His Third Wife Page 18

  “Silver, silver, black and silver,” she said to the holes.

  Val could hear her chanting but couldn’t make out what she was saying. “Mama?”

  Mama Fee slid her hand back into the mess of snakes and tongues and retrieved a cold heavy weight, a silver candelabra. She pulled it from the mysterious soup, held it high over her head, and lowered it with force to break the glass over the picture to bits. She banged and banged and banged until glass dust was kicking up everywhere in a cloud.

  “Mama? What are you doing?” Val was hollering then, but she knew. She always knew.

  Mama Fee returned to the phone rewired, reconnected, and in a voice as clear and as calm as if she was floating in a pool of salt water, she said, “Get out of that house. There’s nothing there for you.”

  Jamison was handling the loss his own way—which kind of meant not handling it at all. The mayor who’d abandoned his profession for so long Sunday morning pundits had questioned if the city once known as Terminus had a mayor at all and could have elected better replacements that included the newborn panda bear at the zoo and the Big Chicken on Cobb Parkway, dove back into his list of promises with a resolve that had his growing list of faceless enemies suiting up in armor that wasn’t figurative and loading bullets that had a target in mind.

  Jamison’s participation in the ambiguous duel wasn’t as methodical though. It was reborn in him in the way a cause was ex humed from the hearts of all great leaders who preceded him: a long hard look in the mirror to measure the man before him. It was time for him to answer to anything he thought he was. Even in the face of what he knew he’d lose. What the unburied thing had shown him was that loss was always possible. Inevitable. And sometimes you could lose things you didn’t know you had. You didn’t know you wanted. Or needed. But he wouldn’t know that until he was tumbling to cold, pressed tar, no future in front of him, but a past of no regrets.

  He called Leaf and told him to meet him in the parking lot behind Fox News. When Leaf got there, Jamison was standing on the side of his car, rubbing his palms into the sides of his slacks. Leaf was moving slower than usual, had the distant look of the accused in his eyes.

  Jamison had expected this, so he started with something like an apology: “There’s a lot going on. I don’t know who I can trust, but I don’t really believe those things I said to you at the hospital.”

  Leaf just nodded and looked up at the huge satellite bolted to the roof of the news station. “Why are we here?” he asked. “There’s nothing on the schedule. Did I miss something?”

  “I went to the jail this morning. Met with Ras and his attorney,” Jamison explained, pointing to a stack of papers sitting in the backseat of his car. “Got a lot of information about why the police department—and I don’t know, like the whole damn criminal justice system—seems to want to take him down.”

  “Why?”

  “Because they want to take me down with him,” Jamison whispered.

  “Come on. You don’t believe that. I told you—” Leaf started and then paused. “This isn’t your fight. This is about Ras and his mess. You’re just caught in the middle. Right? And so what if the system is trying to take him down? Shouldn’t it? Isn’t that what it’s for?”

  Jamison was clearly ignoring Leaf’s rationalizations. He opened the back door to get the papers.

  “So, what? You’re gonna go in there on the news and say the police are trying to arrest a drug dealer? What if all of this is a lie?” Leaf asked, trailing behind Jamison as he started walking to the station doors. “What if it has nothing to do with you and your friend is using you? You said already there’s so much going on. You aren’t thinking straight. You don’t need to do this.”

  “I’m the only one who can do this,” Jamison said when they got to the doors.

  Leaf grabbed Jamison’s arm to stop him from opening the door.

  “Look, if you have something to do with this, tell me. Tell me now,” Leaf said. “So I know what I’m dealing with.”

  Jamison looked at the hand so hard, Leaf let go.

  “No worries, my friend,” Jamison said. “No worries.”

  When he was turning to go into the station, his eyes caught a glimpse of silver rolling slowly along in the lot behind Leaf.

  Jamison’s stare lingered so long, Leaf turned too.

