His Song Silenced

by Michael Arches

  I paused to collect my thoughts. Wasn’t getting anything Willow hadn’t already told me. “Let’s talk about your pals, Luther. Who do you know who belongs to a gang?”

  “Nobody. Don’t live in the ‘hood. Dad’s an assistant football coach at USC. Mom works for a big life insurance company.”

  Tyrone’s investigation had confirmed both of Luther’s parents had spotless records, and he had no siblings. I was grasping at straws, but someone might’ve made him an offer he hadn’t thought he could refuse.

  “In the last two years,” I asked, “since you graduated from USC, has anybody, and I mean anybody on this entire goddamned planet, given you a thousand bucks or more for any reason?”

  He rubbed his forehead. “Nope, except my parents pay for my apartment and gave me one of their old cars…that’s it.”

  I asked more questions but got nothing else out of him. If he’d contacted one of the Crips in LA, he was hiding it well.

  I cut Luther loose then said to Tyrone, “Please keep the shooting under your hat. I need to see how the others react to the news.”

  “You got it, girl. I’ll make sure Luther doesn’t blab to anybody else ‘bout it either. Can’t believe he treated you like that. I ought to kick his ass.”

  “At least, wait until I’ve got this case figured out. We may need him later.”

  -o-o-o-

  I had twenty minutes before my interview with Jamal Washington, and I used it to review the reports I’d received from Tyrone and Willow and his video clips from Skip and Linda.

  Washington hadn’t sent any suspicious calls or texts after he received the message from Luther. I made a note to ask him what he’d been doing instead. His only run-in with the law had been a shoplifting charge as a juvenile. That was dismissed when he’d completed probation eight years ago.

  On the downside, he had plenty of suspicious relatives because he was born and raised in Compton. His dad had a long rap sheet and was presently California’s guest at their country club for hard asses at Pelican Bay. Jamal’s older brother had also done serious time, and he’d been released back into the wild a year ago.

  -o-o-o-

  Jamal strutted in and waved like he’d known me for years. Reminded me a lot of Will Smith in his younger days. With his big grin, I realized he was used to schmoozing his way through life.

  “Yo, sister cop, wassup?”

  I introduced myself and kept my tone cool. “I’m investigating the deaths of two people you know, namely Splendiferous Wang and Dinah White.”

  “Yeah, shit, unbelievable what happened. Both of them were amazing. Wish I could help.”

  “You can. How well did you know them?”

  “Actually, I hardly talked to them during the workshop.”

  In other words, his “amazing” comment was supposedly based on nothing.

  His problem was, based on the video clips from Linda, Jamal had interacted a fair amount with both Splendid and Dinah, particularly her.

  “Is that so?” I asked. “I would’ve thought a player like you’d be interested in a beautiful woman like her.”

  He started to speak then stopped. Gave me a sheepish grin. “Hey, I don’t kiss and tell. That ain’t right.”

  I made my voice as low as I could. “Listen up, bro. This is a murder investigation, and I expect the full and complete truth from you. No more fucking around. If you bullshit me again, your musical career’s going to take a sharp right turn into one of Colorado’s state prisons. Do we understand each other?”

  His smile vanished, and he glared at me. Didn’t speak for a moment. Seemed to be getting a hold of his temper, which had flashed to life suddenly.

  After a moment, he said in a calm voice, “Yes, ma’am. Sorry for the misunderstanding. I did talk to both of them, and I spent one night in her room. Not much talking there, though.”

  I asked more questions, but didn’t get anything from him about them. No more charm either. He acted like he understood the considerable dangers the justice system could pose for his musical career.

  “What’s your relationship with the Crips in Compton?”

  He looked straight at me. “Don’t have one. Stay away from those dudes.”

  “Is that so? What about your dear old dad and older brother? Plus, you have a couple cousins in the gang, too, don’t you?”

