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“Did she have anyone in her life she was close to? Close enough to tell these secrets to?”
Nicole nodded. “She was close to Danielle. Last name Baptiste.”
“Got it. I’ll keep digging and see what I can find.” Webb jotted down a few notes. “Was she dating anyone?"
"Oh, I'm sure she was. She always always on her phone, talking low."
"You didn't know who it was?"
She shook her head. "I asked, but she never gave me any names. No boys ever came over to the house."
"I see. What about her father?”
Nicole let out one of those black women guffaws that says exactly how they feel without them having to say anything at all. “What about him?”
“Is he around? Is she close to him? Is he someone we need to speak with?”
“No, no, andhellno. We ain't heard from his ass in years. Last I knew, he was back living in Cali with his new family.”
“Gotcha.” There wasn’t much to say about that, so Webb sat back in his chair, satisfied to have a few leads to go on. Nicole blew smoke to her right and stared at the table while he stared at her, concerned. “How are you doing with everything?”
She finally looked up and shrugged. “Numb. Empty.”
“Do you have anybody here with you?” He realized he didn’t know much about her situation.
“My fiancé. We don’t live together, but he’s been staying over. I have an older daughter who lives in Denver. She checks on me when she can. But it doesn’t matter. I’ll never feel better. Ever.”
Webb sighed. It was a familiar refrain, and it never got any easier to hear. “Have you considered taking advantage of some counseling services?”
“What did I just say? I’ll never feel better.”
“I know, but—”
“Have you ever lost a child, Detective?”
“No, ma’am.”
She grimaced. “It’s an indescribable pain. It’s agony, really. And it’s not just emotional. My body hurts. I feel like I could pass out any moment. I don’t know what’s keeping me going, honestly. God. Anger. I don’t know. But I’m pressing on. That’s all I know how to do.”
Ackerman spoke up. “If you find you have a need for it, we have numbers for people you can talk to. You may not be ready now, but when you are, just let us know.”
Nicole didn’t respond. Her eyes narrowed into slits. She appeared to be thinking. “I’ll tell you who you need to talk to first. The Twelve kids.”
Webb frowned. “Twelve? What is that?”
Nicole smiled and flicked ash into a ceramic ashtray with an Atlanta Falcons logo on it. And then she filled them in.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Theygatheredinthefamily room amid the school books and well-worn carpet and throw pillows that didn’t quite plump anymore. Ladonna had prepared the requisite appetizers—a cheese tray, fruit platter, Hawaiian roll sliders, and wine, of course. She’d also rolled the bar cart in just in case anyone, most likely Marcus, wanted something stronger.
“Thank y’all for being here tonight,” Marcus announced to the group. “Given recent events, I feel it’s important that we all know what’s going on. We need to be on the same page.”
He paused and looked around the room, making sure to catch everyone’s eye. The gang was all there, even Dr. Gordon, who had only attended two meetings in the entire four years his son had been a member of the Twelve. But they all understood. He was a busy man. The school day for a band director doesn’t end at 3:30 pm. They had never even seen the stepmother, though. Bria said Jace wasn’t close to her, but it still struck Ladonna as odd.
Danielle’s parents, Dwight and Pam Baptiste, sat together on the loveseat closest to the kitchen. Joe and Iesha Wilkins, Bakari’s parents, were seated next to Ladonna on the sofa. To their right were Mike’s parents, Detric and Juanita, and in the kitchen chairs Marcus had moved to the living room, April and Armando Jones were seated. They were Avianna’s parents. Dr. Gordon sat on the floor.
Marcus stood in front of the entertainment center and crossed his arms. “I’mma give you the bad news first. Remember how I told y’all Nicole was going down there damn near every day telling the police it wasn’t suicide? Well, it’s official now. The police have reclassified the case as a homicide.”
