The Blood Red Indian Summer Read online

  “It’s private,” Kinitra snapped.

  “Girl, there’s nothing private about some dog raping you!”

  “Why don’t we back this up a little bit?” Des suggested, keeping her voice low. “How long have you two been living with Tyrone?”

  Jamella stiffened. “Why, what’s he got to do with this?”

  “Not a thing, as far as I know. I’m just trying to get a sense of your situation. Walk me through the past, say, twelve months.”

  “Twelve months is like a whole lifetime ago,” she said. “Kinitra and I were still living in the same apartment in Houston where Moms raised us. I met Tyrone when his team flew down to play the Texans last season. He came to the club where I danced and did choreography. I waited tables and slung drinks, too. Whatever it took to keep a roof over our heads. Not just me, either. Kinitra busted her booty every day after school at Walmart. Anyhow, he asked me for my number. We started texting back and forth. And then we started seeing each other,” she recalled, warming to the memory. “When I got my chance to tour with Beyoncé he’d pop up wherever I was on the road. Or if I was home he’d fly down to Houston and we’d hang. I knew his reputation. And I’m real careful about who I get involved with. I told him from the start that I have my sister to look out for, my career. I am a serious person. Demonstrate to me that you are serious or go home. And he did. He respected me. After six months or so he asked me to move in with him in Glen Cove. It’s near where the team practices. A lot of his teammates have places there. I said to him, I have a sister, remember? He told me to bring her along. I said, I am not going to uproot her unless we’re talking about marriage. And that’s when he showed me this.” She held out her left hand so Des could admire her huge diamond engagement ring.

  “The two of us came north and moved into his place last February, I think it was. There was still snow on the ground. Within a few weeks I was pregnant. We got married in July. Tyrone really wanted our popsy to be there to give me away. I told him Popsy hadn’t been a part of our lives for a long, long time—because he was either in jail or because Moms wouldn’t have anything to do with him. Popsy’s no angel. Not that he’s a mean or bad person. He tries to do the right thing. He’s just weak. Lacks will power, you know? Tyrone hired someone down in Houston who found him living in a homeless shelter. Tyrone flew him to New York for the wedding and he’s been with us ever since. It’s worked out real good for him. He and Chantal fight like crazy, but that’s family, right?”

  Des looked at Kinitra and said, “So Tyrone has been pretty nice to you?”

  “He’s been real nice. Wants to produce me and everything.”

  “How about Rondell? Has he been nice to you?”

  “I guess.”

  “Do you have feelings for Rondell?”

  “Get out! He’s a total Urkel.”

  “How about Clarence?”

  “Cee’s a pest but he’s harmless.” Jamella glanced at her kid sister. “Right?”

  Kinitra nodded. “And kind of lame. He keeps saying he’s a sound engineer but I know more about the studio than he does.”

  “After the commissioner suspended Tyrone,” Jamella went on, “we decided it would be a good idea to get away from his teammates and all of their friends. A lot of them are no-good punks from the neighborhood, if you ask me. So we ended up in Dorset.”

  “Which brings us to last night,” Des said to Kinitra.

  “I already told you,” she responded crossly. “I’ve got nothing to say.”

  “Did you go to Clarence’s party?”

  “Hell, no!” Jamella answered. “I don’t let her near those sort of people.”

  Des looked at Jamella and said, “Please let her answer for herself, okay?”

  “Fine. Whatever, you say.”

  “I was working at my piano on some things,” Kinitra allowed grudgingly. “Until Clarence got in that fight and all hell broke loose. Things settled down after a while but I felt, I don’t know, kind of wired. So I had myself some wine.”

  “You had some what?” Jamella demanded.

  “Wine,” she repeated hotly. “Do you have a problem or something?”

  “I do,” Des said. “Dr. Cindie just told us that there was no trace of alcohol in your system.”

  “I can’t help what her test said. It’s wrong. I also smoked some reefer.”

  “Okay, now I know you’re lying,” Jamella said angrily. “You’ve never been near weed in your life. Who are you protecting?”

