The cold November wind whipped Lucky Jones’s face as she took her first steps outside the Detroit Women’s Correctional Facility.
7 years, 2555 days behind bars, and now she was free again with a worn bag in her hand containing all her worldly possessions.
Lisha stopped and took a deep breath.
The air smelled of freedom, even if it was mixed with exhaust fumes and Detroit’s industrial smog.
She scanned the gray parking lot in front of the prison, looking for a familiar car.
There it was, an old Chevrolet Impala with rusty sides parked right at the exit.
Hey Kesha, over here.
A familiar voice cut through the air.
Behind the wheel sat Chanel Carter, her best friend since high school.
Chanel hadn’t changed much.
Same bright braids, chunky earrings, and a wide smile that revealed the gap between her front teeth.
My girl.
Chanel jumped out of the car and wrapped her friend in a tight hug.
“You’re finally home.
” Lkesha allowed herself a few seconds of weakness, leaning against her friend’s shoulder, but quickly straightened up.
“This was no time for sentimentality.
” She had a goal.
“Let’s get out of here,” she said quietly.
The car pulled away, leaving the gray walls of the correctional facility behind.
Lkesha stared silently out the window.
The city had hardly changed in seven years.
The same dilapidated houses, the same graffiti on the walls, the same people on the corners.
Only she had returned a different person.
“How are you?” Chanel asked cautiously, glancing at her friend.
“Fine,” Lkesha replied curtly.
“Everything’s going according to plan.
” A memory flashed back to her.
“Detroit detention center, 2018.
Mandatory medical examination upon admission.
The indifferent gaze of the prison doctor.
a gray-haired woman with bags under her eyes.
“You’ve tested positive for HIV, Miss Jones,” she said as if reporting the weather.
Lisha remembered how her knees trembled, how her hands grew cold, how the room suddenly began to spin.
“It’s a mistake,” she whispered.
“Then “We ran the test twice,” the doctor said, filling out some forms without looking up.
“We’ll start treatment tomorrow.
Lifetime, of course.
” lifetime.
That word rang in her ears throughout her seven years in prison.
Lisha got seven years for armed robbery, but the virus in her blood was for the rest of her life.
A death sentence with a stay of execution.
Are you thinking about him? Chanel’s voice brought her back to the present.
Who? Andre.
I saw him last week.
He was as smug as ever.
He asked when you were getting out.
Lisha clenched her teeth so hard her jaw achd.
Andre, the only man she had ever let get close to her without protection.
The one who had sworn to be faithful.
The one who promised they’d be together forever.
The one who infected her with a deadly disease.
He knows, she whispered.
What? That I have HIV? Chanel glanced at her quickly.
I’m not sure.
I haven’t told anyone like you asked.
But you know, news travels fast in our neighborhood.
Seven years every day in prison, Lkesha thought about her plan for revenge.
At first, she just wanted to kill him quickly without saying a word.
Then she decided that was too easy.
He had to suffer like she had when she found out about her diagnosis.
He had to feel all the horror and pain she had felt.
He had to know whose hand would take his life.
“Where are we going?” Chanel asked, interrupting her friend’s dark thoughts.
to my place.
I want to see what’s become of the apartment.
” Chanel nodded and turned onto a familiar street, Oakland Avenue.
Their old neighborhood hadn’t changed a bit.
The same dilapidated houses, the same groups of teenagers on the corners, the same graffiti covering every inch of available surface.
Your apartment.
I tried to keep it tidy, but I haven’t been there for the last couple of months.
The landlord threatened to evict you, but I paid what I could.
Thank you, Chanel.
Lisha put her hand on her friend’s shoulder.
You’re the only one who hasn’t abandoned me.
They parked near a dilapidated five-story building.
Lisha slowly climbed the familiar steps, feeling the past wash over her in waves.
How many times had she climbed these stairs, dreaming of a better life? How many plans had she made? And where were they all now? The apartment looked almost the same as Lkesha remembered it.
an old sofa, a worn carpet, a kitchen with cracked tiles.
Only there was more dust, and the air smelled like an uninhabited room.
“I brought some food,” Chanel said, taking containers of homemade food out of her bag.
“Your favorite chicken with hot sauce and sweet potatoes.
” They settled down on the sofa in front of the old TV.
Chanel chattered non-stop about her neighbors, her job at the beauty salon, her new boyfriend.
Lkesha hardly listened.
Only one thought was running through her head.
Andre was very close.
He lived three blocks away.
He was continuing his dirty business.
He was probably infecting other women.
And can you believe he told me he never? Chanel fell silent and looked intently at her friend.
You’re not listening, Kesha, are you? I’m sorry.
Lkesha tried to smile.
It’s just so much to take in.
Chanel sighed.
I know what you’re thinking, and it’s a bad idea.
What idea, Andre? You’re planning to do something about him, aren’t you? Come on, Kesha.
It won’t make you healthy, but it could take away the freedom you’ve just found.
Lkesha turned away.
Chanel had always been able to read her like an open book.
I’m not going to do anything, she lied.
I just want to start my life over.
That’s good, Chanel sighed with relief.
Because I’ve known you since you were a child, and I know what you’re capable of when you’re angry.
They talked late into the evening.
More accurately, Chanel did most of the talking while Lkesha listened, nodding occasionally and asking questions so as not to arouse suspicion.
When the clock struck 10, Chanel got ready to go home.
I have to work tomorrow.
She hugged her friend.
