Everywhere She Turns (33 page)

She dropped to her knees. An electrical outlet had been wired directly into some of the light fixture’s wiring. The red light on the VCR glowed, indicating there was power. Hands trembling, she reached for the eject button. A grinding sound, then nothing.

No tape popped out.

Dammit
. She bent down, pushed back the door on the VCR, and tried to see inside. Black hole, but no tape. The camera had no storage tape or disk.

But the VCR remained powered on.

Someone had gotten here before her.

That had to be the case.

Unless Shelley had had the tape with her the night she was murdered.

But Braddock said they’d never hooked up to follow through on the faked tape for Nash.

It didn’t make sense that the equipment was turned on but there was nothing inside.

No dust on the equipment, which meant it hadn’t been up here long.

Could there be other tapes hidden up here somewhere?

CJ looked around the attic, at all the boxes. Only one way to find out.

She searched the first box, then the next and the next. Old toys. Mostly junk.

As she scooted across the old boards she noticed that wherever she stepped, the dust was, of course, disturbed, leaving an easy-to-follow trail of where she’d been.

Digging the flashlight from her waistband, she scanned the floor carefully. Other trails where the dust had been disturbed jumped out at her. There had definitely been some serious traffic up here.

As she followed each trail of disturbed dust, she found another spot, still over Shelley’s room—the one they had always shared. A perfect square of the wood floor, approximately twelve by fifteen inches, was relatively dust free. A small hole, this one about the size of a dime, was nearby.

Had Shelley changed the placement of the equipment?

CJ moved back to the VCR and camera she’d found beneath the box. The hole for the camera was so close to the light fixture it wouldn’t be easy to see from below. The camera was one of the high-tech kinds, a long snakelike projectile that would
curl or twist into most any position. Similar to the kind used for performing exploratory surgery.

Wait
. CJ stared at the small hole.
Wait. Wait
. This wasn’t the hole she’d seen from the bedroom. The one she’d noticed was the other one. Her gaze shifted to the second place, where she’d estimated that maybe Shelley had first set up the equipment.

But there was no electrical access there.

CJ looked around the attic again. An outlet had been installed on one of the rafters. She made her way to the outlet. New. Much newer than the ones in the house.

Why hadn’t Shelley used an extension cord to access this spot? Why go to the trouble to tie one into the light fixture’s hot wire? Then she got it. The VCR and camera had been hidden beneath a box. An extension cord running to the overhead outlet would have given away what was hidden under the box.

What had her sister been up to? Had she been making videos and blackmailing her johns, those who were married or held prestigious positions in the community? Those who would do anything to prevent being exposed?

What the hell were you doing, Shelley?

1407 Dubose, 3:30
PM

CJ parked her car in front of Tyrone’s house and got out. She was covered in soot and dust. Her clothes were wringing wet with sweat.

But she’d found a tape in one of the boxes.

“Dr. Patterson?”

She glanced back at the car that had pulled up behind hers. Jenkins was climbing out.

She wheeled on him. “You listen to me, Detective,” she snarled, surprised herself with the ferocity. “This won’t take long. You stay in your fucking car, do you understand me? If I need you, you’ll hear me scream.”

He blinked. “Ah . . . okay. Yes, ma’am.” He climbed back into his car.

CJ turned back to Tyrone’s house. Took a breath and pushed
the hair out of her face as she hustled up the sidewalk. Like her clothes, her ponytail had wilted. But she didn’t care how she looked or how she smelled.

“Better turn your nasty ass right back around,” one of Tyrone’s goons advised. He lounged in a generic plastic chair on the end of the porch where the overgrown trees provided the most shade.

“I need to see Tyrone,” she said, not slowing down. She stopped on the porch and glared at the man. “Now.”

He pushed out of his chair and started in her direction. “You think he ain’t got nothing better to do than sit round here waiting on you to pay him a visit?”

“Actually”—she folded her arms over her chest since he appeared to prefer staring at her breasts—“I don’t care. Tell him I’m here.”

“Who the fuck you think you are, bitch?” He halted two paces away. Glared down at her.

Fear tap-danced up her spine. “The bitch who has what he wants.” That her voice remained steady startled her.

He stared at her, apparently searching that fat head of his for some sort of comeback.

Rap music blasted the air. The goon reached for the cell phone clipped to his waist. “Yo.”

CJ resisted the impulse to make a go for the door. She didn’t have her pepper spray and this guy was big.

He closed the phone without further conversation and sent her another of those lethal glares. “The King says you can come in.”

Deep breath.
Be calm
.

She paused, one hand on the door.

No.

Not calm.

She squeezed her eyes shut, summoned the necessary attitude, then gave the doorknob a twist. She stamped inside and searched the living from for the man she’d come to see.

Where the hell was he?

“I thought we was done talking, Doc.”

She turned in time to watch him descend the stairs.

He took the final step. “Maybe you didn’t get the message the first or the second time.” He stared straight into her eyes with his bottomless dark pits. “Do I need to send it again?”

The blood on the bedroom wall . . . on the sheets . . . the bruises on poor Celeste’s slim body floated in front of her eyes. “I got the message, Tyrone.” She reached for all the anger, all the fury she could muster. This son of a bitch might have killed her sister and Celeste. He’d killed others . . . mistreated all within his realm of power.

She hated him.

Wished that the knife she’d wielded all those years ago had hit its mark—his no-good throat instead of his face.

“I have an offer for you.” Fear tried to usurp her bravado. She tamped it back. “One I don’t think you’ll be able to refuse.”

