Truman cuffed Darrell to a street sign in the parking lot—he wasn’t happy, but didn’t resist. Truman joined Mario.
Rodney took another drag of his cigarette, exhaled, and dropped the smoke in a puddle. “That woman Marina told me to go pick up a package. I followed directions.”
“What was the address?”
Rodney wasn’t sure of the address, but he knew it was near Bayou Saint John. Had a bunch of old people running around. Maybe a nursing home—he wasn’t sure. He told the receptionist his name, and she handed him a bag. Rodney made the delivery to Marina, never looking inside.
Mario wasn’t buying the story. “You never wondered what you were delivering?”
At the old people’s house, Rodney admitted he looked in the bag and pulled the bottle out a little—the lid was wobbly. “The receptionist called a man who came out an office, he reached in and tightened the top, said for me to get moving.”
“Can you ID the man?”
“Sure.”
Mario looked at Truman. “That’s the overlay of Dr. Ross’s fingerprint.”
“I never saw the bag again until that morning,” Rodney said in a panic. “My part was to pick up the package and hand Kate a newspaper. That was it—I was forced to grab her.”
“Just one more thing,” Mario said, turning back to Rodney. “How did you get to the house on the Bayou?”
At this point, Rodney had nothing to hide. He was in the save-his-own-ass mode. He answered the detective's questions the best he could. Darrell drove him to Riverside and to deliver the package to Marina’s flophouse in his mother’s Crown Vic. He didn’t know why that was so important, but Mario seemed to light up when he heard.
Rodney leaned against the vehicle's front fender and lit another cigarette.
“Don’t make me have to run after you,” Mario said.
“I have no reason to run,” Rodney said, puffing away on his cancer stick.
Mario called the station, requesting a black and white at the corner of Morrison Road and Diamond in front of Crazy Eight Pool Hall. He gave his partner a nod of his head, and Truman understood. Mario grabbed Rodney and Truman picked up Darrell at the street sign.
A police black and white car came roaring up to the pool hall curb. Two officers quickly got out to assist. Mario handed off Rodney and Darrell in handcuffs and instructed the officers to book them at Central Lockup.
Rodney was outraged and tried to pull away from the officer. He didn’t win the battle, and the officer slammed him against the hood.
Rodney looked back at Mario. “Man, you said we were just going to talk.”
Mario walked up to Rodney, now sitting in the back seat of the police car. He smiled at him through the window and said, “I lied.”
The police car disappeared into the traffic, and Mario’s car followed. The two vehicles reached the on-ramp of I-10 and turned on their blinking red and blue lights. The lights cleared road traffic, and they breezed through, getting off at the Broad Street exit.
At Police Headquarters, Mario and Truman went directly to the chief’s office while the officers processed Darrell and Rodney. It was a bold move to arrest them again, but Mario needed them locked up so he could build a case against Doctor Ross.
In the squad room, there was nothing but an empty desk, and the chief’s office door left wide open. It was unusual for an area that was staffed twenty-four hours a day to be so unused.
A detective came walking in eating a piece of cake. “Hey, detectives, get some cake in the kitchen. It’s Robin and Jerri’s birthday.”
Truman always had a sweet tooth. He and Mario headed to the kitchen.
It was a process Chief Parks put in place when she took office a year earlier. They all thought it was just a female thing to celebrate a birthday at work. Mario thought it was silly and unprofessional in the beginning. The chief’s thoughts, on the other hand, were different. The office handled murder cases, assaults, and hideous crimes every day. Most days were filled with telling people about a death in the family and most of the time they couldn’t explain why. She wanted something to break the tension once in a while.
The second Thursday of every month, she purchased a cake for everyone who had a birthday in that month, and it worked. Ten out of twelve months there were birthdays. So, for the sake of ten cakes a year, it brought some happiness in what was mostly a depressing place to work. It was the same cake every month—a giant square yellow cake with white icing. Everyone in the squad room agreed Parkview Bakery on Washington Avenue had the best cakes in town.
