Grave Apparel, page 29
He led her to a back table, far away from the hungry multitude crowding around Jeffrey Bentley Holmes. Lacey felt a little uneasy at his presence, but she wasn’t about to let Lamont see that.
“Don’t keep me waiting, Lamont. Read me my rights.” She was in no mood to volunteer information about Cassandra or anything else to the police. Besides, Lamont was with the Violent Crimes Branch and in the District that usually meant homicide. “If they’re alive, we don’t touch ’em,” he had once told her. “This isn’t about Cassandra Wentworth, is it? Last I looked, she was very much alive.”
“Little birdie told me someone at The Eye Street Observer”—Lamont stressed every syllable for effect—“was interested in recent evictions in the District.”
“Which are handled by the U.S. Marshals’ office,” Lacey said. “Not the Metropolitan police. And especially not Violent Crimes. So where do you come in?”
“Oh, little birdies are everywhere.”
“So are you, apparently. Out with it, detective! Please.”
“We got a body. Dead woman. No, it’s not the Wentworth woman.”
“What woman?” Lacey took a deep breath. “Where? How long has she been dead?”
“A while. Not a pretty sight. We have some ID, but it could be stolen. We don’t have a positive yet on the body.” Lacey said nothing. “ID says her name is Lee. Asian, thirty-three years old.
Anna Mai Lee. Mean anything to you, Smithsonian?”
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Jasmine’s mother. Lacey realized she’d been holding her breath. She let it out with a deep sigh. “What happened to her?”
“Why, Smithsonian, I do believe I’ve gone and spoiled your appetite.” She scooted her plate of canapés over to him.
“Thanks, don’t mind if I do.” He picked up an appetizer and popped it in his mouth. “Now, where were we? Oh, yeah. What happened to her? Looks like she got her head bashed in.”
“Like Cassandra Wentworth?”
“A little different. This attack was fatal.” He gave her one of his amused looks. “I know what you’re thinking, but this is nothing as weird as a big old candy cane. Something more logical, like a tire iron, metal pipe, something round and heavy.
But yeah, she was hit over the head. What can you tell me about that?” Lamont ate an egg roll. Lacey felt sick to her stomach.
“I don’t know who she is.”
“Okay. Let’s say you don’t, for the moment. Why don’t you and I converse on why you’re interested in evictions in the District of Columbia? Funny coincidence, this dead woman being on that eviction list your paper wanted.”
He loved to talk, Lacey gave Detective Lamont that much. A sense of the dramatic, no doubt calculated to encourage suspects to confess before they had to witness the climax of his performance. Her thoughts were a jumble. She decided she’d just keep him talking as long as she could. Maybe Vic or Jeffrey would arrive before he really did read Lacey her rights.
“So what does her being evicted have to do with her being murdered?”
“Good question. See, this woman was evicted from her apartment, but technically it looks like it happened after she was already dead. She wasn’t around for the big ceremony.
People cry and beg for mercy and just a little more time to make the damn rent, and then they follow their worldly belongings out the door onto the street. You ever see one? Ugly damn business, eviction.”
“I’ve never seen an eviction in progress. Sounds awful.”
“Then why you were so interested in that eviction notice?
You know something about that woman? About why she’s dead? Because if you do, Smithsonian, you better start squawking. Little birdies want to know,” he growled.
Lacey gazed around the room, willing herself not to tear up, to remember she was a tough, cynical reporter. Jeffrey was sur
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rounded by grant-seekers hustling him for money, crowding around him like an emperor. Vic was nowhere to be seen. No one was about to rescue her from Broadway Lamont. The big tough birdie was waiting.
“I had a hunch,” she said at last.
“About?”
“About the little shepherd. The kid I saw in the alley, who witnessed the attack.”
“That Hispanic teenager?” Lamont didn’t seem angry. He bit into a shrimp canapé.
“The kid that I said looked mixed, Asian and black and white.” He nodded. “It turns out she’s a girl.”
“A girl. See, you do know something. How do you know that?”
