. Vernetta couldn’t stand to look at him.

They rode in silence for several seconds, then Martinez broke it. “Must be nice to have friends in high places.”

Vernetta refused to take his bait.

“What is that supposed to mean?” Nichelle asked.

“I heard from a couple of deputies at the jail that your client is getting some very special treatment.”

“Really?” Nichelle asked. “How so?”

“She’s been moved to a nicer area of the jail and gets more telephone time than other inmates.”

“Really?” she said again. “That’s nice to hear.”

“I wonder what the public would think of that?” Martinez said. “Might make an interesting story.
Serial Killer Gets Special Treatment.
”

The elevator came to a stop in the lobby and they all walked off.

“Are you threatening us?” Vernetta asked.

“Nope,” Martinez said. “Just thinking out loud.”

S
o how’d it go?”

Sam barged into Nichelle’s closed office without knocking. She had just returned from the bail hearing. Sam was the last person she wanted to see right now.

“Special didn’t get bail.”

There was a look of satisfaction on his face. “I’m not surprised.”

“Neither were we.” Nichelle did not have the energy for Sam’s pessimistic attitude. She knew he was dying to be back on the case. Nichelle and Vernetta had appeared on several local newscasts and Sam longed to be in the spotlight with them. She started to tell him to expect a call from Vernetta, but decided against it.

“I saw your press conference. Too bad Vernetta hogged it all for herself.”

“She didn’t hog anything. I didn’t want to talk.”

“She wouldn’t have let you if you wanted to.”

“Sam, I don’t need this right now. Unless you have something helpful to say, you should leave.”

“So, you think Special really killed that latest guy?”

“No, Sam. I don’t.”

“That’s exactly what I thought you’d say,” Sam groused. “You’re too close to this case. Just like Vernetta. I don’t think it’s a coincidence that the murder happened right across the street from her apartment building. And she was seen in the park that morning. Your emotions are clouding your judgment. That’s not good for your client.”

“My judgment is fine.” She couldn’t resist taking a dig. “Vernetta’s one of the best trial lawyers I’ve ever seen. You haven’t had the pleasure of seeing her in action. If you had, you’d agree.”

Sam bristled. “Yeah, but she’s not a criminal attorney. Criminal law is a whole different ball game. There’s a lot more on the line. You have to—”

Sadie, their secretary, stepped into the office with a big smirk on her face. “Nichelle, there’s a woman waiting in the reception area for you. She saw one of your interviews and wants to talk to you about the wrongful death case you filed against Eugene Nelson.” Sadie brought her hand to her mouth, stifling a giggle.

“What’s so funny?” Nichelle asked.

“You’ll see.”

“Well, who is she?”

“Says her name is Rhonda Whitehead. She’s organizing a conference. I think she wants you to be a guest speaker.”

“Is she legit? I don’t have time right now to deal with any kooks.”

“Oh, she’s legit. I’ll go get her.”

“I’m outta here,” Sam said.

A minute or so later, Sadie showed an attractive, African-American woman into Nichelle’s office. There was nothing funny or unusual about her. She looked to be in her mid-thirties and was dressed in an expensive knit suit.

Rhonda introduced herself and extended her hand to Nichelle. The woman smiled like she had just been introduced to a celebrity. “Please forgive me for barging in like this. I work across the street. I’m an analyst for Bear Stearns. I had a meeting in this building and I saw your name on the directory downstairs. I had no idea your office was so close by.”

Nichelle motioned toward the empty chair in front of her desk. “My secretary said this has something to do with the lawsuit we filed against Eugene Nelson.”

“Yes, it does,” Rhonda said. “I’m the president of a new women’s organization. We’d like you to be the keynote speaker at our first luncheon. We want to hear about the lawsuit and your research on down low men. The luncheon is Thursday at the Proud Bird. Sorry for the short notice.”

Nichelle was enjoying her growing celebrity status and this sounded like another great opportunity to get her name out there. But with everything going on with Special’s case, she wasn’t sure she had time to work on a speech. “Tell me a little about your group.”

“We have about one hundred and fifty women who have officially joined so far, which is pretty good considering we’ve only been in existence about eleven months. This will be our very first luncheon. I formed this organization because this issue needs attention. African-American women are being infected with HIV left and right and it’s ridiculous that nobody’s doing a damn thing about it. If this were happening to white women, the President would’ve formed a special task force by now.”

The woman had a point. “Exactly what does your organization do?”

“Right now, our focus is on education and awareness. We’re also in the process of adding a page on our website outing brothers who are out there sleeping with men and putting us at risk.”

“Hold on a minute.” Nichelle held up a hand. “I don’t know if that’s a smart thing to do. You could end up being sued for defamation.”

“You’re the fourth attorney to tell me that. But I’ve done my homework. You’re not guilty of libel or slander if you’re telling the truth. We plan to be very, very careful. No one will go up on the website unless they are in a confirmed relationship with a woman
and
we have solid evidence of their homosexual conduct.”