“Small piece, please,” Truman said to the chief, who was the official cake cutter. She handed Truman and Mario a plate with a neatly cut piece of cake.
“As usual, delicious,” Mario said, taking a bite. “Chief, we need to see you as soon as you finish your culinary duties.”
“Be careful, Mario, I have a big knife in my hand,” she said with a smile. “I’ll be in my office in a minute.”
Mario and Truman sat in front of Chief Parks’s desk, waiting for her to return from the birthday cake break. She walked in, drying her hands with a paper towel.
Mario got to the point and told her they had just arrested Rodney Day and Darrell Jefferson again. Then sat back and waited for the backlash to hit him like a freight train.
She turned in her chair from side to side, thinking he had to have an exceptional reason or he was plum crazy.
Mario sat at the edge of the chief’s desk and gave her the details leading up to the arrest of Rodney and Darrell again. After learning Rodney admitted to picking up the bottle of chloroform from Riverside Inn and that Doctor Ross was involved, she agreed to the arrests.
“So what do you need from me?”
“Madam Chief, as the lead detective in this case, I need you to talk to District Attorney Gilbert James and make sure there is no bail set,” Truman said, sticking to the plan that he was in charge of the case.
Chief Parks raised one eyebrow and looked at Mario.
“He’s in charge,” Mario said with a straight face, pointing to Truman. “I’m just following his lead.”
The chief leaned back in her chair and thought for a moment. “Okay, I’ll call Gilbert. I think the judge will stay away from this case now.”
“We only need a few days,” Mario interjected.
“I’ll do what I can,” she said, picking up the phone and making a motion with her hand that it was time for them to leave.
They both walked out the office and Truman headed to the kitchen. If he was lucky, there would still be cake left, and he was always good for a second piece. Mario was flagged down by Robin, a female file clerk.
“Detective, there is a call for you. It came in on my line,” she said.
“Who is it?”
“He wouldn’t say.”
“Send it to my phone—and by the way, Happy Birthday.”
“Thank you,” Robin said.
He picked the phone up. “Detective Mario, how can I help you?”
“Detective, someone wants to speak to you,” said a voice that Mario didn’t recognize other than he had a Spanish accent.
“Detective Mario. Sorry to hear about the attempt on your girlfriend,” said a voice that made Mario’s blood run cold.
Mario waved his arm in the air, getting Robin’s attention. Fortunately, she understood his signal and started a trace of the call.
“Felipe Cruz, Junior,” Mario said, doing his best to stay calm and keep Felipe on the phone. He looked at the clerk. She motioned to keep him talking. Surveillance was tracing the call. The room stopped in time, and all eyes were on Mario. “Well, Junior, what a pleasure to hear from you,” Mario said, knowing calling him Junior would piss him off and could keep him on the phone longer. But halfway through, Felipe cut him off and talked right over him.
“Your girlfriend Kate’s mother, father, and the housekeeper are dead.”
Mario interjected, “You fuck!” but Felipe just continued talking over him.<
br />
“And we left her for last so she could watch the others die. She’ll bleed out before you can get help to her. I can see the newspaper headlines now. Tragedy on Saint Charles Avenue,” Felipe said, and then the phone went dead.
The police squad room was running full speed. The chief was standing in the middle of the room observing and directing at the same time.
“Are you ready, Robin?”
“Yes. Please! Let me have your attention,” she shouted, adjusting the volume up so everyone could hear the playback of the conversation. The room went unusually quiet as the handful of people remaining listened with full attention to every word Felipe said. The recording was a little distorted, but you could make out the conversation.
Mario and Truman were racing up Broadway Boulevard with full emergency lights and siren blaring. One police unit escorted them from headquarters, and another two cars picked them up on the way. The speed and sirens of police cars through the streets had pedestrians and vehicles pulling to the side of the road.
