Spicey nodded. She felt a strange bond with Jeanne. “Will the Spirits keep talking to me, or was I only supposed to help Michael?”
Jeanne smiled, “Only the Spirits can answer that.”
Sasha had been listening and asked, “What if you just be a ‘friend’ of a chosen person?”
Jeanne chuckled, “I’d say you are a very special friend. You have been allowed to witness.” The three of them started walking back to the store front. Jeanne noticed the small table with the crystal ball.
“Would you mind giving me a moment alone with your crystal ball? I’m curious about something.”
Spicey shrugged, “Sure. We’ll just wait in the other room.”
Jeanne waited until they had left the room. She sat at the table and stared at the ball. This was something she had always wanted to do, but had been afraid to try. She placed her palms around it and felt a tingling on the surface of the glass. It felt very warm. Jeanne concentrated on blocking out everything around her. Mambo had said she would soon understand her destiny. Jeanne stared in the ball and asked the Spirits to explain.
At first she saw nothing. Maybe the questions she had would remain unanswered. Suddenly, tiny images formed in the center of the ball and began to tell a story. Her mind flooded with a wave of images and hundreds of soft voices. She had been transported to another world, another dimension. It felt familiar and real.
In the storefront room, Spicey and Sasha stared at the red velvet curtain covering the doorway. They watched as a dim blue light peeked from behind the folds of the curtain and grew in intensity. A gust of wind rushed from the backroom, forcing the curtain to wave, as if a blast had occurred. The smaller items on the shelves vibrated and tumbled to the floor. The tinkle bells at both doors rang as if caught in a hurricane. Then silence.
Jeanne walked out from the backroom, thanked Spicey and Sasha, and left.
Sasha and Spicey stood motionless and watched her walk out the front door.
Spicey looked at Sasha, “Damn.”
Jeanne sat outside in the car and wept. She now understood why she was so driven, and had always felt as if she didn’t fit. Her soul finally belonged to her now. She felt a peace and a strength that comes from understanding yourself. Jeanne composed herself and rubbed her amulet as she gave thanks. She wiped the tears from her face, put the car in gear, and dialed Roger. Michael needed to go home. She was going to get him there.
Roger looked at his watch and then to Paul. “If I hurry I can make the arraignment.” The arraignment would be the first time Senator Kenny, Judge Williams, Theodore Chain and Andre Baton would hear the charges they were facing. Roger had arranged for the U.S. Attorney General’s office to take the case and appoint a special prosecutor. The trials would take months if not years, but today he would see their faces.
Roger said, “I want to be there. I want to represent those kids and their families.”
Roger leaned against the wall of the large marble hall of the courthouse. He stood off in a corner to stay away from the press people that flooded the entire rotunda. The noise was deafening. Mass’s press conference had been like giving a starving man a sniff of fried chicken, and telling him dinner was in an hour.
The presiding judge for the arraignment had just been given the amended list of charges for the case. The judge paced in his chambers. These were four of New Orleans most prestigious citizens. He was friends with Judge Williams and Senator Kenny. Kennels? My God, what kind of monsters were they? The judge looked at the filing papers of the U.S. Attorney General’s office. This was serious shit. He noticed they had appointed a special prosecutor and flipped the page to read the name. Holy crap!
The U.S. Attorney General’s office had sent their best litigator. His nickname was “Catahoula”. A reference to a dog breed, a Louisiana leopard dog. The Catahoula was known for fierce fighting abilities, ice blue eyes and cunning attack skills. Roger watched Catahoula walk toward him as he gave last minute instructions to Jeanne on searching Senator Kenny’s city home.
Catahoula walked up close to Roger and nodded, “Where’s the bow? This little present you gave us has everything but the bow.” Catahoula snickered.
Roger answered, “I think we are getting that for you right now. A confidential informant has given us the name of a murdered child, whose remains we found in the swamp a few days ago. A secret closet at Senator Kenny’s house should reveal a Winnie the Pooh sweater with the little boy’s DNA. My team is going there now.”
Catahoula shook his head, “How do you do it? I have bank transfers linking these guys to William Patterson. I have them disposing of his body on film! I have a country house with a barn full of kiddie kennels. I have a national pedophile club I can tie them all to. I have recent kidnapping victims that can testify and kidnappers willing to turn state’s evidence.”
Roger smiled, “Don’t forget the trespassing charges.”
The bailiff walked out the double doors and motioned the judge was ready for their case.
Catahoula glanced at Roger, “Why don’t you sit at our table on this. You’ll get a better view.”
The courtroom was packed. To the surprise of everyone, the judge allowed as many press in the room as could fit. Roger knew that was a bad sign for the defense. About five minutes passed and a far door to the courtroom opened and retired Senator Rolland Kenny, Judge Harold Williams, Andre Baton and Theodore Chain walked single file to the defendants’ table. They were dressed in the same clothes they had on in the swamp the night before. All four actually turned to the press and smiled as the cameras flashed.
