Black Diamond (8 page)

Marc lay in bed recollecting their dance. When it ended, he watched her walk away until the crowd absorbed her. He returned to his table with Jarvis and Darlene and the three of them stayed for another couple of hours shooting the breeze. He danced a few more times, but the other women didn’t hold his attention like Camille had.

Jarvis’ marriage to Darlene made him think about Ebony. They had not shared the same love and respect for one another. But he couldn’t call it a mistake because life was full of choices. However, he knew their relationship was doomed. Sooner or later, it would have ended in divorce. It turned out that it was the former.

His parents tried to warn him about marrying at twenty-one. His bride-to-be was a year younger. Their friends thought they planned to marry because Ebony was pregnant, but that wasn’t the case. They learned she was pregnant after their engagement.

He was excited, although the thought of becoming a father at twenty-one was terrifying. However, Marc planned to stand up to his responsibility and take care of his family. Shortly after marrying, Ebony lost the baby. That difficult time shattered any chance they had for staying together because things went downhill, fast. Time healed his pain, but he still remembered the lies and deceitfulness.
Let it go.

Marc stretched and jumped out of bed. He would call his mother and hang out with her around the house. Camille’s face flashed before his eyes and he considered calling her and asking her to lunch. He stopped before the large window with her on his mind. He liked the thought of having dinner with her, alone.

He could see the sun rising. It was going to be a beautiful day. He walked toward the bathroom and stopped at the small desk to get his phone. He recalled her surprise when he didn’t write her number down. He’d always been good with numbers. In his line of work, it was best not to write too much down since things changed rapidly.

He dialed her number anticipating the sound of her voice. He wondered what she would sound like early in the morning. Imagining her voice laced with sleep caused his mind to envision her asleep in his bed, her ringlets surrounding her head.

Slow down buddy…dinner first and then, who knows
. The pleasure of that thought made a smile dance across his face, but it quickly faded when he heard the recording.

The number you’ve dialed is not in service or is temporarily out of service.

“What the hell?” He pulled the phone from his ear as if imagining the operator’s voice. He dialed the number again. The same message repeated. He sat in the leather chair in front of the desk and walked through the events leading to her dictating her number, sure that he had remembered it correctly. Then there was only one logical conclusion; she had given him the wrong number.

His brow furrowed with that thought. He stood and resolved that maybe it was for the best. If she didn’t want him to have her number why didn’t she just say it. He shook his head with disappointment and stood to take his shower.
Oh, well, her loss.

* * *

Harold and Kathryn Donovan divorced when Saul was nine years old, Camille read. She continued as she took a sip of her coffee. A few lines later, she learned that Kathryn had died from breast cancer two years later. Saul was sent to live with his father. Maybe there was some bad blood between them. She backed up and noticed the divorce was due to infidelity.
Hum.

Camille grabbed the phone and dialed Ashanta’s number. She listened to it ring and flipped through notes about Saul’s issues with a few minor misdemeanors, stealing, arson and assault. He was expelled from several private schools before being sent to a boarding school.

Ashanta’s voicemail answered, so Camille left a message. She began to gather the files and bring order back to her living room. She needed to get out for some fresh air. She placed her coffee mug in the sink when the chime of her cell phone filled her home, she answered on the first ring.

“Hey, girl,” she answered, assuming it was Ashanta.

“Hey,” Derek responded, amused.

“Derek? Hey, what’s up? I wasn’t expecting to hear from you until next week.”

He paused and Camille waited to hear what prompted his call. He rarely called to limit the number showing up in her phone records.

“I have some bad news. Harold’s body was found by his housekeeper this morning.”

Camille froze. “What do you mean by found? As in, he’s dead?” She sank to the couch.

“Yes.” Neither spoke for a moment.

“What does this mean for the case?” Camille asked. She would not claim to have known Harold well, he was no saint, but no one deserved death. Something told her it wasn’t due to natural causes. Harold was active and in great shape for a man his age.

“I could ask you the same thing. I’m ready to move on from this case and they’re pushing us to close. He was our primary suspect and as it stands everything we’ve found could be dismissed as circumstantial evidence and now he’s dead.” She could hear him moving around. “And Camille, they suspect foul play.”

“Who could have done it?” she said more to herself than him, but he answered anyway. She looked around her living room at the scattered files, raking her mind for something that would equate to Harold dying.

“Again, that’s something I need to know from you.”

Camille began to tell him about her suspicions, but she lacked evidence. She told him about the incident between Harold and Saul the night before. She closed by telling him about the relationship between Harold and Ashanta. Ashanta would be devastated.

“Did they leave the club together?”

Camille paused. She didn’t want to answer his question. “Yes,” she said hesitantly. Friendship aside, Camille knew this would make Ashanta a suspect and it would bring in the local authorities. They were now looking at the trafficking charges and possibly murder.

“Camille, I need you to move on this, I need to know…
we
need to know who IJDC’s supplier is or I’ll have to pull you.”

