Devil take me down, p.18
Devil Take Me Down, page 18
part #2 of Clementine Toledano Mystery Series
They are redressed, he carefully tucks the rubber back into its wrapper and drops it into the trash, returning to her with two bottles of beer. They move easily around one another, playing the game of pool they’d abandoned before they’d began. He kisses her neck and says something into her ear. I can see her struggle with an answer, but she smiles and nods.
He is delirious.
I am rage.
I hide in the darkness of the live oak at the back of the parking lot. The door opens and they emerge. He pulls her to him, kissing her in the moonlight. He leads her towards the apartment and me. She begins to follow and looks right at me. For a moment, I’m afraid she’s seen me. She tells him she’s changed her mind and walks to his car, asking him to take her home. His face falls, but he joins her at the car. She’s toying with him. Securing her tether.
After they leave, I make my decision. He must be undone. I unlock the door and turn off the alarm. In the half light of the dim bar, I find my treasure in the trash and wrap it in a napkin. When I get home, it will go in my freezer, biding its time, until February, and Tracey.
Bail Bonds and Nail Salons
Q sat nervously waiting to purchase a bail bond for Ben. She rubbed impatiently at her tired eyes. She’d stayed with Derek most of the night, composing melodies for three of the thirteen songs with which he’d presented her. Lucy’s call had woken her up from where she’d collapsed, fully clothed on the couch. Q had quickly brushed her teeth and headed to her appointed destination.
Matherne’s Bail Bonds was a one-stop-shop for the busy woman on the go. In addition to bail bonds, they provided an assortment of nail services, a nice selection of school uniforms, and delicious-smelling varieties of both fried and barbecued chicken. A sign advertised aromatherapy essentials, coming soon.
The older Vietnamese woman massaging her calves asked her if she would like a hot rock massage.
“Sure. Why not?”
“It’s ten dollars,” the manicurist reminded.
“I’m waiting for a three-hundred-thousand-dollar bond, so…go for it. What’s another ten bucks?”
While her toenails were getting painted a shocking shade of green, the proprietor sat down in the adjacent massage chair. Leo Matherne’s six-inch orange afro made him hard to miss. He handed her Ben’s bond. “You’re all set. Care to pick up some supper to go?”
She shook her head. “No, just want to get my fiancé home.”
Mr. Leo nodded and relaxed in the chair, adjusting the controls to kneed his back in just the correct location. He handed her his card. “Be sure to tell your friends.”
“I’m sure I will,” Q said, gingerly getting up out of the chair. She fished out a twenty and told her technician to keep the change - pedicures were free with every three-hundred-thousand-dollar bond.
She walked across the street, carefully keeping her weight on her heels so as not to mess up her new pedicure. Her posture and the thin disposable flip-flops on her feet made it more difficult to climb the WPA-era steps, but her eagerness to see Ben overcame her knees’ and adjacent tendons’ vehement objections.
In her mind, she imagined Ben emerging triumphantly in the lobby, picking her up and spinning her around in vindication. When that didn’t come, she pictured him striding confidently towards her, taking her in his arms, and whispering, ‘We’ll get through this, Clementine.’
When Lucy approached her, alone, Q looked around. “Where’s Ben? He posted bond.”
Lucy shook her head. “He posted bond for Beth’s murder. Not for Strickland Aster’s and not for Tracey Aucoin’s.”
“Oh god.” Q sat down in shock. She pulled her Converse back on just to give her hands something to do.
Lucy sat next to her on the bench. “They have DNA evidence linking him to all three crime scenes...”
“What kind of DNA evidence?” Q asked, terrified of the answer.
“A beer bottle with his saliva and finger prints at the Hunter scene, in addition to those videos, photographs, and of course her blog,” Lucy replied.
“But it’s not him in those images, his scar…” Q started to argue.
“It gets worse. They have semen at the other two scenes. A stained negligée at the Aster scene and drops on the victim’s mouth and neck in the Aucoin case,” she said. “They didn’t have a match for either until now.”
