Buying Time (33 page)

“Angela had broken up with him and he couldn’t handle it. He attacked her in her office and—”

“When?”

“A week ago.”

“Did she report it?”

“No?”

“Why not?”

He spread his hands, palms up. “He’s a judge. She was concerned about messin’ up his career.”

“They break up because of you?”

“No.”

“How’d you happen to come to her rescue?”

“After I found out he put his hands on her, I thought he might try something again, so I started followin’ her. Watchin’ out for her.”

“Sounds like a pretty convenient plan to get the guy out of the way, if you ask me,” said Detective Tao.

Dre wanted to pound the table, as well as the two detectives. “Why don’t you stop wastin’ my time and yours?”

“Was that your gun?” Detective Davis asked.

They were definitely messing with him now. They’d probably already run the serial number. “I’m an ex-con. I’m not allowed to carry a gun.”

“Whose was it?”

Dre assumed it belonged to Angela’s sister, but he wasn’t giving up any info. “Don’t know.”

They peppered him with a few more questions, then abruptly walked out. They came back twenty minutes later and told him he could leave. For now. Dre concluded that his story must have matched Angela’s.

He stood up. “Where can I find Angela?”

“She left,” Detective Tao informed him. “Her sister picked her up thirty minutes ago.”

A look of surprise blanketed Dre’s face. He saved her life
and
took a rap for her and she left him hangin’ without even a thank you?

“Guess you weren’t as close as you thought, huh?” Detective Davis taunted. “You need bus fare?”

B
ecker was not used to having people disrespect him, but Erickson’s stepdaughter was a piece of work. Thank God he didn’t have a kid like her. This was all Claire’s fault. Loyalty was the first trait you taught your kids. Ashley had zilch.

Earlier that day, he had contacted Ashley by phone to ask if she might have some time to talk.  She called him Erickson’s lackey and hung up in his face.
Did she know who he was?

He called back an hour later and she hung up as soon as she’d heard his voice. Now he had to get ugly, which was always tricky with a woman. They were emotional by nature, so you could never predict how they might respond.

Becker parked his Range Rover near Ashley’s apartment building and waited for her to arrive home. He didn’t have time for this crap, but this wasn’t a job he could trust to anybody else. He finally saw Ashley pull up in her Hyundai and start looking for a parking space. Ashley circled the block, then parked at the far end of the street, several cars behind him.

As she climbed out of her car carrying two shopping bags, Becker gazed at her in his rearview mirror. She wasn’t much to look at and he couldn’t remember seeing her crack a smile even once. Claire should’ve gotten the girl some braces. That would have helped tremendously. According to Erickson, she’d never even had a date. Becker shook his head. Still a virgin at twenty-four. That alone probably accounted for most of her hostility.

Becker actually understood why Ashley despised her stepfather so much. He never would have shipped off one of his kids to some boarding school to be raised by strangers. Becker existed for his wife and kids. Sometimes, he just enjoyed watching his children at play, awed by the young lives that he had produced in his own image.

Some of his law partners thought he was insane for having so many kids, but Becker prided himself on his reproductive skills. He had wisely chosen a wife who not only felt the same way, but had the genes to match. He couldn’t have put up with all that fertility testing crap some of his colleagues had to endure. He could look at Staci and she would end up pregnant. Real men could do that.

Just as Ashley walked past his SUV, Becker quietly opened the door. He had to be careful about how he approached her. Their conversation would be short and to the point. She was about thirty feet from the entrance to her building when he called out to her.

“Hello, Ashley,” Becker said pleasantly. “I need a few minutes of your time.”

She jerked around, startled by his presence. He walked up to her, stopping with only a couple yards between them.

“Get away from me or I’ll scream.” She took two steps backward as Becker moved closer.

Becker spread his hands. “Go for it. I’m not doing anything to you and anybody who hears you scream will be able to testify to that. Everybody thinks you’re nuts anyway. That will confirm it.”

She looked around as if to gauge how safe she was. The street was lined with cars, but there was no one else in sight.

