Thursday, July 29, 10:05 a.m.
Jess adjusted her glasses and studied the latest updates to the case board as Harper finished the last entry beneath the official mug shot of one of Salvadore Lopez’s known associates. She had called him immediately after her meeting with Frazier last night. Harper had done his homework.
“Jose Munoz. Twenty-five,” Harper said when he’d snapped the top back on the marker and set it aside. “His criminal history began at age twelve and was highlighted by a manslaughter charge for which he did time in Mississippi. Released when he was twenty-one and headed west to find his calling, MS-13 under Lopez’s father. Rumor has it Munoz heard stories in prison and decided the Mara Salvatrucha was the life for him. He came to Birmingham eighteen months ago with Salvadore Lopez and serves as his segunda.”
“If Munoz is the second in command, he’ll know all about his boss’s activities.” Made sense to Jess. If there was no way to get to Lopez, Munoz would be the next best thing.
“Captain Allen has Lopez, Munoz, and their whole entourage under surveillance. Since there’s a joint task force between BPD, the FBI, ATF, and DEA as well, he’s not going to want us getting too close for fear we’ll screw up their plans.” Harper gestured to Lopez’s photo and then Munoz’s. “These dudes are the worst kind of news. In light of Simmons having disappeared one week ago tomorrow, I’m thinking we’re not likely to find him alive unless, as you pointed out, the girl is still MIA and is as important to Lopez as we suspect. That possibility might provide Simmons with a temporary stay of execution.”
“You’re suggesting that this multiagency task force will not allow the investigation into a missing person, dead or not, to jeopardize their ongoing investigation?” If she had a nickel for every time that technicality caused a stumbling block, she would be a very rich lady. No one appreciated another cop stumbling into their ongoing pet project.
Harper nodded. “That’s what I got from all Allen’s hedging this morning when I asked him about Lopez’s clique. He’s happy to give us a heads-up if he spots Simmons or learns intel on him, but otherwise, closing in on Lopez is not on the table at this time. Evidently there’s something bigger coming and they need to wait for that. Simmons is irrelevant in the grand scheme of things as far as they’re concerned.”
Hadn’t the ATF or anyone else learned their lesson yet? Murder trumped gunrunning and drugs. More than one federal agent had been murdered by the very weapons these agencies left on the street in hopes of making the bigger bust. Letting the bad guys get away with murder for the so-called greater good wasn’t on Jess’s agenda. If her missing young man was dead, someone was going to prison for murder—no matter who had bigger plans for him.
“I would think that if Allen has this entourage under surveillance”—Jess moved closer to the case board and considered the arrogant expression on Lopez’s face—“that he would be aware of any rumblings within that tight-knit little group. If the girl is back with Lopez, Allen should know this. Anyone brought in or out should be listed on their surveillance log.”
“That’s where things get a little touchy.”
Jess turned to Harper. “Touchy how, Sergeant? I understand territorial issues, but Captain Allen is one of ours and this op is taking place in Birmingham’s jurisdiction. Anything the feds do is only because we allow it. Surely we can count on him, if no one else, for whatever information he can give.” It was one thing for cops within a department to get a little territorial with each other, but the locals usually banded together when it came to the feds horning in.
Harper made a skeptical face. “He’s been very forthcoming and helpful about his task force in general. But when it gets to specifics about Lopez’s location and any comings and goings, he gives the impression of not being in the know or the chain of command.”
“And you don’t buy that?”
“No, ma’am. What I really think is that Allen has moving up the career ladder on his mind. If he can make the right impression, one of those three-letter federal agencies will welcome him on board. The pay is better and so are the benefits.”
Harper was correct. Federal pay grades were typically better than those in local law enforcement. God knew the federal insurance was better, for now anyway. And there was a certain prestige that went along with being a federal agent. But sometimes money and position weren’t everything… sometimes a person had to step down or back to find her future.
“Can’t blame a man for wanting to boost his career, but it won’t be because he stepped over DeShawn Simmons’s body.” Jess walked over to her desk and sifted through the statements they had gathered in the case. “Since we still have no last name for this Nina, did you find anything in any of the missing persons databases?”
