Murder in Germantown Page 24

  Aramis called the 35th police district and got the detective on the line.

  “Callaghan, Aramis Reed, Philadelphia Inquirer. Remember me?”

  “Yes, I received your package.”

  Aramis cut him off, “Careful, pal. I’m recording.”

  “For what? You can’t print this,” he said coarsely.

  “I can. I am. Care to comment?”

  “You can’t be. You do not have shit.”

  “I am running a story in the morning paper. You should be grateful that I missed the late edition deadline. The 3,500-word piece details a conspiracy storm blowing through LaSalle University. I have painted the details as sketchy, but the fact that a missing student’s mother owns the rifle used in the Hope Circle murders seems pretty solid. You found no gun powder on James. He has a concrete alibi and the PPD has not pursued a second perp considering you know for a fact that two different weapons were used.”

  “And James used them both. We’ve confirmed...”

  “I’m taping, Callaghan.”

  “Fine. There’s no proof that this weapon you’ve come across matches the slug found in the victims. More importantly, James could’ve shot the weapons.”

  “Not likely. See a leaky faucet dripped a little note to the press that a defense investigator found shell casings at the neighbors. Let’s suppose the casings match my rifle. Then how could James kill one person and then run across the street through a house to the balcony, grab a rifle and shoot two more victims?”

  Aramis already knew the answer. He knew that the weapons matched because he paid handsomely to have the ballistics tests done hastily.

  “Lemmelle’s a magical guy.”

  “He is, but there is no magic here. If the casings match, do you let James go?”

  “No, we have our own intelligence.”

  “Okay. Tell me your side, because the defense is making a strong play with the jury pool.”

  “Good for them. I have no comment. Thanks. You’ve given me a little to relish.”

  Callaghan was extremely sarcastic.

  “Glad to help you fight crime.” Aramis hung up.

  “He’s pissed,” Rhonesia said.

  “I just have one quote out of all that to add to the article.”

  The room telephone rang. It was none other than...

  ...“Cynthia Thomas,” Aramis said with mock enthusiasm. “What a pleasant surprise. Funny, I was just about to call you. What do I owe the honor of having you call me, though?”

  “I do not like late calls from my detectives informing me that investigative reporters are purposing printing hogwash and threatening to pollute the jury voir dire. Sounds like obstruction to me. What do you think, Mr. Reed?”

  “I think I have a copy of a memo from the coroner who performed the autopsies, which proves that two weapons were used. Are you pursuing two suspects? I’m recording, too, ma’am.”

  “No. We have Wydell James,” the prosecutor said.

  She did not add that, as a shooting guard, Wydell was ambidextrous and it’s probable that he used both weapons.

  “No, you don’t.”

  “You’re an ass,” she said.

  “Any other quotes?” Aramis asked and smiled at Rhonesia.

  Rhonesia chuckled.

  “You very casually waited until this time of night. You knew I’d have no way to stop you.”

  “Yes, ma’am. I did. Aren’t I genius?”

  “You people are...”

  “I’m still recording, so be nice. Or your photo will be on the first page under the caption: ADA THOMAS SUFFERS FROM FOOT IN MOUTH DISEASE.

  “Inform the editor that I’ll be filing a law suit at eight sharp.”

  “Will do,” he told her and hung up. Aramis then asked Rhonesia, “Think LaSalle will let you change majors in the middle of the senior semester?”

  He was smiling.

  “I wouldn’t miss this drama for a trip around the world, which I really wanna do.” Rhonesia smiled, showing off her perfect teeth. “So which part do we print? I really liked the ‘you’re an ass’ part.”

  Aramis laughed and told her, “None of that is useful. I’ll get her for that by exploiting her every chance I get. I’ve, well, we have ruined her night, week, and month.”

  “I know she despises you and when she sees my name in the byline, she’ll be looking for me with a gun.”

  “Probably the gun used in the Hope Circle murders.”

  SATURDAY, JANUARY 13, 2007

  CHAPTER 76

  The morning light spread across Aramis and awoke him. He was on his sofa. Rhonesia was spread across the sofa, too, and her pretty feet rested on his lap. He touched her ankles intimately and moved her legs so that he could stand. Her eyes opened and blinked as she stared around the living room. They looked at each other.

  “Good morning, sunshine,” he said and stood up.

  “Good morning, blue skies,” she replied softly.

  Her mind raced, trying to figure out how she looked at that moment. She had planned to wake up before him and sneak off to the bathroom to freshen up her breath and such, but he had foiled that plan. Aramis had a mirror over his sofa. She used it to cleanse the little cold from her eyes, smoothed out her hair and popped Dentyne into her mouth. When she heard the bathroom door open, she quickly lay back down.

  “Rhonesia,” Aramis called out delicately. “The bathroom is down the hall to the right. I put some things on the side of the sink for you.”

