The Blood Red Indian Summer (13 page)

“Oh, I’m just getting warmed up,” Cindie warned her. “Kinitra’s also pregnant. Eight weeks along, I’d say.”

“Did she know about it?”

“She knew. Took a home pregnancy test.”

“Does her sister know?”

“Would that be Jamella?”

“Yes.”

“The answer is no. She’s been keeping it from her. Afraid she’ll go nuts. Not exactly mature behavior but Kinitra
is
a teenager. And Jamella is the mother figure in her life, I gather.”

“You gather right. Exactly what does Kinitra say has been going on?”

“She told me that she’s been in a consensual relationship with a young man and that they happen to enjoy rough sex.”

“Do you believe her?”

“No, I do not. But her sister provided us with valid I.D. that verifies Kinitra is eighteen and, therefore, an adult under the law. If she says she and her boyfriend like it rough then that’s how it is. What happens next is entirely up to her. She would
not
grant me consent to discuss her condition with members of her family. If I do I’ll be violating her privacy under the HIPPA laws. You and I can discuss it because this is a potential criminal investigation. Or I should say was. If she keeps insisting that no crime took place…”

“Then no crime took place. And I’m out of here. Cindie, she had to know what your exam would turn up. Why did she agree to it?”

“My opinion? It was a cry for help. But don’t ask me from whom or what because I truly don’t know.”

“Well, how is she explaining the events of last night? How did she end up half-drowned on Big Sister Island?”

“She’s refusing to say a word about it. The subject’s off limits. I did take blood samples for the presence of alcohol and drugs in her system. If nothing else, we’ll be able to determine if she was high. I should have those results back from the lab in a few minutes.”

“Are we looking at a suicide attempt here?”

“We could be. Or she may have been trying to terminate. An acute physical trauma such as a near drowning can trigger a miscarriage—although it didn’t in her case. The fetus is fine.”

“How about the identity of this boyfriend of hers?”

“Won’t say a word about him either. Otherwise, she’s a regular chatterbox.”

“You can do a fetal DNA test at this stage, can’t you?”

“Absolutely. We can determine paternity with no risk to the mother or the baby. But she has to agree to it. We can’t compel her. Not even if a crime took place. And she refuses to acknowledge that one has.”

“Does she know that her family’s outside?”

Cindie nodded. “Doesn’t want to see them.”

“Not even her sister?”

“Especially her sister.”

Des opened the door to the small, windowless examining room and went in, Cindie trailing close behind her. Kinitra was sitting up in bed drinking from a Styrofoam cup of what appeared to be a hot tea. Her hair was wrapped in a towel. Her fresh-scrubbed face gleamed in the overhead lights. She looked thirteen.

“Hi, Trooper Mitry.” Sounded thirteen, too. Her voice was all sing-songy and girlish. “Sorry to put you to so much trouble.”

“No trouble at all. It’s my job. But Dr. Cindie told me you don’t want to see your sister. How come?”

Kinitra lowered her big brown eyes. “She’ll be mad at me.”

“No, she won’t. Jamella loves you. She’s worried sick about you.”

Kinitra thought it over, her lower lip stuck out. “Who else is out there?”

“Tyrone and Rondell.”

“Well, I
don’t
want to see them. But I guess it’s okay for Jamella to come in.”

“Is it okay if Dr. Cindie talks to her about your medical condition?”

Kinitra shrugged. “If she wants to.”

Cindie riffled through the forms that were attached to her clipboard. “I need your autograph to that effect right here.”

Kinitra took the pen from her and signed it.

Des told her she’d be right back with Jamella. Then she and Cindie left the room, closing the door behind them.

“Cindie, how long will you be keeping her here?”

“After a near drowning we like to keep them under observation for six to eight hours, then have them come back the next day to be reexamined. There’s a risk they can develop a lung infection.”

“I need you to do better than that.”

“Better as in?…”

“I want her out of that house for a day or two. It’s an iffy situation there. An extended family of in-laws and hangers-on. A party atmosphere. Can you admit her overnight to Middlesex for, say, a psych evaluation?”

Before Cindie could respond, there was a disturbance outside the glass door at the admitting desk. Tyrone had gotten tired of waiting around. He was hollering, screaming and generally acting as if he wanted to hit someone. Little Rondell was trying to calm him down while Jamella pleaded with the woman at the desk.