Q looked at her and said, “How is that possible? Aucoin was the last one, right? The one before Beth? He was with me in Hammond that night. He couldn’t have…”
“It took a few days for the police to find her body. It’s a pretty broad window. There is time for him to have been there, cleaned up and made it to Hammond to see you,” she explained. “And before you say it, the stain on the negligée wasn’t more than a day or two old.” Lucy looked down and gently placed her hand on Q’s knee before saying, “Q, baby…I have to ask… because I wouldn’t be doing my job if I didn’t…are you sure there isn’t anything else I need to know?” Lucy looked at her intently.
Q shook her head in disbelief. “No, Lucy. Nothing. What did Ben say?”
Lucy put her arm around Q’s shoulders. “You should talk to Ben.”
She looked at Lucy in confusion. “What’s going to happen?”
“With three murders, he’s not getting bail. And you should brace yourself, honey. This isn’t going to be pretty.”
“But they can’t do anything to me…” her voice trailed off.
“The police? No. The media? Yes.”
~~~
Q sat with growing unease in the relentlessly grey waiting area. The shining new floors and smell of fresh paint came as somewhat of a relief. She had been visualizing Ben trapped in the mid-century hell-scape that was the old Orleans Parish Prison. Finding that he had been transferred to the new facility, instead of joining the population still in the process of being relocated, was the closest thing to good news that she’d had for two days. A line of orange-suited prisoners began to file in. She spotted Ben in the queue, a few inches taller and with hair that was several shades blonder than most of the men around him. As soon as he entered the visitation room, he walked immediately to her and hugged her momentarily, quickly sitting down at one of the tables nearby.
“God, I miss you,” he said. His normal upright posture was hunched and defeated. He reached for her hand and clasped it tightly in both of his.
“At least you got upgraded to the new jail. I was expecting something way more zombie apocalypse chic,” she quipped.
He looked around and leaned in closer, trying to create some semblance of privacy in the crowded room. “What in the hell is happening? I feel like I’m in a nightmare I can’t wake up from.”
Q looked at him seriously, knowing what she had to ask and not wanting to do so. The DNA evidence they'd found couldn’t be faked. She could blame Gabrielli for the video on Ben’s phone, but not this.
“Ben, were you sleeping with Beth?” she asked in a low voice.
“Don’t be ridiculous, Q. Of course, I wasn’t.” He folded his arms defensively.
“Why was there a beer bottle with your saliva and fingerprints at her house? Were you there recently?”
“No, darlin’. The only time I went there, ever, was with you. I had to get the address from Josh. You can ask him,” he said sincerely.
“What about Tracey Aucoin? Were you dating her?” She tried to remain calm and trust his answer.
“No!” he exclaimed. “I’ve been racking my brain and I have no idea who she even was.”
“She was a caterer,” Q explained. “I got together with your sisters, Sanger, and Ernst after you were arrested. We’ve figured out how pretty much every victim is connected to you. She worked some weddings with Nita and Yvonne and she wanted them to fix her up with you.”
He shook his head, his voice was hesitant when he replied, “Yeah, maybe. I don’t remember. But I never went out with anyone they tried to fix me up with after I was with you.”
“It’s alright if you were seeing somebody else, Ben. I know you said you weren’t, but I’d rather know the truth. Please,” she pleaded. “Don’t lie to me, not now.”
“Clementine, I have no idea who that woman was. I haven’t been with anyone but you, I swear it,” he said intently. “The last woman I was with was Strickland. That’s it.”
Q’s voice broke and she said in a loud whisper, “Your semen was on her mouth, Ben. Her fucking mouth. That doesn’t just happen. That’s not something that’s easily obtained. That isn’t something that can be planted.”
“Don’t you think I know that?” he replied, angrily. “I know what this looks like, Q.”
“And Strickland?” she asked, looking at him intently, already knowing the answer.
He looked down and clutched her hand more tightly in his. She pulled it away. “You never stopped seeing her, did you?”
He couldn’t make eye contact.
