Murder in Germantown Read online

  “It’s surreal. Believe me, you want no parts of this loneliness. Just alone. Everything hurts. I’m still in shock. It’s right up there with a funeral.”

  “Do you have any idea why he was thrown into this mess?”

  “Don’t print this. He had an argument with one of the guys that was shot. I guess that’s the motive.”

  “Does his lawyer know that he has an alibi? I have been trying to get the tapes from the gym, but to no avail.”

  “That’s crazy, Neesha.”

  “I know. I am going to flash his picture around the area of the shooting. He had to be around there setting up. I’m also gonna get all snazzy and go to the bar where he lived to get some information.”

  “I would go with you, but...” Her voice trailed off and she sipped her coffee again.

  “No, I can do this. This is my job.”

  “I’m sure he’ll appreciate your help.”

  “Have the police searched his room?”

  “Yup,” she replied, quickly. She had a conspiratorial smirk on her face.

  “You cleaned his room?” Rhonesia asked earnestly.

  “Left the furniture.” Shannon giggled, finally.

  “Was there something to hide?”

  “Not exactly.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Meaning, I can’t tell you what he is doing in his spare time.”

  “Must’ve been nice to pay for Ravonne Lemmelle?”

  “He must really have a reputation?”

  “Shan, he is the newest attorney on the rise. He represented the Bezels. And he’s gay. That’s newsworthy in itself. Usually the two do not go hand and hand, but he produces acquittals like plastic surgeons produce youth.”

  “Lemmelle is gay?” Shannon asked perplexed. “He didn’t seem gay.”

  “You’ve met him?”

  “Yes, and he’s not a gay man.”

  “Dear, he is gay and makes no attempt to hide it.”

  “To hell he don’t.”

  “Shan, baby, gay does not mean leather and flamboyance. Step into 2007.”

  “He’s so...”

  “Delicious. I know, but wouldn’t touch either of us.”

  “A wasted dick.” She smiled and laughed.

  Rhonesia laughed.

  “Anybody hate Wydell?” Rhonesia asked trying to stay on track.

  “Barclay, of course. Everyone knows that.”

  “Anybody outside of school. Did he tell you about anyone in this hood?”

  “No. I only spent the night there a few times.”

  “So, maybe he was hiding something.”

  “No, Neesh. He always went home during the week. I don’t know.”

  “Must be love.”

  “It was. Well...is.”

  “Okay. I’m going to do a colorful article on him and add a bit about you. Got a photo?”

  “In the dorm.”

  “Let’s get that. I need to get to the press room.”

  CHAPTER 47

  Aramis was a freelance reporter assigned to the police beat at the Philadelphia Inquirer. He had been there four years now and had yet to move in the communications world. If he kept working in tandem with Ravonne, he would get that one case that would take his career off like a space shuttle. He wanted to crack a big case, write it up for the paper, have the Associated Press pick it up, and then have literary agents beating his door down with advance checks for him to write all about the details of the case in a hardback.

  He hopped out of his car. He drove. Twenty minutes later, he found himself in Chestnut Hill. Island Reality was an executive rental company who catered to wealthy clients.

  “Aramis Reed, Philadelphia Inquirer. I’d like to speak with someone in charge. I’d like to know about the three murders that occurred at 1935 Hope Circle this past Saturday,” he said, introducing himself and stating his business.

  The blonde receptionist was taken aback.

  “Oh, I’m sorry, only the manager can release that type of information.”

  “Release? Sounds like the real deal.”

  She sucked her teeth and took an irritated deep breath.

  “Ms. Percy is in a meeting with a client, and...”

  “And I’ll wait,” he told her and had a seat.

  “Her entire afternoon is booked.”

  “But she is here now. I’ll only be a minute. Just a few questions.”

  “Yes, I heard you, but...”

  “There is no but, sweetie, I will wait.”

  “It would be wise to make an appointment. To see you means,”--she checked her calendar--“delaying her appointment with the Scotts due in twenty minutes.”

  “She’ll be delaying more than that if she doesn’t see me.”

  “Like.”

  “Her next sale.”

  Aramis looked around the walls at the photos of many homes. Some were rentals for parties and vacations. Others were for sale. Each photo had the skinny on the property printed on index cards neatly tucked in the corner of the picture frame. He spent the next fifteen minutes looking at pictures in an issue of Architectural Digest.

  The door to Ms. Percy’s office opened and a neatly trimmed brunette stepped out. Her business suit was a tweed Chanel. Behind her were a man and a woman.

  “...the property is beautiful close up,” Percy said to her clients. “You’ll have plenty of space to build that green house, Judy.”

