Weapon of Choice, A by Jennifer L. Jennings Read Free Book Online Page B

attorneys?”
    “Private detectives,” he said.  “We would like to request a private meeting room, if possible.”
    The man sniffed and turned his attention to the computer.  He punched in some numbers then asked us to fill out a form and show ID.  He directed us to the security checkpoint.
    Once we were thoroughly patted down and practically strip-searched, we were led to the visiting waiting area, which resembled a hospital waiting room with magazines and a large flat screen TV.  About fifteen minutes later, a uniformed guard escorted us to another private room, where we loitered yet another twenty minutes sitting on hard, metal chairs that were cemented to the floor.
    “Have you ever done this before?” I asked Carter.
    “Sure,” he said.  “When I was a cop, it was a monthly occurrence.  Never a pleasant experience.”
    Finally, the door opened and Jasmine walked in.  The guard informed us that we had fifteen minutes and left us alone.
    Jasmine just remained standing, staring at us with a blank look.  Her black, curly hair was tied back into a net.  Her pale face was void of make-up, and the dark circles under her eyes aged her about ten years.  The orange jumpsuit she wore was a size too big.  I couldn’t imagine the food here was anything to brag about.
    “Hello, Ms. Thompson,” I began in a friendly voice and proceeded to introduce us.
    “The guard said you were private investigators,” she said in a monotone voice.  “Who do you work for?”
    “Candice Barr Frazier.”
    At the mention of her name, Jasmine’s knees seemed to buckle and she sat down in the chair provided.  “Oh, wow.  Does this mean she believes I’m innocent?”
    I didn’t know how to answer, so I just said, “She’s not sure what to believe, but your letter made an impression on her.”
    Jasmine wiped her eyes.  “I never thought she’d come and visit me.  Never in a million years.  But I had to tell her my point of view.  The fucking lawyers don’t give a shit about the truth.  Even my public defender was a dick.  They all think I’m a low-life druggie.  I never should have trusted any of them to help me.”
    I could understand her frustration with the legal system.  I had to believe she didn’t get a fair shake.  “I’ve read the police report many times but I’d like to hear your story if you want to tell us.”
    “Sure,” she said.  “I’ll tell you anything you want to know.”
    “Start from the beginning.”
    She placed her hands in her lap and sighed.  “A few years ago, I found an ad in the local paper looking for a couple to pose in a provocative publication.  I had done nude modeling in the past and I wasn’t shy, so it seemed like a great opportunity.  My husband agreed to do it.  Melanie liked us, she said we had great energy and confidence, so she hired us.  The pay wasn’t much, but it was fun.  Anyway, I really liked Melanie.  She was pretty cool.  And I’m glad she became so successful.  She wasn’t a snob about it, you know? She didn’t treat me and Raul like we were low class.”
    I nodded.  “When did you start selling her the pot?”
    “Well, last year, I started growing weed when my husband Raul was diagnosed with cancer.  It was the only thing that helped him with the side effects of chemo.  We didn’t have insurance, so we were trying to pay for everything ourselves.  He couldn’t work, and we barely survived on the money I made waitressing so I started selling joints to friends.  I had no idea Melanie was into weed.  But she called me and offered to pay a premium if I delivered the joints to her office every Friday night.  She was real worried about anyone finding out.”
    “And when was this?” I asked.
    “Last fall,” she said. 
    “So, you went to her office the same time every week?”
    “Yeah, usually between seven and eight every Friday.”
    “And you don’t deny that you were at Melanie’s office the night of April