  He shrugged. “Everybody in Compton knows Crips or Bloods. Just part of the life. I haven’t seen my dad in five years and don’t miss him. My older brother comes around from time to time, mostly wanting money or drugs. Don’t give him any, but I can’t pretend he’s not family. Whatta you expect from me?”

  “Forget about your family for a minute. Do you have friends who are Crips?”

  “Not since high school. They went their way, and I went mine. I’m all about the music. Not gonna let nobody mess this up for me, including them.”

  Or me, he was probably thinking. I could obviously get in his way.

  I ran through my questions about who’d given him money and got nothing. Same result with my questions about other communications devices. If he’d used a burn phone to talk to Crips, he wasn’t about to admit it to me.

  Once he left, I mentally evaluated him. That steel-eyed determination he showed for most of the interview told me he was capable of taking out anyone who got in his way, but that didn’t make him guilty of two specific murders. I needed proof of his actions, not just his willingness to do what was necessary to win.

  Chapter 19

  Raven Williams was due next. Tyrone’s and Willow’s reports about her were similar to Jamal’s. She’d grown up in Watts with a Hispanic dad and black mom. He hadn’t been part of Raven’s life, but her drug addict mom loved to hang with the Crips—when she wasn’t in jail herself.

  When Raven was fifteen, her charming mother had even sold her daughter to the local Crips boss for drugs. Thankfully, the cops figured that out and arrested both Mom and the boss. Social services turned Raven over to her mom’s mom, who’d emigrated from Nigeria and survived by cleaning other people’s houses. Both Mom and the imprisoned boss were back on the street again.

  Raven had been a poor student, except in music. God had blessed her with a powerful deep voice and an instinctive understanding of music. Those two qualities alone had earned her a tuition-free scholarship at a small Jesuit college close to Watts. Since graduating two years ago, she’d worked as a waitress during the day and performed every chance she got at night.

  The woman walked into the office with a queen’s bearing, exactly on time. Tall and thin with high cheekbones and a penetrating stare. She was a rare beauty. Tyrone definitely knew how to pick them.

  Raven nodded at me like we were about to start a fight to the finish, full contact karate. I introduced myself and invited her to sit. She did but remained erect and alert. Unlike Jamal, she made no effort to sweettalk me.

  I obviously worried her for some reason. Maybe it was a good one and maybe not. Time to find out.

  I went through my questions about her communications devices. She spoke carefully and concisely, and told me she relied entirely on Tyrone’s phone.

  When I told her about being ambushed on the freeway, she didn’t even blink. “Oh, I don’t know anything about that.”

  She did admit to knowing plenty of Crips in Watts. “In fact, some of my boyfriends have been gang members. Most guys are Crips in my neighborhood, and so it was like, hang with them or diddle myself alone. I don’t like being alone.”

  “How long ago were you hanging with the Crips?” I asked.

  “Ended last May. As soon as Tyrone told me what he wanted, I broke off all ties. Haven’t talked to any of them since May.”

  “What about your mom?”

  For the first time, I noticed some emotion. Her eyes flashed, and her jaw tightened.

  “I have no mother. Never did. My grandmother raised me, and if I ever hit it big, it will be due to her.”

&
nbsp; I thanked Raven for her time, and she left as poised as she’d come. And I still didn’t know why I worried her. Maybe it was only because she saw me as an obstacle to her success instead of someone keeping her alive long enough to earn success on her own.

  -o-o-o-

  My last interview was with Darnell Burton. He arrived a few minutes late with an apologetic grin. His face was big and round. His main distinguishing feature was his size. He was six feet, seven inches tall, and weighed two-seventy.

  His voice was high-pitched, like Michael Jackson’s. “Hey, lady, you scarin’ the shit out of everybody. Poor Luther’s blubbering. What you do to that boy?”

  Darnell was obviously a believer in starting with a strong offense. “He had a little trouble remembering things, so I helped him with that. Anyway, why isn’t a big guy like you playing basketball or football?”

  His grin widened. “Too clumsy. I did play defensive tackle in high school, but two left feet. Music’s my only ticket out of the ‘hood.”