“There’s something I need you to know,” Becker said. “You’re not going to get away with defaming Larry. I want you to stop spreading your lies.”

Her eyes spewed hatred, and Becker actually felt the loathing Erickson had been forced to endure.

“Get away from me! You’re just Larry’s paid gopher. Did he send you over here to threaten me?”

“He has no idea I’m here. This is all my doing. I’m not about to let my friend go down for a murder he didn’t commit. If you weren’t family, he would’ve already sued you for defamation.”

“He’s not my family,” she hissed.

“Just back off, okay?”

Ashley laughed. “He murders my mother and then sends you over here to threaten me. Both of you are incredible. You’re wasting your time. You don’t scare me.”

Becker could see that he didn’t. She was a pretty feisty young woman.

“Did you know that the police think that broker who sold your mother’s insurance policy may have had something to do with her death?”

“Larry killed my mother. You know it and I know it. That broker is just a convenient diversion.”

After receiving the news about Claire’s autopsy, Becker was still wrestling with the possibility that Ashley could be right.

“And just so you know,” Ashley continued, “my next call is going to be to the
Washington Post
.” She repositioned her grocery bags and stood toe-to-toe with him, as if daring him to touch her. He admired her moxie.

The standoff lasted a few more seconds, then Ashley turned on her heels and proceed to her apartment.

Becker felt a rush of intense satisfaction. The trip had gone extremely well. He knew that Ashley would do exactly what he asked her
not
to do and that was precisely the point of his trip. He hoped she did call the
Washington Post
. Her wild allegations on the front page of a national newspaper would prompt the White House to ask for Erickson’s immediate resignation.

Erickson had screwed him out of the chairmanship of the firm and apparently double-crossed him in their plot to dispose of Claire. Becker was now determined to ruin him professionally. The best part of it all was that he didn’t have to do a thing except sit back and let Ashley run amuck.

Becker was about to climb back into his SUV when a thought hit him, stopping him cold. He stood stock-still, letting the idea percolate.

Ashley despised her stepfather and wanted to destroy him. Ashley discovered her mother’s dead body. Ashley canceled the cremation and demanded an autopsy. Ashley had motive, means and opportunity. It made complete sense. Erickson had not killed Claire. Ashley killed her mother and was setting up Erickson to take the fall.

Becker actually smiled. The clever little cunt!

W
averly and Britney managed to sneak down an alley in the back of her apartment without being spotted by the growing crowd of cops out front on Springpark Avenue. Waverly had parked a block away on Fairview, only because he couldn’t find a closer spot. Now he was glad.

“We going to your house?” Britney asked, once they were seated inside his Lexus.

“No. It’s not safe there.” Waverly turned right onto La Cienega, not exactly sure where they were going.

“I guess we’re on the run, huh?” Britney said.

Waverly turned and gave her a look. “This isn’t some game.”

Britney hunched her shoulders. “I’m just trying to keep the mood light, okay?”

Waverly kept his focus on the road.

“You have any decent music?” She leaned forward, popped open the glove compartment and rifled through it. “Where do you keep your CDs? You do have some, don’t you?”

Waverly needed silence to think clearly. He wanted to tell her to shut up, but didn’t want to hurt her feelings.

Britney spotted a compartment between the seats and opened it. She grabbed a stack of CDs and started flipping through them. “Yep, should’ve guessed it. Nothing but old school R&B. You’re very predictable.”

“Do you remember what I told you back at your place?” Waverly asked.

Britney nodded.

“Then what do you have to be so happy about? Someone is definitely trying to kill me and maybe you, too.”

“Actually, I’m trying
not
to think about it.” He noticed her knee bouncing up and down, which told him that maybe she really was rattled by everything that had happened.

Britney slipped in
The
Best of Al Green
into the CD player and pulled a pack of gum from her purse. “Want some?”

“No, thanks.”

“Have you figured out where we’re going yet?”

“Yeah. You got a credit card?”

“I have several,” Britney said with pride.