“She called me on Cassandra Wentworth’s cell phone.”
He glowered at her. “You forgot to tell my buddy Charleston about a victim’s traceable cell phone being missing from a crime scene?”
“I have such a bad memory sometimes.”
“You and everybody else in this damn town.” He laughed a deep rich laugh. “Why’d she call you?”
“She hit redial when she found Cassandra, looking for help.
She got me, and I came out and called nine-one-one. Later, after your buddy Charleston, and my paper, got it all wrong, she called to let me know in no uncertain terms that she was a girl, not a boy.”
“You didn’t know she was a girl? You’re some kind of fashion expert and you can’t tell a boy from a girl? I worry about you, Smithsonian. That’s more than just a fashion clue, that’s basic equipment, you know what I mean?”
“It was dark! She had the hood pulled down over her face.
She acted like a little street tough. So sue me. Jasmine also called to find out how Cassandra was doing, if she would live.
She was worried about her.”
“What do you know about this kid?” He took out a notebook and pen.
“Her name is Jasmine. Jasmine Lee. Her mother is Anna Mai Lee. She told me she ‘borrowed’ the robe. She was cold.
And she was cold because some people came and threw all their things out of the apartment onto the street. Sounded like an eviction to me.” Lacey put her face in her hands.
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“What’s the matter now, Smithsonian?”
“Jasmine told me her mother was coming home. She was sure of it.”
“Not gonna happen. Not if that ID checks out. Damn shame.
She got a father?”
“No,” Lacey said. “Tell me about her mother, Lamont. Does she have a record?”
Lamont shrugged. “Not much. Looks like she had a good job for a while. Then one day, who knows, she fell down a rabbit hole and that hole was full of drugs. A couple of arrests, but the charges got dropped. She must have had a sharp lawyer. But Ms. Lee must have fallen off in her rent months ago. Evictions take time, but the weather’s been warm enough, and landlords want folks out well before Christmas. Nobody wants to evict around Christmas,” Lamont said. “Nobody wants to look like a damn Scrooge.”
“What happens if you find Jasmine?”
“Kid has to be questioned, of course. Both cases. Wentworth and her mother.”
“I don’t know, Lamont,” Lacey said. She thought of that little girl with this huge intimidating cop. Lamont threw her his exasperated look, one of his best.
“It’s not like we’re going to beat her with rubber hoses, Smithsonian! You maybe, but not a little kid. Children always get to have a parent or a legal guardian or a lawyer present. No matter how bad they are.”
“There won’t be a parent now.” And what if there was no legal guardian, Lacey wondered. Jasmine would get some junior public defender for an advocate. Pro bono. They’d end up in the system, Jasmine and her sister Lily Rose. “Jasmine Lee had nothing to do with either assault, you know.”
Lamont put his notebook away. “She’s a material witness in an assault, which could be connected with the murder of her mother. At the very least she may know her mom’s drug connections, and odds are that’s probably who killed her. This kid is a person of interest.” Lamont got to his feet. “You know the drill, Smithsonian. You got information on this, you call me.
Your memory suddenly improves, you call me. You see that kid, you call me. You got some kind of wacky fashion clue, you call me.” He lifted himself to his feet. “I got a feeling we’ll be talking soon. Sooner the better.”
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She stared him down. “Jasmine Lee did not attack Cassandra.”
“Hell, I know that, Smithsonian!”
Lacey straightened her shoulders and stood up. “What about your Detective Charleston? Where is he in all this?”
Broadway Lamont smiled his broad pearly smile. “You call me. Detective Charleston, he don’t understand fashion clues like you and me. And I’m working a homicide. Homicide outranks assault. You call me, you got it?” He plucked the last canapé off Lacey’s plate and lumbered off through the crowd.
Lacey knew she would have to call Lamont eventually, if and when Jasmine resurfaced. But she wouldn’t be responsible for splitting up those two little girls. They would be taken into custody and put into some kind of juvenile detention hell before being parceled out to a state facility. They’d be scared to death, despite Jasmine’s veneer of toughness. Jasmine and Lily Rose didn’t seem to have much in the world besides each other, a tipsy lady who let them sleep on her couch and in her laundry room—and a stolen shepherd’s robe.
