Wrong Chance (28 page)

“I knew you had it in you, tough guy.” Chance stuffed the penis in Leon's mouth to quiet him. Then he cut hieroglyphics into his body until long after he was dead.

Buank. Buank. Buank. Buank.

Thursday morning Jazz smiled when she woke up and looked out her window to see Jaden practicing in the driveway. She leaned on the windowsill. “Good morning, Jaden.”

Buank. Buank. Buank. Buank.
He waved. “Morning.”

The phone on the nightstand rang.

“Watch this,” Jaden said, pat dribbling the ball low to the ground. His hands moved fast as he switched the ball from hand to hand and through his legs.

“That's great. Keep up the good work.” She plucked the phone from the nightstand. “Hello.”

“I tried to stay out of this, Jazz.” It was Javenna Myrieckes, her friend and her literary agent's wife. Javenna was also an author's representative for Myrieckes Literary Associates.

“If you're calling,” Jazz said, “that means Eric's upset.”

“Pissed is a more accurate adjective. We're catching flak from the execs at Simon and Schuster. You're four months past your deadline and no one has seen even a rough draft. They're not happy.”

“I know.”

“They're threatening to terminate your contract and take you to court to recoup your advance. When people shell out a million dollars, they expect you to produce.”

Jazz eyed her computer. She hadn't touched the thing in months. “They'll get their manuscript.”

“When?”

“I'm not sure.” She headed to the kitchen for her morning cup of room temperature water.

“Jazz.” Javenna took a deep breath. “I can't pretend to say I can relate to what happened. But you have to dig deep and find the strength to move on.”

“Honestly, Javenna, you're right.” Jazz stood at her patio door. “You can't relate.”

Buank. Buank. Buank. Buank.

“No one can.”

“I'm sorry.”

“Don't be.” Then: “Tell Eric to use his charisma and clout to stall them. I'll get them a book.”

“When? Give us something to pacify them with. A tentative date so we can dodge the courtroom.”

Cash appeared at the patio door as if she came out of nowhere.

Buank. Buank. Buank. Buank.

“Let me call you back, Javenna.”

“Jazz.”

“I don't know when, okay? I have to hang up now.” She clicked off and slid the patio door open. “You're late for work, and you look exhausted. What are you doing here? I wasn't expecting you until tomorrow.”

C
ash placed her purse on the counter and popped the refrigerator open. “You felt it urgent that we talk. Best we get it over with. Checked my schedule and I'll be tied up in court all day tomorrow.” She sat at the table with a banana yogurt. “My first case isn't until one this afternoon so I didn't feel like being bothered with the office and a circus of reporters until then.”

Jazz stared out the kitchen window with a gorgeous smile stretched across her face.

“What are you looking at?”

“Jaden. You had to walk right by him. He doesn't dribble the ball in the house anymore.”

Cash dug into the yogurt. “Oh really? When are—”

“Don't start in on me,” Jazz said, turning away from the window. “You need to look in the mirror and edit yourself. You're inconsiderate and a habitual liar, which also makes you selfish as hell.”

“Inconsiderate?”

“You're damn right you're inconsiderate. We're supposed to be best friends. You haven't taken that into consideration. I was under the impression that the best friend title came with certain rights and privileges. My cousin is dead, but you'd rather lie to your colleagues to protect this Scenario Davenport character, which is a complete lie in itself, instead of helping me and my family get closure. Doesn't the institution of family mean anything to you?”

“You have a whole lot of nerve, Jazz. You know I only became Scenario Davenport in order to start my life over with a tabula rasa to build it on. And that way I could find a man who can accept my truth, and together we can adopt children and start a family.”

“Yeah, I supported your grand idea if you were
actually
starting over. But you brought the same bullshit with you—lies, inconsideration, selfishness. I hate to burst your bubble, but the only things that have actually changed with you are your name and appearance.” Jazz swallowed a mouthful of water. “I despise liars and you know it. But you've been consistently lying about everything and everybody since the day I met you. Yancee is dead too. His children think you're their aunt and you haven't said a thing to the police. Is being Scenario Davenport really worth betraying your friends, the people who consider you family?”

