Murder on the Down Low (18 page)

Two minutes later, he cussed under his breath and slammed down the phone. “What do you want?” he asked gruffly.

They had both stayed clear of each other after the lieutenant rejected her theory about the murders being connected to the victims’ possible homosexual liaisons.

J.C. stepped inside, but did not close the door or take a seat. “I heard there was another shooting. I was just wondering if you’d given any additional thought to my theory.”

The lieutenant chuckled derisively. “I know for a fact that your little theory doesn’t apply this time. James Hill is my fraternity brother. And he wasn’t no fa— homosexual.”

“You can’t know that for sure. These men are good at putting up a front.”

He guffawed. “Well, he must’ve been damn good to fool me.”

J.C. put her hands on her hips. “I just need to know whether you’re going to act on the information I gave you?”

“I’m looking into it. But for the time being, I’m not going public with an allegation that these men were . . .” He caught himself this time. “. . . were homosexuals. I care about my career. And you should start caring about yours.”

Fuming, J.C. turned to leave.

“You know, Detective,” the lieutenant said, before she reached the doorway, “I think I finally figured it out.” He let his words linger.

J.C. started to leave, but turned back. “Figured out what, Lieutenant?”

“Why you’re so concerned about these sissies, if they actually are sissies. Frankly, I’d think you’d share my feelings in light of what happened to that friend of yours.”

J.C. said nothing.

“But then I got to thinking. You know, I’ve never once seen you with a man.  And you’ve never been married. Do you even like men?”

His words left her speechless.

“Let’s see. You didn’t have a date at the Christmas party, you didn’t have one at the Department picnic, and you brought a
girlfriend
to Lucinda’s going away party. You’re so concerned about these fa— excuse me,
ho-mo-sex-u-als,
because you’re into that homo crap, too. I hear a lot of women cops are lesbians. But I never would’ve pegged you for one of ’em.”

J.C. struggled for the right response as rage consumed her. “I expected a lot more from you, Lieutenant,” she said tightly, then walked out.

Back at her desk, she grabbed her purse from the bottom drawer and hurried out of the building before she gave in to the urge to put her fist through a wall.

I
t was after eight by the time Vernetta pulled into her driveway. She was tired, hungry, and in a PMS funk. She remained in the car, listening to Luther Vandross’
Wait for Love
on the radio,which made her tear up. That was going to be Maya’s wedding song.

She was still angry with O’Reilly for going off on her at the courthouse, though he later apologized. Haley had apparently come forward with an accurate accounting of the events that preceded her disastrous first oral argument. Vernetta realized that she should actually consider herself lucky. If Haley had decided to lie, O’Reilly would have surely taken her word over Vernetta’s.

Jefferson was in the den, bent over a clipboard and a calculator. She dropped her purse on the coffee table and plopped down next to him on the couch.

“Good to see I’m not the only one working late.”

He nodded without looking up and kept punching buttons on the calculator, then scribbled some numbers on the clipboard.

“How can you concentrate with the TV up so loud?” An episode of
Sex and the City
was on the screen. She reached for the remote and turned down the volume.

“The noise actually helps,” Jefferson mumbled. “Makes me feel like I’m still out at the worksite.”

Vernetta yawned. “Well, I had another awful day.” She rested her head on her husband’s shoulder. “First, O’Reilly had the nerve to—”

Jefferson held up his hand. “I don’t wanna hear it.”

She sat up. “That’s certainly a crappy way to respond.”

He ignored her and kept hitting buttons on the calculator.

“I try to tell you about my day and you just cut me off? What’s up with that?”

“I’m just tired of hearing it.”

A burst of heat inched up Vernetta’s neck. “Tired of hearing what?”

“About how bad your day was and how much Haley gets on your nerves and how you have to work such long hours and how—”

Vernetta bounced off the couch. “Well, excuse me for thinking I had a husband I could talk to about my problems.”

“I don’t mind talking to you about your problems.” Jefferson put his pencil down and gave her his full attention. “I’m just tired of you constantly complaining about your job and not doing anything to change the situation.”

