Grave Apparel (73 page)

“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
Vio
lent Crimes Branch and in the District that usually meant homi cide. “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
Ob
server
”—Lamont
stressed
every
syllable for
effect—“was
in terested 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, thirtythree years old. Anna Mai Lee. Mean
anything
to you, Smithsonian?”

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 log ical,
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
Dis
trict 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 sus pects 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
busi
ness,
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
squawk
ing. 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

rounded by grantseekers 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 nineoneone.
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
fash
ion
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.

“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 rab bit 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 lit tle 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
jun
ior 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.”