What if Lacey or Mac could get to them first? Mac was already invested in their future, along with his wife. If Mac and Kim could get to them, they would have a home, a Christmas tree, and most of all, a safe haven. Lacey had to find Jasmine and convince the girls to trust her. But how could she tell them their mother would never be coming home? She fished her cell phone out of her purse, just in case. Lacey was lost in thought when she looked up and saw Henderson Wilcox standing there.
It felt like déjà vu.
“You look like you’ve lost your best friend,” he said.
Lacey forced a smile. “Oh, not me. Having a swell time.
Nothing more fun than a Washington cocktail party.”
“And it’s an honor to have one of Washington’s leading journalistic lights with us.”
Who? Where? Me? Apparently this kind of ass-kissing was his idea of idle flattery.
“Yeah. Right. I’m a little surprised to see you here, Wilcox.
I thought you’d be at the hospital with Cassandra.”
“She needs her rest. She’s going home tomorrow. We’re thinking of taking a few days out of town. But I’m here because my family knows the Bentleys. I couldn’t very well beg off.” He nudged her. “And you seem to be a special friend of our host too.”
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So that’s why he’s sucking up to me, to get to Jeffrey, she thought. I should have known it wasn’t my charms. Any guy who’s sweet on Princess Cassandra of the Planet Catastrophe won’t see much in me. She decided to change the subject completely.
“The police didn’t charge that alleged stalker, you know,”
Lacey said.
Wilcox’s expression hardened. “So she told me. But it’s only a matter of time.”
“Do you think she’ll ever remember what happened? Who attacked her?”
He shook his head. “The doctors don’t think so. But the important thing is that’s she’s getting better. She’ll be our Cassandra again, the same as ever.”
Yeah, that would be wonderful, Lacey thought grimly. “Unsettling that the guy is still out there, don’t you think? Maybe he’ll try to get to her again.”
Wilcox downed his champagne. He set the glass on a passing waiter’s tray and took a fresh glass. “Then we’ll just have to make sure she’s safe until he’s put away.”
“How do you explain the Christmas sweater she was found wearing?”
“The sweater?” He looked blank. “I don’t know. The guy obviously had some sort of twisted fixation on her. Or on Christmas. Who knows.”
“Funny Christmas fixation,” Lacey said. “That stalker of hers is Jewish.”
“You don’t say.” He moved on smoothly. “The important thing is that Cassandra is going home tomorrow. She’s all I care about.” His eyes followed an attractive young woman in a fitted Nancy Reagan red wool suit.
“So how long have you two been together?”
He dragged his attention back to Lacey. “About three years now. We met at Gaia. We’re both very passionate about the planet, both very politically engaged.” He shifted the subject again. “We’re a political family. You know my brother, don’t you, Senator Pendleton Wilcox? Let me introduce you.” He steered Lacey’s elbow to where his elder brother was holding court. Suddenly she was tired of men grabbing her elbow. She shook his hand off. Don’t handle the reporter! The younger Wilcox stepped back as the Senator turned to them.
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“Miss Smithsonian, a pleasure,” the Senator said, looking over her shoulder for someone more important. His mouth formed a cold toothy smile. To Lacey it looked like the devouring maw of a predator. “And what is it that you do again?”
“I’m a reporter,” Lacey said.
“Really?” His ears pricked up. “For The Post? I haven’t seen you at the Judiciary Committee hearings, I’d have noticed you, believe me. What’s your beat again?”
“Not The Post. The Eye Street Observer. And my beat is fashion.”
“Ah. The Observer. Right. And the fashion beat must be so—” The Senator shot a look at his younger brother that said clearly, You idiot! Why are you wasting my valuable time with this insignificant peon? “Nice to meet you, now if you’ll excuse me, I—”
Lacey turned on her heel. When you’re being cut dead, she thought, always try to get in the first cut! She walked away as fast as her boots could travel. Jeffrey Bentley Holmes intercepted her.