Will you be okay here alone? Maybe you could come over to my place.
I have a pullout couch.
Lisha shook her head.
No, I want to stay home.
Get used to it again.
As you wish.
Chanel headed for the door, but turned back at the threshold.
Kesha, I’m glad you’re back, and please don’t do anything stupid.
Lisha smiled almost sincerely this time.
I won’t, I promise.
As soon as the door closed behind Chanel, the smile disappeared from Lkesha’s face.
She went into her bedroom and opened an old wardrobe.
The spring had weakened over the past 7 years, but the secret compartment in the back wall was still there.
Lisha found a small lever and pulled out a flat box.
Inside was a hunting knife, a gift from her father on her 16th birthday.
For protection, her father had said at the time he could never have imagined what kind of protection his daughter would use his gift for many years later.
Lisha checked the blade.
It was still sharp.
She carefully wiped the handle.
Although there were hardly any fingerprints left after so many years.
Wrapping the knife in a rag, she hid it in her jacket pocket.
The night streets of Detroit seemed even more dangerous than she remembered.
Or was she just out of practice with freedom? In prison, danger was predictable.
You knew what to expect.
Here, trouble could be waiting around every corner.
Lisha walked quickly without stopping.
She knew the address by heart.
Elmherst Street, number 23, apartment 5.
Chanel had mentioned this address in one of her letters, unaware that she was laying the groundwork for revenge.
The old brick house appeared around the corner.
The windows on the first floor were boarded up, but the lights were on on the second floor.
The third window on the left was Andre’s apartment.
Lkesha felt her pulse quicken.
She had been waiting for this moment for 7 years.
The front door was unlocked.
The intercom had long since stopped working and the lock was broken.
It was a typical abandoned house in a poor neighborhood of Detroit.
Lkesha cautiously climbed the creaky stairs to the second floor, apartment number five.
She stood there for a few seconds, gathering her courage, then knocked quietly.
Who’s there? A horse voice she couldn’t forget.
Even after 7 years, Lkesha didn’t answer, just knocked again.
She heard footsteps.
Then the door opened just wide enough for the chain to be visible.
What the hell, Kesha? Andre Banks looked exactly as she remembered him.
Same dreadlocks, same goatee, same insulent eyes.
Damn, baby, you’re back.
He removed the chain and threw the door open.
I heard you got out today.
I was going to visit you tomorrow.
Lisha stared at him silently.
the man who had ruined her life, who had condemned her to a slow death, who didn’t even seem to understand what he had done.
“Aren’t you glad to see me?” Andre tried to hug her, but Lkesha pulled away.
“Can I come in?” she finally asked.
“Of course, baby.
It’s your home.
” She entered the apartment, looking around.
It was a dirty drug dealer’s den.
Empty bottles, scattered clothes, greasy furniture.
On the table were white lines of powder and a rolledup bill.
Andre had never been known for his tidiness.
Want a drink? He headed for the refrigerator.
I’ve got beer, vodka.
I want to know the truth.
Lisha interrupted him.
Andre turned around, raising an eyebrow questioningly.
The truth about what, baby? About why I have HIV? The room fell silent.
Andre slowly put down the bottle of beer he had taken out of the refrigerator.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said, his eyes darting away from her gaze.
“You know exactly what I’m talking about.
” Lisha took a step toward him.
“When I got arrested and tested, the doctor said I had HIV.
It could only have been you, Andre.
” He smiled nervously.
“Don’t talk nonsense, woman.
How should I know who you’ve been sleeping with? Maybe it was Tyrone or someone else.
” I always used protection with Tyrone.
You were the only one I trusted enough to listen.
I don’t know where you got that crap.
Andre began to get angry, but I had nothing to do with it.
And anyway, you spent 7 years with criminals.
Maybe you picked it up there.
Lkesha’s hand fumbled for the knife in her pocket.
Seven years of planning, 7 years of hatred.
And now he was standing in front of her, a man who wouldn’t even admit his guilt.
You knew,” she said quietly.
“You knew and you didn’t tell me.
You condemned me to death.
You’ve gone crazy in your prison cell.
” Andre raised his voice.
“Get out of here.
” He grabbed her by the shoulder, trying to push her toward the door.
That was the last straw.
Lkesha grabbed the knife and with one swift movement plunged it into Andre’s stomach.
His eyes widened in surprise and pain.
He took a step back, clutching the wound, which was already oozing blood.
Kesha, what are you? He didn’t have time to finish.
Lkesha struck a second blow, then a third.
Seven years of rage burst out.
She didn’t remember how many times she stabbed her former lover.
She only came to her senses when Andre was already lying on the floor in a pool of his own blood, and her hands were stained red.
Now you know what it’s like to know you’re dying,” she whispered, looking into his glassy eyes.
Lkesha quickly looked around.
There was blood everywhere, on her clothes, on the floor, on the walls.
She took off her jacket and shirt, leaving only her t-shirt on.
She wrapped the bloody clothes in a trash bag she found in the kitchen.
She put the knife in it, too.
She washed her hands and face thoroughly in the bathroom, checking for any traces of blood.
Leaving the apartment, she carefully closed the door and went down the stairs.
The streets were empty.
No one walked around this neighborhood after dark.
Lisha reached the bridge over the canal and threw the bag with the evidence into the dark water.
She returned home by a different route, constantly looking over her shoulder, but no one saw her.
The perfect crime, perhaps, but the main thing was that justice had prevailed.
The man who had ruined her life got what he deserved.