“Two hundred twelve with the first name Nina, forty who are Hispanic and in the right age group. But none that look like the drawing we have. In spite of that, I showed the photos to Mr. and Mrs. Simmons but didn’t get a hit. This Nina they saw with their grandson wasn’t a match to anyone in the database.”
Jess glanced at her watch. She hadn’t heard from Lori this morning. Not that she had a specific time for checking in. She was on leave after all. Certainly the detective was more than capable of taking care of herself in spite of recent circumstances. But any level of investigating, even simple remote surveillance, could turn dangerous.
“No credible tips on the hotline?”
The media blitz on DeShawn Simmons was ongoing. This would be the third day, but unless there was a better response this morning, they had nothing to speak of yet. Even with a sizable reward for information. Just went to show that few wanted to risk crossing the MS-13.
“Four sightings. I checked out two and Lieutenant Prescott checked out the other two. Dead ends.”
Jess peered at the artist’s rendering of the female on the case board. “If we can just find this Nina, she might be able to give us what we need to find DeShawn alive or to nail his killer.”
“I got the impression that if we find this Nina, we’re going to be in for a battle with Allen and his fed friends over who gets control of the leverage.”
“That’s an easy problem to solve. If we find her first, they can have her as soon as we get what we want and not one minute sooner.” The feds were the ones who could offer Nina long-term protection. That was where she should end up. Jess had hoped they would agree to putting that word on the street but so far they hadn’t responded to her request.
“If she’s still alive,” Harper qualified.
“Big fat if,” Jess agreed.
The clang of her cell had her reaching for where she’d left it on her desk. She checked the screen. Andrea? Again?
“Jess Harris.”
“Jess, this is Andrea. I know you’re probably busy but I think there’s something about what happened to Ms. Darcy you need to know.”
“Andrea, didn’t you watch the news last night?” Surely Annette had mentioned the latest turn of events since they were close with the Chandler family. “Darcy’s husband confessed.”
“I know…” Other voices vibrated in the background. “Can you come to the studio? Now? Please?”
She should say no. This was Chief Black’s case and he had just closed it with a full confession. Not to mention he’d flat-out told her that her tactics were unappreciated. He’d even suggested Burnett would come to regret his decision about bringing her on board. She should definitely decline.
“I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”
Andrea thanked her and at least two other high-pitched little voices echoed the same.
On some level, Jess couldn’t resist interaction with Andrea merely because she was Annette’s daughter and because Annette still interacted with Dan. She could admit that. She was only human, even if some would disagree. But the truth was she genuinely liked Andrea. And Jess was one hundred percent certain about the Chandler case. The Russian was lying. Worse, he was hiding something and Jess wanted to know what that something was.
“We have a problem we didn’t already know about?” Harper asked.
They definitely had several. “That was Andrea Denton. She and some of the Alabama Belles need to talk to me.”
“You know—”
“Chief Black won’t like it. I do know that, Sergeant.” Good grief. Harper was getting as bad as Burnett. “If they have anything relevant to pass along, I’ll get word to Black. I’m only doing this because Andrea asked.”
“I get it now.” Harper gave a nod. “Those little girls like you. They don’t want to talk to anyone else.”
Jess snorted. “Must be my nurturing nature.”
Harper checked his cell. “Just got another five possibly credible hits from the hotline.”
“Damn.” She grabbed her bag. “I’m going with you. The girls will just have to wait.”
“Cook has phone duty at the task force headquarters. She can go with me. You take care of those little ballerinas.” He winked, then slipped on his Ray-Bans. “Could be good practice.”
“Funny.”
On the way to the parking garage for her Audi, Jess called Lori and asked the detective to meet her at the Chandler mansion. Lori reported that Dresher and her daughter were at the orthodontist’s office, so the timing was good for her.
The idea that Katrina wasn’t at the studio rehearsing with the other girls seemed odd to Jess. But then, what did she know about kids and their maintenance?
Cotton Avenue, noon
The massive, ornate entry gates stood wide open as Jess turned onto the long drive. The only vehicles parked in front of the Chandler home were Andrea’s BMW and a vintage Rolls-Royce.
