Hanging on a String Page 9

  I turned my attention to the newspaper on my desk. SECRET LIFE OF SLAIN ATTORNEY screamed the headline, with a picture of Winter Reed staring into the camera. Her eyes had a look of determination, and I thought to myself that she seemed too young to have such hard eyes. Calculating. That was the look the camera caught. As well as beautiful. I read the accompanying article briefly, but I didn’t learn much about Winter, except that she was from a small town in upstate New York, and she was a former beauty queen. There were a lot of quotes about Winter having numerous boyfriends back then, but that was about it. There was one quote from Winter’s mother, which I found memorable. “I don’t know nothing about it,” she was quoted as saying to the reporter. “I didn’t raise my daughter to be no tramp. Winter made her bed, and she’s got to lie in it.”

  She made her bed, and she’s got to lie in it. I had heard that saying on numerous occasions, usually as a prelude to a cautionary tale. But Winter looked triumphant in her front-page picture. She looked smug. The bed that Winter was lying in was apparently quite comfortable.

  The sound of the phone ringing interrupted my thoughts, and I picked up the receiver. My secretary informed me that Detective Claremont was here to see me. I glanced at the clock on my wall. Exactly three o’clock. The good detective was apparently very prompt.

  “Send him in,” I said, with as much enthusiasm as someone about to meet a firing squad. I was still embarrassed about our earlier conversation.

  In a few moments, a knock on my closed door signaled his arrival.

  “Come in,” I called out.

  Marcus Claremont opened the door and walked into my office, closing the door behind him. I rose to greet him, and we shook hands, rather ceremoniously, over my desk.

  “Please sit down,” I said, in an attempt to show that I was not at all fazed by our earlier conversation.

  Once again the attraction that I felt for him gripped me as I stared at his handsome face. He looked great ... and the wide smile with which he greeted me was warm and inviting. I didn’t understand the effect he was having on me. I’d met many handsome men, but no one, not even my ex-husband, had caused me to feel such a strong and immediate attraction.

  “Thanks for seeing me on such short notice,” he said as he sat down in the same chair he had yesterday.

  I sat down as well, and we faced each other, my desk providing the dividing line. I watched as he placed one strong brown hand on his knee and had a vision of that hand being somewhere else far more intimate.

  Clearing my throat nervously, I said, “Detective, I’m extremely busy.”

  He smiled at me. “So you keep telling me. Are you always this direct, Miss Spain?”

  “Absolutely,” I replied. “I don’t believe in playing games. Call me Jasmine. The only people who call me Miss Spain don’t like me.”

  “Well,” he said, looking straight into my eyes, “I certainly don’t fall into that category.”

  He was flirting with me again, and what’s more, I was beginning to enjoy myself. I needed some sort of intervention. I needed someone to talk some sense into me.

  “Well, if I’m going to call you Jasmine, then you’ll have to call me Marcus.”

  This was definitely not the kind of intervention I needed.

  “Fine,” I replied, hoping to get this conversation over quickly. I wanted to leap across the desk and fling myself at him. I most definitely needed a vacation.

  “I need to ask you some questions,” he said.

  “Go right ahead.”

  “When was the last time you saw Chester Jackson?”

  Chester. Right. The reason Marcus Claremont was sitting in my office. I immediately felt guilty. A man was dead, and here I was thinking inappropriate thoughts about the handsome detective.

  It took me a moment to figure out when I’d last seen Chester. Then, I remembered.

  “I saw him the night before he was murdered.”

  Chester had been working late with Nina. I had seen them working in the conference room, with papers spread out over the conference table. I relayed this information to the detective.

  “Did you speak to him?”

  “No.” Chester had looked up and seen me staring into the conference room. He’d smiled and said, “Working late, Jasmine?” I didn’t reply. Instead, I kept walking toward my office. That was the last communication we had. At the time, his pleasantness had struck me as odd; usually, he was either sullen or uncommunicative. But that night he was positively bubbling over with good cheer. Nina, too, looked quite happy. They looked, to me, as if they were sharing a private joke. I now knew what the joke was.

  “Did he appear to be upset about anything?”

  “Not at all. He seemed quite happy,” I replied. “I hardly spoke to the man. Maybe you should ask someone who was close to Chester these questions.”

  “I appreciate your trying to help me out,” Detective Claremont replied, “but you’re really going to have to trust me on this, Jasmine. I do know how to do my job. I’m good at it. Got the citations and everything to prove it.”

  “What do you want to know?” I asked.

  “I want to know whether there is any reason why your business card was found in Chester’s pants pocket the morning he died.”

  “What?” I asked, not sure whether or not I’d heard the detective correctly. He repeated the question.

  “I have no idea,” I replied, taken aback. “We were working on a case together. Other than that, I can’t imagine why he would have my business card.”

  “I’ve heard that you two were quite close at one point.”

  Damn Raquel and her big mouth.

  “Ancient history,” I replied. “Really, really ancient history.”

  “I heard it was a bad breakup,” he continued in a neutral tone, as if he was discussing the weather or the latest Knicks score.