A motorcycle cop had traffic blocked at the corner of Broadway and Saint Charles Avenue. The lead car saw his assistance and stepped on the gas, and all the vehicles took the turn onto Saint Charles Avenue at a high rate of speed.
Truman was driving, and Mario pointed out the big white house on the left. He cut the siren off, making the turn and stopping on the side street of the Fontenots’ home.
Truman took the lead and told Mario to stay put. He was going to the house first.
“I’ve had twenty years of training. I can handle this,” Mario replied.
Truman looked him in his eyes. “There is no training to ever prepare you for what you are about to see.”
“I’ll handle it the best I can,” he said, and jumped out the car. Within seconds police units were on the scene, blocking traffic on the avenue.
Mario and Truman rushed through the garden to the side entrance door with their guns drawn while other officers approached the front door with caution. Mario turned the doorknob slowly, hoping it would open. As expected, it was locked. Stepping back, he gave one hard kick to the lock, and the door flung open, shattering pieces of wood throughout the foyer.
Amelia screamed and dropped a large bowl of salad on the floor and ran to the kitchen. Mr.and Mrs. Fontenot, sitting at the dining room table eating lunch, were shocked when the front door burst open and a SWAT team pointing high-power rifles swarmed the rooms of the home. Mario stood over the dining room table with his Glock in hand and fingers ready to empty a clip into anyone that moved.
CHAPTER 35
Mario was confused and couldn’t wrap his head around words to even speak. With his gun drawn, he roamed the house. Mr. and Mrs. Fontenot sat at the dining room table horrified as police surrounded them with weapons drawn.
Holy shit! Ran through his mind as Mario stood speechless.
“For God’s sake, put your guns away!” Hester Fontenot shouted, throwing his napkin down, kicking the chair back and standing up to the police.
Mario roamed the house. “What the hell is going on?”
Kate came running down the stairway and saw him creeping around the house. His gun was stretched out in front with both hands tightly gripped. She gasped, running to the dining room. Seeing the door frame and a team of police that had just stormed the area, Kate screamed, holding her head, then cried out again, collapsing on the floor. This only made the Fontenots more upset and now frightened out of their minds.
“Stand down. Looks like a false alarm,” the SWAT leader said, roaming the house, which was standard protocol. Mario followed, almost wishing to find some gang members hiding in the house.
A scream came from the kitchen and Mario assured his fellow officers everything was okay. It was a yell from Amelia, frightened in the corner when a SWAT member found her.
Things calmed down, and most of the police officers left the house except for Mario and Truman. Police cars that blocked the streets moved, opening traffic to a normal flow. Other than a few neighbors standing around still pointing and gossiping, things went back to normal. But not for the Fontenot household.
Mario took a seat at the dining room table and tried to explain the phone call he’d received. At the same time, running through his mind was how Felipe had managed to reach out from Calabar and taunt him, just for enjoyment.
There was no reasoning with the Fontenots. The more Mario spoke, the angrier they got. Even Kate, who usually took Mario’s side in any family disagreement, had walked off in the middle of him explaining the ordeal and returned to her room.
Mario climbed the wide spiral stairway up to the second floor and knocked on Kate’s bedroom door. Kate opened the door with tears running down her face. All he could do was hug her as she cried uncontrollably. Words could not console her at this time.
Kate smeared the tears running down her face and looked into Mario’s eyes. “This will never work. There will be no peace until one or both of us are dead.”
Grabbing her, and ever so gently brushing tears from her eyes, he said, “Look at me. No one is going to kill us. I’m close to breaking this case—a lot of people will go to jail.”
“You’re a wonderful man and a good police officer. But I can never be a police officer’s wife. I just can’t take this life of worriment. While you do your part in protecting people, you have taken on the burden of payback from some dangerous and grotesque people.”
Mario pulled Kate closer and assured her the whole police force was involved, and they would protect her until they were all locked away. And he was talking forever—life without parole.