“You need to tell me what the fuck is going on, Ben,” she said, trying to keep from screaming in frustration.
“I did. I stopped seeing her. We broke up, just like I told you. We didn’t see each other much until she left. But when she was gone, I missed her. She called me to give me her new phone number and we started talking. Then we started calling each other regularly.” He looked up at her and said, “You have to understand, you wouldn’t give me the time of day. I started thinking that I had thrown away something real, something good, on a fantasy.”
“When did you start dating her again?” Q asked, her trust shaken.
“February,” he said. “I drove over to Biloxi and saw her.”
“Did you sleep with her?” She already knew the answer.
He nodded.
“How many times?” she asked, swallowing down the newly hatched jealous creature that was threatening to rise up out of her throat.
“Does it matter?”
Guilt hung from him like a shroud.
“Yes," she said through clenched teeth.
“Three. I drove out to Biloxi the first couple Sundays in February and spent the day and night with her. Then again on February thirteenth. I couldn’t get away for Valentine’s so I went out the day before,” he replied, resigned to whatever was about to happen.
“You slept with her two days before you were with me?” Q asked, betrayal pooling in her stomach.
Ben explained, “I swear I didn’t mean for it to happen. You called me, while I was with Strickland, to confirm the load-in time for your gig. She saw me talking to you on the phone. She told me not to come back until I spent some time with you and figured it out.” He slid his hands over his face. “And I tried to stop it. That night, with you, I tried to stop it. I tried to tell you that we should slow down. But you looked at me, so vulnerable, asking me if I wanted you, and I did. I wanted you so damn much. And I knew if I told you I was back with her; I’d never see you again.”
He roughly wiped a tear away from his eye with his palm and continued, “I called Strickland for the next two days to explain. She didn’t call me back. I finally left her a message telling her that I’d slept with you and I was sorry. Told her that I wanted to be with you and that I’d understand if she never wanted to talk to me again. When she never called back, I figured that was why.”
“Why didn’t you tell me? I asked you point blank if you’d seen her after she left and you lied to me. You fucking lied!” Q cried.
“I didn’t want you to look at me the way you’re looking at me right now,” he said quietly.
“You could have told me,” she said flatly. “We weren’t together, I had no hold on you.”
He reached for her hands and she let him take them. “You and me both know that’s not the case,” he whispered barely loud enough for her to hear him.
"How many people knew, Ben? Who else knew you fucked us both that week?" she raged in disgust.
"You think I was proud of it? I was driving to Biloxi to sleep with my ex-girlfriend, praying that you'd call, just so I could hear your voice," he explained. "I wasn't going to tell anyone. Ever. I couldn't tell my sisters, Josh, anybody. I was too ashamed. I still am."
“Did you kill those women, Ben?” she asked, still shaking.
Ben dropped her hands rubbed his eyes with the palms of his hands. “How can you even ask me that? For the love of god, I was with you at the Cove the nights Strickland and that other woman were murdered,” he said, his voice raised. He paused before exclaiming to himself more than her, “God damn, I don’t think I’d believe me either.”
“You didn’t answer my question, baby,” she said, determined to get a definitive answer.
He took both her hands in his, looking at her carefully, and said, “You listen to me. I did not kill anyone. I did not hurt anyone. I’ve been with you, only you, since our first night together.” He paused for a minute and looked away. “Someone is doing this to me…to us and I don’t know why. But I need you to believe me.”
Q searched his amber eyes looking for the truth. She’d never questioned Ben’s honesty. His warmth and decency were so close beneath the surface of who he was, she had instinctively trusted him. When he’d told her she was the only woman he’d been with that first year together, she’d believed him. But she’d also believed him when he'd said that it was over between him and Strickland for months before they’d been together. She needed to trust him now as much as he needed her to do the same. She closed her eyes and thought for several minutes. She could feel Ben’s eyes on her. She let the dull roar of various conversations surround her and focused her thoughts on Ben. Ben who left the hospital with a concussion and a still bleeding head wound to make sure she was safe. Ben who held her during PTSD nightmares. Ben whose kiss was only hers, always hers. Ben who made her light from within just by saying her name.
