Death of a Washington Madame (15 page)

After the confusing experience with Chester Brewer, Gail
and Fiona drove to Mrs. Shipley's residence--ex-residence. Gloria Carpenter,
looking melancholy and visibly upset, let them in. She was wearing an apron and
had been vacuuming the front hall. Considering the recent tragic event, the act
seemed odd, although, in the light of what they had been hinted about Mrs.
Shipley's behest, it seemed strangely appropriate.

"We need to talk," Fiona said.

Gloria grudgingly shrugged her consent, but as Fiona and
Gail moved toward the great room, Gloria waylaid them.

"Not there. In the kitchen."

They followed her into the kitchen where she sat down at
the kitchen table and motioned them to sit opposite her. She seemed far more in
command of herself than at their last discussion. Angry, but far more
confidant.

"Where is Roy?" Fiona asked.

"He does the food shopping," Gloria said, as if
the house was still operating under Mrs. Shipley's routine. Offering no further
explanation, she directed her gaze at Gail.

"You had no business bringing Lionel into it,"
she said with contempt. "He is not involved in this."

"He attacked me, Gloria," Gail said, taking off
her glasses to reveal her swollen eye.

"Attacked you? He's lying in the hospital with a
broken shoulder."

"I'm sorry about that Gloria. But he was quite
violent. I had to protect myself."

"Did Lionel say that Officer Prentiss moved
first?" Fiona asked.

"What difference would that make? You all stick
together. And we have no video to prove otherwise."

"Gloria," Gail said. The confrontation seemed to
have energized her. "Lionel has a history of violence. He's been in and
out of prison. And he's a known alcoholic and drug abuser."

"And he was doing just fine," Gloria said
huffily. "Until you came along."

"That's debatable," Gail said flatly. She was in
a vulnerable position on this score, Fiona thought, having seduced Lionel into
a drunken state.

"Are you suggesting that he was no longer abusing
substances, alcohol included?" Fiona asked.

"He was trying," Gloria said. "I suppose you
went after him because someone told you that he had once worked for Madame and
he had been fired. Well, for your information, I was the one who suggested to
Madame that he be dismissed. Lionel agreed with me. He needed help. And it was
Madame who paid for his rehab. Bet you didn't know that."

"Gloria," Gail snapped. "Is your brother
still addicted to drugs?"

"No, he's not. He's clean."

"But still alcoholic. He was drinking yesterday."

"He told me that. You made him."

"I offered. He accepted."

"Don't you know that you never put temptation
deliberately in the way of an alcoholic?" Gloria said indignantly.
"Don't they teach you that in Police school?"

Fiona was surprised at the intensity of her defense of her
brother.

"I had no idea he was an alcoholic." She paused
looked at Fiona then confronted Gloria again. "I'm afraid your brother is
a suspect, Gloria," Gail said. Fiona could see she was wound up, anxious
to control the interrogation. Without an explanation, Fiona nodded her consent.
"He admitted he knew the boy and his mother, that he hung out in the same
neighborhood. I'm not saying he was the one who coerced Martine. But I am
saying he was connected in some way to the boy and his mother. In our work, we
can't ignore these little coincidences."

"My brother would never do such a thing," Gloria
cried. "Never. You people.... "She shook her head. "And what
you're trying to do to Roy. It's a disgrace."

"Lionel told me," Gail said, ignoring her outburst.
"That you expected a substantial behest from Mrs. Shipley. Lionel seemed
elated by that prospect as if he expected to share your largesse."

"Would that be a crime?" Gloria said with obvious
hostility. It struck Fiona that she had apparently fully recovered from the
shock of Mrs. Shipley's death and it was obvious that Gail was deliberately
pushing her. Fiona continued to allow herself to be a spectator.

"Not at all," Gail countered. "I understand
that you've been very good to your family."

"Yes, I have."

"And that there have been many problems with your
sister's family as well."

"All families have problems, woman" she blurted,
her anger rising. "And I don't see what any of this has to do with Mrs.
Shipley's death."

"What are you expecting from Mrs. Shipley's
will?" Gail asked pointedly. Fiona could sense the mechanics of the trap.
She was going for Gloria's jugular.

"What difference does that make? I told you before
that she was a very good and generous woman."

