Weapon of Choice, A (6 page)

Jasmine hesitated.  “I don’t know if he can help you.  He’s been too sick to pay attention to anything going on around him.”

“Is Raul still at the apartment?  Who’s taking care of him?” I asked.

“Derek is staying with him.  He’s Raul’s younger brother.”

“How old is he?”

“Twenty-five, I think.  Derek is the only family Raul has left.  Their parents died when they were young.  Raul worked two jobs to raise his little brother.  They’re very tight.”

“How often do you and Raul talk,” I asked.

“Three times a week.  Although, Raul doesn’t have much energy, so I do most of the talking.  I mean, believe me, I’d rather hear his voice than my own, but it’s comforting, just to hear him breathing on the other end, you know?”

I could only imagine what she must be going through.  Her husband is sick and she can’t be there to comfort him.  She must feel completely helpless.

“I hope this doesn’t sound insensitive, but what are your husband’s chances of survival?”

“Not very good,” she said, gloomily.  “The doctor gave him a year to live.  But then this new chemo treatment became available a few months ago.  The doctor is hopeful for some great results.”

“That’s fantastic,” I said.  “Could it possibly save his life?”

“Maybe.  We’re keeping our fingers crossed.” She paused and gave a chuckle.  “I’m not a religious person, but I pray to God every night to save my husband.  Maybe I have no right to ask God for any favors, but I do it anyway.”

I wanted to offer some words of encouragement, but the guard walked in and told us our time was up. 

As Jasmine stood up from her chair, she gave Carter and me one last look.  “No matter what happens, thanks for listening.  This is the first time that it actually feels as if someone believes me.”

“Hang in there, Jasmine,” I said.  “We’ll be in touch.”

Chapter 11

When Carter and I left the Framingham Correctional Facility, we headed north on 495 and drove straight to Raul Thompson’s home in Lowell.

During the forty-minute drive, I kept thinking about Jasmine and her story.  Did I believe she was innocent? Or did I think she was very clever?

Before I became a private detective, I’d considered myself a pretty good judge of character but I realized just how easily I could be duped.

“What do you think of Jasmine,” I asked Carter.  “Do you believe her?”

“Well,” he said, “What would she gain by killing Melanie?”

“If anything, she’d lose money.  Besides, why would Jasmine poison a joint that she sold to Melanie? If she wanted to kill her, she wouldn’t do it that way.  She might be young, but I don’t get the impression that she’s stupid.”

It was almost 2:00 when we arrived at number 5A, Wilfred Court in Lowell, a mill town known for its ethnically diverse population. 

Carter parked the Buick across the street from the apartment building and thirty seconds later we were knocking on the door of unit 5A.

When the door opened, a young man in his early twenties greeted us.  His dark hair was long in the back, shorter in the front, similar to a mullet.  I guessed he was of Latin decent, but it was hard to say.  His t-shirt said,
Papa Joe’s Pizza
.  I assumed it was Raul’s brother.

“Good afternoon,” I said to the young man.  “Are you Derek Thompson?”

He gave us a hard look.  “Yeah, who are you?”

“I’m Sarah and this is Carter,” I said.  “We just visited Jasmine and she said it would be okay to stop by.”

His hard features seemed to soften a bit.  “How is she doing?”

I didn’t know how to respond, so I just played it safe.  “She’d rather be home with her husband.”

Derek nodded.  “Are you lawyers?”

I smiled.  It was the second time in one day we’d been accused of that.  Carter with his leather jacket and I with my jeans torn at the knee certainly didn’t look like a pair of lawyers, but whatever.  “No, we’ve been hired to look into the death of Melanie Barr Frazier.” I showed him my credentials and he eventually invited us in.  “We’d really like to speak with your brother, Raul.”

“Raul’s sleeping.  But maybe he’s awake now.  I’ll go check on him.” He disappeared down the hallway, leaving Carter and me standing in the living room.

The apartment smelled like one of those fake air fresheners mixed with marijuana and tuna fish.  It wasn’t pleasant.

A few moments later, a tall but extremely thin person walked into the room.  He shuffled toward us, wearing sweat pants and a Boston Red Sox t-shirt.  His head was shaved, and he barely resembled the robust, naked man posing in Melanie’s sex books.

I offered a warm smile.  “Raul Thompson?”

“That’s me,” he said, dryly.  His lips were cracked and his breath almost knocked me over.

“I’m Sarah Woods.  This is Carter.  We’re very sorry to disturb you.  Jasmine said this would be okay.”