She opened her eyes, filled with determined calm and settled her hands on his. “I believe you, baby. And I’m going to find the motherfucker doing this to us.”
Before Ben could respond, a rotund man with a perfectly combed afro leaned over from the adjacent table and tapped her on her shoulder.
“QT is that you?” he asked.
Q turned to see JJ’s older brother, Rodney, smiling in his orange jumpsuit.
“Rodney, what in the world are you doing here?” she asked, wiping her damp eyes with the back of her hand. She was only marginally surprised to find Rodney on the receiving side of prison visitation. As sweet as JJ, Rodney had a penchant for making friends with the wrong people and getting into trouble for it.
“Damn po-po caught me with an ounce and a half of weed. Got me in here on possession with intent,” he replied in frustration. “The only intent I had was to get my blunt on with Uncle T. and JJ. You know those fools and me can put it down.”
A severe looking, older female corrections officer saw them talking and came to reproach them.
“Ain’t no thing, Ms. M. This here is my auntie. Small world, ain’t it? Her visiting with her man at the same time my girl is visiting me,” he called across the room with a large grin.
“That right, ma’am?” the officer asked with a stern look. Q could almost read her mind: black prisoner harassing petite white woman at three o’clock.
Although Q’s inner racism alarm bell had started to ding in her head, making it difficult to reply in a respectful and courteous manner, she managed a lie and an apologetic smile. “Yep. Well, cousin, technically, but I’m the oldest one, so he started callin’ me ‘auntie’ when he was four. Cute, huh?”
The lie took and the corrections officer replied, “You can only visit the inmate you’re on the list for.”
Q nodded vigorously.
“Got it. I am so sorry, first time here. I’ll fill out a form for Rodney, too, next time. Didn’t know he’d gotten himself in trouble, again,” she said, giving Rodney a rueful glance.
The officer nodded and walked back to her post.
Rodney carefully watched her leave before whispering, “Is it true your man killed all those women?”
She turned and whispered back in anger, “No, of course not. Is it true you were going sell that pot instead of smoke it?”
“Dang, auntie. Chill. You need me and the brothers to look after your man?” he whispered back remorsefully.
Q leaned closer and replied, “Yes, thank you, baby. You need a lawyer?”
“You know it. This court appointed moron is tryin’ get me to cop to three to five. Three to five years for possession,” he whispered back facing the other way.
“I’ll give your mama a number to call,” she said, looking at Ben, who rolled his eyes in mock frustration.
Rodney gently elbowed her spine in gratitude.
Q leaned forward and took Ben’s hands again and said, “Oh, Nicky, you take me to the nicest places.”
Ben suddenly got very serious. “Are we alright, Clementine?”
She shook her head. “Not right now, but we will be.”
He reached for her face and cupped her chin in his hand. “I don’t want you looking into this anymore. You let Detective Sanger handle it.”
“I’m just helping put the pieces together, that’s all. Armchair investigating from the comfort of Bubbe’s solarium. Catered no less. What you should be worried about is all these nights I’m spending with Derek Sharp,” she said with a wink, trying to change the subject.
“Not funny,” he replied, clearly unamused. “You sure you still want to marry me? Even an aging rock star must be looking pretty good right about now.”
She looked around and snuck a quick kiss before replying, “Let me put it this way: if my choices are Derek Sharp or holding your hand in O.P.P. listening to you tell me about sleeping with your ex-girlfriend, I’d still take O.P.P. every time.”
~~~
Despite her grandmother’s pleas, Q had stubbornly stayed in Ben’s home, claiming her total possession of it. With his bail denied and his new residential status at Orleans Parish Prison, the house was in no position to argue. She spent her days working on possible suspect lists and victim connections with Ernst and Sanger and her nights either creating melodies and arrangements for the disjointed poetry Derek Sharp had created for the Rebel Angels or rehearsing their new songs with the rest of the band.
