Chapter 42
After they removed Chandler’s body from the interview room, I sat out in the squad, waiting for Eli, who was in with Tanaka and the others. It was over, at least, though it wasn’t exactly justice for Dontell and the others. It was just an ending. Now Allen could play it any way she wanted to, could revel in her victimhood, play to every camera placed in front of her. She’d be more insufferable than usual, but she’d be without Chandler, so whatever she did from this point forward would be all her. Let’s hope she could handle it. I stood when Eli walked up.
“Don’t see that every day. She poisoned herself,” he said.
“She likely did it before she even walked into that basement. She knew how much time she had and used it efficiently.”
He tossed his legal pad on the desk. “Well, this one’s a wrap.”
“Was the gun in the park Allen’s?”
“Yeah. Chandler’s prints weren’t on it, but they were on the inside of the glove they found with it. Allen will probably walk. Chandler was after her. The housekeeper can say she got that call, and her driver confirms Chandler had a gun on her when they got there. Allen was lucky enough to get it from her, given Chandler was right out of the hospital and weak. All that works in her favor.”
“That and Chandler’s creepy ‘special’ room. She didn’t exactly try to cover her tracks. I think she was trying to get Allen to kill her down there. Whatever she ingested was just a backup. She knew either way, she had an out.”
“Good thing you had that flashlight, or we wouldn’t have gotten the full story. How’s the head?”
“Still attached.”
Eli stood watching, a slight smile on his face. “That was me asking on a personal level.”
“A little sore, bruised, like the rest of me. Thanks for asking. . . on a personal level.”
“Notice how I didn’t swoop in and try to handle any of that for you?”
I smiled. “I did. You’re a quick study.”
He rocked on his heels. “When properly motivated.” He leaned over to whisper in my ear. “I can kiss it and make it all better, you know.”
I pulled back. “Not here you can’t.”
He laughed. “So, you’re good?”
I squeezed his arm. “Yep.” I moved past him. “I’ll see you later. I’m going to get some sleep. The cookout starts around one. Come ready to eat.”
“Don’t I always? Hey, I talked to Mickerson earlier. He’s getting sprung and wants to talk to you. You haven’t been around, he said.”
“He’s coming to the house later. I’ll see him then.”
“Everything okay with you two?”
“Sure. Why?”
“Nothing. Oh, he wanted me to tell you he’s got a line on some security job for this guy he knows. He says the work’s minimal and the pay’s good. He . . .”
I walked away on the rest of it. From behind me, I could hear Eli chuckling.
After a few hours’ sleep, I got showered and dressed and drove out to the Adkinses. I had Dontell’s box in the backseat of my car, its contents neatly arranged, just like I’d found them. I drove with all my windows down, too. After the rats, I couldn’t seem to get enough fresh air.
I parked, carried Dontell’s things all the way to the front door, and rang the bell. Chandler had hired a desperate man to run their baby down in the street, and now she was dead, too. And what for? Some kinked-up facsimile of devotion? For fame and success? It was done, or as done as it was going to be, but Dontell was still gone, as were the others, and all the Adkinses had to carry on with was the box in my arms and the memories they held. Small comfort. Inadequate, but all there was and ever would be.
Mr. Adkins answered the door, looked at me, at the box.
“I’ve brought Dontell’s things back.”
He called his wife, let me in. I placed the box carefully on the coffee table as the Adkinses held hands, drew strength from one another, braced themselves for whatever news I had.
“You find out what happened to our boy?” Mrs. Adkins asked, a slight tremor in her voice.
“Yes, ma’am.”
She eased herself down on the couch, and Mr. Adkins, too, their hands still entwined. I kept standing, my hand on the box, hoping to steal some strength from the strength Dontell had had. He’d refused to be undervalued and played for a fool. He had stood up for himself and had demanded respect. I drew in a breath, then told the Adkinses about Allen and Chandler, about the craven way Chandler had chosen for Dontell to die. How Chandler’s end was a conclusion, but not justice. When I was done, Mrs. Adkins cried. So did Mr. Adkins. I stood there and witnessed the grief, my hand on the box.