The Trickster (A Jonelle Sweet Mystery Book 3) Read online

  THE TRICKSTER

  ALSO BY R. LANIER CLEMONS

  JONELLE SWEET MYSTERY SERIES

  Burial Plot

  Gone Missing

  Visit the author’s website at www.rlanierclemons.com

  Copyright © 2017 by R. Lanier Clemons

  The Trickster is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. Published in the United States of America by Journey Well Books. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

  ISBN: 978-0-9967554-2-9 (Ebook)

  ISBN: 978-0-9967554-3-6 (Paperback)

  Table of Contents

  Books by Author

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Acknowledgments

  About The Author

  THE TRICKSTER

  BY

  R. LANIER CLEMONS

  CHAPTER 1

  Small and disheveled, he limped along on the other side of the street. He stayed several feet behind, tracking her movements. She dodged prostitutes and drug dealers, head held high and holding something tight to her chest. Still, he followed.

  From a distance, the dark face and hands might have been the product of years of living on the streets of Baltimore, rather than a testament to his race. His small, close-set eyes trailed the blond as she stopped next to an alley between a liquor store and gated carry-out. She glanced left and right, turned, and retraced her steps. A few feet farther on she stopped. He hoped she was headed back to the warehouse. Instead she squared her shoulders, reversed direction and walked back to the alley. This time, she entered.

  Puzzled, he resisted the temptation to follow. She’d already yelled at him earlier when he tried telling her it wasn’t safe for a woman like her to walk the streets alone; people might get the wrong idea. She’d laughed and told him to mind his own damn business.

  But he couldn’t.

  So he waited for her to come out of the alley. And waited. Was there another way out of there? The liquor he’d consumed earlier begged for release. He glanced around, stepped between a bus kiosk and dented trash bin and sniffed. He snorted; he wasn’t the first. After relieving himself he crossed the street, skirting cars along the way and flipping a few the one-fingered salute as drivers honked and yelled obscenities.

  Intent on following and not paying attention to everything around him, he bumped into a prostitute.

  “Hey,” she yelled. “Get your smelly ass off me.”

  “This smelly ass don’t want nuthin’ to do with somethin’ what look like you.” In spite of the heavy makeup, massive lines and sags broke through the powder.

  “Ain’t you a little bit old to be doin’ this? Ain’t nobody gonna spend any hard earned money on the likes ‘a you.”

  “Ooo. My, my. You must be one ‘a them uptown bums, huh? Whatsamatter? You got extra cash in your pocket and wanna spend some?” Her bright read lips parted showing a mass of empty spaces.

  He waved the woman off, ignoring her loud cackling and headed to where he last saw the blond. Not caring if she got pissed or not he ducked in the alley.

  Overhead, a security light buzzed off and on. The strobe effect bothered his eyes and distorted his vision. The man walked-hopped deeper into the passageway. Rats squeaked all around him and the smell of rotted food assaulted his nostrils. Where the hell did she go? He looked mid-way down and got his answer.

  The woman lay face up on the ground next to a Dumpster, her throat cut so deep the head nearly separated from the body. A bloody cardigan covered the top half of her torso. The dress she wore, now hiked up to her waist, was so filthy the original pattern and color were a mystery. Athletic shoes, torn and without laces, remained on her feet. The pulsating light revealed a stark white substance which stained her face from forehead to chin. Black paint smeared the area around the eyes and mouth, invoking the image of a sad panda bear. Part of a paper bill, denomination unknown, protruded from her mouth. The homeless man wailed in agony and tried in vain to shoo the flies swarming over the body.

  When the police took him into custody, they found a private investigator’s business card in his possession. The next day, at the police station, Detective Thelonius Burton stood in front of Jonelle Sweet and wondered how and why.

  “For the second time Burt, I have no idea,” Jonelle said. “If you’d just let me see the man I might be able to answer your questions.”

  Burt rubbed thick hands over his dark, round face. Bloodshot eyes stared unblinking at Jonelle. “Problem is we’re not having any luck calming him down. He came in two hours ago, screaming and tearing at his clothes. We finally got restraints on him, but he won’t stop yelling. Since we found your card, my hope is you could tell us a little about him.”

  Jonelle thought back. Last year, on one of the first cases assigned to her by her uncle’s agency, she came in contact with a homeless man. He’d helped save the life of the subject of her investigation. She wondered if this was that same man.

  “Is his name Luther? Did you get that much out of him?”

  Burt shook his head. “Didn’t get anything out of him. Once we fumigate the bag we found on him we may find some kinda ID. Hell, we don’t even know who the victim is at this point. All we have is part of a one hundred dollar bill found stuffed in her mouth and a piece of paper with four letters and a bunch of numbers pinned inside the dress. What they mean, well, we were hoping this guy could tell us. As it stands, he’s not cooperating.”