"What specific promises did she make to you and
Roy?"

Gloria hesitated, obviously irritated by the tone of Gail's
questions.

"I really can't tell about these things. It's not your
business," Gloria said.

"That again!" Gail shot back. "We'll find
out one way or another. What did she promise you, Gloria?"

"I can't say."

"Or won't."

"It's none of your business."

"Gloria," Gail said with studied exasperation.
"The fact is that both you and Roy had expectations to benefit from Mrs.
Shipley's death. Moreover you and Roy, undoubtedly, knew you would benefit
because Mrs. Shipley promised it."

"Yes we did," Gloria said. "She told us she
had made provisions for us."

"Besides," Gail pressed. "After all those
loyal years of service, you thought you deserved what you had been
promised."

"And what if I did?" Gloria said and in a gesture
of belligerence, she folded her arms across her chest.

"It was more than loyalty that kept you here, wasn't
it Gloria?" Gail asked.

"I told you the truth," Gloria answered,
exhibiting a growing agitation that was eroding her arrogance. "I loved
working here. And I cared about Madame. We were a family, the three of us, a
loving family. I would have stayed on forever without any promises."

"When did she make you this promise, Gloria?"
Gail asked.

"Years ago," Gloria said.

"At about the time William married Madeline Newton?
Say eight, nine years ago?" Knowing what she knew, Gail had Gloria at a
distinct disadvantage.

"I can't remember," Gloria said.

"How did she put it when she told you?" Fiona
asked.

"She.... she just said it."

"Said what?"

"That she would take care of us in her will."

"No more than that?"

Gloria shook her head, but it was obvious that she was
holding back. Besides, Brewer had confirmed it for certain.

Gail got up from the table and began to pace the room.
Occasionally she exchanged glances with Fiona. With her dark glasses and
height, Gail looked both mysterious and menacing. Vindication, Fiona thought
suddenly. She is looking for vindication. It was more than an interrogation.
Gail was deliberately trying to win back her credibility in Fiona's eyes by an
exhibition of what she must have interpreted as impartiality, following the
police policy of colorblind engagement.

"Gloria," Gail said. She had stopped her pacing
and returned to where Gloria was sitting, standing over her, her expression
fierce and aggressive. "Why are you lying to us?"

"I am not lying," Gloria protested, the residue
of her earlier cockiness fading fast.

"Yes you are," Gail shouted, surprising Fiona
with her vehemence. "You know that you and Roy are getting everything. Why
not say so? We know you called Mr. Brewer to confirm it. Time to end your
little game of innocence."

"I ... I.... "Gloria was having a tough time
trying to simulate indignation. "She ... she promised."

"Have you any reason to believe that she reneged on
that promise?" Gail asked.

'"No," Gloria whispered.

"Mr. Brewer also told you that Riggs Banks is now the
executor, am I right?"

Gloria nodded sheepishly.

"And you called them?" Gail asked. It seemed a
logical conclusion.

Gloria nodded.

"Couldn't wait, could you?"

"I ... I wanted to be sure."

"Sure that she fulfilled her pledge?" Gail
snapped.

"I ... I have nothing. It's my only security."

"What did the bank say?"

"They said they were checking things," Gloria
said.

"Worried that something will go wrong?" Gail
pressed.

Gloria shrugged and made no comment. But she was clearly
concerned. She had removed her arms from her chest and was now nervously
playing with her fingers. When she didn't answer, Fiona pressed her.

"Are you afraid that William will contest the
will?"

She shook her head.

"It wouldn't be his idea," she muttered.
"Not Billy."

"Whose idea?"

"Hers," Gloria said with sarcasm. "The
star."

"For what reason? She has plenty of money."

"Control," Gloria mumbled.

"So you shared Mrs. Shipley's animosity about
Madeline?"

"That was my personal feeling," Gloria said.
"I can't speak for Madame."

"Or won't."

Gloria shrugged and turned away. So she was still
protecting Madame's privacy, Fiona thought.

"I have one more question Gloria," Gail said.

Gloria seemed to grow frightened at the prospect.

"What did you promise Lionel?" Gail asked.

"Promise?"

"Don't play the innocent Gloria."

Gloria swallowed hard, then bit her lip.

"Help," Gloria said. "The help of a good
sister."

