Chapter 22. a Verdict, a Tackle, and a Missing Pin
A VERDICT, A TACKLE, AND A MISSING PIN
WHITNEY
Detective Alonzo slid down the bench at warp speed, stepped into the aisle, and spread her legs and arms wide, blocking Kingsley’s progress. She held up her badge. “Detective Alonzo, Williamson County Sheriff’s Department.”
Kingsley’s attorney frowned. “What’s this about?”
“Tyler Yee.”
I slid across the bench, too, but stopped at the end next to them and remained seated. My gaze went to Kingsley’s chest. He had his hands in his pockets, elbows out, making his jacket pucker just enough that I could read the entire word on the pin he wore as a tie clip: Redeemed.
Surely, Detective Alonzo had seen it, too. That didn’t stop her from confronting him. “Where were you two Mondays ago in the morning?”
He issued a derisive snort. “The day Tyler Yee died, you mean?”
“The day Tyler Yee was murdered,” replied Alonzo.
Kingsley’s attorney held up his hand. “If you want to question my client, you’ll need to go through proper channels and allow him to obtain proper representation.” In other words, an attorney trained in criminal defense, not a general civil litigation lawyer.
“It’s okay,” Kingsley told his attorney without breaking eye contact with Alonzo. “I’ve got nothing to hide.”
“Suit yourself.” The attorney shrugged, evidently all out of fight.
Kingsley stared Alonzo down. “I was in my office all day. You can check with my secretary. I’d be happy to show you my schedule.
” He broke eye contact just long enough to retrieve his phone from his breast pocket and pull up the date on his calendar app.
“You can see I had back-to-back meetings and phone calls all day, starting at seven thirty.” He scrolled through his calendar to show her.
Presumably, the people he met with or spoke to could confirm his alibi.
I was tempted to point out that, if he was so busy, Tyler’s article and podcast hadn’t actually damaged his business. But no good could come of me saying so, so I kept my mouth shut.
Kingsley wasn’t done being a jackass yet. “You reap what you sow. Tyler Yee ruined people’s lives, so one of them decided to end his.” As if for emphasis, he shoved his phone back into his pocket with an abundance of gusto.
Alonzo pulled out her own phone. “What is your secretary’s name and direct line?”
As Kingsley rattled it off, she entered the woman’s name in her contacts. She slid the phone back into her pocket. “I’ll be giving her a call.”
“Be my guest.”
He began to move around her, but she sidestepped to block him again and said, “Not so fast.” From her blazer pocket, she pulled out the plastic bag containing the Redeemed pin I’d found at the barn. She held it up next to Kingsley’s pin, as if to verify that the two were identical.
Kingsley looked down, scowling. “What are you doing?”
She tucked the bag back into her pocket, ignoring his question and instead asking one of her own. “You got the pin you’re wearing from…?”
“My church. Redemption Fellowship. Why?”
“You sure about that?”
He issued a derisive snort. “Hell, yeah, I’m sure.”
“So, it’s not a replacement?”
His brow furrowed. “Why would I need a replacement?”
“If it were misplaced,” she said. “Maybe lost or stolen.”
“Don’t know what to tell you, lady. This is the one the church gave me. It’s the only one I’ve ever had.”
“May I take your pin to our lab for inspection? I’d return it to you in a day or two.”
He leaned forward, putting his face close to hers and looking her in the eye. “No.”
“Cooperation would be to your benefit, if you’re truly innocent.”
“I don’t back down to bullies.” He hiked a thumb at his lawyer. “Like he said, if you want anything from me, you should go through the proper channels and give me a chance to get representation.” The two stared each other down for a beat before he threw up his hands and snapped, “We done here?”
“For now.” Alonzo stepped aside to let him pass.
Kingsley rolled his eyes, shook his head, and issued a long-suffering sigh before walking past her. He brushed her shoulder with his, an act he could claim was accidental, though we all knew it was an aggressive power move. His attorney gave Alonzo a curt nod and went on his way, too.
As soon as they were out of earshot, I said, “You think he’s telling the truth?”
“Hard to say. It wouldn’t be difficult to order a replacement custom-made pin from a jeweler, but it might not have the same purity.
You know how gold jewelry ranges from ten to twenty-four karat, and the purity is marked on the item somewhere?