  The silver was the top of a Maserati with limousine tinted windows rolled up to hide any inhabitants. The car slowed to a pace that might allow a gunman riding shotgun to steady his weapon. But just as Jamison and Leaf got any inclination of what could be happening, the car bolted forward with speed that indicated not an escape but a certain threat.

  “You know who that was?” Leaf asked Jamison after looking long enough to see there was no plate in the back.

  “I think I do.”

  It wasn’t ever hard for an embattled mayor to get on television. A notable man with one hand holding a folder of secret files and the other in a closed fist was the kind of thing news stations lived for. An exclusive on a drama that had other news stations scrambling for leads meant any plans producers had from the local stand-ins to the national mother station were on hold. The only issue was that when Jamison and Leaf walked in, the in-house crew was preparing to shoot a segment about the importance of late-summer sun protection and the only camera-ready face in the building was that of the pixie-cute lifestyle journalist Alina Blue.

  Her boss pulled her out of the bathroom as Jamison was being outfitted with a wire microphone.

  “You’re the only person who can talk to him,” the producer said. “Opal and King are over a half hour away and he says he’s going to another station with this if we don’t move.”

  “But I’m not a real journalist,” Alina said by mistake. “I mean, I’m not—this isn’t—my thing.”

  “Doesn’t matter. You went to school for it. It’s your job.”

  Alina followed her boss to the set where she could see Jamison and another man looking over a stack of papers and seemingly practicing a statement.

  “What does he want? What is he going to say? What should I ask him?” Alina asked, remembering the director of her department in college telling her she shouldn’t even think of going into political journalism because she was too cute and no one would take her seriously.

  “I have no fucking idea. And I don’t really care,” the producer said as a team of makeup artists finished off Alina’s lipstick and added more blush. “All I know is he promised he’d only talk to us and only right now.”

  “Does he know I’m just a lifestyle journalist?”

  “I don’t think he half cares who you are. Look, just go and talk to him. Talk and take it from there,” he said before nearly pushing Alina toward the little interview area where Jamison was already seated. “And, hey, try to get him to say something about his baby dying. Everyone’s talking about that right now.”

  So, the important late-summer sun-protection story was scrapped and too-pretty journalist Alina Blue and her panicky eyes were sitting across from Jamison. She’d actually heard the rumors around the office that the mayor had something to do with Dax’s death. It sounded like nonsense. Politics couldn’t be that perilous. These were men in suits. Not gangbangers or mobsters who’d kill someone just for talking. Right?

  Alina tried to smile. To catch her breath. To show her teeth.

  Jamison looked at her and saw all of this debate.

  “Just relax. This will be fast,” Jamison said, and then the producer counted down to the camera taping a live broadcast.

  “We’re ready?” Alina said, looking at the cameraman, who pointed to the camera to let her know she was already on the air. “OH!” Alina refocused. “I’m Alina Blue and you’re watching Fox Five News. We have a bit of a treat for you today. A special, exclusive visit from Mayor Jamison Taylor.”

  The shot widened to show Jamison sitting beside Alina.

  “Welcome,” Alina added, unsure of what to say next.

  “Thanks fo
r having me.”

  “Now, I understand you have some big news you’d like to share,” Alina said, already sure she wasn’t going to ask about the baby. She’d been through that same tough night with her husband.

  “Yes, I do,” Jamison said. “I want to take a moment to address my people, those who’ve supported me over the years, those who no longer support me, those who never supported me, all of them.” The cameraman went in close on Jamison’s face then. “I want to let everyone know about a violation of the law that’s happening right here in this city where one man sits in a jail cell for weeks without having a bail amount posted and for charges that are without exigency and based upon an arrest that remains in question by his attorney.”

  “Excuse me, Mayor Taylor,” Alina cut in. “Are you talking about the case concerning Glenn ‘Ras’ Roberson?”

  “Exactly.”