She bowed her head and struggled to hold back tears. But
Gail had certainly made her point, both to Gloria and to Fiona.

"I'm going to bust this one, Fi." Gail said.

"You've got the wheel," Fiona said.

As they left, Gloria was slumped over the kitchen table,
her head in her arms, her shoulders wracked with sobs.

Not only did she have the wheel, Fiona decided. She had her
pedal to the metal.

"The logic is there," Gail said, her good eye
gleaming with religious fervor as they moved through the corridor of the
hospital where, by a providential set of coincidences, Martine and Lionel were
still residents.

They moved past the uniforms at a checkpoint, showing their
ID's and proceeded to where Lionel was bedded. A uniformed guard and a nurse
were just coming out of his room. They showed him their ID's.

"He's not very happy," the nurse, a middle-aged
black woman said. "Got him on methadone."

"Heroin?" Gail asked.

"So says the red liquid," the nurse, raising her
eyes to the ceiling in a gesture of futility.

"Got the tracks to prove it," the guard added.

"He's an alky, too," Gail said.

"Says he's been clean for a long time on that. You
Officer Prentiss?" the nurse asked.

Gail nodded.

"Blames you for pushing him off the wagon," the
nurse shrugged, chuckling. "They got to blame somebody."

"Who does he blame for the heroin?" Fiona asked.

"Didn't say," the nurse replied. "Tried to
deny it at first. Then it became obvious."

"Is he lucid?" Gail asked.

"Lucid?" She made a kind of abortive raspberry
sound. "None of it makes any sense to me."

She strode away down the corridor, a smirk of disgust on
her face.

"Got some visitors, Carpenter," the guard said,
opening the door.

"Sheet," Lionel said when he saw Gail. He was
lying in bed, his shoulder in a cast. His complexion was a chalky gray and his
eyes bloodshot. He was a man of indeterminate age, probably somewhere in his
fifties. The resemblance between him and his sister was clear. He had the same
apple cheeks and prominent eyes lined with curled eyelashes and there were
already signs that he was heading toward the pure white hair that distinguished
his sister.

He was obviously nervous and jumpy and had the look of a
haunted man.

"They treating you okay, Lionel?" Gail asked
looking toward Fiona. "This is Sergeant FitzGerald my partner."

"What the hell you want from me, woman?" Lionel
said, shaking his head. His hands were nervously scratching himself in various
places. "Crank me up."

Gail started to crank up the bed. When he reached a shallow
angle, he signaled with his hand to stop.

"Can't get comfortable," he said hoarsely.
"I feel like turd."

"You look it," Gail said, taking off her
sunglasses. Lionel looked at her and groaned.

"I do that?"

"You should have exercised a little more self-control,
Lionel," Gail said putting her glasses back on.

"She pushed me," Lionel said, looking toward
Fiona who stood by the bed silently observing, determined to let Gail take the
lead, knowing it was an opportunity for her redemption. "Put me back on
the booze."

"You didn't seem too reticent," Gail said.

"You shoulda known better than to bring me
there."

"You were on the juice before I met you, Lionel."

"That's a damned lie," Lionel blurted.

"And the other?" Fiona asked.

"What other?"

"Horse," Fiona said, offering the slang name for
Heroin.

"I'm clean," Lionel whispered, but with hollow
conviction.

"Denial won't work here, Lionel. The blood doesn't
lie," Gail said. "Nor those." He hadn't realized that his arms
were bare and hadn't been able to hide them fast enough. The needle marks were
confirmation.

"Lionel, please," Gail said, pointing.
"These don't lie."

"Don't tell Gloria," he whispered.

"Wouldn't matter," Gail said. "She's also in
denial."

He was silent for a long moment.

"I ain't no killer," he said. "I didn't
touch that woman."

"We know that Lionel. The boy did it. Somebody drove
up to where he was hanging out and offered him five hundred dollars to do Mrs.
Shipley."

"Five hundred dollars? Where would I get five hundred
dollars? I don't have no car neither."

"There's more, Lionel," Gail said. "The deal
with Martine was specific. The deed had to be done on a Thursday night. You
know what happens on a Thursday?"

"Comes before Friday," Lionel snapped. He looked
toward Fiona. "She still playin' games with my head."