In the morning, Lkesha was awakened by a phone call.
Chanel was calling to find out how her first night of freedom had gone.
“Fine,” Lkesha replied, trying to make her voice sound normal.
“I slept for the first time in 7 years.
” “Great, I’ll finish work at 3:00, then I’ll come over.
I’ll be waiting.
” Lisha hung up and turned on the TV.
The local news was about to start.
She waited, her heart pounding in her throat.
This morning, the body of a well-known drug dealer in the area was found in a house on Elmherst Street, the anchor said with a serious expression.
Andre Banks, 40 years old, was found dead in his apartment.
Police suspect foul play.
Our camera crew is at the scene.
The camera showed a familiar house surrounded by police cars with flashing lights.
A crowd of onlookers gathered at the entrance.
Two police officers carried out a body covered with a sheet.
According to neighbors, Mr.
Banks was a well-known figure in the local criminal world.
The anchor continued, “Detectives have already begun an investigation.
” “The police are asking anyone who saw any suspicious persons near the house last night to call the number provided.
” Lisha turned off the TV, so they found the body.
Now the investigation will begin.
She had to be ready for the police to come to her.
the victim’s ex-girlfriend just out of prison.
But she had everything figured out.
There was no evidence that could link her to the murder.
No one saw her enter Andre’s house.
The knife and bloodstained clothes at the bottom of the canal.
The perfect revenge.
A few hours later, there was a knock at the door.
Lkesha tensed, but it was only her neighbor, Mrs.
Thompson, an elderly woman from the first floor.
Lkesha.
Honey, I’m glad you’re back, she said, handing her a plate of cookies.
I baked these for you.
Did you hear the news? That awful Banks was stabbed to death.
They say the apartment was covered in blood.
These are scary times, honey.
Scary times.
Lisha thanked her for the cookies and politely showed her neighbor out.
News traveled fast in Detroit.
At 3:00 in the afternoon, Chanel arrived excited and frightened.
Did you hear? Andre was killed last night.
Yes, I saw it on the news, Lkesha replied as calmly as she could.
That’s terrible.
They say he was literally stabbed to death.
Someone must have hated him very much.
There are plenty of people in our neighborhood who would have wanted Andre dead.
Lkesha shrugged.
He was a drug dealer, Chanel.
It’s a dangerous profession.
Chanel looked at her friend intently.
Kesha, you didn’t.
What? Lisha met her gaze with an innocent expression.
You don’t think I could kill someone, do you? No, of course not,” Chanel said quickly, but a shadow of doubt flashed across her eyes.
Their conversation was interrupted by another knock on the door.
This time, there were two people standing there, a large man with a piercing gaze and a slender woman with perfectly styled dreadlocks.
“Miss Lakesha Jones,” the man asked, showing his badge.
“Detective Marcus Washington.
This is my partner, Detective Tashika Rutherford.
We’d like to ask you a few questions about Andre Banks.
Lisha forced herself to smile.
Of course, officers, come in.
How can I help you? Detective Marcus Washington plopped down in a worn chair in the interrogation room of the East Detroit Police Department.
In front of him lay a folder labeled Banks, a murder, and several photos from the crime scene.
One of the photos showed the body of Andre Banks, once an influential local drug dealer, now just a corpse with 23 stab wounds.
So, what do we have?” Detective Tashika Rutherford asked, handing her partner a cup of steaming coffee.
Andre Banks, 40 years old, found dead in his own apartment.
Multiple stab wounds.
No murder weapon found.
Neighbors saw and heard nothing or are pretending they did.
Washington took a sip of coffee and grimaced.
Jesus, Tashika, where did you get this swill? It’s the new coffee machine in the lobby.
She shrugged.
So, what’s the investigation? We have a list of Banks ex-girlfriends, six names, and one of them just got out of prison, literally on the day of the murder.
Lkesha Jones, Rutherford nodded.
We already spoke to her yesterday.
She claims she spent the evening with her friend Chanel Carter.
Yes, but her friend can’t confirm her alibi for the time of the murder.
According to Miss Carter, she left Jones’s place at around 10:30.
And the time of death? between 10 and midnight according to the coroner.
That fits the time frame.
Washington stood up and walked over to the board where photos of the victim and suspects were pinned.
He tapped thoughtfully on the photo of Lakesha Jones, an attractive woman with a hard stare.
23 stab wounds, Tashika.
This isn’t just murder, it’s rage.
Someone hated Banks very much.
Don’t you think we’re getting too hung up on Jones? Banks had plenty of enemies.
Drug dealers, competitors, dissatisfied customers.
True.
Washington nodded.
But how many of them had such a personal motive? What motive? Washington took another sheet of paper from the folder.
Lakesha Jones’s medical records from the prison hospital.
She was diagnosed with HIV upon admission.
Rutherford whistled.
And you think Banks infected her? That’s what we have to find out.
Let’s go see Miss Jones again.
Lakesha had just returned from the employment center when there was another knock at her door.
Opening it, she saw the familiar detectives.
“Miss Jones, sorry to bother you,” Washington tipped his hat.
“We have some more questions about your relationship with Andre Banks.
” “Come in,” Lkesha stepped aside, letting the police officers into the apartment.
“How can I help you this time?” We’re just trying to get a complete picture of the victim’s relationships, Rutherford said, looking around the modest furnishings.
You were seeing Mr.
Banks before you were incarcerated, correct? Yes, for about a year, Lkesha said, pointing the detectives to the sofa and sitting down in an armchair opposite them.