  The couple left and Percy said to Aramis, “You must be Mr. Scott?”

  “No, Mr. Reed. Philadelphia Inquirer,” Aramis replied. Ms. Percy turned crimson. “Sorry to disappoint.”

  She gave him a toothy, faux smile.

  “Oh, how can I help you?”

  “I’m working the case about the murders that happened on your property at 1935 Hope Circle. I specifically want to know who rented the property and how they paid.”

  “Oh! That’s easy,” she said slyly. “That’s confidential.”

  She nodded her head cockily and rubbed her palms together.

  “To bad Island Reality won’t be confidential after my article hits the stands.”

  “We adore publicity, Mr. Reed,” she snapped, unbothered by the clandestine threat.

  “Not this kind. Three men that were very deep into the drug game with not a single job listed on two of their social security reports rented a home from you to throw a party. The attorney who happened to have assisted both vics beat multiple drug, assault, racketeering, and murder-for-hire charges was on the property at a drug dealer’s event on par with the Democratic National Convention. This hardly sounds like the press that you want. Who’ll buy a home haunted by three drug dealers?”

  “Give me a day or two to think about this.”

  “Sure, that sounds fair,” he lied.

  He watched the Scotts come in the door. With their attention on him he switched gears and barked, “I am going to sue you for discrimination, ma’am. You took my money and now because I am black, you’re telling me that the neighbors do not want me renting from you because of the three drug dealers killed on your rental property.”

  “Mr. Reed, I...”

  “Name and method of payment.” He hissed.

  Ms. Percy collected the Scotts and as she entered her office, she told the receptionist, “Give him what he needs.”

  Aramis collected the data from the receptionist and then left the office. He walked to his car and dialed the 35th Police District. He had a contact with every police district in his cell phone .

  “Callaghan. Aramis Reed.”

  “Look! I’ve been avoiding the media for the past hour. How’d you get through?”

  Aramis ignored the query. “I’ve got the basics. What’s new?”

  “Nothing.”

  “How ‘bout the autopsy? Has it been released yet?” Aramis asked.

  He knew the answer, too. Aramis had started law school at Harvard with Ravonne, but he decided to report crime rather than defend it. He was lucky to get into the Journalism maste
r’s program without being a journalism undergrad. He was in law school long enough to learn the questions to ask, and not to believe any of the answers.

  “No, Reed. Now if you don’t mind, I am working on a big case.”

  “Liar. I hear two different types of bullets were found. Care to explain where the other perp is? I’ve spoken to several party-goers and there’s no way there was one suspect.”

  “That’s privileged information, and if you air it, I’ll have you arrested.”

  “How do I know if it’s privileged. You’re right, though. The autopsy is privileged to me and every citizen in the nation. Now be a nice sport and give me some background and I’ll lay off that you guys need to be pursuing another shooter.”

  “You are a real Class A asshole.”

  “Can I buy you a drink?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Tonight. Eagles Bar on Broad and Erie.”

  “They’d kill me in there. That’s the worse area in the district.”

  Aramis chuckled.

  “Just checking and I was right. You are a wuss. I’m only going to cover the perp’s background tonight and their relationship to the suspect in custody. I’ll look forward to a call from you for lunch by 10 a.m. tomorrow, or I’ll have my pals at 3, 6, 10, 17, 29, and 57 air the autopsy findings at noon and my article will follow in the late edition. Have a blessed day, Detective Callaghan.”

  He hung up and then drove to the Metro Room of the Inquirer, just in time to pollute the jury voir dire.

  WEDNESDAY, JANUARY 10, 2007

  CHAPTER 48

  After a hot shower, I dressed and left the Bellevue Hotel’s gym. I loved hump day. I had a steady appointment with a handsome masseuse Wednesdays at three. Dajuan joined me, usually, while Brandon enjoyed Drama Class. Ordinarily, I drove back to my office, but that morning I parked at the Prudential Building and jogged back as a warm-down. At 7:25 a.m., I found myself showered and having breakfast in my office.

  Having forgotten the newspaper, I ran out to get it. When I returned to the building, the front was cluttered with reporters. Two television vans from local media affiliates were half parked on the pavement and partially in the street, obstructing a free flow of traffic. Unbelievable! The nerve of those ingrates. I did not like that at all. At the courthouse, I was fair game. That was private property and I had no idea what brought those media meshugas to the law offices of Martir and Savino.

  “There he is!” yelled a reporter.

  “Can we get a statement?” screamed another.

  “You can. Have them move the vans,” I replied as eloquently as I knew how.

  “What do you know about the Chestnut Hill murders?”

  “Three dead drug dealers. Move the vans, or I disappear.”