  “Why are you interested in his case? Why should the people listen to you when there are actual reports out there noting your connections to him and inferring that perhaps you are connected to the crimes he’s been charged with? Are you connected to him?” The camera caught Alina sitting at attention and poised with query in the way a mature anchorwoman might when set to interview a high-profile dignitary. And her tone was right on time. Throughout the state, viewers were switching over to see what everyone on social media was talking about.

  “I am connected to him. He is my friend. My former college roommate. And that’s why I can say beyond any doubt that this man is innocent. And the charges he faces are without merit, and the police and the district attorney, everyone knows that. But no one makes a move.”

  “Do you have proof of this?” Alina asked.

  “I’m glad you asked,” Jamison said. “In fact, I do. See, Glenn Roberson, a respected community man who has no record of criminal activity including selling drugs and is a known Rastafarian who smokes marijuana as a part of his religious rite, he says there were four men on the scene that night when he was pulled over. Now, the station report on that squad car notes that two officers were in the car when it left the station.”

  “Okay.”

  “But my friend says there were actually four men at the scene when he was arrested. Two men in uniform in the squad car and two men in suits in a car that was following behind the car, who identified themselves as detectives.”

  “Well, nothing there sounds out of order. Isn’t it plausible to consider that maybe since law enforcement was already building a case against Mr. Roberson, they were simply following a tip and the detectives were on a lead?”

  “But the detectives aren’t in the police report.” Jamison slid a copy of the police report from his folder and handed it to Alina. “And neither is the second cop.”

  “So . . .” Alina stalled a little as she read.

  “A squad car left the precinct with two officers in it, but only one officer was noted in the police report that evening when it returned.”

  After eyeing the report for a minute, Alina looked back at Jamison. “Mayor Taylor, I see the discrepancy here, but this could amount to a simple clerical error. I’m sure if Roberson’s attorney requested the information about the officer in question, it would be made readily available.” She smiled gingerly.

  “Well, it hasn’t been.” Jamison handed over a stack of papers. “Phone logs, copies of letters. More than fifty calls and certified letters. All requesting that information. All unanswered.”

  Alina thumbed through the logs and letters. With each turned page, it was evident she was becoming a believer, unknowingly nodding her head.

  “Now, that makes you have some questions—questions any citizen of this fine state, even one who’s behind bars, ought to have answered. Doesn’t it?” Jamison pressed.

  “Well . . . yes.”

  “And what are you wondering?”

  “I’m wondering—”

  “You’re wondering,” Jamison interrupted, “how in the hell we can keep a man in jail for this long with such an obvious error in a file related to his very arrest. Since when is it a secret who arrested someone?”

  “I—I don’t know.”

  “Neither do I!” Jamison said. “And you know what else you might be wondering, if you’re smart—and I can tell you’re smart,” he added, noticing a little bulldog hanging from the necklace around Alina’s neck. “What, you went to UGA?”

  “Yes.” Alina’s neck blushed red.

  “Then, you’re a smart woman—go dawgs!” On pure adrenaline that lightens the pressure on the brain of someone on a winning team, Jamison pumped his fist in the air.

  The anchorwoman met the enthusiasm for her alma matter with a matching fist.

  “Now a smart person would wonder not only how this man could remain in jail, but also why someone might want him in jail,” Jamison charged. “Those men whose names aren’t listed, my friend claims they planted most of these drugs in his car.”

  “Why?”

  “Yes—why? Why would major stakeholders, big names with deep pockets in my home state want to put this man in jail?”

  “I don’t know, Mayor. Why? Are you going to tell us?”

  “I intend to do just that,” Jamison said, turning from Alina to the camera. “Expose who’s behind all of this. But that’s all I have for right now.”

  Jamison stood and started removing the wired microphone from beneath his jacket.

  “That’s all?” Alina looked nervously at Jamison and then to the camera that was still recording and then back again. “That’s all you have to say?”

