Murder in Germantown Page 22

  “Now that’s crazy,” was Aramis’s subtle response. “If he only knew that you wouldn’t dare touch his woman.”

  “I’m telling you.”

  We both cracked up.

  “It’s awfully quiet over there. Where are Pinky and the Brain?”

  “Judo class. Brandon has no desire to take over the world and he hates Bush.”

  “He’s five, how in the hell is that. I forget, my bad. You have the boy taking enough classes to become a straight A school yard bully. Such a contradiction.”

  “I don’t have Brandon doing anything. I just let him know what’s available. That is how kids develop talents. He has to know what the world has to offer. Maybe if you had a child and stopped depositing yours into condoms or throats you’d know that.”

  “And if you stop depositing babies into Dajuan as if he can bring them to term...” he began to laugh before he got the full joke out.

  I loved my best friend.

  “You’re a damn retard,” I said laughing.

  “Right. Let me get off here. I have a very salacious date.”

  “Always. Before you go. I have a friend that wrote an urban fiction tale. I’m about to review it. When I’m done, I would like you to use one of your contacts to help him get it published.”

  “If it’s any good. Let me know.”

  “Sure thing.”

  I hung up with Aramis and grabbed a quick shower. Afterward, I sat back in my office and read the first line of Kensan’s novel: “The man who had three hours to live kissed his wife goodbye.” I was hooked.

  CHAPTER 68

  The over-weight cop stood in the doorway of the Sanchez home. He had his note pad out and took down the lady-of-the-house’s complaint. She claimed that she had not experienced domestic violence and had not called 911. As she shut her front door, she heard a loud thud. Something had hit the front door. She opened the door, prepared to read the cop his rights, but he was dead. A small hole was in the back of his head. Three other officers were killed while responding to fake cries for help in other parts of the city at that precise moment.

  When I was forced awake by the slam of the front door, I realized that I was having a nightmare. The details of the nightmare surrounded the plot to Kensan’s manuscript. Then I heard my baby’s voice.

  “Dad!”

  That was a joyous way to awaken. I knew that he was about to tell me all about an ass he kicked at Judo.

  “What?” I said.

  “You missed Judo. It was fun. And Daddy D took me to South Street after class. I got this.” He held up a fluffy, snow white rabbit. “It’s an Angora rabbit.”

  “Look at that fine wool. I can make a fur coat out of him.”

  Bad joke. Brandon frowned. I would not be surprised if he became a fan of PETA. “Just joking, King B.”

  “Okay, ‘cause, I do not want you to wear him. I want to take him to Show and Tell on Friday.”

  “Where’s the cage?”

  I did not need Bugs Bunny and Ms. Pearl having a living room showdown. And I doubted Brandon could train the rabbit not to leave the gum ball droplets of excrement all over the house.

  “Daddy D is setting it up in my room,” he said and walked out of my room.

  I lay back down and stared at the ceiling. I thought about going to see Dr. Kelvin Randolph, my therapist. Psychiatrist. No, I am not a traditional psychotic, but I do stress and it’s good to talk to a stranger. Who cares what they thought? They couldn’t create a rumor and render you ostracized.

  Dajuan walked into the bedroom wearing a black tank top. I wondered where his shirt and coat was. We had been over him being out coatless.

  “Good morning, Mr. Lemmelle-Jones,” he said sarcastically. “Can I get you breakfast?” he asked and sat next to me.

  He pecked my cheek.

  “What time is it?” I asked sitting up.

  I wasn’t nude, but it appeared that way when the blanket fell to my waist.

  “Ten,” he said. “PM,” he added with a smirk on his face.

  “Get out, smart aleck.”

  FRIDAY, JANUARY 12, 2007

  CHAPTER 69

  Friday morning, it occurred to Aramis why he wasn’t on staff at the Inquirer and why he did not have a syndicated column. He had mastered his craft by solving a crime. The chase for the Hope Circle murderer(s) was intriguing. Usually, he simply gathered the information and wrote a colorful article. Not that time.

  He sat in the newsroom itemizing what he had known that far. It helped having a direct confidential line to the defense. He hadn’t heard from Rhonesia, but he would develop a story based on what she said. Whatever she found was a plus. He was prepared to ruffle feathers. He planned an article full of motley innuendo and famished speculation. The only evidence he had was the key chain. He needed that other gun in his possession. Detective Callaghan did not speak to him, so he planned to report what he desired to be the outcome and prayed that he was on the right track. He decided to call Rhonesia.

  “Reed, you’re a hard guy to reach,” she said, excitedly.

  “You’ve been calling me. I haven’t received any calls or messages from you.”

  “I do not leave messages. Especially this kind. Never know who’s listening with the Patriot Act in effect.”