  “Thanks,” she said and drifted to the bathroom. He admired her flawless skin as he walked to the kitchen to brew a pot of coffee. He picked up his phone to call Ravonne.

  Rhonesia found the bathroom and saw a cute little pink terry cloth towel on the edge of a marble sink. On top of the towel was a travel-sized toothbrush, mouthwash and toothpaste. She ran the sink water and rinsed her face. She had the water low, and heard Aramis on the telephone in his bedroom.

  “I’m telling you Ravonne, she’s not that kind of girl. It was professionally romantic...Sure there is such a thing...We’re not co-workers. I am a reporter and she is a 23-year-old college student...What the hell, man, she told me her age in conversation. I’m not going to hurt the girl, man, damn!...Look father, can you get me a reservation at Twenty21...Yes, she’s worth it, dammit...You’re worse than my foster parents...No we did not have sex, father. I have to go, just make the reservation.”

  Aramis heard the bathroom door open, and he immediately changed the topic. “You should have heard Cynthia beg me to hold off on the article. Call me after you’re done with the fam and your Wydell visit.”

  He hung up.

  Rhonesia sat in the director’s chair in front of the kitchen reading the article in the actual paper. She told him, “You didn’t have to lie to your best friend, Aramis. I hope he knows that I am not an easy lay. Sure I am a woman with needs, but I am not a queen.”

  Aramis pushed a mug of coffee in her direction. “I know. Just did not want him to get the wrong image of you. I have been a bachelor for a while. The world is 90% image and 10% wealth, you know?”

  “I do. A philosopher, you are, huh?”

  “I know a little.”

  “Did you know that Africans spawned philosophy?”

  “I do, and the Greeks stole it.”

  “You learned something at Harvard, I see,” she said with a sarcastic grin.

  “I did my undergrad at Clark Atlanta,while Ravonne was at Georgetown.”

  “Partyville.”

  “A lot of party, but I did learn.”

  “A few of my girlfriends had gone down there, but got over all of the partying and stepping. One said that they had charter buses to go to clubs and had step practice at midnight so that the competition could not see them. How do you make an eight a.m. class when you’re up until two, three in the a.m. practicing?”

  “I did it and I studied. Black schools have a bad party rap, but the Ivy Leagues have drinking reps and high shooting ratings. Keg parties ev
ery day.”

  They fell silent.

  Just pure admiration of each other.

  The two of them sipped coffee re-reading the words that they had written. He had had enough stories in print. None of them on the front page. His Wydell James article had brought excitement and a little danger. He would need to mind his P’s and Q’s because ADA Cynthia Thomas and Detective Callaghan would be watching. They stared at each other and then back at the photos of the DA and detective under the bigger picture of Wydell. They both fell into laughter.

  * * *

  At noon Rhonesia and Aramis sat on his sofa with a box of donuts. The local networks had aired the details of the article as their lead stories. They bounced back and forth between the DA office, the 35th district, and CFCF. Neither, Thomas nor Callaghan had comments. However, Ravonne was mobbed as he tried to get into his car. Ravonne told the press that he would dig deeper into the allegations presented in the article, he would see to Wydell’s release, and move to have Thomas and/or Callaghan investigated and reprimanded if the article was true.

  “How did the press find him at the jail?” Rhonesia asked, as the news casters moved on to the weather. “I know that he is pissed that he can’t even enjoy a day out because the press is hounding him, and he does not want to subject his son to that mess.”

  Aramis looked at her slyly. “I have no idea how he does it, but trust that he knew this was coming. He’s a great actor.”

  “This is too much fun,” she confessed. “What will you cover next?”

  “Whatever Thomas and Callaghan eventually says. They have to hold a press conference to tell the taxpayers something.”

  “Yeah, I suppose so,” she said. She then added, “I think that I better get back to my dorm. I forgot my cell phone in your car on purpose. Didn’t want to be bothered. My roommate is probably going crazy with worry.”

  He chuckled. “Let’s get you home before I get a kidnapping.”

  “Thomas and Callaghan would fry you.”

  He picked up his wallet and keys. “So can we hang out again? Or is this the end of the road?”

  They walked out of the door and she replied, “Sure we can hang.”

  To him it sounded like she was talking to a pal. “How about dinner? Sunday. A nice restaurant downtown. It’ll be nice to see you in a gorgeous dress and pumps.”

  “Something formal you mean? There’s more than jeans and sweatshirts in my closet.”

  He backed out of the parking lot and told her, “I was treading lightly because I know that you are not your average woman.”

  “I appreciate that. But it appears that you’re coming on to me. I think you’re being a little presumptuous by assuming that I am interested in you, Mr. Aramis Reed.”