  Leaf saw his boss in a struggle and rushed on set to help him get untangled from the wire. When he freed Jamison, the mayor walked off set and left Leaf in front of the camera holding the wire. “That’s all,” Leaf said. “That’s all.”

  The cameraman turned his lens back to Alina.

  “A Fox Five News exclusive. I’m Alina Blue. Thank you,” she said, realizing that the mayor’s impromptu visit would be the rope that catapulted her to a height she’d actually secretly thought she’d never see. Months later, when she was being interviewed for a job at the desk at MSNBC, she’d mention that she saw in Jamison Taylor’s eyes truth and honesty. It had broken her heart, and renewed her faith in the power of journalism. She hoped her viewers had seen the same thing. She had no way of measuring that. But they had.

  Val returned home from a follow-up appointment with her doctor to hear harsh voices that sounded like arguing coming from inside her closed bedroom door. Stepping up, she was sure the source of the battle was the television she’d left on, or maybe the radio on her alarm clock had gone off. Jamison had hardly been in the bedroom since the long night in the hospital. Even after the maid cleaned the mess, he said he couldn’t take the memories. But Val felt another way. She didn’t want the memories from the bed and the bathroom, but being in the space where her baby had died made her feel in some way close to the lost soul. Feel that maybe the soul would find her.

  She put her hand on the doorknob and was about to push in, but stopped when she heard that the angry sounds were familiar and coming from just one voice. She pressed her ear against the door and through the wood heard ricochets of anger from Jamison’s tongue: “I know who he is . . . matters . . . mine . . . matters . . . my son . . . my son! You can try . . . won’t win. . . . I’m tired too! You won’t win. I’ll get him . . . to Georgia . . . me. . . . Go ahead!”

  Val kept her ear to the wood until there was silence and then she turned the knob.

  The bedroom was dark, but Val could see Jamison sitting in a chair that he’d turned towards the window, so his back was to her. He turned his head a little to acknowledge her entrance and let out a deep breath.

  Events had made of Val a woman who was short on pleasantries. She went right in with, “Who was that on the phone?”

  Jamison exhaled again. “I tried to tell you,” he said. “That night at Paschal’s, I tried to tell you.”

  “And don’t say it was Kerry. You wouldn’t e
ven talk to her like that.”

  “I’m not going to lie to you. I can’t lie anymore. I can’t lie to anyone else.” Jamison got up from the seat in the dark and turned to Val. “It was Coreen.”

  “Coreen? Coreen? That woman in California?”

  “We have a son.”

  “What? A son? But I—” The weight of the news made Val stagger for a seat on the edge of the bed. “I thought you—I thought she had an abortion. That’s what you told me. What you said. Remember?”

  “That’s what she told me. But she never did. She had the baby on her own—I guess she was trying to get back at me for leaving. I don’t know.”

  “All that money Leaf sends to L.A. every month—?” Val looked at Jamison for a response before she’d finish.

  “Yes. It’s supposed to be for my son; that’s what we agreed. For him and for her to just keep quiet until I got things figured out here.”

  “This is crazy.”

  “But it’s more than that to Coreen. Once she saw that we got married and then that you were pregnant on the news, she started asking for more money and her demands have only gotten worse. She threatened to kill herself. To kill me.”

  “What?”

  “I don’t think she’s capable of that, but really, right about now, I don’t know what she might do.”

  “I can’t believe this. I can’t believe you would keep something like this from me.” The room fell in and out of focus around Val. It was long and then wide and then closing all in. She realized it was the tears in her eyes blurring her vision.

  “I tried to tell you. It has nothing to do with you,” Jamison said.

  “Bullshit! We were going to have a child together. You can’t keep something like that from me,” Val blurted out.

  “I didn’t intend to. I didn’t intend for any of this to happen.”

  “Fuck you. Fuck you and your intentions, Jamison. Who cares what you intended to happen? It did,” Val said and she was speaking more about the present than the past. “Did you tell Kerry this? That her son has a brother? Have you even seen the boy?”