Willard listened patiently, nodding and taking notes. He looked up. “Could you stop pacing, please? I’m getting motion sickness.”
“Sorry.” I didn’t even know I was doing it.
“No problem. Go ahead and e-mail me the men’s photos and names. I’ll make sure someone looks into this as a separate matter, too.” He waved the disc.
“Thanks,” I said. “I’d like a copy to go to the detective on the Shanae Jackson murder. It shows my client was . . . otherwise occupied when the murder was committed.”
He nodded. “I’ll see that Detective Harris gets a copy.”
Leaving the office, I felt great relief. I’d have good news for Walt. I hoped I could do the same for Tina.
As I walked out to my car, my cell phone rang. The number had been blocked, but I answered anyway.
“Ms. McRae? . . . Sam?” The voice faltered, but it was Tina’s.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
My heart raced. “Tina! Where are you?”
“I . . . I’m all right. I jus’ wanted to talk to you. What’s going to happen to me?”
I didn’t know, so I changed the subject. “Tina, we need to talk about the night your mother died,” I said. “You were at a party that night, not at Rochelle’s.”
She paused long enough for me to know I’d taken her by surprise. “Who tole’ you that?”
“It doesn’t matter. The point is, you had an alibi, and you didn’t say anything.”
“But I was wit’ Rochelle, jus’ like I said. I jus’ didn’t wanna get my friends in trouble. I didn’t wanna get Greg in trouble neither. This was their thing, and I didn’t wanna stir nothin’ up, you see what I’m sayin’?”
“You mean, it was part of the gang’s thing and you didn’t want to tell on them.”
“Well . . . yeah.”
We must be getting somewhere, I thought. At least she’s no longer denying involvement in a gang. “Greg was recording you. That’s how I know about all this.”
“So what if he was?” she said.
“He was selling the recordings for big money and paying you girls peanuts to appear in them,” I said. “He was using you.”
“Ain’t that what people do?”
Unfortunately, she was spot on, I thought.
“So what now?” she said.
“You need to come in,” I said. “You and I need to go to the cops and make a statement about where you were, how late you were out, and all that. Greg Beaufort knows when you left. The cops will want to talk to him anyway, so he can verify your alibi.”
“And then what? They’ll jus’ lock me up again, ’cause I run away.”
“I don’t know. Maybe we can work something out. But you can’t keep running, Tina. You have to deal with it at some point.”
“Deal with it? My moms is dead.” Her voice turned steely. “She may not have been no good, but that’s still some hard-ass shit to deal with.”
“I know it is,” I said. “Really, I do. My parents died when I was nine. It was . . . like they abandoned me.” I hadn’t verbalized that thought in many years. A headache gathered at the bridge of my nose, my eyes filled. I wasn’t sure if I felt sorrier for myself or Tina.
“I’ll be okay. I jus’ wanted to see what was up wit’ us. Don’t worry ’bout me.”
She hung up.