Kate broke away. “Protect me? I’m attacked at work, kidnapped in front of my own house, and this thug reached out from his prison cell. Wake up, Mario—they are winning,” she cried out. “I can’t go through this anymore.” Then the door slammed in his face.
Truman and Mario slipped out the house without encountering the Fontenots. The
afternoon traffic opened up after passing the Lee Circle exit. With speed and illegal use of the median shoulder of the road, Truman took the Broad Street exit to police headquarters. Mario sat quietly in the passenger’s seat. Truman glanced at him but was hesitant to even ask a question.
“I got a phone call. The chief wants to see us as soon as we get back,” Truman said.
“I’m sure to rip into my ass,” Mario said, looking out the window. “You know how many cops were at the scene and what the cost was to roll out a SWAT team? Felipe and his Cornerview bunch of criminals are making me look like a rookie. I have to fight them differently.”
“How’s that?” Truman asked.
“I’m changing the rules on fighting gangs.”
Truman was glancing at the road and back at Mario. “You have the whole police force behind you now. An attack on you is an attack on all of us.”
“This war will not be won in court. I’m going to save the taxpayers a lot of money,” Mario said as the car came to a stop in the underground police garage.
Pulling three phone messages stuck to his desk lamp, Mario looked through them as he walked to the kitchen for a cup of coffee. Truman followed like a puppy dog. He had watched Mario procrastinate on several occasions when the chief wanted to see him.
Truman was eyeballing him. “Mario, suck up your coffee and let's go see the chief.”
“I’m looking through my calls. It’s police work, and the queen can wait.”
Procrastination was Mario’s way of coping with things. He needed time to process what had happened, and if he could, he would put off tomorrow until he was ready. Sometimes it was best to let Mario take things at his own pace. If you rushed him, there was no telling what he might say, turning a meeting into a shouting match…and that was something that neither of them needed.
Mario took the last sip of coffee. “You’re ready?” he said to Truman, crushing the cup and dropping it in the overflowing trash can.
Truman and Mario rounded the hallway into the squad room and found
Chief Parks and District Attorney James standing over Robin’s desk, reviewing the phone recording of Felipe.
Truman greeted the chief, and she pointed for them to take a seat. Following directions, they sat, listening to the recording over and over again. The composure of the chief was utterly different than expected. She was confident that this was well planned, and any one of them would have reacted the same, like Mario.
Mario defended his actions and took every precaution by calling Kate’s personal phone and the primary house number before dispatching police units. Both lines were busy. There had been no doubt in Mario’s mind that the threat was real.
Chief Parks took a page out of a folder she held and reviewed some highlights. The call traced back to the West End boathouse area. When police arrived, the house was empty and looked like it had not been lived in for months. All that was found was a cut phone wire hanging from the kitchen wall.
Mario rubbed his face in frustration. Whoever made the call stayed on the phone long enough for the call to be traced—like they wanted him to find the location. Mario questioned himself, but the answer was the same. The voice was Felipe Cruz. It had to be a recording, but how he pulled it off baffled him.
Chief Parks looked flabbergasted when Mario said he had a lead on the caller, even if it was the early stages. “I’m sure you will fill me in when it comes together,” she said with a stern look and a few nervous blinks of her eyes.
Mario wasn’t sure if she was pissed or putting a show on for DA James. Either way, she got her point across.
“Absolutely, Chief,” Mario said with a smile. “I’ll have something for you tomorrow.”
Gilbert James broke the news that Judge Bernard once again interfered with their case and lowered Darrell Jefferson’s bail. He was released from Central Lockup a few hours earlier. The judge, a big-time local favorite, was pressing his luck but was determined to keep his lady friend’s son out of jail. It was evident the judge supported Gilbert and was a significant force in getting him elected district attorney. The longtime New Orleans judge had more political pull and influence than most realized.
Crescent City Detective Page 24