He blinked slowly, and rubbed his eyes as if he’d just woken up.  “Are you gonna get Jasmine out of prison? She didn’t kill that woman, you know.  Nobody believes her.”

“Well,” I said, choosing my words carefully.  “First, we have to prove that someone else is responsible.  Can you talk for a bit?”

Raul nodded toward the kitchen.  “Sure.  Want some coffee? All we have is instant.”

“Not for me, thanks,” I said.

Carter put a hand up, as if to say he was all set, too.

Derek whispered something to his brother and Raul patted him on the shoulder.  “Go ahead, bro.  I’ll be fine.  I’ll see you when you get home from work.”

Derek grabbed a ring of keys from the counter and left the house without acknowledging me or Carter. 

The three of us sat at a small kitchen table.  Raul stumbled a little, but he managed to get himself in the chair.  My heart went out to him.  Chemotherapy was a bitch.

“Okay, so, what would you like to know?” he asked us.

“Well, first of all, Jasmine sends her love.  She really misses you.”

“I miss her, too.” He smiled weakly.  “But I’m thankful to Derek.  He’s a big help around here.  The poor kid doesn’t even have time to go on a date.  I’m sure having a sick brother cramps his style.”

There was tenderness in his voice for his brother that touched me.  I could tell he felt guilty for needing his brother’s assistance, but that’s what family is for.

“How much longer do you have on chemo?” I asked.

“My last treatment is tomorrow.  Can’t wait for it to be over.  I hate sitting around, doing nothing, feeling helpless.” He swallowed and made pained face like his throat was on fire.  “Anyway, how can I help you guys?”

“Well,” I said.  “The reason we’re here is because Candice Barr Frazier hired us to look into her mother’s death.  Did Jasmine tell you about the letter she sent her?”

“Yeah.  Jasmine never thought it would amount to much.  But it looks like Candice believes her, especially if she hired you.”

I nodded.  “Now, I can imagine it’s difficult to talk about all this in your condition, but we have a few questions.” I showed him the picture of Charles Cox and Ryan Frazier.  “Have you seen these guys before?”

He glanced at the picture and shook his head.  “I don’t think so.  Why?”

“Thinking back to the weeks prior to Melanie’s death, do you remember seeing anyone loitering around your building? Strange calls? Basically, did anything out of the ordinary happen?”

He scratched his bald head.  “Um, I don’t think so.”

“Jasmine told us about the visit from Melanie’s sister, Shelly Barr.  Do you remember anything about that?”

He made a scowl.  “Yeah, I was here.  That woman was a real piece of work.  She threatened to report us to the police.”

“How’d she find out where you lived?” Carter asked him.

Raul shrugged.  “I have no idea.  She didn’t say.”

Carter said, “Did you ever see her or hear from her again?”

“Nope.  She never came back.  Although…” Raul squinted his eyes as if trying to remember something important.  “Actually, a few days after she came here, we got a package in the mail addressed to Jasmine.  There was no name or return address on the package.”

“What was it?” I asked.

“A bible.”

I paused.  “Was there a note inside?”

“Just a bible verse.  Can’t remember what it said.”

“You think Shelly sent it to you?”

He rolled his eyes.  “Who else could it be? I guess it was her way of trying to convert us, save us from an eternity in hell.” He gave a sarcastic chuckle.  “I don’t appreciate having religion shoved down my throat.”

“How did Jasmine feel about it?” I asked.

“She got pissed and threw the book in the trash.”

I wasn’t sure I heard him correctly, so I asked, “Did you say, she threw a bible in the trash?”

Raul nodded.  “I know it sounds harsh, but Jasmine has her reasons.”

“What reasons?” I prodded.

“She was sexually abused by a priest when she was only ten years old.  It screwed her up pretty badly.  But she never complains about it.  She just tries to deal with it.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

Raul shrugged.  “Hey, Jasmine might not be a saint, but she’s got a good heart, you know.  When I was diagnosed with cancer last year, she worked two jobs, just so we could afford the chemo treatments.”

“You don’t have insurance?” I asked.

“No.  The construction company I worked for didn’t give me enough hours so I could get the health insurance.  They do that on purpose.  Anyway, Jasmine didn’t have insurance either and we were screwed.  I couldn’t even qualify for government assistance.  That’s why Jasmine started selling marijuana.”

“So, how are you able to continue the chemo treatments now that Jasmine is in prison?”