But that was a long time ago.
7 years ago.
And how would you describe your relationship? Lisha paused for a moment, carefully choosing her words.
Complicated.
Andre was a difficult person, but back then he seemed caring.
“How close were you?” Washington asked bluntly.
“Close enough,” Lkesha replied calmly without looking away.
“Miss Jones,” Rutherford leaned forward.
“We need to ask you some personal questions.
They may be uncomfortable, but they are necessary for the investigation.
” “Ask away,” Lkesha shrugged.
“After 7 years in prison, it’s hard to embarrass me.
We are aware of your HIV status, Rutherford said quietly.
And that you only found out about it when you entered the correctional facility.
Lquisha froze for a second.
How did they know? Then again, it was easy to explain.
Prisoners medical records were available to law enforcement.
You have good access to information, detective, she said, regaining her composure.
Yes, that’s true.
I only found out about my diagnosis in prison.
And you thought Andre Banks could have infected you? Washington watched her reaction closely.
It’s possible, Lkesha replied cautiously.
But I can’t say for sure.
Did you have any other partners at the time? Yes, Lkesha paused.
Two.
One of them died of an overdose shortly after my arrest.
The other, I don’t know what happened to him.
Their names.
Rutherford wrote them down in her notebook.
Tyrone Jackson and Kevin Harris.
Washington nodded as if the information confirmed something he already knew.
Miss Jones, where were you on Monday evening between 10 and midnight? I already told you yesterday, Lkesha sighed.
I was home alone.
Chanel left around 10.
I took a shower and went to bed.
My first day of freedom was exhausting.
Can anyone confirm that you were at home? No, I live alone.
Did you go out after Miss Carter left? No, Lkesha replied firmly.
I was too tired to go out.
Washington and Rutherford exchanged glances.
Lkesha caught the look.
They didn’t believe her, but they had no proof.
One more question, Miss Jones.
Washington took a bag with a photograph out of his pocket.
Do you recognize this knife? The photo showed a hunting knife with a wooden handle very similar to the one Lakesha had thrown into the canal.
She felt a chill run down her spine, but she remained calm on the outside.
No.
She shook her head.
I don’t know anything about knives.
I see.
Washington put the photo away.
Thank you for your time, Miss Jones.
We’ll be back if we have any more questions.
When the detectives left, Lkesha sank helplessly onto the sofa.
Where did they get a photo of the knife? Had they found it? She remembered clearly how she had thrown it into the canal.
A few blocks from Lakesha’s house in a police car, Rutherford turned to Washington.
She’s good.
She didn’t even blink when you showed her the photo of the knife.
But that’s not even the knife.
Washington grinned.
I took the photo from an old case file, but her reaction speaks volumes.
Marcus, we still don’t have anything concrete on her, just suspicions and a motive.
Not yet, but we’ve only just started digging.
Sergeant James Coleman was waiting for them at the police station.
I have some interesting information for you, he said, handing Washington a piece of paper.
We interviewed Banks’s neighbors.
An elderly woman, Mrs.
Gates remembered seeing a woman entering the house at around 10:30 p.
m.
Was she able to describe her? Not in great detail.
A dark-skinned woman, slim, of medium height.
The old lady is a bit long-sighted and couldn’t make out her face, but she’s sure she saw a woman entering the building.
That’s not enough for a warrant, sighed Rutherford.
We need concrete evidence.
We’re working on it, Coleman nodded.
The forensic team is still examining Bank’s apartment.
There’s a lot of blood, but so far nothing that could point to a specific person.
What about surveillance cameras? In that neighborhood, Coleman smirked.
Are you kidding? The traffic lights don’t even work there.
Damn.
Washington rubbed his chin.
All right, here’s what we’ll do.
Send a request to the prison.
I need a list of all of Lakesha Jones’s visitors for the last 6 months and check her phone records.
Already done.
Coleman handed him another sheet.
The only visitor she’s had in the last 6 months was Chanel Carter.
She made most of the calls, too.
Any letters? Only from Miss Carter and some charity that helps prisoners.
Washington tapped his fingers thoughtfully on the table.
I think this Chanel Carter knows more than she’s letting on.
Let’s pay her a visit.
Chanel worked at a small beauty salon called Diaas in East Detroit.
When the detectives entered, she was finishing a hairstyle for an elderly client.
Miss Carter Rutherford showed her badge.
“Can we talk to you for a moment?” Chanel nodded nervously and led the detectives into the back room.
“I already told you everything I know,” she said, fiddling with the collar of her uniform.
“I haven’t seen Lkesha since I left her house on Monday night.
” “Miss Carter,” Rutherford began gently.
“We think you may know more than you’ve told us.
” “Like what?” Chanel tensed.
Like for example, that Lkesha Jones had a very strong motive for killing Andre Banks.
Washington watched her reaction closely.
I don’t understand what you’re talking about, Chanel looked away.
Did you know about Lakesha’s HIV status? Washington asked bluntly.
Chanel hesitated, then nodded.
Yes, she told me in a letter shortly after she found out.
And you knew she suspected Banks of infecting her? She said something like that, but it could have been other guys.
Did Lakesha ever mention revenge? Rutherford asked what she wanted to do to Banks when she got out.
Chanel was silent, clearly struggling with herself.
Finally, she took a deep breath.
Look, Lkesha was my friend since childhood.
Yes, she said she wanted to make Andre pay for what he did, but those were just words.