  “Nobody!”

  “This is bull. I am not going to listen to this.”

  “Where did you get the reefer?” Des asked her.

  “Found it in an ashtray out on the patio.”

  “What were you doing out there?” Jamella wanted to know.

  “I went outside for a few minutes, okay?”

  “Who with?”

  “Nobody!”

  “Don’t you lie to me! Did that no good Cee get you high?”

  “No!”

  “So you got high by yourself?” Des asked her.

  “That’s right. I got high by myself. A-And it was real warm out so I decided to take a swim.”

  Des nodded. “Makes sense. You didn’t bother with a bathing suit?”

  “What for? It was late. No one else was around. Plus I was high, like I said. That’s how I scraped my knees. I tripped on some rocks on my way down there. The water felt great. But I was so high that I swam out too far, I guess, because I got caught in the current. I swam and I swam but I couldn’t get back to shore. I was lucky I found my way to that island.”

  “Yes, you were.”

  “Girl, were you trying to kill yourself out there?”

  “Don’t be silly.”

  “Look at me,” Jamella ordered her. “Were you?”

  “No, I was not trying to kill myself.”

  “You mentioned those scrapes on your knees,” Des said. “How about the bruises around your wrists and throat? How did you get those?”

  “I figured from when they did the CPR on me or whatever.”

  “The folks who found you told me that the bruises were there before they called 911.”

  “They’re wrong.”

  “They also told me you came to for a second and cried out, ‘Please don’t make me go back there!’”

  Kinitra lowered her eyes, swallowing. “I really don’t remember that. I must have been delirious.”

  “Okay, I’ve heard enough of your bull,” Jamella blustered at her. “Tell us who attacked you right goddamned now. Was it the same dog who got you pregnant or was it someone else?”

  Kinitra reached for the Styrofoam cup of tea on the bedside table and took a sip. She wouldn’t say.

  Des said, “You told Dr. Cindie that you took a home pregnancy test.”

  She nodded. “A few weeks ago.”

  “And you don’t tell me?” Jamella cried out.

  “How could I? I knew you’d freak. Just like you are right now.”

  “Because I’m your sister and I love you! What is this, are you trying to punish me or something?”

  “Why is this about you? Why does everything have to be about you?”

  “Ladies, let’s try to lower our voices, okay?”

  “You tell her to stop lying to me, and I’ll lower my damned voice!”

  “Kinitra, are you planning to have this child?”

  “Not if I have anything to say about it,” Jamella put in.

  “Which you don’t!”

  “Girl, what about your musical career?”

  Kinitra shrugged. “Stuff happens.”

  “But you have a gift. You have dreams.”

  “Those are your dreams, not mine.”

  “They’re what?”

  “Does the baby’s father know that you’re pregnant?” Des asked.

  “No.”

  “Is he the same man who attacked you last night?”

  “I wasn’t attacked. How many times do I have to tell you?”


  Jamella said, “Your doctor told me they can give you a paternity test. I want you to have that.”

  Kinitra stuck out her chin. “No way. And you can’t make me. This is my thing.”

  “Is it true that you’re presently in a consensual relationship?” Des asked her.

  “That’s right. But don’t ask me his name because I’m not going to tell you.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “Because it’s personal.”

  “She’s lying again,” Jamella said. “She hasn’t had a boyfriend since she was thirteen.”

  Kinitra let out a harsh laugh. “Like you’d know.”

  Des said, “Dr. Cindie found signs of forcible vaginal and anal penetration when she examined you. You have all kinds of scarring down there. Care to talk about it?”

  “That’s just how we roll.”

  “So you like it rough?”

  Kinitra smirked at her. “The rougher the better.”

  “More lies,” Jamella said, fuming. “Girl, who are you trying to protect?”

  Kinitra sighed wearily. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore. What’s the point? You don’t believe me anyway.”

  “Okay, if that’s how you want it,” Des said. Clearly, the girl wasn’t going to give up anything else. Not with her sister present.

  “Can I take her home now?” Jamella asked.