“We’re going to the Marriott near the airport on Century. I need you to check in. For all I know, the police are looking for me. I can’t risk using my credit cards. I’ll make sure you get your money back. We just need a place to hide out until I can figure something out.”

She lifted her eyebrows seductively and puckered her lips. “The Marriott, huh? One room or two?”

“One,” Waverly said. “With double beds.”

She feigned disappointment. “Does your wife know we’re spending the night together?”

“I never said anything about spending the night together. I just need a place to chill for a minute. As soon as I put a plan together, we’re splitting up. Is there someplace I can take you where you’ll be safe?”

“The safest place for me to be is with you.” She reached over and placed a hand on his thigh. “I think you could use my company. You seem a little tense.”

This was a distraction he didn’t need. “Cut it out.”

Britney smiled at him. “Say that like you mean it.”

Waverly grabbed her hand and tossed it back into her lap.

She smiled, then winked. “No big deal. We can finish up another time. When you’re not busy driving.”

Less than twenty minutes later, they pulled into the driveway of the Marriott and valet parked. As Britney registered, Waverly lingered in the lobby, scanning the place to ensure they weren’t being watched. Once Britney had checked in, he met her at the elevators.

“We’re on four,” she said, pushing the elevator button. “Unfortunately, they were out of rooms with double beds, so we’re stuck with a king. Something about a big convention in town.” She gave him another wink as the elevator doors opened. They exited on the fourth floor and Waverly followed her down the hallway and into their room. He immediately locked the door, then fell onto the bed, exhausted.

Britney checked out the room, then started opening the drawers of the cabinet that held the TV. “I can’t believe they don’t even have a minibar. I’m calling room service. I need a drink.”

“No alcohol,” Waverly said. “We both need a clear head.”

“Party pooper.” She grabbed the TV remote and started channel surfing.

“Wait!” Waverly shot off the bed. “Go back to that last station.”

“What?”

“That newscaster just said the name of that prosecutor who’s after me. Go back. Hurry up!”

Britney switched back and they both zeroed in on the television screen.

“That’s my apartment building!” Britney said, pointing.

A reporter live at the scene was recapping the shooting of Superior Court Judge Cornell Waters, III. A picture of Angela Evans and a mug shot of a man identified as Andre Thomas, filled the screen. When the report ended, Britney turned to Waverly, wide-eyed.

“That’s the shooting I was telling you about! But that’s not how it went down.”

“What do you mean?”

“That prosecutor was the woman I saw pointing the gun at that judge. That other guy wasn’t even there.”

“Are you sure?”

“Hell yeah.”

Waverly was trying to make sense of what Britney was saying.

“I’m telling you,” Britney insisted, “that reporter got it wrong. That guy didn’t shoot that judge. That lady attorney shot him.”

S
till woozy from the sleeping pills her sister had forced her to take, Angela sat up in bed, startled by the unfamiliar surroundings. Distress set in and it took several seconds for her to realize that she was in her sister’s apartment, in her sister’s bed.

“You okay?”

Jada stood at the foot of the bed, her face heavy with worry.

Angela shut her eyes as the events of the previous night slowly flooded back to her. “What time is it?”

“Close to two.”

“In the afternoon?”

Jada nodded.

“Please tell me I just had a very bad dream and that Cornell isn’t dead.”

Jada sat down next to her on the bed. “No,” she said, “you weren’t dreaming.”

Angela started shivering and Jada wrapped her arms around her. “It’s okay, Angela. It’s going to be okay.”

“No, it’s not,” she cried. “I can’t believe it. I killed Cornell.”

Jada pulled away. “What? You didn’t kill Cornell. Dre shot Cornell. And, anyway, it was self-defense.”

“That’s not how it happened. I did it.”

“According to the news reports, Dre told the police that he fired the gun.”

Angela was sobbing uncontrollably now. “He’s just trying to protect me. I can’t let him do that.”

“Do you understand what you’re saying?” Jada asked in alarm.

“I’m telling you, Dre didn’t shoot Cornell. I did.”

Angela stood up, but felt lightheaded. She tried to take a step but tripped over her own feet. Jada rushed to catch her.