Had to be the grandmother. Birmingham’s grande dame of the arts, Dorothy Chandler.
As she climbed out of her Audi, Jess surveyed the drive and the cobblestoned parking circle for Katherine Burnett’s posh Mercedes. There was no sign of her or her car, thank God. Jess climbed the steps and raised her fist to knock on the opulently carved front door. It opened before she could make contact and an older version of Darcy Chandler appeared before Jess. If she’d ever met anyone with better posture, the recollection escaped her. Tall, slender, and undeniably beautiful, Dorothy Chandler wore her hair in the same meticulous French twist she’d worn when she was an internationally celebrated ballerina. The tailored sheath and matching high heels hadn’t come from any store at which Jess had ever had the pleasure of shopping. Though the dress was unquestionably elegant, the soft gray color was just somber enough to announce the woman’s state of mourning.
“Chief Harris.”
“Ms. Chandler.”
“Please come in.” The graceful lady stepped back and opened the towering door wider in invitation.
Lori’s sassy red Mustang roared up the drive and parked next to Jess’s ancient Audi. “That’s my colleague, Detective Wells.”
Chandler nodded. “Show her in. We’ll be waiting in the garden.”
Dorothy Chandler turned and walked away, her steps precisely measured and as smooth as if she floated on air.
Lori bounded up the steps, any indication of the beatings she’d taken last week no longer visible in her movements.
“What’ve we got?”
Jess shrugged. “I don’t know, but it’s a command performance.”
Lori’s expression lit with anticipation. “Interesting.”
“Maybe.”
Inside, Jess led the way through the center entry hall. She couldn’t help glancing at the place where Darcy Chandler had landed on the cold marble floor.
The French doors at the back of the grand home that led onto the terrace were open. Two of the dancers waited with Andrea and the elder Chandler in the butterfly garden. The colors and scents and fairylike figurines created a whimsical setting that lured butterflies and children like bees to honey.
“Wow,” Lori murmured.
Jess’s lips quirked. “Yeah. This is how the one percenters live.”
When they reached the waiting group, Andrea jumped up and hugged Jess. “Thank you for coming.”
She ushered Jess to the bench closest to Chandler. Lori joined her there.
The two girls Jess had heard in the background on the phone sat with Andrea on another limestone bench while Chandler sat, back ramrod straight, on the third.
When no one else kicked off the conversation, Jess said, “You are aware this case is closed.”
“I am aware that your department believes so, yes.” Eighty years old or not, the woman spoke with supreme confidence.
“And you’re also aware that Deputy Chief Harold Black is in charge of this case.”
“I am. But it’s you I wish to speak with.”
Jess sent Lori a you-are-my-witness glance before continuing. “Whatever the story is, ladies, please start at the beginning.”
“Andrea, take Sylvia and Lauren into the house for refreshments.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Andrea ushered the girls across the terrace and into the house. When the French doors were closed, Chandler began her story. “In January of last year Corrine Dresher and her daughter Katrina moved to Birmingham from Seattle, or so she claims.”
Jess waited for her to continue.
“Since she isn’t employed and has no husband, I can only assume she has a trust or some source of income. Even before she was settled in a permanent home, she enrolled her daughter in my Darcy’s dance studio. Generally we have a process, including tryouts and an interview, but since Katrina had been accepted into Brighton Academy she was given priority status.”
Brighton was another Birmingham institution. Sending a kid there was like paying college tuition the dozen or so years before college. It also guaranteed acceptance to most any college or university in the country. Still, the Alabama Belles Dance Studio was a private business. No one made Darcy Chandler enroll the child. “But your granddaughter accepted Katrina’s enrollment at the studio.”
Dorothy conceded with a nod. “She had no idea the mistake she was making.”
Jess needed more than blunt, emotional statements. “I know this is difficult, but I need you to explain what you mean by that. What aspect of enrolling the child was a mistake?”
“Corrine became one of the pushiest mothers. She complained about everything. Her daughter’s talent was far from this studio’s usual standard, but Katrina was immediately moved into the position of competition team alternate. The entire chain of events was a fiasco.”
“Why would Darcy make a decision like that?”