A lot of inmates say things like that.
It helps them cope.
Do you think she could have killed Banks? Washington asked bluntly.
No, Chanel replied too quickly.
I mean, I don’t know.
She’s always been hotheaded.
And she went to prison for armed robbery.
But murder? I don’t think so.
Her voice sounded uncertain.
Rutherford decided to change tactics.
Miss Carter, you said you left Ly’s around 10.
Where did you go? Home.
I live on the other side of town in Redford.
And you drove straight home.
No stops.
I stopped at a gas station.
The tank was almost empty.
Which gas station? Washington took out his notebook.
Shell at the intersection of Woodward and Six Mile Road.
There should be surveillance cameras there.
Washington made a note.
We’ll check it out.
Why? Chanel blinked in confusion.
I’m not a suspect.
Just a routine check.
Rutherford reassured her.
One more question.
Did Lakesha have a knife? Maybe a souvenir or a hunting knife? Chanel thought for a moment.
She had a knife that belonged to her father.
A hunting knife with a wooden handle.
She kept it in a hiding place in her bedroom behind the wardrobe.
Washington and Rutherford exchanged glances.
“Thanks for the information, Miss Carter,” Washington said, handing her his business card.
“If you remember anything else, give us a call.
” When they left the salon, Rutherford turned to her partner.
“Do you think she’s protecting her friend?” “More likely, she’s tormented by doubts,” Washington said, getting behind the wheel.
“She suspects that Jones could have killed Banks, but she doesn’t want to believe it.
Don’t you find it strange that she told us about the knife so easily?” “I do.
” Washington nodded.
But maybe she just doesn’t realize how important it is for the investigation.
Or she wants us to find the killer, even if it’s her friend.
We have enough for a search warrant for Jones’s apartment.
Washington started the car.
We need to find that knife.
If it’s not there, it’s further confirmation of our suspicions.
If it is, we can check it for blood.
2 hours later, Washington and Rutherford, armed with a warrant, were back at Ly’s door.
When she opened the door, she didn’t look surprised.
You again, detectives.
She crossed her arms over her chest.
What is it this time? We have a search warrant for your apartment, Miss Jones.
Washington handed her the document.
Please stay out of the way while we work.
Lakesha glanced at the warrant and stepped back silently.
Three more uniformed officers and a forensic technician followed the detectives into the apartment.
“We’re looking for a hunting knife with a wooden handle,” Washington said to his team.
Check all the hiding places, especially in the bedroom behind the wardrobe.
Lisha remained calm, but inside she was tense.
They knew about the knife.
They knew about the hiding place.
Who had told them? Chanel.
The search lasted about an hour.
The police methodically searched every corner of the apartment, rumaging through the closets and tapping the walls in search of hiding places.
Finally, one of the officers emerged from the bedroom.
Detective Washington, we found the hiding place behind the closet, but it’s empty.
Washington turned to Lkesha.
Miss Jones, where is the knife you kept in the hiding place? Lisha held his gaze.
I don’t know what you’re talking about.
I don’t have any knife.
Your friend Chanel claims you had a hunting knife with a wooden handle.
A gift from your father.
So, it was Chanel.
Lkesha felt a pang of disappointment, but quickly regained her composure.
I did have a knife like that.
Yes, but I gave it to my uncle for safekeeping before I was arrested 7 years ago.
I have no idea where it is now.
Your uncle’s name? Robert Jones.
He died 3 years ago of a heart attack.
Convenient, thought Washington.
A dead uncle couldn’t confirm or deny her story.
I see, he nodded.
We’ll continue the search soon.
The forensic technician called the detectives into the kitchen.
Look at this,” he said, pointing to faint stains on the floor near the trash can.
“Looks like blood.
I’ll take samples for analysis.
” Lisha felt her pulse quicken.
She was sure she had scrubbed the floor thoroughly.
“Had she missed something.
” “Detective,” another officer called from the bathroom.
“There are traces of blood here, too, in the sink drain.
” Washington looked at Lakesha with undisguised suspicion.
Miss Jones, would you like to explain where the blood in your apartment came from? I cut my finger while I was sorting through my things.
Lisha showed a small cut on her index finger.
See, it’s nothing serious.
We’ll check if your blood matches the blood we found in the apartment and the victim’s blood.
Rutherford said.
Go ahead, Lkesha shrugged.
I had nothing to do with Andre’s murder.
The search continued for another half hour, but nothing else suspicious was found.
When the police finally left, Lkesha sank onto the sofa and covered her face with her hands.
They had been close.
Too close.
The ringing of the phone made her jump.
Hello, Kesha.
It’s me.
Chanel’s voice sounded tense.
The detectives were at my place.
They asked about you and Andre.
What did you tell them? Lisha tried to sound calm.
Only the truth.
That you were upset about the HIV and suspected him.
And I told them about the knife.
Kishha.
Lkesha clenched her teeth.
Why? They asked me.
I couldn’t lie to the police.
Kishha, you didn’t kill him, did you? There was a pause.
Chanel, I have to go.
I have a lot to do after the search.
Search? They searched your apartment? Oh my god, Kesha, what’s going on? It’s nothing serious, just a routine check.
I’ll call you later.
Lisha hung up before Chanel could ask any more questions.
The situation was getting more complicated.
Now, the police had found possible traces of blood if they proved it was Andre’s blood.
At the police station, Washington and Rutherford were reviewing the results of the search.