“Oh, I get it. This is turning into another conversation about you wanting me to leave the firm. Well, I’m not a quitter.”

He turned off the TV even though it was already muted, then threw the remote down on the couch. “I don’t want you to quit. I want you to be happy. And going to work at O’Reilly & Finney every day doesn’t seem to make you happy. But you keep marching off to work like a good little soldier, then you come home every night and bitch to me for an hour about how miserable your job is. Well, I don’t wanna hear it tonight.”

“Fine! I had no idea that I was getting on your nerves.” Vernetta snatched her purse and stomped off to the bedroom. “I won’t bore you with my problems ever again,” she hollered back at him from the hallway.

She had changed into her pajamas by the time Jefferson entered the bedroom ten minutes later.

He looked at her and laughed.

“I don’t know what you think is so funny,” she said.

“I guess I’m not getting any tonight, huh?” He chuckled. “Whenever you wear flannel to bed, that’s usually what it means.”

“Puh-leeze.” Vernetta turned away and faced the mirror atop the dresser. “I wear flannel when I feel like wearing flannel. But you’re right. You definitely ain’t getting any tonight.”

He tried to give her a hug, but she stepped around him and stalked into the bathroom. She doused a washcloth with warm water and pressed it to her face.

Jefferson stood in the doorway, arms folded, watching her. “I’m sorry for coming at you the way I did just now. But sometimes I get frustrated because there’s nothing I can do to help you.”

“I don’t need any help,” Vernetta snapped. “I’m just fine.”

“That’s the problem. You’re not fine. You’re not fine at all.”

Vernetta dried her face and wished she could make him disappear.

“Leaving that firm wouldn’t be the end of the world,” Jefferson said gently. “And you don’t have to be superwoman twenty-four/seven.”

Vernetta   chuckled   sarcastically.   “I’m   not   trying   to   be   anybody’s superwoman.” She hung up the towel and tried to squeeze past him, but he blocked the doorway, threw his arms around her and wouldn’t let go.

“Leave me alone!” She struggled to escape, but Jefferson overpowered her. When she realized that she couldn’t escape, she finally stopped fighting. To her surprise, a gust of emotion seemed to appear from nowhere. She had absolutely nothing to cry about, so why was she crying?

“I love you,” Jefferson said. “And it hurts me to see you unhappy.”

Vernetta didn’t respond because she couldn’t. So, instead, she just cried into her husband’s strong chest and wondered what in the hell she was doing with her life.

S
pecial stared at her computer monitor and tried to concentrate on the report she’d been working on for the past hour. Every time a coherent thought entered her head, her mind wandered off and she forgot what point she was trying to make.

She knew she needed to get her act together and fast. But all she could think about was Clayton. It had been four days and he still wasn’t returning her calls or answering her emails. She couldn’t believe her stupid stunt was going to cost her the most incredible man she’d ever met.

Reaching for her coffee mug, she headed for the breakroom for her third cup of the morning. All the caffeine she’d been consuming had to be part of the reason she wasn’t getting any sleep lately. She’d start cutting back. Tomorrow. When she entered the room, Radonna, one of her coworkers, snatched the television remote and hit the mute button.

“How you doing, girl?” Radonna asked.

Special figured her coworkers were talking about her. It surprised her that Radonna was up in the mix, since Special considered her a close friend. But she didn’t have the energy to care.

Special reached for the coffee pot and filled her cup. “Why are you guys staring at me?”

Radonna smiled. “Nobody’s staring at you, girl.”

Special noticed that Radonna was intentionally blocking the television screen. Special stepped around her and read the crawl at the bottom of the screen.
Latest on local AIDS lawsuit on News at Noon.
Radonna hit the remote again, turning off the TV.

“Turn that back on,” Special ordered.

“Girl, we need to get back to work.” Radonna smiled nervously.

Special grabbed the remote from her hand and hit the power button. “They’re about to do a story about the lawsuit we filed against Eugene. The noon broadcast should be on any minute.”

Daisy, a sixtyish woman who worked the front desk, pursed her lips. “Baby, are you sure you should be watching this?”

