“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means that you could have downloaded a ninety-minute movie and left it playing on your computer while you took off and came back.”
“Ask the trooper at the gate,” Calvin said easily. “I never left the property. He’ll tell you.”
“See above,” Mitch said. “Re: Hole in the fence.”
“I never left through any hole in any fence,” Calvin insisted. “That’s bull.”
Yolie puffed out her cheeks. “Okay, let’s back this up. Before you walked in that door, Mitch, we were discussing that Mr. Tyrone Grantham had no one to account for his whereabouts at the time of the White Sand Beach shootings. His Glock nine-mil is missing from his nightstand-or so he’s alleging-and the murder weapon happens to be a nine-mil. One of the victims, Stewart Plotka, had a physical altercation with Mr. Grantham that led to Mr. Grantham’s suspension from the NFL. The other victim, Andrea Halperin, who was Mr. Plotka’s lawyer, was on TV this very afternoon demanding a DNA sample from Mr. Grantham as part of the civil case they were pursuing against him. The victims claimed that Mr. Grantham raped Mr. Plotka’s fiancee, Katie O’Brien, three years ago. Meanwhile, Mr. Grantham’s sister-in-law, Kinitra Jameson, is at Middlesex Hospital after her near-fatal drowning early this morning. She is eight weeks pregnant and a physical examination revealed extensive scarring from repeated, forcible sexual contact.” Yolie raised her chin at Mitch. “Real world? Mr. Tyrone Grantham appears to be our chief person of interest. So if you’re offering an alternative scenario I sure would like to hear what it is.”
“I’d like to ask Chantal a question first, if you don’t mind,” Des said, looking over at her. “Are you just going to let them take your son away in handcuffs or are you going to speak up?”
“Speak up?” Chantal blinked at Des in alarm. “Speak up about what?”
“What’s she talking about, Moms?” Tyrone demanded.
Chantal lowered her eyes. “I don’t know…”
“Yes, you do,” Des said to her sharply. “You asked Mitch to let me know that today was laundry day. What were you trying to tell me?”
Chantal took a deep breath and let it out, her mountainous chest rising and falling. She glanced over at Monique next to her on the sofa, then at Tyrone and Rondell. Then she lowered her eyes again. “I didn’t mean nothing.”
“It sure sounded like something to me,” Mitch said.
“You was mistaken. Wasn’t nothing.”
“Yeah, it was, Chantal.” Monique tugged at the woman’s sleeve. “They talking about them clothes I found in the hamper this morning, remember?”
“Hush, girl.”
“Don’t you remember them clothes, Chantal?”
“Girl, this is serious business. You hush, hear?”
“Whose clothes did you find, Monique?” Des asked gently. “Were they Kinitra’s clothes?”
Chantal’s eyes widened. “Keep your mouth shut, Monique!”
“Let her speak, Mrs. Grantham,” Yolie said. “Or we’ll all be taking a ride to the barracks.”
“Were they Kinitra’s clothes?” Des asked Monique once again.
“N-No, ma’am.” Monique’s voice was trembling. “They was a-a man’s clothes. They was all damp. And there was grass stains all over the knees a-and looked like blood on the shirt.”
“Moms, what is this?” Tyrone demanded to know.
“I still got ’em in the laundry room,” Monique added, trying to be helpful.
“Go with her,” Yolie told Toni.
Toni escorted Monique off to the laundry room. Chantal bowed her head and closed her eyes. Her lips were moving-in silent prayer.
Outside, the hard, windblown rain continued to whip against the glass walls.
Winston moved over toward the huge aquarium, transfixed by Tyrone’s sharks. “Amazing,” he said in childlike awe. “What kind are they?”
Tyrone shot an angry, distracted look at him. “What’d you say?”
“What kind of sharks are they?”
“Black tip reef sharks.”
“They’re positively hypnotic. I must get some of my own.”
“Yeah, you do that, old-timer.”
Toni and Monique returned now, Toni clutching a plastic trash bag in one latex-gloved hand. She set it down on the coffee table.
“Let’s have a look, Sergeant,” Yolie said.
Toni reached into the bag and carefully removed a lime green polo shirt that was speckled with dried blood, then a pair of tan slacks covered with grass stains and more dried blood.
“Are these the items of clothing you brought to Chantal?” Yolie asked Monique.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“And why did you do that?”
Monique frowned at her, puzzled. “Sorry?…”
“Because that’s what I taught her to do,” Chantal explained. “Any time she finds something out of the ordinary she brings it to me. She’s fine with the regular wash but with something like grass stains she don’t know whether to pretreat or soak ’em or whatever. Right, hon?”
Monique nodded eagerly. “That’s right, Chantal.”
“Whose clothes are these, Monique?” Des asked.
“I found them in Mr. Calvin’s laundry hamper,” she replied.
Every set of eyes in the room swiveled toward Calvin. In Tyrone’s eyes Des saw pure animal fury. In Rondell’s acute pain.
Jamella gaped at her father in shock. “Popsy, what’s she talking about?”
Outwardly, Calvin couldn’t have been calmer. He took another drink of his beer and set the can down on the coffee table, his hand steady as a rock. “That girl’s simple in the head. All mixed up. Those clothes aren’t mine.”
“A simple DNA test can determine that easily enough,” Yolie said. “It was a warm night. That shirt’s bound to have perspiration on it. Refresh my memory, Sergeant Tedone. Kinitra scraped up her knees pretty good, didn’t she?”
“She sure did, Loo.”
“Mr. Jameson, if that’s her blood on your shirt and pants then you’ll have some explaining to do.”
Calvin sat up a bit straighter, his jaw muscles clenching. “I don’t have to explain a thing. I been in trouble with you people my whole life. You’re always blaming me for every little thing. Never giving me a chance.”
“I’m giving you a chance,” Yolie responded evenly. “Are these your clothes or aren’t they?”
“So what if they are?” he demanded. “And so what if they’re dirty? That’s why I put ’em in the danged hamper.”
“How did those grass and bloodstains get on them?”
Calvin stared at Yolie coldly. “You want to know how they got there?”
“What I’m asking.”
“We had us a party here last night. I had me some fun out on the lawn with a certain young lady, okay?”
“A certain young lady named?…”
“We didn’t exchange no business cards. Her and me got to talking by the pool. Hit it off real fine. The wine was flowing. And one thing led to another, okay?” He tugged at his ear thoughtfully. “Shaniqua, maybe. I do believe her name was Shaniqua. She was a pretty young thing. Blond streaks in her hair.”
Chantal curled her lip at him. “What would a pretty young thing be doing with old trash like you?”
“Having herself a fine time. We made sweet love out on the lawn under the stars. That’s how those grass stains come to be there.”
“And the blood?” Yolie asked him.
“Couldn’t say, miss. I was surprised to see it there myself when I got undressed. She must have scraped her elbows or knees on something. We got going pretty wild there.”
“You are a no good lying punk,” Chantal said in a voice that had turned ice cold. “You are lying right now just like you been lying all along.”
Calvin stared at her long and hard. “You shut your mouth, woman.”
“I won’t shut my mouth! I’ve been keeping quiet for too long. I’m all done keeping quiet. You are evil, Calvin Jameson. You have been raping that sweet young daughter of yours for months under my son’s roof and you belong in eternal hell!”
Jamella gasped. “Popsy, what is she?…”
“Don’t pay her no mind,” Calvin said dismissively. “The woman’s an old crack whore. You going to listen to her or to me?”