  He, like most of the others, had overcome incredible odds to make it this far. Darnell did have a criminal record, an assault as a juvenile. He’d punched another kid hard enough to put him in the hospital, but the cops hadn’t been sure who’d started the fight. He was charged with a misdemeanor and served six months in juvie.

  Darnell had grown up in Compton, like Jamal, and witnessed the incredible musical success stories of Dr. Dre and Kendrick Lamar. “By some miracle,” he said, “it’s starting to work for me, too. Tyrone has the magic touch.”

  “I assume you’ve heard someone took a few shots at me a couple of days ago on the Santa Monica Freeway. What do you know about that?”

  Maybe he was a great actor, but his eyes opened wide with surprise. “Whoa! Damn, girl, no wonder you been whalin’ on folks. You okay?”

  “Fine. What do you know about it?”

  “All news to me. Lots of cops get shot at in LA. It don’t even make the local TV news anymore. I ain’t no big fan of LAPD, but most don’t deserve to get blown away in a drive by.”

  For the rest of the interview, he dodged and weaved around my questions like an expert politician. Half of his friends growing up had become gang members, but he’d supposedly cut off all communications. No financial connection to anybody but his uncle who owned a jazz club. “Over the years, he paid twenty grand for my music lessons and tutors. I can’t wait to pay him back and then some.”

  Unlike Jamal and Raven, Darnell walked out acting as though he and I were the best of friends. “I’ll keep an ear out for clues, and you stay safe.”

  Although I was sure he was bullshitting me, I played along. “I sure appreciate your help.”

  A minute after he left, Tyrone walked in, closed the door behind him, and turned off the camera. “What do you think?”

  “You see all the interviews?” I asked.

  He nodded.

  “What do you think?” I asked.

  He threw up his hands and blew out a deep breath. “Except maybe for Luther, they all look as innocent as lambs. I can’t believe any of ‘em’s involved in the murders.”

  My instincts told me different. “A hundred bucks says one of your rappers is guilty of conspiracy to commit Splendid’s murder. Don’t know who the asshole is yet, but somebody evil’s inside your group.”

  He reached forward and shook my hand. “I’ll take that bet. Look, I agree the Crips are involved, and they probably have someone they want to win. But here’s the thing. I think their favorite doesn’t know about the gang boss yet. Some Crips boss plans to put the arm on him or her later, after they win.”

  I shook my head. “How can the boss be sure his favorite will cooperate? Once a singer earns some serious bucks, he can pay for great protection.”

  Tyrone thought for a moment. “Maybe the boss knows he can blackmail the winner. Most of us, from the ‘hood or not, got skeletons in our closets.”

  “Maybe,” I said. “More likely, the gang and their singer already have a deal. They worked together to target Splendid and me.”

  “What about Dinah?” he asked.

  She remained a puzzle. “Can’t say for sure. Still think she was killed to shut her up, but my focus now is finding the insider helping some LA Crips faction.”

  He sighed and paced the room. “I feel like I know all our contestants. Spend so much time with them. You say one’s gonna break my heart?”

  I could sympathize with his feelings about being betrayed, but like most cops, I’d been lied to countless times. “Hope I’m wrong. See you in the morning. I’ll finish the interviews then, but I’m sure I’ve already talked to a stone-cold killer. And I’ll tell you something else—it’s not Luther. He couldn’t keep himself together if he knew what’s going on.”

  -o-o-o-

  By the time I made it outside, several inches of snow had fallen, and it was coming down hard. My cabin was another thousand feet higher than town, so even more snow was piling up there. I was tempted to sleep on a friend’s couch in Aspen, but I’d been away from my critters too long.

  After grabbing a quick sandwich from a local deli, I drove south. The sky was dark and filled with white flakes, cutting visibility to almost nothing. A whiteout, and it was still officially summer.