“It wasn’t her decision. It was his. He allowed that horrid child and her evil mother to become an integral part of the team, as if they had always been here. The other girls had worked years to rise to the level they have achieved. Darcy was furious.”
“Do you believe Alexander was having an affair with Corrine?”
The elder Chandler reflected on that question for a time. “Darcy insinuated there was something between the two, but whether Alexander was screwing the Dresher woman or not wasn’t as relevant as it might have once been.” She dabbed at her eyes.
“Meaning?” Jess prodded.
“Darcy was embroiled in an affair of her own.”
“Was this affair with Jarrod Pratt?” Jess had a feeling that was why the mayor wanted the case closed quickly.
Dorothy Chandler looked away. Her hand shook as she covered her mouth for a moment to compose herself.
“Ms. Chandler, I’m sorry to have to ask these questions, but if you believe your granddaughter was murdered by someone besides Alexander, we have to know the answers to the hard questions.”
She squared her shoulders and met Jess’s gaze. “Not with Jarrod. With his wife, Cynthia.”
Well, there was a twist Jess hadn’t expected. Talk about a scandal. No wonder it was being kept on the down low. This was Alabama where being black, Hispanic, or queer was still only marginally acceptable and rarely discussed in public. “Were either of the husbands aware of this affair?”
Dorothy nodded. “There was quite a heated yet discreet battle taking place. Cynthia had agreed to wait until after the election to seek a divorce. Darcy was to get hers now.” The matron of the Chandler family frowned. “But something changed two weeks ago, and Darcy decided she didn’t want Alexander to have any part in the studio anymore. She refused to discuss it with anyone. Not even me. But it seemed to have something to do with that unpleasant child, Katrina, and her mother.”
“I understand that you have reservations and the facts you’ve related to me are compelling, but what reason would Alexander have for confessing to a murder he didn’t commit?” Jess wholeheartedly agreed that the Russian was likely lying. They needed to know why and to be able to prove it.
“He’s covering for the real killer and I believe that person is Corrine Dresher,” Chandler insisted. “Whatever power Corrine holds over him, it’s enough to have him step forward to ensure the truth is never found. Alexander doesn’t have the guts to commit murder. He’s protecting someone—my granddaughter’s killer.”
“You haven’t mentioned any of this previously. Why are you sharing this information now?” If she genuinely believed Dresher was involved in her granddaughter’s death, why keep it to herself?
“Andrea showed me the video clip. While we were watching, Lauren and Sylvia came into the parlor. They were supposed to be rehearsing with the others. Andrea and I had let the time get away and everyone else was gone except those two. Sylvia was the first to speak up. She reminded Lauren about the way Katrina bullied Michelle.”
“Michelle is?” Jess inquired.
“The child we lost just before Christmas last year.”
Oh yes. Andrea had told her one of the dancers had died in an accident. Katrina had taken her place on the competition team. “Was there some question about Michelle’s accident?” Andrea hadn’t mentioned anything but then they had gotten interrupted by Jess’s call from Burnett after the so-called BPD leak hit the news.
“She fell in front of a car on the main street that crosses in front of the school. It was a horrible tragedy. She lived for three days but she never regained consciousness.”
Jess’s instincts sat up and took notice. “But it was an accident, right?”
“That’s what everyone said. Katrina and her mother were right beside her when it happened. They were supposed to ride to rehearsal together. The mothers rely on each other when there’s an appointment or an illness. If you’re not familiar with how things work at a studio, especially an intimate one like ours, the dancers and their mothers become like a family. That day Corrine was to pick up both Katrina and Michelle. But for some reason she’d forgotten her pickup line pass so she’d parked a block away from the school. It’s quite an annoying rule, but like all rules it has its purpose. Corrine met the girls at the school’s main entrance gate and the three walked along that busy street to her car. After the accident, they claimed Michelle had dropped her cell phone and stumbled into the street as she tried to retrieve it.”
“You have some reason to believe it wasn’t an accident?” Once again, they needed more than speculation. Although Jess did find it quite a coincidence that yet another person with extraordinary balance stumbled and fell. And Katrina and her mother were the only ones around at the time.