“Lacey, I’ll be making a few remarks in a minute. Will you join me up front?”
Relief washed over her. “I’d be delighted, Jeffrey! You have no idea how nice it is to see a friendly face—”
Her cell phone buzzed in her hand and she jumped. She flipped it open.
“Hi, Lacey! It’s me! Can we have our coats now? It’s really cold out here!”
Chapter 31
“You’re off to meet the little shepherd girl?” Jeffrey asked.
“Yes, I have to go. I’m sorry I’ll miss your—”
“You won’t be missing much, trust me. You’ll be safe?” He walked with her to the hotel lobby.
“Of course. I’ll be fine.”
“I can try and meet you later, when I can get away from this thing.”
“Jeffrey! You don’t have to do that. You have people to see here.”
“Are you kidding? Miss a chance to meet your famous little shepherdess?”
“Well, I’ll try to call you later, after I meet the girls.”
She collected her bag of puffy coats and caught a cab to the meeting place Jasmine had picked out, a McDonald’s just off U
Street Northwest on Fourteenth, not far from Jasmine’s neighborhood. The fast food joint with its harsh lighting and sullen air was a jarring change from the glorious and festive Willard Hotel. Lacey wondered if she would recognize Jasmine and her sister unless the girl was still wearing the blue-and-white robe.
As people kept pointing out to her, she’d thought Jasmine was a little shepherd boy. But when the cab pulled over she spotted them instantly. Two little girls were waiting impatiently outside the McDonald’s, stamping their feet and skipping, trying to keep warm. She paid the driver and the girls ran up to her, Jasmine in the lead.
“Lacey! Lacey! It’s me! Did you bring our coats?”
Lacey would have known Jasmine’s wise and wary eyes anywhere. And her shepherd’s robe, which looked a little the worse for wear. Jasmine held her little sister’s hand tightly. Lily
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Rose wore a thin nylon windbreaker that was much too small for her. It was snug across her shoulders and the seams were splitting open. Neither one had gloves. They looked up at her eagerly and Lacey saw they both had the same almond-shaped dark eyes. Both girls had unruly masses of curly black hair that fell to the middle of their backs and kept flopping in their faces.
No one had been overseeing their grooming lately. They looked like two little girls very much in need of their missing mother.
“We’re cold!” Lily Rose was jumping up and down, trying to peek into the bag.
“I have coats for both of you,” Lacey said. “Have you eaten today?”
“I’m starving!” The little one pulled on Lacey’s coat toward the door.
“Hi, I’m Lacey.” She put out her hand and the girl grabbed hold of it and shook it vigorously. “Who are you?”
“That’s Lily Rose.” Jasmine opened the door. “She’s my baby sister. Can we get anything we want?”
Lacey thought she must be doing this all wrong. She should probably insist on feeding them something healthy instead of fast food, she needed to turn them over to Mac, and she needed to call Broadway Lamont, as soon as Mac gave her the go-ahead. But she couldn’t bear to see them so hungry and neglected. They skipped in ahead of her. Lacey herded them to one of the back tables, all too aware they were still visible from the street. She kept her eye on the doors.
Lily Rose bounced while Jasmine waited, holding her breath, her hands waving up and down as if she would burst.
Lacey opened the bag and pulled out the coats, hoping they would like them.
“Mine is pink! Oh wow! It’s pink!” Lily Rose grabbed her coat, rubbing her face against the soft microfiber. She plunged her little hands into the faux fur trim around the hood. She looked up at Lacey to make sure it was okay, it was really hers.
“Yes, it’s all yours.” Lacey turned to Jasmine and pulled out the larger baby blue parka. For the first time, Jasmine’s face opened in a wide beautiful grin as she held the coat, stroking the fabric.
“Oh Lacey. It looks really warm. Thank you.” She nudged her little sister. “What do you say to Miss Lacey, Lily Rose?”
“Thank you, Miss Lacey.” Lily Rose had already taken off
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