Murder on the Down Low by Pamela Samuels Young Read Free Book Online Page B

as she was trying to figure out the right place to insert herself, the HR Director threw her a lifeline. “Ms. Henderson,” she said, “tell us a little bit about your wage and hour experience.”
    “I’ve had quite a bit.” Vernetta was about to describe a case where she had obtained a dismissal when her cell phone started ringing. And ringing and ringing and ringing. As everybody waited, staring at her, she fumbled around inside her purse, desperate to find the thing and turn it off.
    She finally spotted it buried beneath her makeup bag. The second she turned it off, her mind went blank. She couldn’t remember the last thing she had said or what question had been posed. Just as the silence threatened to blow up the room, O’Reilly opened his mouth to speak, but once again, Haley took charge.
    “Vernetta and I have worked pretty well as a team,” she lied. Haley clasped her hands and leaned forward again, giving the men another glimpse of her fancy pink bra. “Maybe I can tell you something about my colleague’s experience.”

Chapter 12
     
    J .C.’s eyes burned with fatigue. For the last three hours, she had been pouring over the files from the shootings of Dr. Quentin Banks and Marcus Patterson, the engineer gunned down days earlier outside the Ramada Inn.
    People who complained about doctors’ handwriting had never tried to read a handwritten crime scene report, J.C. thought. At least doctors could spell. After examining all of the evidence, she still wasn’t buying the crime scene tech’s theory that the two murders were connected. But she also wasn’t ready to dismiss the possibility either. Both men were shot in broad daylight with a small caliber gun. Both appeared to have been ambushed and both were successful family men with no financial problems, no history of drug abuse, no known enemies and no run-ins with police.
    Wolfing down the remainder of the steak sandwich she’d picked up at the Quiznos a block from the station, she hurriedly drank the last few drops of her Sprite. She had a three o’clock appointment at the home of Dr. Banks and needed to leave right away if she expected to make it on time.
    Thirty minutes later, she turned off Slauson onto Corning Street and hopped out of her Range Rover. J.C. had only knocked once before the door opened and she was invited in. Gospel music played softly in the background and a dozen or so people milled about the living room.
    The teenager who greeted her apparently assumed that J.C. was there to pay her respects. “Come in,” the girl said, not bothering to ask her name.
    J.C. stepped just inside the doorway, but did not go any further. “I’m here to see Mrs. Banks? I’m Detective Sparks. With the LAPD.”
    The girl’s numb expression came to life. “My aunt’s in the den.”
    An even larger group occupied couches, stools, and folding chairs in a room the size of a small banquet hall. The girl introduced her and Diana Banks rose from the couch, shook J.C.’s hand, then led the way to her husband’s study. Her sister, Patricia, followed.
    “You have a beautiful home,” J.C. said once they were behind closed doors.
    Diana managed a weak smile. “We just finished remodeling the kitchen three weeks ago. Quentin was very proud of this place.”
    Mrs. Banks had the graceful presence of a kept woman. Every strand of her dark brown hair was in place. Her French manicure looked freshly done and she’d taken the time to put on lipstick. She was wearing blue jeans and a simple white blouse.
    J.C. settled into a chair that felt like sitting on a bed of cotton. Diana and Patricia sat across from her behind a small oak coffee table.
    “First, let me apologize for having to bother you at a time like this,” J.C. said, “but I need to talk to you while everything’s still fresh in your mind.”
    Diana nodded.
    “When was the last time you spoke to your husband?”
    “About five minutes before he was killed.” Diana’s voice quivered. “I