“Yeah,” Special said. “I’m glad the case is getting some publicity. I want that man to get everything he deserves.” She sat her coffee cup on the table and pulled up a chair.

They waited in silence for the newscast to begin, watching a Gap commercial, followed by a Burger King spot, and Gary Coleman explaining how people in debt could get some quick cash. If Special had a pen handy, she would’ve written down the number for herself.

The familiar jingle for
News at Noon
came on and the lead anchor, a paunchy, conservative-looking white man with too-thick hair, quickly teased the top three stories. The AIDS lawsuit led the broadcast.

Special listened as the anchor did a quick intro, then tossed the story to a reporter standing outside the headquarters for the Gay and Lesbian Center.

Bill, I’m here in West Hollywood, where attorney and gay activist Barry Eagleman has announced that he will be defending attorney Eugene Nelson in one of the city’s first wrongful death lawsuits alleging an intentional transmission of the AIDS virus.

Special felt like she had taken a punch to the gut.The next scene showed a conference room with Eugene seated at a table next to Eagleman and two other men. The flashy attorney wore his hair slicked back in a long ponytail. He had small, piercing eyes and a handlebar mustache. Eagleman leaned over the microphone.

Unfortunately, discrimination, bigotry and ignorance are the foundation of this lawsuit. It’s designed to disparage Mr. Nelson solely because of his sexual orientation. For that reason, I intend to use all of my resources to fight this malicious, homophobic attack. And I am more than confident that we will prevail at trial.

Special reached out for her coffee, but her grasp was too unsteady and the cup clattered to the floor, splashing coffee everywhere. “That bastard! How dare he?”

Daisy grabbed some paper towels and started cleaning up the mess, while Radonna put an arm around Special’s shoulders and led her back to her office.

Margaret Hines knocked on the door just as Special sat down behind her desk. A middle-aged white woman who always wore a huge French bun and a hearty smile, Margaret was a manager in Human Resources. Special had always thought that anybody who smiled as much as Margaret did couldn’t be trusted.

“I’d like to talk to Special. Alone.”

Radonna gave Special’s shoulder a squeeze, then left.

“I’ll just get to the point,” Margaret said. “Your coworkers are concerned about you, Special. I spoke with your supervisor. We both think it’s a good idea for you to get some help.”

“I don’t need any help.” Special reached for a tissue box on her desk and blew her nose. “I’m fine.”

“I’d like you to see a counselor through our Employee Assistance Program,” Margaret said gently.

Special waved off the suggestion. “I’m not about to lie down on a couch and tell my business to some stranger. That’s why I have friends.”

Margaret patted the back of her big bun. “Special, you’ve been in an extremely emotional state lately, and it’s beginning to impact your job performance. I think it might be a good idea for you to talk a professional. ”

“Thanks for your concern,” Special said dryly. “But I’m fine.”

Margaret eased an envelope from the pocket of her outdated plaid blazer. “This letter is for you. It’s an EAP referral. A mandatory referral.”

“I’m not going to no—”

“Perhaps you didn’t hear me.” Margaret’s voice was much firmer this time. “This is a
mandatory
referral. You are required to see an EAP counselor and you can’t come back to work until you do.”

H
aley pranced into Vernetta’s office like she owned the place. She was carrying a thick stack of manila folders, which she dumped on the corner of the desk.

“Good morning, Haley.” Vernetta stretched her lips into a big bogus smile. She had decided to make an effort to befriend Haley. No matter how much it pained her. “What case is this?”

“Hillman,” Haley said. “The rest are being sent up from storage.”

“Why are you giving them to me?”

Hillman was a dog of a case that had been passed around the firm at least twice before landing on Haley’s desk. The lawsuit was filed by an unmanageable plaintiff who had gone through three attorneys and now represented himself. He submitted his briefs in handwriting and wrote long, rambling letters claiming that his firing was part of a CIA conspiracy. The case should have been dismissed a long time ago, but the assigned judge was almost as dippy as the plaintiff. The lawsuit was the biggest joke in the firm.

“I was told to deliver the files to your office.”