Dorothy met Jess’s expectant gaze with fear in hers. “Sylvia and Lauren insist Katrina bullied Michelle unmercifully. She would tell Michelle that if she broke her leg she wouldn’t be able to dance and Katrina would take her place. Every day it was something. Very cruel. It just seems strange to me that Corrine forgot her pass and decided not to bother going back home for it that particular day. Michelle died as a result of that decision. And now my Darcy is dead.”
“But no one who witnessed the incident that took Michelle’s life could say otherwise?”
Dorothy shook her head. “There were two eyewitnesses who came forward but none could say that Corrine’s and Katrina’s stories were false. It just happened too fast. Still, a few weeks later at a spend-the-night party Katrina was angry because the others were taunting her about her poor performance in rehearsal. They said something like they wished they had Michelle back. Katrina told them to shut up or they would be sorry just like Michelle.” Dorothy pressed her fingers to her lips for a moment. “She warned them that her mother would make them sorry.”
Dorothy Chandler was absolutely convinced that the Russian did not have the courage to kill Darcy. She was equally convinced that somehow Corrine Dresher was responsible not only for her death but also for Michelle’s. Yesterday she had hired a private investigator to see what he could find on Dresher. Jess couldn’t say she wouldn’t have done the same thing. Unfortunately, without evidence or an immensely compelling motive, the hands of the police were tied in both cases.
While Lori questioned the two girls, Jess checked up on Andrea. Lori would also look into the story about Michelle Butler once they were finished here. There would be a case file on the Butler accident at the BPD. Perhaps the family would be willing to talk.
“You hanging in there, Andrea?” She certainly seemed to be in the thick of this painful situation.
“I’ll be glad when this is over.” She hugged her arms around her middle. “I just want justice for Ms. Darcy and I want my mom to stop being sad.”
Burnett had said that Annette and Darcy Chandler had been friends. But Jess hadn’t gotten the impression that they were that close or that she was taking it quite so hard as Andrea seemed to think.
“We’ll get this case settled and then you and your mom can move on.”
“I don’t think that’ll fix things for my mom. She hangs on me whenever I’m home. Says she hates being alone. I can’t even leave the house without her calling a hundred times like some stalker.” Andrea released a big, burdened breath. “When she’s not driving me crazy, she’s calling Dan.”
“If it’s not the case, then what’s going on with your mom?”
“It’s my dad.” Andrea shook her head. “He’s an asshole. He’s leaving again and Mom just can’t deal with it.”
The memory of smelling Annette’s perfume on Burnett’s jacket filled Jess’s senses.
Well, now she knew.
Her cell clanged and Jess ditched her pity party and dug the phone from her bag. “Harris.”
“I’m on my way to Pelham.” Harper rattled off an address on Lee Street, just off 52. “We got four dead MS-13 members and one dead African American male.”
An ache pierced Jess’s chest. “Is it DeShawn Simmons?”
“No ID on any of the victims, but that’s what the first officers on the scene believe.”
“I’m on my way, Sergeant.”
“We don’t have a lot of time, ma’am. Officer Cook has just arrived on the scene. He called me instead of GTF. He can’t wait much longer before notifying Captain Allen.”
Jess assured Dorothy Chandler she would do what she could to determine if there was any merit to her suspicions. Lori stayed behind to finish up.
Jess had so hoped that DeShawn Simmons would be found alive.
Disgust and anger welled in her chest. The bastard responsible for this wasn’t going to get away with murdering an innocent kid.
Not on her watch.
Lee Street, Pelham, 1:42 p.m.
The house was one of a few residential properties in a mostly light industrial area. A holdover from the days when this had been a neighborhood rather than an eclectic mix of low-rent businesses operating on shoestring budgets. Six of BPD’s finest were on the scene. Crime Scene techs were en route as were two MEs from the coroner’s office. Folks from the Donut Joe’s down the street had gathered in the parking lot to watch the show. Employees from a nearby warehouse did the same. When a gang hit went down, silencers were rarely used. Discretion was not the goal. Sending messages in the loudest and clearest manner was the primary objective.