Cindie watched them, her brow furrowing. “That big one in the orange T-shirt is Tyrone Grantham, isn’t it? The pro football player who’s always beating the crap out of people?”

“He’s married to Jamella. The pint-sized one’s his kid brother Rondell.”

“Am I seeing things or is Jamella pregnant, too?”

“Seven months.”

Cindie promptly got busy at a computer. “I’m going to admit Kinitra to Middlesex for that psych evaluation.”

“I owe you one, Cindie. And you’ll fill Jamella in?”

“You bet. That’s why they pay me the big bucks.”

Des opened the glass door and motioned to Jamella. “You want to see Dr. Tashima. She’s right over there.”

“Oh, thank God!” Jamella came waddling into the E.R. in a loose-fitting yellow shift and gold sandals, clutching a Prada handbag.

“Yo, what about us?” Tyrone demanded angrily.

“Please remain out here for now.”

“No way!” he roared, barging his way through the doorway.

Des put her hand up against his massive chest and stopped him, lowering her voice. “Tyrone, Kinitra is very upset right now. She wants to be with her sister. Just let this process unfold, okay? I’ll call you when it’s time.”

“To hell with that! I want to know what’s happening
right now
!”

The folks in the waiting area were missing none of this. Tyrone Grantham was huge. He was black. And he was famous. Already, their cell phones were starting to come out. In three more seconds there would be video of this whole incident. Then the media would get into it—and Kinitra’s privacy would be lost.

“Okay, fine,” Des sighed. “Come with me.”

“That’s more like it. Come on, little man. We’re going in.”

The Grantham brothers followed her into the E.R. Jamella was huddled with Cindie, shaking her head in disbelief.

Des found a small, vacant examining room and ushered Tyrone and Rondell inside. “Wait right here, okay?”

“What the hell’s this?” Tyrone demanded.

“The V.I.P. lounge. If you create a scene out there I can guarantee you it will be the lead story on
SportsCenter
tonight. Is that what you want for Kinitra?”

“No, we do not,” answered Rondell, who looked totally distraught.

“Is Clarence waiting outside in your car?”

“He’s still in the rack,” Tyrone replied. “Up all night with that Asia.”

“How about Calvin?”

“Naw, he never stirs before noon. There’s nobody out in the car.”

“Did any media people follow you here?”

Tyrone shook his shaved head. “Too early for them. We’re good.”

“Thank you for your consideration, Trooper Mitry,” Rondell said. “We’ll be right here when you’re ready for us.”

By now Jamella had gotten the full dose of bad news about her kid sister. The tears were streaming down her face. “She’s …
how
many weeks?”

“Eight,” Cindie informed her.

“I-I don’t believe this. She’s never even had a serious boyfriend. It must be a mistake.”

“It’s no mistake.”

A lab technician approached Cindie with a computer printout.

Cindie studied it for a moment before she said, “No trace of alcohol or drugs in Kinitra’s blood. She was clean last night.”

“Of course she was,” Jamella huffed. “My sister’s no party skank. She’s a serious artist.”

Des put her hand on Jamella’s shoulder. “I’d like for the three of us to have a talk together. Do you think you can keep it together in there?”

Jamella breathed in and out. “I’ll try. But who
did
this to her?”

“That’s what I want to find out.”

Des led her into Kinitra’s room, closing the door behind them.

Jamella rushed toward her and gave her a hug, her eyes widening at the sight of those bruises around Kinitra’s throat. “Hey, baby,” she said gently.

“Hey, I’m really, really sorry about all of this.”

“No, I’m the one who’s sorry. I let you down.”

“How did you let me down? You didn’t let me down.”

“Trooper Mitry wants to ask us some questions, okay?”

“Questions?” Kinitra had a puzzled expression on her face. “What about?”

Jamella settled into a chair, her fists clenched, eyes fixed on the floor.

Des leaned against the closed door with her arms crossed. “About what happened to you.”

“I
don’t
want to talk about it.”

Jamella gave her a hard stare. “You have to talk about it.”

“No, I don’t. And don’t look at me that way.”

“What way?”

“Like you think I’m some kind of ho.”