“You think I get a kick out of being in a position where I can't open my mouth? You got it all twisted if that's what you think. I'm losing sleep, and that ain't the half of it.”

“Just like I told you when you were lying to that fool Chance about being pregnant—fix it! Tell the damn truth for once in your life.” Jazz finished her morning cup of water, then put on a pot of tea.

“I can't.”

“You mean you won't, so I will. I'm going to the cops. I'm through being your enabler and participating in the texture of your lies. It doesn't suit my morals.”

“And you'll put me in jail. How considerate is that of my situation,
best friend?”

They stared at each other in silence. In those few moments, something happened between them that neither could explain or label.

“I broke the law, Jazz. I obstructed justice by not saying anything
to help the investigation, if my information holds any weight other than coincidence. If I expose that I personally knew Yancee and Anderson, I'd have to explain that I'm not Scenario Davenport, and how I defrauded the Bar under my new identity. I'll go to prison.” Cash spooned out a heap of yogurt and geared up to tell another lie. Prison wasn't an option; winning and moving on with her life was all that mattered—no matter what she had to do or who she had to hurt to pull it off. She abandoned the spoonful of yogurt and stood beside Jazz at the patio door. “Just hear me out,” Cash said. “I don't have to put myself at risk and say anything.”

“You're uncorrectable.”

“Listen, would you? The detectives are days away from fingering someone on this. I'm certain of it. I'm privy to most of the information and evidence gathered on Yancee's and Anderson's murders. They're going to catch the killer without me bringing harm to myself. I don't want to go to prison, Jazz.” Cash's cell phone started ringing, but she ignored it.

“I don't want to see you behind bars. I'm not saying that. I'm not. I'm only saying that, categorically, you have both our lips sealed about my cousin and Yancee based on your elaborate lie.” Jazz poured herself a cup of tea. “You can't be that blind. Don't you see something wrong with this whole picture? Two people who knew each other, who we also knew, were murdered by the same killer. I think it's our responsibility to tell the police that and not wait until they figure it out on their own.” She blew her cup of tea. “Where's Chance?”

Cash glanced over a shoulder. “How would I know and why are you asking?”

Jazz watched her. “This police information you're privy to, did Chance's name come up in it?”

“No,” Cash said matter-of-factly.

“Would you tell me if it did?”

“This is ridiculous. You think Chance has something to do with these murders?”

“You honestly don't? He didn't show up to Yancee's funeral. Chance is the last person anyone would expect not to show up for Yancee. Although the County Prosecutor Scenario Davenport showed up to Yancee's funeral, Cash wasn't there. Looks funny. Even Leon thinks Chance has something to do with what's going on. Didn't he tell you that when he came to your office yesterday?”

“No, the fucker tried to extort me.” Cash started laughing. “Chance? Get out of here.” Her cell phone started ringing again.

“Seems like it's important,” Jazz said. “You should answer it.”

“Not more important than what we're discussing, so whoever this is can wait.” Cash pushed the cell phone away from her. “Anderson and Yancee are purely a coincidence, and because of that, you're way off base about Chance. It's as simple as that. But look, I swear that our friendship is important to me because we are family. Give the investigation two more weeks. Just two, Jazz.”

The cell phone started up again.

“That way,” Cash said, “I can protect my past and enjoy the future without the lies hanging over my head or creating any new ones.”

And the phone rang.

“What happens if they don't find the killer between now and then?”

“I swear I'll go to them and tell them everything I know and face the consequences of my misdeeds. But you have to swear in return that you'll give me that long. Please.”

After a few moments of thought, Jazz said, “Okay.”

“Okay, what, Jazz?”

“I swear to it. Now answer your phone; it's getting on my nerves.”

Cash stuck the phone to her ear. “What?”

“Ms. Davenport, this is Detective Aspen Skye. Where are you?”

“Why?”

“Because I'm sending a police escort to pick you up.”

