Everywhere She Turns (38 page)

“Really?” Cooper countered. “And yet you just stated that you ordered Shelley to have an abortion. You don’t feel that to terminate a pregnancy is taking a life?”

“Detective Cooper,” Parker charged, “this is not a debate about Dr. Cost’s stand on the issue of abortion. Your question is irrelevant.”

“I’ll answer the question,” Cost countered. His attorney sent him a look that let him know she wasn’t pleased. “An abortion is a medical procedure decided upon by a woman who has the right to exercise her civil rights, Detective Cooper. That’s not murder in my opinion.”

“What about,” Cooper returned, “the medical procedure that killed Juanita Lusk? Would that, in your opinion, be murder?” She pulled an eight-by-ten photo from the file in front of her and tossed it at Cost. “What would you call that? A hysterectomy? That one was performed while she was still alive.”

“Oh, my God.” Cost covered his face with his hands. “I didn’t do this.” He dropped his hands away. “I didn’t do any of
this. You have to believe me. All I did was ask her to meet me at the clinic at midnight so we could talk. I couldn’t have—”

“Why don’t you tell us where you were last evening after eight
PM
?”

Cost looked to his attorney. She nodded. Cost turned to Braddock. “Between eight and midnight I was at home walking the floors, trying to figure out how I was going to fix all this. Suzi and I had several discussions on my home phone.”

“That’s correct,” the attorney confirmed. “We spoke four different times, each time on the landline at his home. I recommended that my client attempt to provide Ms. Lusk with a monetary gift for her son’s future as a way of putting this painful business to bed. I further advised my client to do the same with Dr. Patterson, in hopes of avoiding legal action.”

“Shortly before midnight I drove to the clinic to meet Lusk,” Cost continued. “We were going to have it out. She claimed to have something more I needed to see before I started laying all the blame on her. When I got there, the rear entrance was open and I found . . . her.” He let go a big breath. “I was terrified. I ran. Later, I hired three . . . prostitutes to help me get my mind off what I’d seen and Nash’s relentless demands. They were with me the rest of the night. I can give you their names.”

“How convenient,” Cooper offered. “And how much did you pay them, Dr. Cost?”

“Five hundred dollars each, for the night.”

“That’s a lot of money to a hooker,” Braddock commented. “Enough to ensure they said whatever you needed them to.”

“Braddock,” Parker warned, “the three women were still with Dr. Cost when two HPD officers busted into his home and dragged him out of bed. I would think that confirms his statement.”

“That still doesn’t put him in the clear,” Cooper argued. “He admits to being at the scene. Evidence confirms it. We know he had motive for wanting Shelley out of the way and for revenge on Lusk. The bottom line is, we’ve got him. I’m reasonably sure a jury would see things our way, given the evidence and his own statement of motive.”

Cost swallowed hard. “Give me a polygraph. I’m telling the truth.”

“Have you seen this video Nash claims to have?” Braddock asked, moving on.

Cost shook his head. “No, but he repeated a number of phrases I distinctly recalled saying to Shelley, so I’m sure it exists.”

“You want us to believe you’re innocent,” Cooper suggested. “If that’s true, an innocent man would be more than happy to help the police solve a multiple-homicidecase if he had the means at his disposal.”

“Are you making my client an offer?” the attorney asked.

Cooper and Braddock exchanged a look before Braddock said, “If Dr. Cost is willing to help us gain access to the videotape in Nash’s possession, we would certainly be willing to forgo the solicitation charges as well as the drug possession charges. However, he will remain a suspect in all three homicides until we can eliminate him from that list with evidence.”

“What drug possession charges?” Parker demanded.

“For the Vicodin we found in his home as well as in his car,” Cooper explained. “Since he doesn’t have a legal prescription, that makes his possession illegal.”

“I’ll help you,” Cost volunteered. “whatever you need me to do, I’ll do it. I didn’t kill anybody.”

“Carter,” his attorney argued, “we should hear the plan first.”

He shook his head. “Doesn’t matter. I’ll do whatever I have to.”

As the interrogation continued, CJ couldn’t focus on the discussion. Cost’s words kept replaying in her head.
A video recording of the events that transpired in Shelley’s house the night she was murdered
. . .
She threw the television remote at me
.

Since there was no television in Shelley’s bedroom, that meant just one thing to CJ.

There was another video camera setup in the house.

Which could mean there were more videos . . . somewhere.

All she had to do was find them.

Bridge Street Town Center

Westin Hotel, 7:00
PM

Tyrone pulled back the drapes and let the light flood the suite. He needed the sun to go down. He needed out of here. He’d been hiding out since before noon.

This shit was getting too crazy.

That bitch CJ had called his cell phone four or five times. Did she think he was stupid? His ears at HPD had warned him that Cost had rolled over on him. Fucking pussy bastard. Tyrone should have gotten that 300K from that weasel motherfucker days ago.

Now that shit wasn’t happening. And he wasn’t going nowhere near that doctor bitch. She wasn’t setting him up. No way. Hell no.

He needed to start liquidating some assets just in case the shit went any further south.

Cost was gonna pay for this shit.

He would wish he’d kept his ass on the east side of the parkway when Tyrone got through with him.

But first he had one more business matter to attend to. And that old motherfucker better answer his goddamned phone this time. Tyrone was getting sick of his shit.

“You coming back to bed?”

Anticipation pushed a smile across Tyrone’s lips even when
he had not a fucking thing to smile about. He turned back to the king-sized bed. Admired the beauty of his lover sprawled naked across those crisp linens. Long, lean legs. Sculpted torso. His cock hardened just looking at all that smooth white flesh wrapped around such perfectly toned muscles.