Two news vans had passed Jess as she’d exited Pelham Parkway and turned onto Highway 52. Thankfully, Lee Street had been blocked off from 52 to Old Tuscaloosa Road. For the next few hours only official vehicles would be allowed to pass. The longer this tragic event could be kept off the airwaves the better.
Jess stepped gingerly through the front room of the house that was posted as being for lease and supposedly vacant. From the strewn clothing and mattress on the floor, that was undeniably inaccurate. Empty food containers and other household garbage lay amid the human carnage.
The tattoos on four of the victims identified them as members of MS-13. Whatever tattoos a member chose, the number 13 or MS-13 was proudly displayed as a part of the design. Automatic weapons had left line after line of holes in the walls. Windows were shattered, as was the front door.
It was a bloody mess.
Jess zigzagged her way through the path of bullet-riddled and decapitated bodies to the one that really mattered to her. She crouched down next to the young black man on the floor.
“Oh God.”
Jerome Frazier. He’d been shot twice in the chest but spared the beheading. His young face was unmarred, making identification a simple matter.
Jess turned away long enough to compose herself. Putting him under surveillance had been the right move. Had that decision cost him his life? Or was being DeShawn Simmons’s friend the deciding factor? She hoped he hadn’t attempted to find DeShawn on his own. Whatever the case, the young man was dead and Jess was no closer than before to knowing the whereabouts of DeShawn or the identity of Nina.
Fury roared inside her. There had to be a better way to stop this kind of evil. All the damned gang task forces created in city after city seemed to be getting nowhere.
Well, this was Birmingham, her hometown, and she was back. One way or another she was going to make a difference here.
Jess blinked back the emotions stinging her eyes and looked across the room where Harper waited. They were done here. There were two things she could do for Jerome Frazier now. Notify his next of kin and find the bastard responsible for murdering him.
Jess didn’t spend a lot of time praying. Seemed a waste of time. No matter. She sent a quick prayer heavenward for Jerome and his family. He hadn’t deserved to die this way. Pushing to her feet, she said to the closest officer, “When the MEs get here, you see that this young man is taken care of first.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
This was the kind of message killers like Lopez liked to leave behind. Jerome’s murder was a nuisance kill. He was dead because he annoyed the wrong person or got in the way. The others were decapitated because they were traitors. That the traitors had been killed along with Jerome meant something. Jess just needed to solve the hidden message.
The most probable scenario was that Jerome had thought he’d discovered a contact who could lead him to his friend. And Jess hadn’t had anyone in place to give him backup. That was on her.
When she reached Harper, he said, “Officer Cook is on a guilt trip. I explained that he was following orders, but he’s not taking it very well.”
“I’ll talk to him, but first I need to make a call to a source who might be able to help us.”
“Someone local?” Chet looked surprised.
Jess shook her head. “Someone I know in the bureau. He works with the Anti-Gang Initiatives and Partnerships on the West Coast. If Lopez’s father is a who’s who out there, my contact will know about him and his son.”
“Allen won’t be happy that you went around him.”
“Good,” Jess allowed, “because right now I am very unhappy.”
She stamped outside, away from Officer Cook, who waited near his vehicle and looked ready to puke.
On second thought, she turned around. Might as well put him out of his misery first. Five more minutes before making the call wouldn’t hurt.
“Officer Cook.”
He looked up as Jess approached. “Yes, ma’am.”
“You are in no way responsible for what happened here.” She pointed to the house. “This is on me. I gave the order for surveillance on this kid and I gave the order for it to end. This is not your responsibility; it’s mine. Are we clear?”
He nodded but didn’t meet her gaze.
“The best thing we can do right now is to focus on finding DeShawn Simmons alive, and if we’re lucky we’ll nail the people responsible for this travesty in the process. But we can’t do that if we get stuck on the things we can’t control. Now let’s get on with doing what we have to do.”
He managed a jerky nod. “Yes, ma’am.”
“I guess you’d better put in a call to Captain Allen.”
Jess had a call of her own to make. She selected the name from her contact list and did the thing she’d sworn she would never again do.
Her ex-husband answered on the second ring.
Her heart stumbled and she moistened her lips. “Wesley, I need your help.”