  “I’m afraid not. She’s being transferred to Middlesex Hospital for overnight observation.”

  “What for? She’s fine. Aren’t you, baby?”

  “It’s okay, I don’t mind,” Kinitra said offhandedly.

  Which totally flabbergasted Jamella. “Wait, you’re good with that?”

  “Well, yeah. I mean, if the doctor thinks I should.”

  She stared at her kid sister long and hard. “Okay, if that’s what you want.”

  Des led her back out into the E.R., closing the door behind them.

  “I swear, I don’t even know who that person is.” Jamella’s voice sounded hollow. She was badly shaken. “It’s like she’s turned into somebody else. Lord, what happened to her?”

  Tyrone came charging across the E.R. toward them with Rondell on his heels. “What in the hell is going on?” he demanded to know. “The doctor won’t tell me. The nurses won’t tell me. I swear, if I don’t get some answers I am going to tear someone’s head off!”

  Jamella let out a sob. “Some punk raped my baby sister and got her pregnant, that’s what. She’s going on eight weeks already.”

  Rondell let out a gasp. “Oh, my God.…”

  That vein in Tyrone’s forehead was beginning to throb. Then he let out a lion’s roar of pure rage and drove his giant fist through the door of the supply closet next to Kinitra’s room.

  Everyone in the E.R. stopped what they were doing and stared at him. It wasn’t every day that the Incredible Hulk showed up in their work space.

  The security guard who was on duty next to the ambulance doors rushed over and said, “Sir, I’ll have to ask you to control yourself.”

  Not a chance—Da Beast was loose. He picked the guard up and hurled him bodily against the wall. The man crumpled to the floor, dazed.

  “No, Tyrone!” Jamella cried out.

  Now a pair of husky young orderlies rushed over and attempted to subdue him. Good luck with that. Tyrone sent one orderly flying across a nurse’s desk and kicked the other’s legs out from under him. Then, his massive chest heaving, Tyrone whirled and—discovered that his forehead was flush up against the nose of Des’s SIG-Sauer. He froze instantly.

  “Are you listening, Tyrone?” Des kept her voice quiet as she stood there holding her weapon to his head.

  “I-I’m listening,” he panted.

  “Dr. Cindie has her hand on the telephone at this very moment. If she has to call for back up, you will be looking at the business end of a criminal assault investigation—not to mention a lifetime ban from the NFL. Do you understand what I’m saying? Nod your head if you do. I won’t shoot you.”

  Slowly, he nodded his head up and down.

  “Is that what you want?”

  Now he shook his head.

  “You’ve got a pregnant wife standing here who has just gotten the shock of her life. Jamella is freaking out right now, okay? She needs for you to be a husband to her.”

  “The trooper’s right, big man,” Rondell spoke up nervously. “You don’t want to be upsetting Jamella. Think about your baby.”

  Tyrone steadied himself. His breathing returned to normal. The crazed look in his eyes faded away. “You’re right. You’re totally right. I’m okay now,” he told Des. “And I’m sorry.” He went over to the security guard and helped him to his feet. “Hey, man, I’m real sorry. I just got some bad news is all. Are you hurt? You need anything?”

  The guard grunted that he was fine. So did the orderlies after Tyrone had helped them up, apologizing profusely. Everyone seemed to be fine. No harm, no foul. Des holstered her weapon. The E.R. returned to normal.

  Tyrone put an arm around Jamella, his brow furrowing with concern. “You okay?”

  “No, I am not okay,” she answered in a small voice. “My baby girl was attacked last night.”

  “By who?”

  “She won’t say.”

  “Well, was it the same guy who got her pregnant?”

  “She won’t say, Tyrone.”

  Rondell shook his head in disbelief. “Such a sweet, innocent girl. Who would want to hurt her?”

  Tyrone looked at Des. “You don’t suppose this is about me, do you?”

  “I don’t suppose anything at this point. What are you suggesting?”

  “Some bastard trying to hit me where it hurts. Like that sleaze Plotka.”

