CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN
It was easily one of the tensest moments Ava had ever experienced as a detective. To know that at any given moment, Marcus Lincoln could decide to draw his arm back and slice Eve’s throat was unnerving. And without her gun, she felt utterly helpless. She could do nothing but stand there and hope she or Frank could come up with some way to save Eve’s life.
The silence was broken by the fragile, frail voice of Anna Lincoln. “Is…is this true?”
But Eve was too afraid to speak. But, angry and perhaps realizing just what a mess he was making for himself, Marcus had no problem speaking.
“Of course it’s true, Mother! Do you honestly think business interests was the only reason my father kept going into Harlem?”
“You knew,” Ava said to Marcus. “You knew, and I think you’ve known for a while.”
“Yes. Yes, I knew! And I was ashamed and disgusted.”
“God almighty,” Samuel said from his place by the parlor’s entrance. “I always thought he might have a tendency towards women of color…always joked with him about it. But I never would have thought…”
“How many have there been, Marcus?” Frank asked.
“I lost count! There was a whore at some jazz club not too long ago and I know there’s a woman in one of those buildings he just bought.”
“How do you know?” Ava asked.
And just like that, she set the trap. The moment Marcus admitted to knowing about his father’s guilty pleasures, she knew he was the killer. Now she just needed to get him to slip up and admit it. And, of course, to remove the knife from Eve’s throat.
“I’ve known for months now,” he said. “But I didn’t want to believe it. So I started following him. And I saw him with that whore…he took her to a hotel. He was with her a few times and…”
Anna started to wail, dropping to her knees. Samuel went to her side, looking like he might shatter at any moment.
“So why threaten Eve right now?” Ava asked. “She did nothing. It was your father…” She stopped here, understanding what she was about to say. Monty Lincoln was dead and here she was, pretty much accusing him of rape in front of his aggrieved family.
“You saw your father at the Candle’s Wick, didn’t you?” Ava asked. “You were following him and you saw him trying his very best to force himself on the singer of the band.”
His eyes widened with horror, but the knife never moved away from Eve’s neck.
“What you did,” Ava said, “wasn’t done because you wanted his wealth or because you were envious. You were disgusted. You said it yourself just moments ago.”
“Shut up,” he screamed at her. His grip on Eve loosened a bit and Ava could tell that all of his rage and anger was now directed at her.
“You confronted him about it in that alley, didn’t you?”
And then Frank spoke up, waiting for the right moment and going directly to the point. “What did you hit him with, son? You didn’t mean to kill him, right?”
This time, it was Samuel who spoke up, raising his voice to be heard over Anna’s screams. “How dare you make such an accusation?”
“You knew one of the band members would probably be assumed to be the killer, so you just fled the scene,” Ava said. She also wondered if maybe Albert Long had known this but had willingly covered for Monty Lincoln’s son, hoping his back would be scratched in a similar way later down the road. But that had nothing to do with the immediate situation and if she was wrong about it, it would only confuse matters.
“Come down to the station with us and tell us the truth,” Frank said. “You just let that woman go right now and we can—”
Rage pushed Marcus quickly. When he shoved Eve hard to the right and away from him, Ava was certain he’d sliced into her throat. Eve spilled over the edge of the couch and in a pinwheel motion, struck the floor hard. Ava barely saw this, though, as a room that had been perfectly still one second ago came alive with activity.
Marcus came charging at them, predictably coming for Ava first, assuming she’d be the weakest of the two. At about the same time, Frank leaned down for his gun. Ava, meanwhile, simply stood her ground, making fists of her hands and waiting for the right moment. There was a hair of a second where Marcus seemed to be confused. Why was she not moving? Why was she not trying to go for her gun or dodge his attack?
It was at about that same time that Ava jabbed out her right hand. She struck Marcus directly in the throat. He stopped coming forward at once as he started to make gagging noises. As he fell backwards, he slashed out with the knife just as Ava drew her hand back. The blade sliced across the upper part of her wrist. It cut deep and drew blood right away. She cradled it to her arm as Frank continued with the rest of their defense.
As Marcus tried his best not to fall, his free hand going to his throat while the other still brandished the knife, Frank slammed his large hand down on the knife-holding arm. The impact forced Marcus to drop the knife and the moment it hit the floor, Frank drew Marcus’s arms up behind him and started to cuff him.
Ava then retrieved her gun just in case Samuel thought he might be able to help his nephew. She thought Samuel may have been advancing forward at first but when he saw her grab the gun, he went still again, He remained with Anna, doing his best to comfort her. And the hell of it was that Ava actually did feel sorry for her. Not only was her husband dead, but she was learning many deep, dark secrets about him that she would likely have never even imagined.
She held the gun by her side while Frank hoisted Marcus back up to his feet. Meanwhile Anna kept screaming and Marcus looked around the parlor as if he could already see the family name crumbling around him. And all the while, she felt a steady flow of blood down her arm. It trickled down her wrists and over her fingers where it dripped on the floor. She barely even noticed though, figuring her bloodstains were the least of the Lincoln family’s concerns this afternoon.