  Unless Luther lost the card she gave him, which was a possibility, she was pretty sure he was the man the police had in custody. Jonelle touched the gold, mini handcuff and pistol necklace she always wore. She paced in front of Burt’s cubicle, a carbon copy of all the other ones in the division, and remembered the case. The police had searched for but never found Luther who’d provided shelter for the victim. That attempted murder case, resolved to everyone’s satisfaction, ended with the perpetrator behind bars. She did not believe that the man who had kept a total stranger alive then was the same one who could take another person’s life now. Yet, her instincts had been wrong before.

  “Tell you what,” Jonelle said, stopping in front of Bu
rt, “why don’t you let me see him? If it’s who I think it is, he may calm down. He knows I’ll listen to whatever he has to say without judgement.”

  Burt frowned. “Is this that same bum—?”

  “Homeless people are not ‘bums’. They are homeless for a variety of reasons. Illness, joblessness, handicap …”

  Burt held up his hands. “Okay, okay. I got it.” He smiled at her. “Boy, you don’t give up that soapbox of yours.”

  Hands on her hips, Jonelle tried hard not to smile back. “Just let me see him.”

  Burt motioned for her to follow. He led her out of the Criminal Investigations division and down a long hallway. The corridor ended at a heavy door. “It’s easier to take the steps instead of waiting for the elevator,” he said.

  After walking down two flights, Burt opened the door and Jonelle found herself in an area with gray walls and without windows. “You okay down here?” Burt asked. He knew about Jonelle’s claustrophobia.

  “Yes,” she said, sounding more confident than she felt.

  The basement area was where suspects were photographed, fingerprinted and placed in holding cells. Jonelle concentrated on her breathing and tried not to dwell on how close everything seemed. “Lead the way.”

  Burt turned right and then made a quick left down a short hall. Raised voices sounded in the distance. Her heart sank. If that was Luther, she may have more problems with him than she thought.

  They faced another door where Burt punched in a code. Loud screams and obscenities filled the air as they entered. A large, red-faced policeman sat behind a desk. “Why can’t we just leave this bastard alone in here? Sorry lady, but I’ve about had it with this dude. Plus, he stinks to high heaven.”

  “Let me outta here, you motherfuckers,” the disheveled man screamed. “You got no right, you got no right.”

  “Gotta make sure he doesn’t hurt himself. Go ahead and take ten, Jake. We’re gonna see if he recognizes Jonelle.” The cop nearly ran over her in his haste to get out.

  The man in the cell sat handcuffed and shackled. He rocked back and forth on the cot, eyes closed. His matted hair, more gray than black, was twisted in front as though he tried to make dreadlocks but gave up halfway through the process. Black dirt caked the already black skin.

  “Luther! Stop it! Now!”

  He stopped screaming. His brow knitted. He opened one eye then shut it again.

  She took a few steps toward the cell.

  “Careful,” Burt said, his hand ready to grab Jonelle’s arm. “They’ve been known to spit.”

  Jonelle dismissed the comment with a wave of her hand. “Luther,” she said quietly. “It’s Jonelle. Remember me? We met last year. I gave you my card. Remember?”

  Luther moaned and continued rocking.

  Jonelle turned toward Burt. “Could you leave me alone with him for a few minutes? He might open up if you weren’t standing there.”

  Hands shoved deep in his pockets, Burt looked first at Jonelle, then at Luther. With eyebrows pressed close together and mouth pursed in a tight line, Jonelle could tell Burt didn’t like the idea.

  “Listen,” she said, gesturing at the man behind bars. “What’s he gonna do? You’ve got more hardware on him than Dunkin’s got donuts. Go. Leave us alone for a while.”

  Burt frowned. He pointed a finger at the man still rocking and moaning. “If he looks like he’s about to try something, don’t play hero. Come get me. I’ll be right outside the door.”

  Jonelle waited until she heard the door close behind her before talking to Luther again.

  “Luther, I remember how much you helped me last year. Well, now I want to return the favor. But I need you to talk to me. I know you didn’t do it. The man I met couldn’t do anything like what happened to that woman. Will you at least let me help you?”

  Luther continued rocking. His moans quieted. A few seconds later he mumbled something.

  Jonelle stepped closer to the cell. “What was that? I didn’t understand.”

  Luther stopped swaying. He looked up with watery eyes. Tiny tracks of dried tears snaked through the dirt on his face, leading from his eyes to his chin.

  It broke Jonelle’s heart to see him in despair. “I’m going to get you through this, but you need to do something for me. Okay?”

  Luther stared at Jonelle. His mouth opened and closed but no sound came out. He slowly nodded.

  “Good. The main thing is, you need to calm down. No yelling, no screaming, and no spitting. Got that?”

  Another weak nod.

  “I’m going to try and convince detective Burton to take off the cuffs and shackles. Also, you need to clean yourself up a bit. They’re going to take you to the courthouse. Put on the uniform they give you and don’t fight them about it. You’ll have to stay there until you’re released.”