  “What kind?”

  “The criminal kind.”

  “I can be at Explorer’s Den in fifteen minutes,” Aramis said.

  “No dice. Meet me at the Broad Street Diner at 66th and Broad.”

  * * *

  Twenty minutes later, they both emerged into the busy diner. With all of the noise and patrons ebbing about, the nefarious two sat at the counter. They ordered hot chocolates and breakfast.

  “Did you have to come so far from the school? You must bear great news.”

  “What I bear is speculation, but definitely worth your attention.”

  “Perfect. What do you have?”

  Rhonesia waited until the waitress left. She had dropped off frothy hot chocolates to the reporters.

  “Here goes,” Rhonesia began. “When you left me the other day, I wrote up a speculative article for the school paper,” she said and pulled out the paper. Aramis began to read the paper, as she said, “You told me to get dirty, and I did. I praised Wydell and spoke about the lost keychain with prints that belonged to someone on campus. Hence, someone else from LSU was at the party as a guess or assassin.”

  “This is brilliant, Rhonesia,” Aramis raved and sipped his cocoa.

  He wanted to hug her, but that was inappropriate.

  “That should have gotten the rumor mill turning fast enough to snap it.”

  “Better. The next day, a certain Calc 2 student was not in class. That struck me as odd. He’s a math major and loves the class. He quickly grasps topics and loves being in front of the class, working out five minute proofs.”

  “Could’ve been sick. Late. Having sex. Anything, but...”

  “He dropped out! Collected 70% of his tuition and packed up. I know because I chatted with him as he packed.”

  The waitress dropped waffles, bacon, and more cocoa in front of them, and Aramis gave her a flirtatious smile. He adored playing with women who admired his handsomeness. When she drifted away, he asked, “Rhonesia, where is all this going?”

  “This is just a hunch, but it’s like this. I can be off the mark totally, and look like a buffoon, afterward. Or, I could have solved my first murder, a knack that I never knew that I had. You brought that out. Thanks.”

  Aramis was grateful, but becoming impatient. “What do you have, Rhonesia?”

  “I have property from the drop out.”

  “He gave you his things. Good for you. Now, about the case?”

  “No, I received them by way of...”

  “You didn’t!”

  “You told me to get dirty and I did.”

  “I never encouraged you to steal. That would make me an accessory before the fact. Are you out of your mind? You risked expulsion
and more important arrest,” Aramis said hotly.

  He almost regretted involving her.

  “Come on, Aramis. Don’t be so persnickety. If the prints on the appropriately wrongfully obtained...”

  “Stolen!”

  “Borrowed! If the borrowed pieces match, this case is solved. By us, too,” she smiled.

  “Maybe. It’s hardly the coup de grace for the prosecutor’s case.”

  “But, it casts doubt. That’ll get Wydell off.”

  “Where are the things?”

  “In my car,” Rhonesia said and then added, “sealed in a box.”

  “What’s in the box?”

  “Don’t know. It’s marked football stuff.”

  “You didn’t look in the box?”

  “No, I didn’t want to taint the prints. They may match the key chain.”

  “Unbelievable!” Aramis said.

  He dropped a twenty on the table and they left the restaurant.

  “Where are you going?” Rhonesia asked, admiring his stroll and ass.

  “To open the box.”

  Aramis walked to the diner parking lot with Rhonesia in tow. He asked, “Which car is yours?”

  “The Accord.”

  “Get the box.”

  Rhonesia opened the trunk to her red Honda, and there was a medium box in there taped profusely.

  “How you managed to take this damn box?”

  “Dragged it into my room. He made a trip to his car and I lived a room away from him.”

  “You’re a cold piece of work,” Aramis said and cut the box open using a Swiss army knife.

  He used the knife to shift the items around. He then used gloved hands and hoisted a blue towel from the box, which was wrapped snuggly around something. He opened the rag and was flabbergasted.

  “Who’s the student?” he asked putting the towel back in the box.

  “That’s confidential.”

  “What?”

  “I need a byline, Aramis. If this gun is the weapon used by the shooter, I want credit for it.”

  “You’ll get it.”

  “Follow me to the dorm to drop my car off. Then I will take you to the possible gun owner.”

  “Possible?”

  “Come on, would you,” she replied and hopped into her car.

  CHAPTER 70

  A gaunt woman answered the door at the ranch home in King of Prussia, Pennsylvania. She was in her late fifties and had no care for her appearance. She donned a crinkly, polyester dress and destroyed bunny house slippers. Her hair was gray with streaks of deep drown strewn wildly on her scalp.