  “There’s no way he could get onto our property,” Rondell reminded him. “We’ve got that fence all around.”

  “Actually, you do have a security problem,” Des informed them. “I intended to phone you about it this morning. There’s a hole in your fence between you and the Joshuas. Mitch discovered it last night when he was escorting Mr. Lash home.”

  Rondell frowned at her. “You’re suggesting that someone could have snuck onto our property last night through this hole?”

  “Not someone,” Tyrone said tightly. “Plotka.”

  “But how did he get into our house?” Rondell wondered. “We have a security system. I checked it personally before I went to sleep.”

  Jamella said, “Maybe she went out for a swim like she told us. Maybe the bastard was out there waiting for her.”

  “She wasn’t taking any swim when I went to bed,” Rondell countered. “She was in the recording studio.”

  “What time was that?” Des asked him.

  “I was in my office until well after one o’clock. I couldn’t sleep after all of that commotion.”

  “How about you two?” she asked Tyrone and Jamella.

  Tyrone said, “We were asleep by twelve, weren’t we, baby?”

  “I know I was,” she said. “I’m just so tired all of the time.”

  Des mulled this over. “Even if it was Stewart Plotka—and I’m not saying it was—he wasn’t anywhere near Kinitra eight weeks ago, was he?”

  “Could be he was,” Tyrone argued. “He did hang out at that Dave & Buster’s where him and me got into it. She was there with us a bunch of times. And it’s not far from my place in Glen Cove.”

  “He lives in Forest Hills, Queens,” Rondell added. “That isn’t far from Glen Cove either.”

  “Are you going to talk to that bastard?” Tyrone demanded. “Because if you don’t, I will.”

  “We’ll talk to him,” Des said. “Keep your distance, understand?”

  Rondell said, “I’m slightly confused about something. Can’t the doctors simply administer a DNA test to determine who the father is?”

  “Yes, they can,” Des affirmed. “But only if Kinitra consents to it. And she’s refusing. She won’t even acknowledge that a crime has taken place. Says she’s been
in a consensual relationship.”

  “She hasn’t got any man,” Tyrone shot back. “Just her music.”

  “That’s what I told the trooper,” Jamella said. “There’s nobody.”

  Des looked at Rondell. “How about you? You spend a lot of time around Kinitra. Seem pretty fond of her.”

  Little brother cleared his throat uncomfortably. “Of course I’m fond of her. She’s like a sister to me.”

  “And how about Clarence?”

  “Cee knows I’d break his fool neck if he touched her.” Tyrone glowered at Des. “And don’t you be looking at me. I’m a happily married man, not some animal.”

  Des said, “Someone has been sexually assaulting that girl repeatedly for weeks, maybe months. It’s my belief, despite what she told us, that she was assaulted again last night. I believe she had reason to fear for her life. And I believe she’s still afraid. Therefore, I’m going to request the assistance of the Major Crime Squad.”

  Jamella looked at her searchingly. “Will your people figure out who did this to my sister?”

  “They’re very good at what they do. They’ll get to the bottom of this.” Des mustered a reassuring smile. “Whatever this is.”

  CHAPTER 8

  “SA-WEET ROOM!”

  “Real glad you like it, Pop.”

  Mitch had made sure he booked Chet and Ruth into the Admiral Bramble room of the Frederick House, which had a canopy bed, a private bath with a claw-footed tub and a terrific view of the Lieutenant River. It was the same room that Mitch had stayed in when he’d first shown up in Dorset—highly reluctantly, if he remembered right—on a weekend getaway assignment for his newspaper’s travel section. He’d barely gone out of his apartment in those brutal months after Maisie died, let alone traveled anywhere. Lacy, his editor, had thought he needed a wake-up call. Lacy was very clever that way.

  “It’s a charming room, sweetheart,” Ruth said brightly, gazing around at the antique furniture.

  “Sa-weet!” Chet exclaimed.

  His father would, Mitch felt certain, totally freak if he knew just how much sa-weet cost per night in Dorset. But Mitch had also made sure that his father would never see the tab.