  Luther frowned and shook his head. “No, no, no,” he shouted. He started rocking again.

  Jonelle walked over to the desk on the opposite wall, took the notebook that was lying there and slammed it against the surface. Luther jumped. His eyes widened as he stared open-mouthed at Jonelle.

  “Now that I have your attention, this is how this is going to work. First, you can stop that crazy act with me. I know you’re smarter than you let on.” She approached him again. “Second, my agency works with a lot of lawyers so I’ll find you someone decent to get you released. Don’t answer any questions or make any statements until the lawyer meets with you. I’ll bring you some clean clothes to wear when they let you go. Got that?”

  “Yeah. I gots it,” he said. “What about my own clothes? What’ll those bastards do with my clothes?” He pouted like a little child.

  Jonelle hoped the police wouldn’t burn them but couldn’t blame them if they did. “I’ll check with Burt on my way out. I’m sure they’ll take care of all your possessions.”

  Until she could get more information about what happened, Jonelle figured jail was probably the safest place for him right now. “Third, and this is just between you and me. How well did you know the woman who was killed?”

  Luther’s eyes focused on a spot above Jonelle’s head. She turned and looked up at a video camera bolted to the ceiling.

  “Ah,” Jonelle said. She’d forgotten about the automated eyes. She used her body to block Luther from the camera’s lens.

  “Right,” Luther said. He turned sideways and lowered his voice to a whisper. “You go back where we met the firs’ time. Tell who you see that you and me is frien’s and you need to speak to Chester. You tell ‘em about me helpin’ that girl las’ year. That should convince ‘em. If they believe you, they’ll go git Chester and he’ll tell you what he knows. If they don’t believe you,”—Luther shrugged—“they won’t.”

  “What does Chester look like?”

  Luther frowned at Jonelle. “Now who’s suppose ‘ta be smart, huh? He looks jus’ like every other homeless man that walks around that’s white. Raggedy. Dirty. Pitiful. You jus’ go do what I tole you.”

  Luther winked. He shuffled over and sat on the edge of the bed. He did not sway and he did not yell. A look passed between him and Jonelle.

  CHAPTER 2

  On the drive over to her office at Shorter Investigative Services, Inc., Jonelle pondered how to approach her uncle and owner of the firm about Luther’s predicament. Marvin Shorter was a businessman through and through. She knew he wouldn’t appreciate the company taking on a case where payment was sketchy right from the beginning.

  Jonelle pulled up to the booth of the small lot a block and a half beyond the low rise building where she worked. She took the ticket from the attendant who wished her a good morning, drove up two rows and made a left down the last aisle. She eased her Jeep into a spot marked “Res. Shorter Inves. Svcs.” Everyone was thrilled when they learned the city agreed to build the open lot on wasted abandoned space. By pulling strings and calling in favors, Marvin managed to wrangle assigned spaces for him and the rest of the staff. She noticed two other empty
spots, and if history was any judge, it meant Omar Kamal and Ben Winfield weren’t in yet.

  Jonelle grabbed her purse and briefcase, locked her Jeep and hurried to work. Instead of rushing, head down past the panhandler standing at his usual spot on the corner the way she normally did, she reached in her purse and gave him a dollar.

  “Thanks,” he said.

  “Welcome.” What she wanted to add but didn’t was, and you can thank Luther for my attitude change.

  Jonelle punched in the security code, opened the building’s glass doors and entered a small carpeted foyer. Two large plants in maroon ceramic containers stood on opposite sides against the wall. On either side of the narrow hallway, closed office doors announced CPA’s, a family practice and something else in Korean. She ignored the elevator and instead walked to the end of the hall where a closed metal door blocked her way.

  She used her back against the bar, turned and hurried up the stairs, her pale yellow Mary Janes clicking on each step. She pulled open the heavy door marked “2” and entered. More office doors lined both sides of the hall. Straight ahead, a set of wooden double doors greeted her at the end of the corridor, the firm’s name spelled out in raised brass letters. She let herself in.

  Rainey Gottzchek looked up from her computer, now resting on a sleek mahogany desk instead of the old gray, metal one. “There you are,” Rainey said. “Marvin’s got a few surveillance cases he needs you to work on. I didn’t see anything else on your schedule, so he went ahead and made the preliminaries. Hold on a sec and I’ll print out the sheets for you.” The receptionist tapped a few keys and the printer against the left wall came to life. Rainey started to rise. Jonelle waved her back down.

  “I’ll get it,” Jonelle said, taking the papers off the printer. She scanned the words and her heart sank. “Do you know if Marvin’s busy? I’d like to talk to him about something.”

  “Go on back. He only got here twenty minutes ago.”

  Jonelle walked through the open entrance behind Rainey and slipped past her former office, now reassigned to its rightful place as storage closet. The next door marked “J. Sweet,” with “Investigator” directly below, still gave her chills.