“Well, now that Derek has moved in, he’s covering rent and utilities.  An anonymous donation is covering all the costs of my medical treatments.  That couldn’t have happened at a better time.”

I paused.  “An anonymous donation? How did that come about?”

“It was arranged through my oncologist, I guess.  Thanks to a Good Samaritan, I just might survive this evil disease.”

I glanced at Carter, to see if he had more to add.  He seemed satisfied.

“We should go and let you get some rest,” I said to Raul.  “We really appreciate you talking to us.  Take care of yourself, okay? We’ll be in touch.”

Chapter 12

Carter tapped his fingers on the steering wheel, clearly agitated at the stop and go traffic on Route 95 North.

“What the heck is going on up there?” he muttered, trying to see past the long line of cars.  “At this rate, we won’t get back to Bridgeport until midnight.”

Carter is usually a patient guy, except when it comes to driving.  For him, being stuck in traffic is akin to Chinese water torture.

“You seem unusually agitated,” I said calmly.  “What set you off?”

He made a vague hand gesture and sighed.  “Raul’s story of what happened to Jasmine, it makes my blood boil.”

“That she was raped by a priest?”

He nodded.  “How can these so-called men of God justify raping little kids?”

It was a rhetorical question, because there was no real answer.  Evil comes in many shapes and forms: from serial killers, to priests, and everywhere in between. 

“Did I ever tell you that I went to a private Catholic school?” Carter said, keeping his eyes on the road.

I blinked at him.  “How old were you?”

“Fourteen.  After I almost failed the eighth grade, my mom did the only thing she thought might straighten me out.  She enrolled me in St. Mary’s.”

“How was that?”

He laughed.  “What do you think? Those nuns were the most miserable people I ever met.”

Carter and I had never discussed religion before.  It’s one of those touchy topics I prefer to stay away from.  But knowing that he’d had a negative experience with religion in his past, put some things into perspective.  Couple that with the fact that his teenaged daughter committed suicide by drug overdose, one doesn’t have to look too far to see why Carter was a cynic. 

My experience with religion was certainly less turbulent.  I have only pleasant memories of making new friends at Sunday school.  Feeling secure and loved, the way it’s supposed to be. 

Sure, I’ve heard all the horror stories on the news of priests molesting children.  How corrupt and political it can be.  But I choose to believe there are far more priests doing good things rather than bad. 

Maybe I was just naïve.

* * *

We finally made it to Shelly’s house by 5:00 and parked in the vacant driveway.  Candice’s red Nissan wasn’t there.

“You think anyone is home?” Carter asked. 

“I don’t know,” I replied.  “Maybe Shelly’s car is inside the garage?”

We walked up to the front door, and that’s when I noticed Shelly sitting on the front porch reading a book. 

She looked up, set her book aside, and greeted us with a warm smile.  “Sarah Woods, what a pleasure to see you again.  You brought a friend this time.”

I introduced her to Carter and they shook hands.  “Sorry to stop by like this,” I said.  “I hope it’s not a bad time.”

“Not a bad time at all,” she said, ushering us into the house.  “Please have a seat.  I can make coffee.”

“Not necessary,” I replied.  “But thanks anyway.  We won’t take much of your time.”

Once we were all seated in the cozy living room, I noticed Carter staring at the enormous cross.  I half expected him to make a comment about it, but he remained quiet.

“Well, now,” Shelly began, placing her hands in her lap.  “How’s the investigation going?”

I wasn’t sure how to answer that one.  I needed to tread very lightly.  “We visited Jasmine at the prison today.”

Shelly tilted her head slightly with raised eyebrows.  “Really?”

“Yes,” I said.  “And then we met her husband, Raul.”

Shelly nodded thoughtfully and waited for me to continue.

I cleared my throat and decided to just come out with it.  “Jasmine mentioned that you went to her house a few weeks before Melanie died.  She said you threatened her.  Is that true?”

Shelly sat very still and blinked at me.  “I gave her a warning.  If she continued to sell illegal drugs to my sister, I’d report her to the police.  I felt it was my duty to protect my younger sister.”

I felt a sense of relief.  At least she didn’t try to deny it.  “But you never reported Jasmine to the police.  Why not?”

“Melanie convinced me to leave Jasmine alone.  She basically told me to mind my own business.  That’s the thanks I get for trying to be a good sister.” She took a deep breath and let it out forcefully.  “Now I will live with regret for the rest of my life.”