  “Is there any other kind?” I asked. As charming as he was, he was starting to annoy me. I didn’t like talking about failed relationships, especially failed relationships with murder victims, more especially murder victims with my business card in their pockets.

  “I had to ask, Jasmine.”

  “I understand,” I said, but my voice was tight. I was very uncomfortable talking to Marcus Claremont about Chester. I wondered if he knew that Chester had dumped me. My pride stung. I didn’t want him to know this.

  “Personally, I think he was a fool.” Detective Claremont’s words interrupted my thoughts.

  “Excuse me?” I asked, not sure that I’d heard him correctly.

  “I think that Chester Jackson was a fool. Any man that could let a woman like you go is a fool.”

  “Could we change the subject, please?” I asked. The last thing I wanted to talk to Marcus Claremont about was my personal relationship with Chester.

  “I hope I didn’t upset you,” he said.

  “Not at all,” I lied.

  Detective Claremont spent the next hour asking me questions about my professional relationship with Chester, past and recent, as well as Chester’s relationship with other employees at the firm. I was glad that he had left the personal inquiries behind. At the end of the interrogation, he stood up and thanked me.

  “I’ll be in touch,” he said. Once again, his words sounded like an intimate promise, and I suppressed a shiver, although in the back of my mind, I hoped that Detective Claremont had not added my name to a list of potential suspects.

  “What about Raymond Bustamante?” he asked as he walked toward my office door. “Any bad blood between the two?”

  Absolutely, I thought, but prudently, I decided to keep this information to myself.

  “As a lawyer, the one thing I always counsel my clients not to do is speculate. Any answer to that question would be pure speculation,” I replied.

  He gave me a smile. “Damn, you’re good. I hope I never get in trouble, but if I ever do, remind me to look you up.”

  “Have a good day, Detective Claremont.”

  “I th
ought we’d moved on to a first-name basis.”

  I stretched out my hand, letting him know that our meeting was over. “Have a good day, Marcus.”

  He shook my hand. “It’s been good seeing you again, Jasmine.”

  As I stared into his eyes, I thought to myself that this charming, handsome man was definitely trouble. Big trouble.

  9

  “What do you mean you’re letting an associate handle my case!”

  I could hear Vincent Crown’s outrage even before I knocked on Raymond’s closed office door later that evening. Well, I thought as I knocked and waited to gain entrance, Vincent couldn’t be more displeased than I was. I just hoped his displeasure carried more weight than mine.

  “Come in,” Raymond called out.

  I took a deep breath and calmed myself before I entered Raymond’s office. I wasn’t sure what to expect, but I had the impression from Vincent’s shouting and carrying on that the next hour or so of my life would not be pleasant.

  I opened the door and planted a grim smile on my face.

  Raymond stood when I entered the room. Vincent remained seated, with a look that was at once dismissive and contemptuous. He was a man who had his own sense of style. From his permed hair, which hung to his shoulders, to his distinctive and quite obviously expensive tailored suit, and his grey alligator shoes, Vincent did not look like a man with self-esteem problems. He looked better in person than he did on television and in the various photographs of him in the newspaper. His skin was smooth and brown, and his features, while not particularly striking, were pleasant.

  “This is Jasmine Spain,” said Raymond, as if this information mattered to Vincent.

  “Mr. Crown.” I walked over to where Vincent sat and extended my hand in greeting.

  Vincent refused to take my hand. He turned to Raymond and said, “There is no way in hell I’m going to let this woman take my case. She’s an associate, for God’s sake! Looks like she just passed the bar, for heaven’s sake!”

  I have often been told that one of my many vices is my inability to keep my mouth shut. The way Vincent looked at me was the same way my seventh-grade teacher had looked at me when I had told her I was going to be a lawyer one day. Contempt mingled with incredulity. Contempt at my brazen nature in daring to be something better than what he ever assumed I would be, and incredulity that I could be so stupid as to not recognize my limitations.

  “Councilman Crown,” I said, stretching out the word “councilman” for emphasis. “I passed the bar approximately eight years ago, with the second highest passing mark in New York State for that particular year. Since then I have tried and won every single case that has come my way. Cases that have presented far more difficult issues than a man, albeit a high-powered politician, busted for soliciting prostitutes.”

  Raymond cleared his throat, and I turned to look at him. Judging from his outward appearance, he remained calm and collected, but I could tell by the way he was tapping his index finger on his chin, with a quick tap-tap-tap, that he was livid. The one golden rule that Raymond adhered to was that every attorney who worked in a firm that carried his name must accept that the client was always right and should never, ever, not in this lifetime, be publicly contradicted or ridiculed. I had just broken that rule.

  Let the chips fall where they may, I thought as I found the nearest chair to sit in. I would be damned before I let some crooked politician who couldn’t control his libido, and who was threatening to bring down the firm where I had spent a good part of my life these past eight years, talk about me as if I were yesterday’s trash. Oh no, as Dahlia would say, I’m not having it.

  The councilman looked slightly amused and, I was horrified to see, turned on. Yuck. “Oh, you got a live wire right here, Raymond.”