She stood in the middle of her living room, all traces of her hangover gone. Anger surfaced, “You can’t!” She all but yelled in Derek’s ear.

He was a fair man, but he didn’t have patience. He was one of the youngest special agents in charge and the agency watched him like a hawk. A young black man moving through the bureau was still a sight to see. He constantly fought for tenure and rank and she knew that each case was highly scrutinized.

“I can and I
will
if you can’t uncover what is needed.”

Camille placed a hand on the counter and tapped her finger to calm her nerves. She meant no disrespect, but she planned to identify the information needed to close the case.

“You know the number of children that have potentially died because of conflict diamonds. They’re moving millions of dollars in diamonds and you’re willing to let it go just like that?” Camille snapped her finger for emphasis, but she knew if she failed to produce evidence it was all over.

“You have to put some fire under your ass and get this case closed. You are going to have the local authorities in on the case, and if they realize who you are, your identity could be compromised. I’m not willing to bet your life on a hunch.”

Camille began to pace. She knew he was right, but she wouldn’t cry.
Urgh.

Derek continued, “They’ve slipped through the fingers of the authorities for a while. That’s the only reason we’ve allowed you to hang around this long. Get something Camille and get it now or I’ll remove you.”

Camille froze. Two years for nothing.
Nothing
! They’d pull her just like that. She heard him release a sigh that sounded somewhat like a low growl.

“You know I don’t want to do this right?” he asked, but she was unconvinced.

“Yes,” she answered through clinched teeth.

“You have through the end of this week to get me something, anything that shows me that you’re capable of closing this case. To help you I will call in a couple of favors.” This was going from bad to worse.

“I got it,” she said trying to thwart his attempts to bring in another agent.

“No, apparently you don’t. I know you can do this, but I can’t risk it. What if this leak is local? We all know there are some political issues here. How else could they get millions of conflict diamonds past customs? Now, once the local authorities start investigating, you will have to reveal what you know. You’ll be walking around Houston with a bulls-eye on your back. I won’t risk that.”

“Derek, I can do this.” It came out more like a plea.

“I know you can, that’s why you’re there, but I’m going to make some calls. I’ll be in Houston tomorrow morning. Like I said, put some fire under your ass, and get this thing moving. I’ll see you at our usual meeting place in the morning at nine.”

He hung up in her face.
What the hell just happened?
She dialed Ashanta’s number as she rushed to her room to get dressed. She had to talk with Ashanta before homicide detectives got to her.

* * *

Derek hated forcing Camille’s hand, but he had to. He needed information without jeopardizing her safety. He searched his cell phone database and pressed,
Send
.

“Yo, man, it’s Derek. I need to call in a favor.”

Marc sat in the lobby of the Hotel Indigo impatiently tapping his fingers on the table while keeping his eye on the double bay of elevators several feet away. He agreed to meet with Derek, however according to his watch he was running fifteen minutes late.

Marc signaled the waiter for his check as he finished the last of his coffee. He glanced down at the check on the table, shifting forward to remove his wallet from his back pocket. He removed a ten-dollar bill and laid it on the table as he stood to leave when a woman waiting for the elevator captured his attention. He sat back in the chair, resting his elbows on the table. He recognized her face, but he couldn’t place her.

Is that Camille? That couldn’t be her. Could it? What would she be doing here?
The woman was attractive in a simple way. She wore a basic black suit with her hair in a matronly bun.
But her face…

His assessing must have caught her attention because as if sensing something, she too began to scan the room as she entered the elevator. They locked eyes.
Camille?!

Marc rose to his feet and watched the doors close as her eyes flashed with recognition. At a snail’s pace, he lowered himself back into his seat. His ringing cell phone intruded into his thoughts.

“Fulton,” he answered by rote. His thoughts still contemplated what had just occurred. “Man, I’m about to leave. What happened?”

He listened as Derek apologized for keeping him waiting, stating that he held up on a conference call. He asked Marc to meet him in suite 214. Marc agreed, dismissing his crazy infatuation with a woman that apparently enjoyed juvenile games.

* * *

Camille stood outside Derek’s suite wondering if it had been Marc she’d seen in the lobby.
It couldn’t be.
Her weekend went from fun-filled to a tide of stress in a mere day.

Derek opened the door, ending his phone call when Camille entered the suite.

“Good morning. Would you like coffee?” he offered.

“No, thank you,” she declined.

She sat in the chair facing the desk in his makeshift office noticing files that were strewn across it. As usual, Derek stayed in a large suite, which doubled as an office, so he could meet his field agents in the area.

His suit jacket hung on the back of his chair. She could still see the steam rising off his coffee. He sat perched on the end of the desk facing her, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows.

“We’ll get started in a minute. I’m waiting on someone.”

She wanted to ask who, but he picked up a file and began reading. She started to ask a question when she heard a knock at the door and Derek’s cell phone rang.

“Grab that for me,” he asked, turning his back to her. Camille moved towards the door. She looked through the peephole and froze.
What was he doing here?