LaToya: Episode VI – Echoes of Betrayal

 

 By the time I returned to the Empire Hotel on Baltimore Street, it was already past one o'clock. It was a warm day, and the humidity was low. It was the kind of day one would like to spend with their girlfriend at a beach. The thought of Tosha flashed through my mind, and I pushed it away with great difficulty.

 I found Medgar sitting in the lobby, hollow-eyed and pale, with a glass of vodka and water within reach.

 "Still drinking?" I said. "You're going to have alcohol poisoning if you're not careful."

 Medgar closed his eyes, then opened them and shuddered.

 "Keep your voice down, will you?" he said. "I have a splitting headache. I think my head is about to explode."

 "Good for you," I said. "Come on. It's lunchtime. I have some news for you."

 Medgar recoiled.

 "Food? You must be kidding. I can't hold down food at the moment."

 "You've got no choice," I said, grabbing him by the arm and hustling him into the restaurant. "If you don't want to eat, you can watch me eat my lunch."

 My lunch consisted of grilled chicken on mixed greens and rice with house-made pico de gallo, black bean corn salsa, and guacamole. While I ate, I gave Medgar a detailed account of what I had discovered last night and of my work during the morning. He immediately forgot about his headache and became very interested.

 "We're really doing a good job here, Medgar," I said. "We already know more than the Baltimore City police did when they dropped the case. I feel so good about the progress we've made so far. For instance, we know LaToya was in touch with this guy in a blue jeans jacket and a gold chain on his neck. The Baltimore City police didn't manage to locate him, or if they did, they didn't consider him important enough to mention. I think it makes a lot of sense to investigate him. It's strange for any man to wear dark sunglasses even at night. And another thing: who is this girl Breonna Adams? Where does she fit into this mess? She called here three days after LaToya disappeared and asked for her. Then she promptly fell downstairs and died. Lamar Hooke is the only guy who could have seen LaToya leave the club, and he gets himself conveniently run over by a hit-and-run driver who was never found. I think Breonna Adams and Lamar Hooke were eliminated because they knew too much."

 Medgar's eyes almost popped.

 "Oh my God!" he said.

 "What is...?"

 "Has it occurred to you that we also know too much now?" he said in a low voice.

 "I don't follow," I said. "What are you trying to say?"

 "Suppose someone starts trying to eliminate us for knowing too much?" he said.

 "Now you sound like a kid," I said. "Journalists never get eliminated. It's time you put your brain to good use, Medgar."

 "I'm just saying," he said. "I have a bad feeling about this case. Maybe we should drop it, Emeka. I'm damn serious! We could be in serious trouble."

 "Aw, shut the hell up," I said. "Tell you the truth, I'm surprised you're not taking the lead in this investigation. You're already a confirmed reporter, and I'm still an intern – you forget?"

 "I hear that," he smirked.

 "Stop doing that," I said. "Anyway, whether you like it or not, this is going to be our best story. I'm going after Devon. I want you to find this guy in the blue jeans jacket and a gold chain. I know it's possible he has already skipped town, but it won't hurt you to call all the hotels in West Baltimore to see if anyone recognizes his description. His car might help you in this work."

 Medgar nodded reluctantly.

 “Well, I guess I have no choice, do I?” he said. “The good thing is that there can’t be many hotels in West Baltimore – I hope!”

 I pushed back my chair.

 “Well, let’s get moving. I’ll need your Chevrolet. I should be back from Roland Park tonight. See you here soon.”

 Medgar got to his feet, and we went into the lobby.

 “Hold on a minute,” I told him and stepped into the telephone booth. I called the Zodiac nightclub and asked to be put through to the stage door office.

 “Is David there?” I asked.

 “This is David talking. Is that Mr. Emeka?”

 “Yes, it’s me,” I replied. “Quick question for you: do you know if Miss LaToya owned a gold bracelet?”

 “Sure, Mr. Emeka. She did have one, and she showed it to me.”

 “Was there a tiny triangle-shaped object on it?”

 “That’s right,” he said. “It’s the main reason she showed her bracelet to me.”

 “Thanks a lot for your help,” I said and hung up. I left the booth and joined Medgar. “Another important achievement. I was right. The tiny triangle-shaped object came off LaToya’s bracelet. David saw it. Devon Weaver will have to explain how it got into his room.”

 “We are really smart journalists, at least smarter than Mr. Sessoms thinks, aren’t we?” Medgar said.

 “I have no comment yet,” I said. “See you tonight.”

 It was four o’clock and growing dusk when I drove past Rotunda Shopping Mall and stopped on West 41st Street to inquire about the way to 809 Falls Road in Roland Park.

 The cop told me to head to the intersection of Northern Parkway and Falls Road via Coldspring Lane. Upon reaching there, I left the Chevrolet in a vacant plot and walked down the dirty street, at the end of which was 809 Falls Road. I paused and looked at the building. It was part of a rowhouse, with a bunch of kids playing a dice game on the nearby stoop. They looked at me and quickly lost interest in me, their attention focused on their game.

 “How are you doing, guys?” I said.

 “Good,” a few of them replied without looking at me.

 “Does Mr. Devon live here?” I asked.

 “Yes, but he’s not home now,” one of them said. He shifted a little to let me pass.

 As I walked up the worn, wooden steps, the kids turned to stare at me. The front door was ajar, and I pushed it open and entered a large, bare hall. A skinny black guy was sitting on an upturned box with his back against the wall, reading the Baltimore Sun newspaper. He looked up and stared at me, his eyes tired, and he looked as bored as a louse.

 “How are you doing, sir?” I said.

 “Doing good,” he replied.

 “Where can I find Devon Weaver?” I asked and showed him a ten-dollar bill.

 His eyes lit up.

 “He’s on the third floor, Room No. 8,” he said. He reached for the ten-dollar bill, and I let him have it.

 “Is he there now?”

 “I believe he is,” he replied. “He has been indoors all day.”

 “Thanks a lot,” I said, and began to climb the stairs.

 When I reached the third floor, I heard a radio blaring from behind one of the closed doors. I quickly went along the passage to room 8, paused to listen with my ear against the panel. I didn’t hear anything, so I rapped at the door.

 There was no sound.

 I turned the handle and opened the door.

 Devon Weaver lay across the bed. His dirty yellow T-shirt had a red patch just below where his heart was. Growing out of the patch was the handle of a Cuda stainless steel ice pick. His face looked waxen and stiff, indicating that he had been dead for some hours.

END OF EPISODE 6

P.S. Stay tuned for Episode 7, which  will be published here next Sunday.