“The blood samples have been sent to the lab,” Rutherford said, looking through the papers.
“We’ll have the results tomorrow.
We still don’t have a murder weapon,” Washington rubbed his tired eyes.
“Without it and without witnesses, we don’t have much of a case.
” What did Carter’s alibi check reveal? Nothing yet.
We’ve requested the gas station surveillance footage.
We’re waiting for a response.
This is interesting.
Rutherford pointed to the computer screen.
GPS data from Jones’s phone on the day of the murder.
She was in the area of Banks’s apartment between 10:30 and 11:30 p.
m.
Damn it.
Washington jumped up.
Where did you get that data? The cell phone operator just sent it in response to our request.
This is getting serious.
Washington rubbed his chin.
With this, the blood stains, and the missing knife, we have enough to hold her for further questioning.
Still no hard evidence.
Rutherford shook her head.
The prosecutor will want more.
Then, let’s talk to Bank’s neighbor again.
Maybe she’ll remember more details about the woman she saw that night.
The case was taking a serious turn.
The clues had to fit together, and Lkesha was at the center of it all.
Lakesha Jones sat on a bench in Bell Ale Park, watching the gray waters of the Detroit River slowly flow toward Lake St.
Clare.
Two days had passed since the search of her apartment, and she had been living in a constant state of tension ever since.
Every ring of the phone, every knock on the door made her jump.
She didn’t know what the police had found or how soon they would come back for her.
Miss Jones.
Detective Washington’s deep voice sounded behind her as if materializing her worst fears.
Lkesha turned around.
Washington stood a few steps away from her, his hands in the pockets of his worn coat.
Behind him loomed the figure of Detective Rutherford.
Detectives.
Lisha nodded.
How did you find me? It’s our job to find people.
Washington shrugged and sat down next to her on the bench.
Nice view.
What do you want? She got straight to the point.
Any more questions? You could say that.
Rutherford sat down on the other side.
We got some test results back.
Lakesha felt her heart race, but she remained calm on the outside.
And what did they show? The blood stains in your apartment belong to two people, Washington said, watching her reaction closely.
You and Andre Banks, Rutherford continued.
In addition, GPS data from your phone shows that you were near Bank’s apartment on the night of the murder between 10:30 and 11:30 p.
m.
Lakesha was silent, thinking frantically.
Her phone.
She had forgotten about the damn phone that Chanel had given her back on the day she was released.
Of course, it had been tracking her movements.
“It’s a coincidence,” she finally said.
“I did go out for a walk after Chanel left.
I needed some fresh air to get reacquainted with the neighborhood, but I didn’t go to Andre’s.
What about the blood in your apartment? Washington raised an eyebrow.
That’s also a coincidence.
I don’t know where Andre’s blood came from.
Maybe it was a lab mistake or tampering.
Miss Jones.
Rutherford’s voice hardened.
We have enough evidence to arrest you right now, but we want to give you a chance to tell your side of the story.
My version? Lisha smiled bitterly.
My version is that I spent seven years in prison, contracted a deadly disease from my ex-boyfriend, and now you’re trying to pin his murder on me, even though you have no direct evidence.
Only circumstantial evidence and assumptions.
Witness testimony is not assumptions, Washington objected.
Mrs.
Gates, Banks’s neighbor, identified you from a photograph.
She saw you enter the house on the night of the murder.
It was a bluff, and Lkesha knew it.
The old woman couldn’t have identified her.
It was dark outside and she had never seen Lucky before.
“Detective, you’re lying,” she said, looking him straight in the eye.
“If you had a witness identification, you would have arrested me already.
It’s a matter of time,” Rutherford stood up.
“We’re continuing to gather evidence, and it all points to you, Miss Jones.
Consider cooperating with the investigation,” Washington added, also standing up.
The court may show leniency given the circumstances and your motive.
I have nothing to say to you.
Lisha turned away toward the river.
I didn’t kill Andre Banks.
The detectives exchanged glances.
All right, Washington side.
But we’ll be back to this conversation very soon.
When the police left, Lkesha took a deep breath.
The situation was becoming critical.
They had Andre’s blood in her apartment.
There was only one explanation.
Something had gotten on her clothes and she had brought those clothes home.
How could she have been so careless? Her phone vibrated in her pocket.
Chanel.
Hello.
Lisha tried to sound calm.
Kesha, we need to talk.
Chanel’s voice sounded unusually serious.
Right now, where are you? In Bell Isle Park.
Stay there.
I’ll be there in 20 minutes.
Without waiting for a response, Chanel hung up.
Lkesha put her phone down, feeling her anxiety grow.
Something had happened.
Something that had caused Chanel to change her tone so abruptly.
Exactly 20 minutes later, Chanel’s old Chevrolet Impala pulled into the parking lot by the park.
Her friend quickly approached the bench where Lkesha was sitting.
“The police questioned me again,” Chanel began without preamble, sitting down next to her.
“They showed me the results of the blood test from your apartment.
” “And Kesha”? Chanel turned to her, her eyes filled with fear and disbelief.
They found Andre’s blood.
How could it be there? I don’t know.
Lkesha looked away.
Maybe it’s a mistake.
Or or what? Chanel grabbed her arm.
Kesha looked me in the eyes and tell me you didn’t kill him.
Lisha slowly looked up and met her friend’s gaze.
I didn’t kill Andre.
She lied without batting an eyelid.
Chanel stared at her for a long time as if trying to see the truth behind her words.
I want to believe you, she finally said.