Jamella’s face tightened. “I don’t think that, baby.”

“And
stop
calling me ‘baby.’ I’m all grown up.”

“Okay, okay. Just … chill out for me, will you? I got Tyrone out there about ready to kill somebody. I’m sitting here, size huge, trying to wrap my mind around what in the hell has happened a-and I got you all of a sudden giving me an attitude like I never, ever … Just, p-please…” Jamella broke off with a sob. Des went over to the sink and got her a tissue. “Sorry, it’s my danged hormones. I cry
all
of the time.” She dabbed at her eyes, sniffling. “Just tell us what happened, okay?”

“It’s private,” Kinitra snapped.

“Girl, there’s nothing
private
about some dog
raping
you!”

“Why don’t we back this up a little bit?” Des suggested, keeping her voice low. “How long have you two been living with Tyrone?”

Jamella stiffened. “Why, what’s
he
got to do with this?”

“Not a thing, as far as I know. I’m just trying to get a sense of your situation. Walk me through the past, say, twelve months.”

“Twelve months is like a whole lifetime ago,” she said. “Kinitra and I were still living in the same apartment in Houston where Moms raised us. I met Tyrone when his team flew down to play the Texans last season. He came to the club where I danced and did choreography. I waited tables and slung drinks, too. Whatever it took to keep a roof over our heads. Not just me, either. Kinitra busted her booty every day after school at Walmart. Anyhow, he asked me for my number. We started texting back and forth. And then we started seeing each other,” she recalled, warming to the memory. “When I got my chance to tour with Beyoncé he’d pop up wherever I was on the road. Or if I was home he’d fly down to Houston and we’d hang. I knew his reputation. And I’m real careful about who I get involved with. I told him from the start that I have my sister to look out for, my career. I am a serious person. Demonstrate to me that you are serious or go home. And he did. He
respected
me. After six months or so he asked me to move in with him in Glen Cove. It’s near where the team practices. A lot of his teammates have places there. I said to him, I have a sister, remember? He told me to bring her along. I said, I am not going to uproot her unless we’re talking about marriage. And that’s when he showed me
this
.” She held out her left hand so Des could admire her huge diamond engagement ring.

“The two of us came north and moved into his place last February, I think it was. There was still snow on the ground. Within a few weeks I was pregnant. We got married in July. Tyrone really wanted our popsy to be there to give me away. I told him Popsy hadn’t been a part of our lives for a long, long time—because he was either in jail or because Moms wouldn’t have anything to do with him. Popsy’s no angel. Not that he’s a mean or bad person. He tries to do the right thing. He’s just weak. Lacks will power, you know? Tyrone hired someone down in Houston who found him living in a homeless shelter. Tyrone flew him to New York for the wedding and he’s been with us ever since. It’s worked out real good for him. He and Chantal fight like crazy, but that’s family, right?”

Des looked at Kinitra and said, “So Tyrone has been pretty nice to you?”

“He’s been real nice. Wants to produce me and everything.”

“How about Rondell? Has he been nice to you?”

“I guess.”

“Do you have feelings for Rondell?”

“Get out! He’s a total Urkel.”

“How about Clarence?”

“Cee’s a pest but he’s harmless.” Jamella glanced at her kid sister. “Right?”

Kinitra nodded. “And kind of lame. He keeps saying he’s a sound engineer but I know more about the studio than he does.”

“After the commissioner suspended Tyrone,” Jamella went on, “we decided it would be a good idea to get away from his teammates and all of their friends. A lot of them are no-good punks from the neighborhood, if you ask me. So we ended up in Dorset.”

“Which brings us to last night,” Des said to Kinitra.

“I already told you,” she responded crossly. “I’ve got nothing to say.”

“Did you go to Clarence’s party?”

“Hell, no!” Jamella answered. “I don’t let her near those sort of people.”

Des looked at Jamella and said, “Please let her answer for herself, okay?”

“Fine. Whatever, you say.”

“I was working at my piano on some things,” Kinitra allowed grudgingly. “Until Clarence got in that fight and all hell broke loose. Things settled down after a while but I felt, I don’t know, kind of wired. So I had myself some wine.”

“You had some
what
?” Jamella demanded.

“Wine,” she repeated hotly. “Do you have a problem or something?”