“And just what do you consider solid evidence?”

“You heard of
Cheaters?”

Nichelle was familiar with the TV show that used undercover cameras to catch cheating spouses and mates in the act. “Yes,” she said, growing more and more uneasy.

“Well, let’s just say we’re doing something similar.”

“That’s still a pretty dangerous thing to do.”

“We realize that.” Rhonda dismissed Nichelle’s concern with a mindless wave of her hand. “Anyway, will you be our keynote?”

Rhonda obviously sensed Nichelle’s hesitation. “This could be great publicity for you,” she prodded. “There are lots of women out there being deceived and I’m sure others will want to sue, too. You’ll probably end up with some new clients. We can pay you an honorarium of five hundred dollars.”

The more she thought about it, the more Nichelle realized that she had an important message that the group very much needed to hear. She opened her datebook and flipped to Thursday. “I’m open, so I guess there’s no reason I couldn’t do it.” She picked up a pen to write down the appointment. “Does your organization have a name?”

“Sure does.” Rhonda’s eyes sparkled with pride. “And you’re going to love it. My cousin, Raynetha, came up with it. We call it SADDDL, but we spell it with an extra D and no E.”

“Okay,” Nichelle said, curious. “Exactly what does SADDDL stand for?”

Rhonda smiled like someone had just asked her to say
cheese
. “It stands for Sisters Against Dirty Dogs on the Down Low. You like it?”

B
elynda looked around Eugene’s empty bedroom one last time, making sure she had packed up all of his belongings.

She had spent part of the day helping Eugene’s sister collect his insurance policies, bank statements, and other important documents. Most of his personal possessions and furniture would be shipped to his aunt in Chicago. The items that Belynda had just stuffed into large garbage bags were being donated to the church.

As she was about to leave the room, A shiny, silver object imbedded in the carpet caught Belynda’s eye. She bent down to pick it up, instantly realizing what it was. She smiled sadly, then slipped the lapel pin she’d given Eugene into the pocket of her jean skirt.

She was on her way downstairs, but stumbled to a stop.

“Wait a minute,” she said out loud. She pulled the pin from her pocket and examined it more closely.

This wasn’t the pin that she had given to Eugene. She had purchased two of them, one in gold and the other in sterling silver. She had given the gold one to Eugene and the silver one to Reverend Sims. So what was the reverend’s pin doing in Eugene’s bedroom?

She stood there for a moment, trying to make sense of this discovery, when the disturbing possibility that flooded her brain caused her knees to buckle.

Reverend Sims had worn the pin everyday since she’d given it to him. Finding it in Eugene’s bedroom could only mean that the reverend had been here. What reason would Reverend Sims have to visit Eugene’s home? And if he had, why would he have been in Eugene’s bedroom?

A perverse realization shook up her senses, causing her to slump to the floor. Her mind went back to that Saturday morning when Special had accosted her on her walk with Princess and tried to force her to look at a picture that she claimed showed Eugene kissing some man. Now, Belynda regretted not looking at the camera.
Could Reverend Sims have been the man in the picture
? No. It was ridiculous for her to even think such a thing. The reverend was a dedicated man of God.

She picked up the last of the garbage bags she had stuffed with Eugene’s clothes and tried to put the wicked images out of her mind. She headed downstairs and dumped the bags near the door next to several boxes that she also planned to drop off at the church.

Her mind would not shake the ungodly thoughts.
Had she gotten the gifts mixed up
? Maybe she had given the silver pin to Eugene and the gold one to the reverend. Belynda loaded the bags and boxes into the trunk of her car and drove to the church. She pulled into the parking lot and went straight to Reverend Sims’ office.

He was sitting at his desk, typing on the computer.

“Good afternoon,” the reverend looked up and spotted her standing in the doorway.

For a long moment, she just stood there, staring at him. The lapel pin he normally wore on his right collar wasn’t there. She couldn’t remember the last time he had worn it.

Reverend Sims’ attention was focused on his computer monitor. “So what can I do for you?”

Belynda cleared her throat. “I didn’t want anything, Reverend.” She struggled to appear upbeat. “I just dropped by to say hello.” She scanned his desktop, desperately hoping to spot the pin.

“Are you okay?” He was looking up at her now.

“Yes, I’m fine. I see you’re not wearing that lapel pin I gave you.” She tried to sound playful.

Reverend Sims lowered his head like a child in trouble. “I didn’t want to tell you this, but it seems I’ve misplaced it. I think I may have lost it when I went to the gym a couple of weeks ago. It was a wonderful gift and I regret being so careless with it.”

His admission prompted visions that made her skin crawl. “Don’t . . . don’t worry about it. It wasn’t very expensive. I’d be glad to get you another one.”

“No, you don’t have to do that.”

She said a short, silent prayer. There was still another possibility. Maybe she had been mistaken. “Reverend, was the pin I gave you silver or gold?”