I really do.
But the evidence and your hatred for him.
Chanel, you’ve known me since we were kids.
Yes, I was angry with him.
Yes, I fantasized about revenge, but murder.
Do you really think I’m capable of that? I don’t know what you’re capable of after 7 years in prison, Chanel replied quietly.
You’ve changed, Kesha.
I noticed it as soon as I saw you at the prison gates.
Of course, I’ve changed, Lkesha exclaimed.
Anyone would have, but that doesn’t mean I’m a murderer.
Chanel was silent, fiddling with the strap of her bag.
There’s something else, she finally said.
The detectives found a witness.
Andre’s neighbor saw a woman entering his house on the night of the murder.
“She couldn’t identify her, but the description fits you.
” “It could have been anyone,” Lkesha dismissed.
“Half the women in our neighborhood fit that description.
What about your phone records? They say you were near his house at the time he was killed.
I already told the detectives.
I went for a walk to calm down, clear my head.
Yes, I walked past Andre’s house, but I didn’t go in.
Kesha.
Chanel shook her head.
They say they found Andre’s blood in your sink drain.
How do you explain that? Lisha stood up and took a few steps toward the railing, separating the walkway from the river.
The trap was closing in.
Each new piece of evidence tightened the noose around her neck.
She could continue to deny it, but each time it became less and less convincing.
I don’t know, she said quietly, staring at the water.
I really don’t.
The detectives said they’ll get a warrant for your arrest tomorrow, Chanel said coming up beside her.
They have enough evidence.
Lisha turned sharply to her friend.
You believe them more than you believe me? I want to believe you, Kishha,” Chanel said, tears welling up in her eyes.
“But the facts.
” But to hell with the facts, Lkesha raised her voice.
“7 years, Chanel.
I spent 7 years behind bars.
I just got out and now they want to put me back there.
” “This time for life.
It’s not fair.
If you’re innocent, you can prove it in court.
” Chanel put her hand on her shoulder.
You’ll have a lawyer.
A jury will hear your story.
“Do you really believe that?” Lakesha smiled bitterly.
A fair trial for a black woman with a criminal record in this city, in this country? Chanel didn’t know how to respond.
I have to go, Lkesha headed for the park exit.
Where are you going? Chanel asked, alarmed.
Home.
I need to think.
I’ll go with you.
No.
Lkesha shook her head.
I need to be alone.
Kesha, please.
Chanel took a step toward her.
Don’t do anything stupid.
Don’t worry, I just want to relax.
Lisha quickly walked away, leaving Chanel watching her with concern in her eyes.
She didn’t go home.
Instead, she headed for the Ambassador Bridge connecting Detroit to Windsor, Canada.
She had to run while she still had the chance.
But she hadn’t gotten halfway there when a police car pulled up beside her.
Lkesha Jones.
The uniformed officer leaned out the window.
Detective Washington wants you to come with us to the station for some questions.
Do you have a warrant for my arrest? She asked calmly.
No, ma’am.
Just an invitation to talk.
Then I refuse.
If Detective Washington has questions, he can call my lawyer.
Do you have a lawyer, Miss Jones? No.
She smiled.
But if you need me, then I obviously need one.
Miss Jones.
The officer got out of the car.
I strongly recommend that you come with us.
It’s in your best interest.
Lisha knew she had no choice.
If she refused, it would only arouse suspicion.
Besides, she couldn’t go anywhere.
The city was full of police.
All right, she got into the car, but I’ll only answer questions in the presence of my lawyer.
At the police station, she was taken to a familiar interrogation room.
Detectives Washington and Rutherford were already waiting for her there.
“Miss Jones,” Washington nodded.
Thank you for agreeing to come.
Did I have a choice? She sat down in a chair across from them.
I want a lawyer.
Of course, Rutherford slid a phone toward her.
You can call your lawyer or we can provide you with a public defender.
I’ll take a public defender.
He’ll be here in an hour.
Washington glanced at his watch.
In the meantime, we can just talk informally.
I’m not saying anything without a lawyer.
Lisha crossed her arms over her chest.
As you wish.
Washington nodded.
Then just listen.
We got the results of the blood test from your apartment.
It’s definitely Andre Banks’s blood.
In addition, we found micro particles of his skin under your fingernails.
Lakesha involuntarily glanced at her hands.
She was sure she had washed them thoroughly after the murder.
We also found a witness.
Washington continued.
She saw you enter Banks’s house on the night of the murder, and GPS data from your phone confirms that you were there at the time of the murder.
That’s all circumstantial evidence.
Lisha tried to sound confident, even though she felt the ground slipping away beneath her feet.
But this isn’t, Rutherford placed a photograph on the table.
We found your knife, Miss Jones.
The photo showed a hunting knife with a wooden handle, the very one Lkesha had thrown into the canal.
“Divers found it this morning,” Rutherford explained.
“It has traces of Banks blood and your fingerprints on it.
” Lkesha felt a chill run down her spine.
“It was over.
They had found the murder weapon.
Now they had everything they needed to send her to prison for the rest of her life.
” “I want to wait for my lawyer,” she said quietly.
“Of course,” Washington nodded.
But you know what I think, Miss Jones? I don’t think you’re a cold-blooded killer.
You were desperate.
Banks ruined your life by infecting you with a deadly disease.
You spent seven years dreaming of justice.
And when you got out, you decided to take it into your own hands.
Lisha was silent, staring at the table.
The jury can understand that, Rutherford said softly.