"Hear her out, Lionel," Fiona said.

"On Thursday Gail visits with your sister Loreen and
her family."

"Yeah. So?"

"Your sister is driven home late by your nephew
Ben."

"That's right. That a big secret? I told you. I don't
have no car."

"You could always borrow one?" Gail asked
innocently.

"Who from?"

"What color car does your nephew Ben drive?"

With a massive effort of will, Lionel lifted himself to a
sitting position, wincing with pain.

"You leave Ben outa this," he cried. "He got
enough on his plate. Loreen, too."

"Have you ever borrowed it Lionel?" Gail
persisted.

"Damn you woman," Lionel shouted.

The uniformed guard rushed into the room, his hand on his
holster.

"Everything okay in here?"

"No problem officer," Fiona said.

The guard assessed the situation, nodded, and left the
room.

But the effort seemed to enervate Lionel, who lay down
again, grimacing with anger and pain.

"I just asked a simple question," Gail said.

"Once or twice, yeah. I borrowed it. Maybe a month
ago. So what?"

Gail seemed to grit her teeth in frustration. Fiona sensed
that nothing was going to stop her. The money and car situation was a
circumstantial issue to be reckoned with at some point. She was obviously
trying to break Lionel with relentlessness.

"Where were you that Wednesday night?"

Lionel frowned, his lips tightened and he shook his head
and closed his eyes.

"You asked me once," Lionel whispered.

"You told me you didn't remember."

Gail and Fiona watched him as he lay there. At first they
thought he had fallen asleep or passed out.

"Come on Lionel. It's that important. If you can
verify your whereabouts on that night, you'd have an alibi. We'd be off your
case."

After awhile, Lionel opened his eyes. They were pained and
bloodshot. For a brief moment they glazed over, and he wiped the moisture away
with the back of his hand.

"I swear. I just can't remember."

"Or won't," Gail snapped.

"Well it wasn't me. Let the little sumbitch look at
me. You'd see that I'm out of it."

"That's exactly what we're going to do, Lionel. Let
the little sumbitch look at you."

"Why would I want to cause harm to that lady. Sure I
worked for her. But it was me who screwed it up. I had nothing against
her."

"What exactly did you do for her?" Gail asked.

"Odd jobs around the house. Helped Roy. I was pretty
good with my hands ... once. Could fix anything electrical or mechanical."

"What happened?"

He turned his face away.

"I.... disappointed Gloria. She was right. She's
always right."

"And will soon be rich," Gail said.

Lionel smiled a joyless smile through tight lips, shook his
head and turned to Fiona.

"See her game, woman. She's trying to pin this on me
cause I know that my sister stands to inherit something from the lady. You
don't understand. Gloria loved that old bitch."

"It's not Gloria we're after," Gail said.

"It's me ... you think I put that little devil up to
it. I told you. Bring him on."

"You said you knew his mother," Gail said.

"Me and my big mouth. Yeah, I knew his mother. Crazy
crack head. And I know her mother, the bitch. Yeah I knew them. And don't ask
me to say nothin' good about them. I say put me in front of the dumbass
kid."

"You're about to get your wish, Lionel."

"I didn't do it. And I ain't got no business in this
place. You put me here, woman." His nostrils twitched suddenly. "I
sure could use a drink."

"Maybe a little mainline sugar, right Lionel?"

"Yeah baby," Lionel mocked. "You got
some?"

His face broke into a crooked sinister smile. But when he
tried to move, he grimaced with pain.

"What you do this for, woman. I got enough
troubles?" he muttered.

Gail tapped on the door. The guard opened it and they moved
in the direction of where Martine was situated, passing through more
checkpoints. The boy was in bed looking at a comic book. An older black woman
sat in the only chair in the room. She looked up as they came in, her tired moist
eyes narrowing, expressing instant hostility.

"Hello Martine," Gail said as they moved into the
room.

The boy glanced up from his hospital bed, but he made no
effort to greet them. His physical condition had apparently improved, but he
still looked as dull and impassive as he had in the wine cellar.

"Who are you?" Fiona asked the older woman who
sat beside him.

"I'm his Gramma. I got permission."

"We have to talk to the boy," Gail said.

"I'll jes set."

Gail and Fiona exchanged glances and simultaneously shrugged
consent.