  The way that she sang his name turned him on. “Well...” he said stammering. She had caught him off guard. He had not been introduced to rejection. Aramis Reed got what he wanted.

  Always.

  “I am,” she said smiling and getting him back on track. “You looked deflated,” she said laughing. “What time should I be ready tomorrow?”

  “I’ll let you know. I’ll call you later,” he replied and pulled out of the parking lot.

  “Oh sure, anything to get me on the phone.”

  He chuckled, “Maybe.”

  He loved her confidence. An attractive woman who knew her worth.

  “Highly likely.”

  What he should have been paying closer attention to was Mr. 357 tailing him in a non-descript station wagon.

  CHAPTER 77

  Wydell sat in front of me with an irritated expression on his face. I really wanted to know what the hell he was perturbed about. After all, he simply had to sit in prison a week, while I wreaked my brain coaching a team to assure his release. He was before me with a long face, as opposed to a smile. Ungrateful ass.

  “What’s up with the dog face?” I asked. “Haven’t you heard the good news?”

  “I saw the news and read the paper, but Shannon just told me some stupid shit on the phone.”

  “Okay, you can get out Tuesday after the hearing and deal with her.”

  “No, I can’t,” he said and hung his head low. “Shit is fucked up!”

  “Wydell, what the fuck is up with you?” I was more irritated now.

  “Man, she told me that the cops found shells in my room and drugs.”

  “What room?”

  “My dorm room.”

  “Why would you leave that shit there and not tell her to get it when you were arrested. You should have had someone clean that shit out!”

  Yes, I just coerced him to commit a crime. What the hell was I thinking?

  “It’s not mine, crazy damn man,” he yelled and jumped to his feet. “I do not fucking sell drugs, Ray-Ray. I hate drug dealers. Somebody planted that shit.”

  Damn. Now that was a performance. Either he was very innocent or belonged on Broadway. If the drugs weren’t his, who planted them? And why did the police just all of a sudden trot into his room a week after his arrest?

  “Wydell have a seat.”

  I was cautious. Had I not known him, I would probably have been on guard with him walking around like a tiger trapped in a cage for the first time.

  “Do not fucking tell me to have a seat, Ray-Ray. For the past week, I have had a bunch of overpaid high school grads and former welfare recipients forced to work tell me what to fucking do. I paid you to work for me. I tell you what to do.”

  Was he kidding me? No one told me, Ravonne Lemmelle, what to do. Especially not my clients.

  “I understand that you’re upset, but we are on stage. Look at the clowns in guard suits out there looking at us. Sit the fuck down, now!”

  He looked at me with his fists balled tightly. Had I been a public defender, he may have rushed me. Instead, he stood there and clasped his hands together and slammed them hard on the table. The windows to the room looked out at the other inmates having personal visits. They now seemed more intrigued by what was going down in legal interview room number one than their own visits.

  Officer Lynch tapped on the door, and I signaled for him to come in. He asked was everything okay, and I gave in a nonchalant thumbs up that would have pissed me off. CO’s was right up there on my list of people that I disliked for no reason. Lynch looked at me strangely, gave me a tough stare and then told Wydell to have a seat or his official visit would be terminated. He then left as if nothing else needed to be said.

  Wydell dropped into the chair and threw his palms over his face. He was becoming increasingly angry that he was being bullied and could not defend himself.

  Wydell said, “Somebody is trying to kill my thunder, Ray-Ray. I do not deserve this. I am a good man trying to do all the right things. What the fuck is going on here? Why am I the scapegoat? Why man?”

  “Whoever it is lives on that campus. You have to have an idea who the culprit may be. Any idea?”

  “I don’t,” he confirmed. “If I knew, I’d be all over they ass.”

  “Speaking of ass, any females that you didn’t fuck on campus?”

  “What?”

  “It’s well settled that you’re a man whore.”

  “Come on, Ray-Ray. We’re talking about a college campus. A majority-white, female student body who were trapped in their sterile homes and now free and dying to get some dick. I happen to supply dick. But that’s no reason to frame me to a life or death sentence.”

  “Any of them get told no?”

  “Absolutely not. I don’t turn down pussy.”

  “Ever get into it with a female. I mean a fight.”

  “Nah, Ray-Ray. My shit was discreet and I kept my mouth shut.”

  “What does Shannon think about this dick slinging?”

  “She didn’t know. She did catch me once, which is the reason that we left the party and the campus the night of the shooting. Everyone saw the fight. I was embarrassed.”

  “One of the shooters was a female. Got any idea who that might b
e?”

  “Hell no. You sure it was a bitch. I mean, that’s crazy. Why would a girl kill them? Or want to frame me?”

  “Beats me. I do know that if the Barclay kid was involved, he was with a female accomplice, or he wears a man’s size seven. Just an angle. Nothing puts the smoking gun in his hand.”