Anita breezed past him and set a steaming cup of coffee in front of him. “When you’re drunk?” she supplied. Her tone held no malice. Anita herself had struggled mightily with addiction in the past. “Black, right? One sugar?”
Knox curled a tremulous hand around the mug. “Yes, to both. Thanks.”
“So,” Anita said, addressing them both. “I thought about the whole getting Sydney Adams’ name back in the press thing. We can start a scholarship program—the Sydney Adams Scholarship Fund for female track stars with excellent grades. We can work out the particulars.”
“Dorothy would have loved that,” Knox said.
“That’s a great idea,” Jocelyn agreed. “But how do you propose to fund it?”
Anita smiled, and Jocelyn knew she had something good up her sleeve. “Swartz Camp & Bell has agreed to fund it and match whatever we get through fundraising, up to five thousand dollars per year.”
Jocelyn’s eyes widened. “Holy shit. We’re in business! Swartz Camp & Bell is . . . ?”
“A law firm downtown,” Knox said. “Dorothy was a secretary there for years.”
“So we plan a fundraiser,” Jocelyn said, excitement making her feel all tingly inside. God, she missed this. “And we will get speakers to talk about Sydney.” She turned and panned the case wall until she found the list of people Knox had interviewed on the original case. She walked over and skimmed a finger down the list. “First her sister, then her boyfriend, Lonnie Burgess, and then, Cash Rigo. We can have a dinner. Charge per plate.”
“You’re going to ask the man you think killed her to speak at a fundraiser in her honor?” Anita asked. “You think he’ll do it?”
“If he wants to look innocent, he will,” Jocelyn replied. “Think about it. If he was close to Sydney, if he was her mentor, what reason could he possibly give for not speaking? If he says no, that will make him even more suspect. It’s worth a try.”
Anita didn’t look convinced but said, “Okay. I’ll set it up.”
Knox raised a hand to get their attention. “There’s a place in Roxborough. PTG Caterers. It will fit plenty of people, but it’s cozy enough for us to make Rigo uncomfortable. Dorothy’s funeral luncheon was there. It’s a nice place.”
Jocelyn turned to Anita, but the other woman was already out the door, headed back to her desk, calling, “I’m on it” over her shoulder.
Jocelyn turned back to Knox, who was twisting the knobs on his oxygen tank. She sat down next to him and softened her voice. “You know,” she said. “You don’t have to be here. I mean if you’re not feeling well. Anita and I can handle this. It’s fine if you want to go home and rest.”
Knox smiled, the corners of his mouth tightening. “There’s no home for me anymore,” he said, his voice raspy. “Just this case. I’d like to be here.”
“Okay,” Jocelyn said. “But how about you stop taking the bus. I’ll drive you wherever you need to go. Until you find your car.”
He laughed, lapsing into a coughing fit. Pounding his chest with a closed fist, he said, “I might die before that happens.”
Before Jocelyn could respond, her cell phone chirped. She pulled it out of her pocket and saw a text message from Trent Razmus.
Got clearance from my captain. Watch the 12:00 news. Channel 6. Again at 4, 5, 6 and 11.
“That didn’t take long,” Jocelyn said.
“What’s that?” Knox asked.
“Razmus came through for us. We’ve got our newscast.”
She went over to the corner of the room to a flat screen television they’d had mounted on the wall and turned it on, flipping to Channel 6. The twelve o’clock news was underway. They sat through several “top stories” which entailed coverage of the Ebola scare and various shootings throughout the city. Then traffic. Finally, a rectangular graphic with the words COLD CASE superimposed over an image of yellow crime scene tape appeared next to the anchor’s head. The woman spoke, her voice clear and loud. “Police are looking at the cold case of a murdered teenager after new evidence was brought to light last week.” She launched into a recap of the details of Sydney’s murder and concluded with, “Police are not discussing the nature of the new evidence, but they are hopeful that they’ll bring Sydney Adams’ killer to justice very soon.”
They cut to Trent Razmus standing in front of the police headquarters sign at 8th and Arch Streets. His mouth was set, brow drawn down in seriousness. “We’re not at liberty to discuss the new developments. This is an active investigation again. We hope to have a suspect in custody soon.”
Once the broadcast returned to other news, Jocelyn turned the television off and shot Trent a quick text thanking him. Anita appeared in the doorway with a pen and pad of paper in hand. “PTG has availability within the next month. How soon do you want to do this?”
Jocelyn glanced at Knox, but he shrugged. She pursed her lips momentarily. “Well, our client is dying, so as soon as we can. I guess it will depend on how quickly we can amass some people to attend.”
“Okay, I’ll make some calls then, see what kind of interest there is, how many people we can get on short notice. Old classmates and teachers, family members, old friends. Let’s see if we can pin this down in two to three weeks.” She made a notation on her pad. “So, we get a few people to talk about what kind of person Sydney was, and then what?”
“We’ll need photos. We’ll pick three good ones and have them blown up,” Jocelyn said. She walked over to where Anita had hung the flirty photos. She tapped a finger on the one of Sydney laughing and reaching for the camera. “This one,” she said. “We blow up this one.”
Knox sat up straighter, his eyes bulging. “Are you out of your mind?”
Anita smiled. “She is, a little.”
Jocelyn said, “Nobody knows the photos are the ‘new evidence.’ We’ll start bringing out the blow-ups while Rigo gives his speech. See if we can spook him, and we’ll need someone to collect drinking glasses and put them into paper bags. Not in a place where everyone will see, but in a place Cash Rigo will.”
“Drinking glasses?” Anita asked.
“So it looks like we’re collecting prints and DNA,” Knox said, shooting a look of admiration in Jocelyn’s direction.
Anita’s face brightened. “So it will make him think we’ve either got his prints or DNA to make comparisons. Brilliant.”
“I want this guy rattled,” Jocelyn said. “I’ll go to his house and ask him to give a speech about Sydney.”
“What are you going to tell Rigo—about who you are?” Knox asked.
“I’m going to tell him that Jynx hired us to track down Sydney’s old classmates and friends to invite to the fundraiser.”
“That’s kind of lame,” Knox said bluntly.
“Exactly,” Jocelyn agreed. “I want him to know I’m lying. I want him to think I’m in league with the police. We’ve got to make him nervous.”
Chapter 12
October 22, 2014
Lonnie Burgess had become a lawyer specializing in estate and family law. He was a solo practitioner with a small office in the Germantown section of the city. It was housed in a three-story, semi-detached brick home. The upper floors each had three windows in front, and the first floor was a windowfront framed by ornately carved wood that had been painted a golden yellow. Dirt clung to the creases in the wood. White curtains obscured the view inside but served to make the words Attorney at Law, which were stenciled in gold, stand out. Jocelyn let herself in, setting off a bell as she opened the door. Inside, the walls were painted a bland taupe, punctuated by large oil paintings of mountain landscapes. A crack in the plaster snaked down behind one of the paintings. On the ceiling above it was a small water stain. Jocelyn’s feet sunk into the plush, beige carpet. The secretary, a black woman who looked twice Jocelyn’s age, sat behind a desk, typing away at a computer.