  The vans were rolling away, but the cameras and microphones were moving in for the kill. I walked slowly to the corner and stood in front of the T-Mobile store. They were closed. I held my briefcase in front of me with two hands and rocked slowly with a smirk on my face that would annoy any mother if it came from a misbehaved child.

  “What happened up there?”

  “Unfortunately, I was not invited to the soiree. Glad I wasn’t.”

  I was being sarcastic and for good reason.

  “Who is Wydell James?”

  "School paper says he was framed. Or, had an accomplice. Any truth to that?"

  I knew that voice and planned to curse his ass out for filth. I had to get a handle on those mongers.

  I flashed the camera a smile, and said, "At present I am preparing to defend Wydell James, a 30-year-old, black male, and a basketball star of the LaSalle University team. It's highly unlikely that Mr. James would participate in or perpetuate a crime of any sort, and there's no tangible evidence linking Mr. James to a charge of murder. As a crime reporter, you're fully aware that I cannot divulge much more and I'd appreciate if you respect the defense, prosecution, and Mr. James' family. That is all."

  I simply walked away, ignoring their queries like I was the President of the United States. I entered the Prudential Building and instructed the security to request that the media vanish, and if they didn't, he could call the police.

  Entering the elevator, I looked at my cell phone. No reception. I rode in solitude to my floor and strolled into my office. It was 8:46 a.m., and there was no sign of Marsha. She was due in at 8:30 that day. She was becoming a thorn in my ass with her excessive lateness, but she was the best when at work. I needed to get a handle on her, though, before her-royal-lateness became unemployed.

  Cappuccino was what I needed, but I had a bone to pick. I commanded my cell phone to dial my best friend. I looked out of my window and watched the crowd of reporters beginning to evaporate. A few lingered doing intro’s and/or outro’s to their news bites, scheduled for the noon news.

  “Get your ass up here to my office. Now!” I told Aramis when he answered.

  As if Aramis was in the elevator when I called him, he walked in as soon as I hung up the phone. I immediately went in.

  “Why did you invite that imbecility to my office?”

  “I needed to,” he replied matter-of-factly.

  “Needed to?” I barked.

  “I’m going to find the true killer and I needed to get something about the alibi out of you.”

  “You got some way of getting an alibi,” I said hotly. “Since when do you need to orchestrate a circus to report crime?”

  “Since I decided to earn a Pulitzer.”

  “Miz, I am not joking. You need to confer with me when you want to do things like that.”

  “Alright, Ray. Damn. You do not need to get all butt hurt.”

  “I do not get butt hurt. That shit was uncalled for. No one learned anything not available to them through public records, and besides, you could have requested an exclusive.”

  “I know. That’s why I am here. I just thought that it made sense to do that so that I didn’t look like I was being fed info. I was looking out for you. At least, I thought I was.”

  “You’re a journalist. You report crimes.”

  “That’s just it, I report. But, I want to solve them like an amateur sleuth. No rules like the police.”

  “You’re off the hook,” I said with a light chuckle.

  “What?”

  “How in the hell are you going to solve this? I hope by not promoting nonsense in the school paper just because you can get away with it without a libel law suit. You think you’re slick.”

  “I didn’t print anything in that paper, and there are ways.”

  “I’ve got methods to get the goodies to get Wydell acquitted.”

  “Good for you, but I am going to hand over the killer on a silver platter as soon as Wydell walks,” he told me confidently. “If you want in, you’re in, but, you got to let me do my thing without you knowing much.”

  “And that means?”

  “Look, Ray-Ray, you know that the police love accessories before the fact, so don’t worry. Whatever I find, you and the public will know.”

  “And the DA and cops, too,” I said and smirked sarcastically.

  “Good. Let’s keep them honest.”

  “You’re my best friend, Aramis, and an excellent reporter. At both capacities, I am relying on you to be ethical and not do anything to get me hung.”

  “Come on, Ray-Ray. I would never do anything to ruin our friendship. You know that.”

  “Technically, you could not jeopardize that because even after disbarment, I’ll be your best friend because I knew you meant well. I know you want to solve this case, and you may feel the need to withhold intelligence from me. That is what reporters do and I respect that as long as it does not interfere with my case. I do not need my credibility shot to hell. I have enough enemies in the DA’s office, and judges hate me, too. I do not want to become legitimately tainted.”

  “Roger that. Loud and clear.”

  “Now, I planned a press conference, but why don’t I leak a little to the media. And I k
now the perfect media outlet.”

  “We both win. I’ll have found things that the police haven’t to make my name soar, and Wydell innocent appearing. A win-win for us.”

  “Who says that I was talking about you?”