“Regret?” I asked.

She gave me a hard look.  “If I had reported Jasmine to the police like I said I would, my sister might still be alive today.”

I couldn’t really argue that point.  “I assume you’re the one who mailed the bible to Jasmine.”

Shelly nodded.  “Her husband was very ill when I saw him.  I thought the Bible might bring them peace if they could bother to read some of the passages.  I was just trying to help.”

There’s a fine line between helping someone and manipulating them, I thought.  “So you never spoke to Jasmine or her husband again after that visit?”

“That’s right.”

Carter spoke up, rather abruptly, with irritation in his voice.  “Ms. Barr, where were you on the night Melanie died?”

Shelly lifted her chin ever so slightly.  “I was at a church function from 5:00 until 9:00pm.  Church of the Nazarene right here in town.  It was a going away party for the pastor.  I helped organize the event.  You’re welcome to call and confirm it.”

“If you don’t mind me asking, what’s your occupation?” he asked.

Shelly said, “I work part-time as a caretaker for an elderly couple.”

“How long have you been a caretaker?”

“A few years.  I retired from nursing because the twelve-hour shifts nearly killed my back.  Besides, I prefer helping people in their own homes.”

Carter made note of it, then asked, “How did you feel about Melanie’s work?”

Shelly paused for a long moment while fidgeting with the collar of her shirt.  “I guess I understood it to some degree.  Melanie was obsessed with sex at an early age, so it’s only natural that she’d gravitate to the career she chose.  But I don’t understand why she had to write those graphic sex books.  It’s just not necessary.”

“Speaking of books,” Carter said.  “Do you have any idea what happened to Melanie’s files she was working on for the autobiography?”

“I have no idea,” she said, turning to look at me.  “I assume they’re on her computer that Candice gave you.”

“Nope,” I said.  “Either Melanie deleted the files herself, or someone did it after she died.”

Shelly frowned.  “Well, Candice is the only one who’s had the computer.”

“We have a theory that someone went to Melanie’s office after Jasmine left,” I said.  “They could have switched the joint for a poisoned one and deleted files from her computer after she died.”

“For what reason?”

I shrugged.  “To make sure that Melanie wouldn’t live long enough to publish the book.  And the only person I can think of that it might pertain to is Gregory.”

I reached into my bag and showed her the picture of Charles Cox and Ryan Frazier. 

She took the photo in her hand, and I saw a flicker of recognition flash in her eyes.  She pointed to the photo of Charlie Cox.  “This is Gregory’s friend Charlie.  I met him at the wedding, and also about five years ago at Gregory’s surprise fortieth birthday party.  The other is Gregory’s brother, but I can’t remember his name.”

“His name is Ryan,” I said.  “Did Melanie get along well with both of them?”

“I believe so.” Shelly paused.  “Although, there was that one incident that happened at Greg’s fortieth, but I can’t imagine it has anything to do with my sister’s death.”

“Please, if you don’t mind, we’d like to hear about it.”

Shelly continued, “Well, my sister was never one to host big parties, but Gregory wanted a huge celebration.  Melanie planned everything, soup to nuts.  She hired the fanciest caterer and, well, you get the picture.  Ryan and his wife didn’t show up until the very end.  I’m not sure what their excuse was, but Gregory was clearly upset with his brother.  There was a big argument between them that resulted in a physical exchange.  Ryan punched Gregory in the face and almost broke his nose.  Melanie called the cops and had them take Ryan into custody.  He spent one night in jail.  The next day, Gregory went to bail him out.”

“Did Gregory and Ryan make a truce?” I asked.

“I assumed they did.  But it was shortly after that when Ryan and his wife moved down south.  I think they still live there.”

“Actually, they moved back to Boston about six months ago.  Melanie never mentioned that to you?”

“No.  But still, I don’t see the relevance.”

“Is it possible that Ryan held a grudge against Melanie for having him arrested?” I asked.

Shelly seemed amused.  “If you’re asking me if I think he killed her because of that, well, it’s highly unlikely.  It was years ago.”

“It’s amazing what some people hold onto,” I said.  “Resentment can fester inside for a long time.”

Shelly shook her head.  “I don’t know how anyone can live like that.  I believe forgiveness is the key to happiness.”

I glanced at Carter, to see if he had anything more to add.  He said nothing, so I thanked Shelly for her time.  “Do you mind if I call you, if I have more questions?” I asked.

“Please do,” she said.  “I’ll help in any way I can.”