Especially if you cooperate.
A sincere confession, remorse, all of that can mitigate the sentence.
I won’t talk without a lawyer, Lkesha repeated.
As you wish, Washington said standing up.
Well wait.
They left, leaving her alone in the interrogation room.
Lkesha closed her eyes.
It was over.
She had been exposed, and now she was facing life in prison.
All those years of planning her revenge, and this was how it ended, back in prison.
This time for good.
The door opened and Chanel entered.
Kesha,” she rushed to her friend.
“Oh my god, what’s going on? They called me and said you were here.
” “They found the knife,” Lkesha said quietly.
“The one I used to kill Andre.
” Chanel froze, staring at her with eyes wide with horror.
“So, you really?” Lisha nodded slowly.
“Yes, I killed him.
I went to his house after you left.
I wanted to talk, to hear him admit it, to hear him apologize, but he denied everything.
He said it was all my fault and I lost it.
Chanel sank into a chair opposite her, unable to utter a word.
I didn’t plan to kill him, Lkesha continued.
At least not that night, but when he started saying he wasn’t to blame, that I’d caught HIV myself, I just couldn’t take it anymore.
Seven years of hatred came pouring out.
Oh, Kesha.
Chanel covered her face with her hands.
What will happen now? But you know what will happen? Lisha smiled bitterly.
Trial, conviction, life in prison.
Maybe if we explain the circumstances.
In the eyes of the law, it’s premeditated murder.
Chanel, I went to him with a knife.
I stabbed him more than 20 times.
No circumstances can justify that.
They sat in silence.
Two friends separated by a terrible truth.
Finally, Chanel reached out and squeezed Lkesha’s hand.
“I’ll be here for you,” she said quietly.
“No matter what happens.
” The door opened again, and detectives Washington and Rutherford entered, accompanied by an elderly man in a worn suit.
“Miss Jones, this is Roger Clayton, your lawyer.
” Washington introduced him.
“Now, Miss Carter, you’ll have to leave.
We’ll continue our conversation with Miss Jones alone.
” Chanel nodded and stood up.
Hang in there, Kesha,” she whispered.
“I’m with you.
” When the door closed behind Chanel, Lkesha turned to the lawyer.
“Mr.
Clayton, I want to make a confession.
” The lawyer was about to say something, but she stopped him with a gesture.
“I’ve thought it through.
The police have all the evidence.
I don’t want to waste time on pointless denial.
” Clayton sighed and nodded.
If you’re sure, but know that any confession can and will be used against you in court.
I know.
Lisha turned to the detectives.
I killed Andre Banks.
I went to his house after my friend Chanel left me.
I had a knife with me, the same one you found in the canal.
I wanted to talk to him to hear him admit it, but he denied everything.
Said he didn’t infect me with HIV.
We got into a fight and I stabbed him.
Then again and again.
I didn’t count how many times.
Washington turned on the tape recorder lying on the table.
For the record, are you making this confession voluntarily without coercion? Yes, Lkesha replied firmly.
Voluntarily.
And you understand that you have the right to remain silent and that anything you say can be used against you in court? Yes, I understand.
Then tell us what happened on Monday evening at Andre Banks’s apartment.
Lisha took a deep breath and began her story.
She talked about how she had been planning her revenge for 7 years, how she had learned about her diagnosis, how she blamed Andre for all her misfortunes, how she had come to him on that fateful night hoping to hear his confession and apology, but instead received denial and accusations.
“I didn’t want to kill him,” she finished quietly.
“At least I didn’t plan to do it then, but I couldn’t control my rage.
Seven years of pain and anger came pouring out.
Washington turned off the tape recorder.
Thank you for your honesty, Miss Jones.
He nodded.
Your cooperation will be noted in the report to the prosecutor.
What now? Lisha asked, even though she already knew the answer.
Now, Rutherford took out a pair of handcuffs.
Lkesha Jones.
You are under arrest for firstdegree murder.
You have the right to remain silent.
Anything you say can and will be used against you in court.
You have the right to an attorney.
Lisha barely listened to the familiar words of Miranda as Rutherford snapped the handcuffs onto her wrists.
The circle was complete.
7 years ago, she had been arrested for robbery, now for murder.
But this time, she would not return, at least not alive.
As she was led out of the interrogation room, she saw Chanel in the hallway.
Her friend was crying, her hand covering her mouth.
“I’m sorry,” Lkesha whispered as she passed by.
“I’ll visit you,” Chanel replied through her tears.
“I promise.
” The police officer led Lkesha out to the street where a car was waiting to take her to the county jail.
She took one last look at the Detroit sky, gray and cloudy, just like the day she was released.
Freedom had been too short a respit between two prison terms.
“Do you think she’ll get life?” Rutherford asked as the car carrying the arrested woman drove away.
Most likely, Washington rubbed his chin.
Although, given the circumstances, she may be given a chance at parole in 20 years.
Do you think she really didn’t plan to kill him that night? Who knows? Washington shrugged.
She spent 7 years planning her revenge.
Maybe she didn’t realize how strong her hatred was until she was face to face with Banks.
It’s a strange story, Rutherford said thoughtfully.
She lost everything, her freedom, her future, possibly her life for revenge against a man who can no longer be harmed by her actions.
Revenge rarely brings satisfaction, Washington remarked philosophically, especially when the price is so high.
They watched the police car drive away, taking Lkesha Jones back behind bars, the place she had so recently left and now returned to, perhaps for good.