He reared his head back and laughed. “You stupid bitch.” He shook his head. “What the hell you think you got that I’d be interested in? It sure ain’t that frigid pussy.”

Contempt so strong that she could scarcely speak coursed through her. She thought of what Lusk and Carter had done to Shelley. They would pay, too. But first Tyrone would get his. “That makes it easier, doesn’t it?”

His own contempt for her flared in those evil eyes. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“You couldn’t have me then, you know damned well you can’t now. So you pretend you don’t want me. Makes it easier.”

He rushed into her personal space. “You listen to me, CJ Patterson.” He put his nose tip to tip with hers. “I will cut that sharp tongue outta your mouth if you keep getting in my shit. They like doctors who can’t talk up there in Baltimore?”

Fear thumped against her chest walls.
Don’t let him see it! Stay strong. Pissed off! This motherfucker abused and murdered women!
“I guess you don’t want to know what I have to offer.”

He drew back just far enough to look her up and down. “Speak. Fast. You smellin’ up my house.”

Here goes. “I will gladly bury my sister and go back to Baltimore. On one condition.”

He snickered. “Ho, you ain’t got no leverage here. Don’t be telling me you got
one
condition. I don’t give a flying fuck what you got.”

“You tell me,” she pressed on, “who killed my sister. And I’ll give you what my sister made for you.”

Those evil eyes narrowed. “What the fuck you talking ’bout?”

“You had a deal with Shelley. There was something you wanted her to
make
for you.”

Anticipation flickered in his eyes, but he held it at bay, kept the suspicion firmly rooted. “You gonna have to be more specific before this goes any further.”

“It’s like a movie,” she offered. “You know, a videotape.”

He shook his head. “Uh-uh. You ain’t got no shit like that.”

“I found the video equipment in the attic,” she argued. “The tape was missing from the VCR, but there were lots of boxes up there. I just started looking, and what do you know. My worst nightmares all on one vile tape.”

Still suspicious, he ventured, “What kind of nightmares?”

“That’s for me to know and you to find out.” She lifted her chin and called upon every ounce of fury she could dredge up. “Suffice it to say that Braddock is going down for this. He will not get away with what he did to my sister. He used her.” She leaned toward Tyrone. “That bastard did things to her . . .” She shuddered. “There were other girls, too. It’s sick. He’s just like all the other cops around here. And I’m going to see that he goes to jail.”

“No. No. No, chickee.” Tyrone held his hands palms out and waved them back and forth. “You don’t want to do that. You know they’ll just cover that shit up. You let me take care of Braddock.” He pushed back his shoulders and puffed out his chest. “Why you think I had Shelley working on him? I knew what he was; I just needed evidence.”

“I don’t think so.” She shook her head. “I want him to go to jail. What could you do with the tape?”

Tyrone smirked. “I could make him pay in ways you can’t even imagine.”

“Whatever.” Anticipation had her nerves jangling. “You tell
me who killed my sister and we’ll make a trade. I give you the tape and then you can do whatever you want to Braddock.”

“Doesn’t work that way.” He walked over to the coffee table, got a cigarette from the pack lying there, and lit it. “You show me a preview of what you got, I’ll give you the name. No negotiations.” He blew out a plume of nasty smoke.

Don’t let him see any hesitation. Counter him! Think!
“Fine. But I have to warn you, those girls spent a lot of time talking about you while they were doing Braddock.”

His eyes narrowed again as he moved back to where she stood. “What kind of talk?”

CJ shrugged. “Oh, nothing that would interest anyone but the police.”

He shoved his face in hers. “What fucking kind of talk?”

“The names of people you’ve had murdered. The reasons you had them murdered.”
What else? What else?
“Dates, locations. You know, stuff like that.”

He searched her eyes, looking for the lie.

“So, do we have a deal or what?”

“How ’bout you show me the tape right now?” He reached for her.

She stepped back.
Shit!
“Do you think I’m stupid? I didn’t bring the tape with me. I pick the place where the trade goes down.”

He still wasn’t completely convinced. “As long as it’s neutral territory.”

Relief burned in her chest. “Fine.” She moistened her lips, needed water badly. Her throat was utterly parched and full of coal dust. “How about—”

“I pick the time,” he countered.

“All right, all right. My house.”

He made that annoying sound that indicated a wrong answer on game shows. “Neutral territory. That ain’t neutral.”

Well, she’d tried. “The village clinic. It won’t be open again until Wednesday. I have access to a key.” Not that she would need it. She wouldn’t help Lusk or Carter again if her life depended upon it, but she would get the key back from Lusk for this.

Then again, she hadn’t been helping them. She’d been helping herself and the people of this village.

“Tomorrow morning, ten sharp,” he told her. “After all them Jesus-loving niggers get out of their houses and off to the church of their choice.”

Would that give her time to pull together a plan? She had to talk to Braddock first.
Damn! Say something!
“Okay, but . . . you . . . you bring proof,” she said, only just thinking of that. “Otherwise you could just toss out some random name. I want proof that the person you say killed her actually did it.”

He laughed. “You learning, Doc. You always got to hedge your bets.” All signs of amusement vanished and he pointed a deadly glare at her. “But you better not be fucking with me.”

She started to go, but hesitated. “What if it’s you?”

He made a face like he didn’t understand what she meant.

“What if you’re the one who killed her?”

Tension thickened in the room. He didn’t move. Didn’t toss out one of those witty remarks right away.

“Then you better call your preacher, Doc.”

“Why is that?”

“ ’Cause you dead, baby.” Their gazes locked. “I have to kill you then.”