It’s similar for platinum, but on a different scale.
Platinum used in fine jewelry ranges from eighty-five percent purity to ninety-nine-point-nine percent purity.
Under Federal Trade Commission regulations, jewelry that is between fifty percent and ninety-five percent pure platinum must be marked with a number to indicate its purity.
If it’s ninety-five percent pure or better, it only has to be marked with platinum, plat, or PT.
The church’s pins are marked PT, which means they could range from ninety-five percent purity on up.
If the lab could compare the pin Kingsley has now to the one you found, they’d be able to determine if there was a difference in purity. ”
“A difference would mean his pin was a replacement he’d obtained himself, not from the church.”
“Exactly.”
“Are you going to try to get a search warrant to seize his pin?”
“No,” Alonzo said. “Without more, the judge would turn me down. There’s nothing directly linking Kingsley to Yee’s murder, at least not yet, and he seems to have an alibi.”
I supposed Kingsley Atkinson could have hired a hit man, but such arrangements were fairly rare, especially for someone who didn’t run in seedy circles and probably wouldn’t know where to start looking for a contract killer.
It was much easier to believe someone like Quentin Sanderson would have an associate willing to perform a hit.
Alonzo motioned for me to follow her as she walked over to the defense table, where Randolph’s attorney was packing her things into her briefcase.
After greeting Bianca and introducing herself to Randolph and his lawyer, she posed a direct question to Randolph.
“Do you think your brother had anything to do with Tyler Yee’s murder? ”
Randolph hesitated, casting a glance at the door where his brother had exited. “No,” he said finally, returning his focus to Alonzo. “My brother is many things. Entitled. Narcissistic. Self-centered. But he’s not a killer. Lawsuits are his preferred form of revenge.”
“You sure about that?” Alonzo asked. “He looked ready to take you to the mat earlier.”
Randolph chuckled. “That’s true, but that’s because we’re brothers. I know precisely how to push his buttons. Honestly, I get a kick out of it.”
Alonzo thanked him for the information before turning to Bianca. “Got a minute?”
“Of course.”
The judge called the next case, and several people moved toward the front of the courtroom to begin their proceeding.
Alonzo motioned for me and Bianca to follow her to the back of the room.
We stood next to the closed door. Through the rectangular glass panel behind Alonzo, people could be seen walking past in the hallway.
Alonzo bent her head toward Bianca so the woman could better hear her low voice. “By any chance did you happen to overhear a call Tyler made to Gentry Real Estate Development the Thursday morning before he died?”
“No,” said Bianca. “Tyler would help me get my son fed and dressed in the mornings. He didn’t start working until after I left for my job.” She’d just finished speaking when her eyes popped wide and she gasped so loud the courtroom went silent and all heads turned our way.
I followed her line of sight to see Quentin Sanderson’s face peering through the glass in the door. My arm shot up and I pointed. “It’s Quentin!”
Alonzo turned, caught a glimpse of Sanderson’s face, and went into action.
She shoved the door open with both hands, bolting out into the hallway.
I rushed after her. Sanderson had taken off and had a forty-foot lead on the detective.
But when he slowed to avoid a head-on collision with a mail cart, she seized the opportunity.
Looking more like a ballerina than ever, she leapt into the air, momentum carrying her through space until her chest impacted Sanderson’s back.
The guy was so big and bulky that the force didn’t take him down immediately, but after stumbling forward a few steps he lost his footing and fell face-first to the tile.
A sickening crack said he’d busted either his nose or his chin.
Alonzo’s hands moved with the speed and agility of a clown making a balloon animal.
In seconds, Sanderson’s hands were pulled up behind him and cuffed.
He thrashed and tried to rise to his knees.
On instinct, I dropped onto the back of his legs, kneeling on his muscular calves and helping hold him down the best I could.
He continued to thrash while Alonzo grabbed his ankles and secured them with zip ties. “Thanks, Whitney.”
I was proud to have proven useful to the detective again.
When she was done, she grabbed him by the shoulder and rolled him over.
His chin was split open, blood running from the wound, and his eyes flared with fury.
He called her a choice name, the one that rhymed with runt.
She didn’t respond or react. She’d been in law enforcement for decades, and had probably been called all sorts of names over the years. Insults didn’t faze her.