  I drove the narrow road winding along Castle Creek. The plows hadn’t reached this area yet, so I kept my speed down to twenty. Each side of the road was bordered by thick stands of trees. One mistake, and I’d wrap my trusty Rubicon around a lodgepole pine or hit someone coming toward me. It was still Friday the thirteenth. Nothing particularly horrible had happened yet, and I wanted to keep it that way.

  Luckily, few vehicles were driving north toward town. A pair of headlights followed me a hundred yards or so back. Probably another worker heading home at the end of a long, frustrating week.

  I thought about Willow and how she’d react to the most recent interviews. Rochelle had promised to send her the videos. I couldn’t wait to hear—

  A quarter-mile ahead, a large, long truck sped around a bend. I’d driven this road hundreds of times but only rarely had seen big rigs on it.

  The pig took up more than his share of the road, in addition to driving too fast. I flashed my lights to warn him to slow down.

  He ignored me, and worse, when he came within a hundred yards, he veered into the center of the road. I honked and flashed my lights several times. Bastard was getting a ticket for sure.

  No reaction. Couldn’t see the driver’s face in the glare from the snow.

  Nowhere for me to go to the right because the creek flowed right next to the road. A ten-foot drop-off straight into the water. I slowed as much as I could.

  The truck came straight at me. My skin tingled. Too late, I realized this might be an attack. Adrenaline blasted through my body, numbing me all over.

  On the right side of the road, the trees started again. And I spotted a gap where the spruces were small. Can I reach them in time?

  I sped up. The truck’s driver seemed to recognize my plan. He also drove faster to hit me before I reached the gap. His truck was fucking huge.

  An instant before we collided, I veered right into the smaller trees. But didn’t quite get out of the way.

  The truck’s front bumper caught the back corner of my rig, and the impact spun my Jeep around. The truck scraped by with a screeching sound.

  My rig slammed into a large spruce. I’d avoided a head-on collision with the truck, but the smaller trees hadn’t stopped me completely before I hit a big one.

  The airbags exploded around me. One on the steering wheel, smashed into my face and eyes. Thank God, I’d worn my seatbelt, but the twisting crash had forced the buckle into my right hip.

  My head ached. I was almost blind. Alive! By some miracle.

  Chapter 20

  When I realized I’d survived, I reached for the mic on the departmental radio inside my rig. “Officer needs assistance. Large truck heading nor
th along Castle Creek hit me and kept going. Two miles south of the music school. Bastard tried to kill me. I crashed into the trees along the side of the road. Not seriously injured but send EMT. Stop all traffic heading north, not only the truck. He must’ve had a spotter behind me to tell him I was coming.”

  The chatter started immediately, but I had no time for that. My eyes continued to water but I wiped them clear with my shirt sleeve. My head throbbed.

  I grabbed a large flashlight from my glove box and jumped out to see what’d happened to the truck. Snow blasted into my face, but I ignored it.

  An old pickup had stopped in the road behind me. Barney Jeffers climbed out. He ran a dude ranch south of town. “What the hell, Hank? You okay?”

  I staggered alongside the Jeep in the tangled debris below it. Nothing screamed in agony, but my right hip and head were sore. My left ankle swung loosely, providing little support. “Think I’m all right. What happened to that truck?”

  He pointed the way we’d come. “Slid alongside the road for a spell, out of control. Trees kept him close to the road ‘til he hit that spot where the creek comes right up to the road. Bam! Truck dived down the bank into the drink.”

  My crash had scrambled my brains more than I’d thought because his voice cut out a time or two. “Did you say, the truck’s in the water?”

  “About halfway. Rear tires still on the road.”

  I scrambled across the snow and broken branches next to my battered rig. The rear corner closest to me had been smashed to bits. Barney gave me a hand to help stand upright on the pavement. My fake ankle didn’t know what to do.

  The old coot wasn’t subtle. “I heard you had a gimpy leg. Do I need to hold you up?”

  I shook my head. “Now that I’m on solid ground, it’ll be okay.”

  “He did a helluva job on your Jeep, didn’t he? When I saw him heading straight at you, I screamed like a girl. Thought for sure you were a goner.”