“I can drive myself if I have to. What's the problem?”

“The Hieroglyphic Hacker struck again.”

Cash sighed and stepped out on the patio so Jazz couldn't hear her conversation. “Where's the body this time, for God's sake?”

Aspen said, “In your office.”

T
he truth of the matter hit Scenario so hard, it gave her an instant headache. She abandoned her entire “coincidence” argument when she stepped inside her office and saw Leon's lifeless body spread eagle on her desk. There was nothing coincidental about that. The murders were connected. And without a doubt, she knew Jazz was right about Chance's involvement, which only meant she was damned if she came clean and damned if she didn't.

Aspen leaned on the wall farthest from the desk with her arms folded across her breasts. She watched Scenario like a hawk. Detective Leonardo Scott studied her from the other side of the room.

Leon's blood had dripped down the sides of the desk and soaked into the tan carpet. His blank eyes stared at the architectural decorations designed into the ceiling. Deeply cut into every visible part of his dark skin was an elaborate meandering of explicit hieroglyphics. The ancient Egyptian pharaohs would be proud of the killer's craftsmanship. From the permanent grimace on Leon's face, Scenario and everyone else processing the crime scene knew Leon had died a torturous death.

Scenario scanned Leon's body again and found herself on the edge of sickness. “My God, where is his—”

“Stuffed in his mouth,” Dr. Aura Chavez said as she examined Leon's fingertips. “Wonder what point the killer is making.” She looked at Scenario. “Would you like to see it?”

Scenario shook her head no. Uncomfortable with the way Aspen's suspicious gaze drilled into her, she turned to Aspen and said, “Why are you staring at me like that, Detective Skye?”

“Admiring your poise.” Aspen stepped forward. “Detective Scott and I have a room set up across the hall. Let's go there and talk.”

T
hey were in an empty storage room that the county planned to turn into a family crisis office. Scenario noticed that the two chairs facing each other were kidnapped from the waiting room area of her office. And the roll-away TV that she used to examine video evidence was plugged into the wall. Detective Scott sat in the corner with his Stetson pulled over his face as if he were sleeping and not really listening.

“You were seen arguing with Mr. Page yesterday. Who is he to you?” Aspen lit a cigarette and offered Scenario one.

Scenario declined while her wheels spun. She had to think on her feet, figure out what the detective knew and didn't know. She knew from Aspen's opening statement that she couldn't deny knowing Leon, but she damn sure wasn't going to confess the whole truth in case there was a way to wiggle free of this mess. “Someone I had a very brief affair with.”

“What's brief?”

“You mean how many times did we fuck, Detective Skye?” Scenario glanced at Detective Scott, who didn't budge.

Aspen shrugged and exhaled a cloud of smoke. “Since you put it that way.”

“Twice. Not that it's any of your business. Why am I being probed like I'm a suspect?”

“You have a dead man in
your
office, Ms. Davenport.”

“And! My prints and hair and everything else is in that office. That doesn't make me guilty.”

“Not a stitch of trace evidence or a print.”

If that was the truth and not a trick to mislead her, Scenario knew there was promise. So she fished. “Come on, it has to be. My office has to be dirty with my prints and hair, as well as Jamillah's and Marcus'. Every judge and assistant prosecutor in this building has a set of prints in my office.”

“Nope. It's been wiped clean. And the vacuum cleaner bag is missing,” Aspen said with a smooth tone.

“Do I need a lawyer?”

“Only you would know that, Ms. Davenport.”

“I've done nothing wrong.”

Aspen said, “Then we move on. Why did y'all stop?”

“Stop what?”

Aspen stubbed the cigarette on the bottom of her shoe. The butt smoldered. “Fucking.”

The thought of her actually sleeping with Leon made her feel sicker than she had when she realized his dick was cut off, but she was committed to the lie. “Because I met his ex-wife first. She and I have been to lunch a few times. The more I learned about her, the worse I felt about interfering with their mess. So I knew if I kept sleeping with him, I'd destroy a potential friendship with her if she found out.”