"How are you today Martine?" Gail asked.

"Fahn," the boy said raising his eyes from the
book. In his white hospital gown, he looked younger than his years, a child. It
was hard to imagine him as a killer and rapist.

"We need your help, Martine," Gail said gently.
"We're looking for the man who gave you that five hundred dollars."

"He told you," the older woman interjected.
"He don't know."

"Was it someone even vaguely familiar," Gail
pressed. "Maybe someone who resembled a person in the neighborhood."

"I ain't never seen him," the boy said, his eyes
drifting to his grandmother.

"Think hard, Martine. It's very important," Gail
said. "It could help."

"Help who?" the Grandmother huffed.

"Him," Gail turned toward the older woman.
"And, considering what he has done, he needs all the help he can
get."

"He was a good boy," the Grandmother said, her
eyes moistening, the creases in her face deepening. Fiona could see the
suffering of a lifetime etched in her dark leathered skin. "I can't
understand how all this happened. First Helene, then Martine." She turned
her sad moist eyes to Fiona, then to Gail. "He wanted to help me and his
Mama. None of that money was for his self. I don't understand none of it. My
Daddy come up from Louisiana during the war to work for the Government. We were
good people, church people. How did this all happen?" Tears spilled out of
her eyes and rolled down her cheeks. "We knew what right was. My Mama and
Daddy knew. What happened to us people? We're God's children like you."

Fiona looked at Gail, but could not see her eyes through
the dark glasses.

"And so we are," Fiona said, her stomach
tightening. She felt a lump of bile rise to her throat and swallowed hard to
keep it down.

"We can't look back," Gail said sharply.
"The damage is done." Fiona knew it was an exercise of
overcompensation. The woman's plight spoke far beyond the kinship of race or
gender or age. Hers was raw suffering, heartrending, able to invoke the kind of
compassion that was off the scale. Fiona was surprised that Gail, considering
her feelings, could hold herself together.

"Not nothin' to look forward to," the older woman
sighed.

"Things could go easier for him, Miss..." Gail
began.

"Mrs. James," the woman said with the emphasis on
the "Mrs." as if it were necessary for her to validate her values,
despite the predicament of her progeny. "I'm a widow. My husband drove for
the Yellow Cab Company. He was a good man, a good father."

"No one is questioning that, Mrs. James," Fiona
said gently.

"I don't know what happened is all," the woman
persisted.

"Martine," Gail said, focusing on the boy.
"All we're saying is that it can go better for you if you cooperate with
us. Are you sure you don't know who this man was?"

Martine shook his head.

"If you did know," Gail asked. "Would you be
afraid to identify this man?" She turned to his grandmother. "Afraid
for your Gramma? Or your mother?"

The boy looked at his grandmother, then back at Gail.

"I be afraid. Yeah."

"Of course he would," Mrs.James said.

"We'll see to it that no harm will come to your
Grandmother or your mother," Gail said.

The boy looked up dully and shook his head.

"He knows you can't do that," Mrs. James said.
"He may be a slow learner. But he's no fool." She turned to Martine.

"Martine, baby," she said. "You don't worry
about me or your Mama. You gotta worry about yourself. If you know the man, now
you tell these lady policeman." She looked up at Gail. "How's it
gonna help him?"

"He's a juvenile," Fiona explained. "It's
not like they'd be putting him away forever. There's therapy. Rehab. Maybe when
he's twenty-one, if he improves.... "Fiona felt the hollowness of her
explanation. Whatever happened, Fiona knew, the present system would never save
Martine. One day it might release him, but it would never save him. He was
doomed and Fiona knew it. Gail knew it as well. But for Mrs.James, it was a
shred of hope, however unlikely and impossible.

"Have you understood me, Martine?" Gail asked.

"Ah guess," the boy replied after a long pause.

"Okay then," Gail said. "Now listen good.
What time that Wednesday night did that man drive by?"

The boy shrugged and shook his head.

"Were there any witnesses to this transaction?"

"Witnesses?"

"People who might have seen you and the man
talking," Gail prodded.

He frowned, thought about it for a long moment, then shook
his head. Witnesses or not, Fiona knew that it was highly unlikely that anyone
who might have seen the exchange would step forward.