Rolland was actually telling a reporter it was all a silly mistake. Everything would be fine, just wait. Roger watched their body language. For the circumstances, they appeared confident and relaxed. Andre kept smoothing his hair and Judge Williams was in quiet conversation with their attorney.
Catahoula leaned over and whispered to Roger, “Watch this. They haven’t seen the charges yet. They’re trying to figure out who I am.” Catahoula had a fist full of briefs in his hand. He walked over to the defense attorney, whispered in his ear and greeted the defendants with a smile, and, “Gentlemen.” He walked back over and took his seat next to Roger.
The arraignment Judge entered the courtroom from his chambers and the bailiff called out “All rise.”
Roger whispered to Catahoula, “What did you say to the defense attorney?”
“Run.”
Roger glanced over at the defense table and saw they were in a tight huddle. The judge banged his gavel and brought the courtroom to silence. You could hear the sounds of the traffic outside bleeding through the courtroom window glass.
The judge openly scowled at the defendants. “Are we ready for the reading of charges?”
Catahoula walked to a podium that faced the judge. “The United States of America, represented by the United States Attorney General’s office, hereby charge multiple infractions of each charge of murder, kidnapping, sexual assault on a minor, illegal disposition of a body,…..”
The rumble in the room erupted to a roar from gasps, the clicking of cameras and shouts from the press. Any other arraignment, the judge would have cleared the court. The judge allowed the outbreaks to continue and motioned for Catahoula to raise his voice. Catahoula not only raised his voice, he walked to stand within three feet of the shocked defendants and started reading the charges from the beginning. He articulated each charge a little louder than the last.
When Catahoula finished reading the charges, all four men at the defendants’ table looked sick. The judge banged his gavel again to bring order. The cameras kept clicking as Andre dropped his head on the table. The defense attorney had neatly stacked the papers Catahoula had given him and slid them over to Rolland.
Catahoula reached the podium again and turned back to the defendant’s table. “My apologies to the Court, I forgot to read the last charge. Trespassing.” He glanced at Roger and smiled.
The Judge banged his gavel once and
asked, “Do the defendants wish to plead?”
The defense attorney stood, “The defendants plead not guilty your honor. We would request the court grant bail…”
The Judge banged his gavel again. “Thank God I’m retiring next month. Bail denied.” The Judge rose from his seat and turned toward the door to his chambers. He was clearly heard when he said, “May you all rot in hell.”
There were a lot of people in Jackson Park. When the weather was nice people would picnic there, read books in the shade of the big trees, or visit the vendors lined up around the perimeter iron fence. Dusty looked back to his picture of Amy on the easel as he twirled his pencil. Something was missing. Dusty finished some shading under Amy’s cheek bones. Maybe he needed to work on her smile some more. He wasn’t capturing it quite right. Dusty looked up and Amy was sitting on the stone wall watching him.
Amy smiled, “Is that me?”
Dusty nodded.
Amy opened a brown paper sack and held up a sandwich, “I decided to walk to the park for lunch and see your work. You want half of this?”
Dusty was so excited he nearly toppled his easel as he reached for the sandwich. Amy giggled. Dusty yelled, “Freeze! That’s the smile I want!” He laid his half of the sandwich on his lap and quickly began sketching over Amy’s mouth on his picture.
Paul met Jeanne at Senator Kenny’s city house to help her look for the secret closet. The CSI team was still there and the house had been searched earlier by Mass’s FBI team. Paul was a little concerned that this confidential informant might be on the wrong track. Paul lifted the search warrant papers to show Jeanne.
“Had these amended to included items concealed in the property structure.”
Jeanne nodded, “It’s in a bookcase somewhere.”
Paul followed her into the house and asked, “Who is this informant anyway?”
“A Voodoo lady.”
Paul burst out laughing and Jeanne frowned. Paul put his hands up, “I’m sorry. I know you’re into that stuff. Trust me, I am beyond surprise with this case.” Paul hoped they didn’t have to disclose the identity of their informant in the future.
Jeanne walked ahead and Paul stopped to talk to the CSI agent in charge. Jeanne’s voice yelled from the other side of the house. “I think I found it.”
Paul shook his head. Two teams of law enforcement had combed this house for a full day and she’s been here ten minutes. Paul walked into what looked like a library to find Jeanne teetering on a chair, running her fingers down a row of books.
“There are hinge screws for European style hinges behind this trim. There should be a pressure button somewhere.” She had no sooner finished the statement and it looked as if the entire wall was falling into another room. Paul grabbed Jeanne’s waist and lifted her to the floor. They watched as the entire wall of books opened to a small room.
Paul handed Jeanne a pair of rubber gloves as he put his on. He stepped into the ten by ten foot area and felt for a light switch. The room illuminated and looked like a well-stocked child’s closet. Paul saw a stack of shelves holding folded sweaters and immediately found the Winnie the Pooh. Jeanne was across the room. She slid hangers on the rods. Paul heard her softly sniffle. They both knew each piece of clothing represented a horrific nightmare forced on an innocent child.