Widow’s black lace and silk dress, along with stilettos and stockings, were scattered across the floor. When they’d first checked into the room, Tyrone had stripped Widow naked and fucked him against the door. But that had been hours ago. They’d had drinks, ordered room service, then slept like the dead.

“Definitely.” Tyrone crossed to the bed. As he did, he watched his reflection in the big-ass mirror on the other side of the bed. He was black as night, every bit as lean and muscled as his lover. His cock was large. He fondled it proudly. Wasn’t nothing more natural than a man having pride in his personal assets.

He crawled onto the bed like a sleek tiger.

Might as well enjoy himself.

He had some time before it got dark.

“You’re the King,” his lover crooned. “I’m your humble servant. Punish me.”

Tyrone slid his hands around that long silky neck. “I’ll punish you.” He leaned down, put his mouth close to Widow’s ear. “Then I’ll make you come so hard you’ll beg me to do it again.”

If he was forced to relocate from the 256, this might be the last time he saw Widow . . . that would be the hardest part of all.

No one else understood him the way Widow did.

3021 Appleton Street, 7:30
PM

CJ scanned the living room ceiling again. She’d done this about ten times already. She’d pulled the kitchen table in here and stood on it to inspect the light fixture in case Shelley had gotten more high-tech equipment. She’d checked the smoke detector.

Nothing.

Dammit
.

There had to be a camera for the living room. If Shelley and Carter had argued in here, where the TV was, there had to be a camera. Maybe they had been in the bedroom and the television remote just happened to be in there, too, but that didn’t make sense.

It had to have happened here.

She bounded up the stairs again and checked the floor over the living room. Nothing, except a small section of wood floor that had once been removed and then put back into place to add the wiring for the living room light. She’d taken the crow-bar and pulled those boards up. Nothing but dust and the wiring for the light fixture.

Slowly, inch by inch, foot by foot, she checked what had once been her parents’ bedroom floor.

This was ridiculous. She had to hurry. When Braddock got out of that meeting with the chief, he would come looking for
her. He’d told her to stay put at the precinct, but she couldn’t. She had to know if there was another camera and VCR.

Jenkins had followed her here. He’d probably already informed Braddock what she was up to. Time was likely shorter than she knew.

She trudged back downstairs. Checked the doors again, since dusk was falling. Front and back were locked. She’d shoved a piece of furniture in front of each to give her warning if anyone tried to break in.

Cost had probably been released by now. Tyrone, to her knowledge, had not been found. He was wanted for questioning. Braddock told her that Tyrone had his sources within HPD. Someone had no doubt given him a heads-up hours ago.

As bad as she felt for Lusk, CJ couldn’t help regretting that she hadn’t been able to go through with her meeting with Tyrone. She’d called his cell half a dozen times. The idea of going over to his house had even crossed her mind. But he wasn’t there. The King was in hiding. But if this was ever going to be over, CJ needed whatever information he had.

She dropped on the sofa and heaved a disgusted sigh. She was getting nowhere here.

Cost’s attorney had scheduled a polygraph to back up her client’s statement. CJ didn’t need a polygraph to know Cost hadn’t killed anyone. Carter didn’t have it in him. Of course, drug abuse could make a person do things he or she wouldn’t ordinarily do. Still, she couldn’t get right with that scenario.

Tyrone was her prime suspect. He would kill his own mother if she got in his way. The whole E. Noon/No One theory was in all probability his way of casting doubt on his guilt. To the powers that be, killing on the west side of the parkway was one thing. But to kill a member of the medical community was another. Lusk’s murder would receive far more media attention.

But why had he killed Lusk? All the evidence discovered so far had nothing to do with Tyrone and everything to do with Cost. Maybe, considering he’d known about Carter and Shelley, he’d intended to make Cost look like the killer all along. Braddock had suggested that scenario. Cooper wasn’t buying it.
She felt there was something more going on. Something that hadn’t been revealed just yet.

Braddock just wanted it to be Tyrone.

Maybe CJ did, too.

Two more weeks and she had to be back in Baltimore. Shelley’s memorial service needed to be arranged. It would seriously help if people would stop dying.

A rap on the door jerked her attention in that direction. She pushed up, walked soundlessly to the window to see who was at the door. No one knew she was here. She’d hidden her rental in the alley.

Edward.

Relief sagged her shoulders. She really did need to get a handle on her nerves. She was a mess.

She pushed the chair out of the way and opened the door. “Edward, how did you know I was here?” He stood on her porch looking regal as ever and sporting a brown shopping bag, the kind with handles.

“Certainly not because you’re answering your cell phone,” he chastised gently.

She patted her pockets. Where was her phone? “I’m sorry. It’s around here somewhere. Probably still on silent.” She’d had to silence it at the precinct. “Come in.” She ushered him inside. “What’s in the bag?”

“Dinner.” He turned the bag so she could see the Panera Bread logo. “Since you forget to eat far too often, I felt confident that it was a safe wager you hadn’t eaten this evening.”

The relief she’d felt at seeing Edward at her door flooded her twofold. “You always take such good care of me.” She glanced around the room. She’d made quite the mess. “Sorry for the disorder.”

“You’re looking for another camera?”

She’d told him already about Cost’s interrogation. “It’s probably a waste of time, but I had to try.”

“Of course you did.” He set the bag on the coffee table, and this time he did the ushering. “Eat. The summer salad is your favorite.” He smiled as he settled next to her. “Strawberries and pecans included.”

“You’d make the perfect husband,” she teased. “Thoughtful.” He blushed. “Always ready to defend my honor. And even though you didn’t prepare this yourself”—she dug into the bag—“you’re an amazing cook.”