Least Wanted (Sam McRae Mystery 2)

As I explained the situation, I watched his eyes display a kaleidoscope of emotions. His expression ran from disgust and anger over what Beaufort had done to dismay and anxiety over the fallout it would create for him and the school. When I finished, he sat staring into space for a full minute.

He pulled himself together and spoke in a controlled voice. “You know, I recall Tina’s mother coming by, claiming one of our employees was involved in some shady business. I wasn’t able to see her at the time. We knew she could be something of a loose cannon. Frankly, we didn’t know whether to take her seriously. Maybe this was what she wanted to talk about.”

My thoughts raced. Maybe Beaufort was another suspect in Shanae’s murder, if he didn’t appear on the DVD during the timeframe in which Shanae was killed. He even fit the description of the “kid” who the neighbor, Mrs. Mallory, saw leaving the house. Light-skinned and built like Tina—around her height and skinny. And he knew the girls were in a gang, so he could have beat up Shanae with the intent to set Tina up. Beaufort might be a viable suspect, if he’d been able to slip away unnoticed during the “festivities.” But I wondered how Shanae had found out about the sex parties.

“Obviously, if this is true,” Thompson continued, “we can’t keep this man on. But I’ll need proof before I can do anything.”

“I can give you a copy of the DVD.”

“I’ll also want to talk to the girls involved in this mess. We will treat this as highly confidential, of course.” He looked at me for confirmation.

“I have to take the disc to the police,” I said. “It’s evidence in other matters. You have my word that I don’t intend to tell anyone else.”

Looking glum, he nodded. I left one of my discs with him, figuring I could get more.

I got in my car and made the short drive to Tina’s. The house was dark. No one answered my knock. Was the house empty? Or was I being ignored? I hoped someone had cleaned up the mess after Shanae was beaten to death. Finding the front door locked, I walked around back. Locked. A shade covered the window. I returned to the front and peered through a crack in the curtains. It was too dark to see.

I knocked at Mrs. Mallory’s to ask if she’d seen Tina recently and struck out. Where was everybody?

Heading to the car, I noticed several black girls, standing around and watching me. I picked out Rochelle. They all wore pink—pink shirts or pink scarves in their hair or around one wrist. They walked toward me, Rochelle in the lead. I counted ten of them—and only one of me.

Her head bowed, Rochelle reminded me of a bull ready to charge. I stared into ten pairs of glaring eyes. I glanced at my watch. “I do believe you ladies are missing class.”

Rochelle fixed me in her crosshairs. “I jus’ talked to Greg. You leave him alone,” she said in a low voice. “You hear me? And you leave Tina alone, too. She ain’t going back to no juvie jail.”

“Rochelle,” I said, holding up my hands. “Wait a second.”

“No, you wait a second,” she snarled. She whipped a straight razor from inside her shirt and snapped it open. “You stay away from them, bitch, or I’ll cut you up.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

“Rochelle, listen,” I said, as calmly as I could under the circumstances. “All I want is to help Tina.”

“She was wit’ me all night, okay?” she said, waving the razor in my line of sight. I kept it in view, prepared to duck if she lashed out. “Don’t matter ’zactly where or what we was doing. She was wit’ me.”

I tried to swallow and could not. While my mouth was bone dry, my armpits were soaked. “I want to believe that, Rochelle. But the cops may think you’re lying to protect her.”

“I tole’ you, I don’t wanna be draggin’ Greg into this.”

“It’s too late,” I said. “I already spoke to Mr. Thompson about him.”

“Sheee-it.” She stopped waving the razor, but kept it raised. “Now I’ma have to deal with Mr. Tom, too? Thanks, bitch. You a real help.”

“What Greg was doing is wrong. And it’s illegal. Do you have any idea how serious it is?”

Rochelle looked at me like I was crazy. “So what about it?” She waved the razor, as she spoke. Every move sent shivers up my spine. “Ain’t no thing. We had a sweet deal going wit’ Greg. We was paid to do that shit.”

So some of the embezzled money had trickled down to Rochelle and the gang. And I bet it was a trickle by the time it reached them.

“I’m sorry, Rochelle, but someone had to shut him down.”

She gave an exaggerated shrug. “Fine. I guess we’ll go back to selling drugs and stolen credit cards for money. It’s riskier an’ more work, but at leas’ we won’t be havin’ sex,” she said with mock horror.

Telling Rochelle that the gig was up seemed to defuse her anger. Maybe enough that she would answer some questions. “If you really want to help Tina,” I said, “I could use some information. There was a tall, skinny kid here, around eight o’clock the night Tina’s mother was killed. The neighbor thought it was Tina, but she was with you at the time. It might have been a boy. Or even a short adult. If it was a kid, I don’t know what he or she was doing here.” I paused. “This person could have killed Shanae. Or maybe came to see Tina and stumbled across Shanae’s body.” I stopped to catch my breath. “Is there anyone else you know who looks like Tina?”

Rochelle lowered the razor but kept a wary eye on me. “I dunno. Tina taller than mosta the girls, so she kinda stand out, you know?”

“What about a boy?”