  “No,” I responded, “Raymond has a damn good attorney right here, Mr. Crown. An attorney who can keep you out of jail and help you repair what’s left of your sorry reputation.”

  Raymond started to cough. I knew I had gone too far, but it was too late to turn back now. If I was going down, I was going down in a blaze of fire.

  I stood up and faced Raymond. “Raymond, it’s obvious that the councilman objects to my presence on the case. Perhaps you and he can find another attorney to handle this business. I hear that there is a need for good advocates in prison. Mr. Crown is well known for his lobbying skills. I’m sure that he’ll fit right in.”

  Even though I disliked and had no respect for Vincent, his dismissal of my abilities stung. “Sit down, Miss Spain,” said Vincent.

  I looked at him and waited for the magic word. I did not have to wait long.

  “Please.”

  I complied with Vincent’s request. I thought I saw a look of admiration cross Raymond’s otherwise inscrutable features, but I wasn’t sure.

  “I like a woman with fire,” said Vincent, with a low chuckle.

  “So I’ve heard,” I responded. I was gratified that my response knocked the smile right off his face.

  We spent the next two hours talking about the case. Vincent was now unsure about Chester’s plea-bargain strategy. He was inclined to have the prosecutors prove their case. No jury was going to convict him. Vincent was convinced his popularity would insulate him from conviction, but I reminded him there were plenty of popular folks in jail. He wouldn’t be the first one. It was finally decided that we would at least explore the possibility of a plea bargain with the possibility of counseling and community service, just as Chester had originally suggested.

  I knew one of the assistant district attorneys in the case, Dante Maxwell. We’d gone to Columbia together. I was sure that we could talk off the record about a possible plea, and I was sure that Dante would be straight with me.

  After we decided on the preliminary strategy, Vincent seemed to relax. “You’re not half bad, Jasmine,” he said.

  “Wait till you see her in action,” said Raymond, who appeared to be satisfied with the outcome of the meeting.

  “Raymond, if you had put this pretty lady on my case in the first place, then I wouldn’t be wondering what Chester did with my money.”

  Raymond immediately grew tense. “We’re working on that, Vincent. Give us time.”

  “I want my money, Raymond,” replied Vincent.

  I might as well have been invisible as Raymond and Vincent stared at each other.

  Raymond was stalling for time. “We’re working on it as fast as we can, Vincent.”

  “Well,” Vincent said, standing up, “see that you do that. I would hate to have to go to the press about this, or worse, I would hate to have to take y’all to court. By the way, I assume that I won’t be billed for this meeting?”

  “No,” said Raymond calmly, but he had begun to tap his chin again.

  Vincent left the office after a few more comments about my personal appearance and his desire to have his money returned.

  “That guy is trouble, Raymond,” I said as soon as Vincent left, thinking of the mess that Chester had left behind.

  Raymond nodded his head, his eyes far away.

  “What are you going to do?”

  “I don’t know, Jasmine,” he said. “I wish to hell I knew.”

  After leaving Raymond’s office, I walked down the hallway, intending to go to the small cafeteria room at the other end of the hallway. I saw Nina and another woman walking in my direction. It was late—at least nine o’clock. I wondered what Nina was still doing at the firm but wasn’t about to discuss that or anything else with her.

  Nina, however, surprised me. Her dislike of me was well known, but she stopped in front of me as if she wanted to talk. The woman standing next to her was a prettier version of Nina. This was apparently the sister I had heard about. Nina’s sister had darker skin, and she weighed at least a good twenty pounds more than Nina did. She was beautiful, with large eyes, long lashes, a perfect rosebud mouth, and small nose. She gave me a shy smile.

  Nina spoke. “Jasmine, I owe you an apology.”


  I fought the urge to look out of the window for signs of the apocalypse. Why was Nina suddenly playing nice?

  “For what?” I asked.

  “For the other day,” explained Nina. “In your office with Raymond. I guess I came on too strong.”

  “Forget it,” I said. I already had.

  “It’s just everything has been ... you know, crazy since Chester... .” Nina’s voice trailed off.

  “It’s no problem,” I said, wanting nothing more than to get away from Nina. She was only nice to folks when she wanted something. I was sure that she wanted something from me—probably information about what Raymond was up to—but I wasn’t going to play that game. “Don’t worry about it.”

  “Jasmine, this is my sister, Gem,” Nina said, introducing me to the woman standing next to her.

  Gem smiled again and stuck out her hand.

  “Hi,” I said.

  “Nice to meet you, Jasmine,” Gem replied, giving me a firm handshake. Was this the sister who had the nervous breakdown? I wondered. I’d heard that Nina had taken care of her after her nervous breakdown. Looking at the pretty, smiling woman in front of me, I decided that she didn’t seem to be particularly fragile. She was certainly friendlier than Nina.

  “Well, I’ve got a lot of work to do—” I began.

  Nina interrupted me. “Has Raymond found anything useful ... you know, anything that the police can use to catch whoever killed Chester?”

  Bingo. She wanted to pump me for information. Well, as they say, she was barking up the wrong tree.

  “Not really,” I said. “Take care. Nice meeting you, Gem.”