  “What do you want?” she asked. She glanced at Aramis Reed and Rhonesia Cosby with eyes chipped from pale-blue agate. “I ain’t buying nothing!”

  “We’re looking for Lewis Barclay, ma’am,” Rhonesia said politely. “Does he live here?”

  “No. And who the hell are you?”

  Slowly, Rhonesia took out her wallet from her purse and opened it to where she could flash her LSU ID.

  “I’m one of his classmates. This here...”--she pointed to Aramis--“is the coach of the football team. Her first official professional lie.

  The woman digested the words. “Okay, folks,” the older woman said. “Why are you here?”

  “Well...” Rhonesia stammered.

  Aramis picked up the slack. “Ma’am, Lewis dropped out of school and we were hoping to change his mind. He’s a promising young man and we’d hate to lose him.”

  “He lives with his father in that horrible city, with the staggering death rate. You can find him under the gun there.”

  “Do you have an address for him?”

  “Sure do. Why should I give it to you?”

  “Barclay may be suicidal, ma’am,” Rhonesia said and smiled.

  She was such a great liar. It was quick thinking though that pissed Aramis off. Aramis quickly cleaned up her mess.

  “Yes, a girlfriend of his claimed he flashed a rifle and threatened to kill himself if she did not take him back.”

  Now Aramis had lied.

  “Yeah. Your son,” Rhonesia added unnecessarily. “We need to get him some help.”

  “Sure. I’ll get the address,” she said and left the door.

  “Don’t you say another word,” Aramis told Rhonesia.

  “Why not?”

  “Please, Rhonesia. You put too much on that suicide comment.”

  The woman returned to the door with an old phone in her hand. She explained to the father of Barclay that his beloved son was suicidal again over some bimbo. She went on and confessed that he always pulled that number to get a girl to love him.

  She said, “He thinks because he is a jock, he can have whomever he wants,” to the father on the telephone. “That’s your problem. You had the same attitude and now you feed that bullshit to our boy. One of these days, he is really going to off himself. And his blood will be all on you.” She paused, and then said, “And my gun is missing.”

  She hung up and told Aramis, “Here’s the address. I did not tell him that you were coming. He knows how to hide. The bastards. Here’s a copy of my rifle permit. Please have my gun returned to me because I know he stole it. Thank you,” she said and closed the front door.

  Aramis hopped into his car and dialed Ravonne.

  “Ravonne, I have great news.”

  “Oh, but I have some great news myself,” Ravonne said.

  “Not as good as mine,” Aramis said bragging.

  “Wanna bet.”

  “Keep your money. I’ll be there in a half-hour.”

  “You better have the smoking gun if you wanna top me.”

  “I do,” Aramis said and hung up.

  CHAPTER 71

  Aramis held a 2006 LaSalle University yearbook given to him by Rhonesia. He passed it to me to look at the pages that he had placed tabs on. Photo number one was of a mathematics major standing in front of a classroom working out a geometry problem. I hated those in high school and avoided geometry in college. The second photo was of the quarterback of the football team. He wore a school jersey exposing a quarterback physique with jeans and a babe on his hip. The third photo was of the entire football team with arrows pointed at a select few of the men’s faces.

  “Should this QB mean something to me?” I asked.

  “He does,” Aramis told me with a smile plastered on his mug.

  “I’m listening.”

  “Can I get a little back ground music?”

  “I’m not in the mood for games, Miz.”

  “Something with a classical flare,” he told me.

  “Mozart?”

  I cued Don Giovanni to play out of the surround sound and poured me a glass of white. I sat back at my desk and mixed my fingers together to show the attention I was prepared to offer this journalist/best friend.

  “Okay,” I began. “I saw your photo spread, so what now, Miz?”

  “Listen carefully, Ravonne.”

  “I always...”

  “You’re talking. That’s what you always do. I’ve come into possession of the missing surveillance from LaSalle U, which specifically places your client at the university at the precise times he claims to have been. A few characters, chiefly, Lewis Barclay, who you’ve been told by the client’s girlfriend, Shannon Oscar, hated your client, has been acting suspicious along with Darren Lockman and Morgan Malone. Since I wrote that the potential killer could be roaming the campus posing as a student, Barclay withdrew from classes, collected 70% of his tuition, and is now missing in action. Got all that?”

  “I do.”

  “Good. Me and a source located Barclay’s mother in KOP. She’s estranged from the boy and hates the father. Several days prior to the Hope Circle killings, she reported to the police that her home was burglarized. The only missing item was a Smith and Wesson.”

  “I get the strangest feeling that there is more?”

  “Absolutely. I have the weapon. It’s been sawed off, which is consistent with the ballist
ics experts.”

  “What! How the hell did you get that?”

  “A source. A confidential source.”