Jeanne crossed herself, wiped a tear, and started bagging the clothes.
Paul touched her shoulder. He was holding a bag with the Winnie the Pooh sweater.
“We only need this. Let’s go. CSI will get the rest.”
Roger and Catahoula walked out of the Courthouse building together and stood on the wide marble staircase. They discussed how the case would most likely proceed. People bumped around them balancing briefcases, coffee cups and cell phones. This was a very busy court and the expansive wide staircase looked as if at least a hundred people were either coming or going. Roger squeezed toward Catahoula to allow room for a group of men to pass by.
A horizontal row of marble chips jumped from the step in front of them. Another horizontal line of marble chips exploded in front of them, crossing from the opposite direction. Roger felt the sting of the chips hitting his face and neck and heard the unmistakable popping of an automatic rifle. Roger saw a flash from the weapon. It protruded from the passenger window of a black Explorer stopped in the street, dead center of the staircase.
Roger’s training kicked in before his mind even fully registered what was happening. He leaned his body into Catahoula and pushed him over the stair railing into the overgrown shrubs. Roger yelled to the crowd on the stairs, “FBI, get down.” He drew his weapon and fired at the passenger window and the front tire.
He pushed two ladies to the ground that were standing, frozen in fear. Roger advanced in a sprint toward the Explorer, taking the courthouse steps three and four at a time, practically sliding down the steel stair rail. Flying papers from fallen people rained down on the scene obstructing his view. Some people crouched along the exposed staircase covering their heads and screaming. Roger had to jump over a couple of them.
His weapon was nearly empty. The passenger’s weapon dropped to the street. Roger shot the rear tire and adjusted his course to attack the driver. The driver had opened his door, and began to sprint away. Roger stopped, aimed, and yelled, “FBI! FREEZE!” The runner stopped and put his hands up.
Two New Orleans patrol officers ran up and cuffed the driver. Roger walked over, still panting. He grabbed the front of the driver’s shirt in his fist and using the driver’s chin for leverage pushed up and back. The driver’s head slammed into the Explorer door frame. Roger heard the mashing sound of skull to metal. This wasn’t a kid. This was a hardened thug, about Roger’s age.
Roger had his face inches from the driver. “Who sent you?” Roger saw into the cab of the truck. His picture was clipped to the visor, the passenger was dead. Roger glared into the driver’s eyes.
The driver answered, “I tell you, I’m dead.”
Roger yanked the driver away from the SUV and spun him around, “Look around you!” There were police everywhere, and more coming. Sirens blared from all four directions. Roger pushed the man against the car again, “You tried to kill a cop. Me. Who sent you?”
Catahoula was limping, but had made his way over to Roger. Catahoula had been close enough to hear what Roger was asking the driver.
The driver looked around. Roger yelled over to the patrol officers, “Come get this piece of shit. Tell everyone in lock up he killed a kid. After he molested him.” Roger turned to walk away.
The driver yelled, “I want a deal.”
Catahoula snickered and held up his card, “U.S. Attorney General’s office. Name first. Deal later.”
The driver leaned forward to read the card, then looked at Catahoula. “You’ll never get him. The name’s Manio.”
Catahoula stuffed his card in the driver’s shirt pocket, “You give me proof. Or no deal.”
Patrol officers shoved the driver into a patrol car and headed for the police station.
Roger looked at Catahoula. “You’re bleeding and limping.”
Catahoula chuckled, “That’s because a bullet went through my leg just before you threw me into the thorn bushes. By the way, that was an eight foot drop. You’re bleeding, too.” He pointed to Roger’s neck, head, and arm.
Roger felt his head and neck and brought his bloody hand out to where he could see it. A patrol officer asked if they wanted ambulances. Roger shook his head and looked at Catahoula, who also declined. Roger looked back at the carnage on the courthouse steps.
The patrolman stated, “We have one dead, one serious, and about ten wounded.” He looked at Roger, “I’ve never seen anyone charge an automatic weapon with a handgun.”
Catahoula answered, “Beats a knife.”
Roger looked at his watch, “Want a ride to the hospital? I don’t have all day.”
In the car, Catahoula asked, “I know you don’t have all day, but you want to tell me the story
on how you managed to get yourself on a hit list with the Manio Cartel while you were chasing pedophiles?”
Roger finished telling Catahoula what he could of the story. Roger ended by saying, “Actually, I wasn’t expecting Manio to be really mad at me until tomorrow.”
Catahoula reared his head back and laughed, and then yelped, “Damn. This leg hurts. I would love to nail Manio.” Catahoula had a determined look on his face that projected authority and competence.
Roger smiled, “I wouldn’t think of asking for anyone else. We’re putting together your present.”
Roger turned the car into the hospital ER parking lot and helped Catahoula walk in. They were both covered in blood, and immediately swarmed by hospital staff. Roger called Paul as nurses and doctors worked on him. “Don’t want you hearing this on the news. I got shot at the courthouse a couple of times. Just flesh wounds. Getting patched up now.”
Abram and Jackson pulled into the FBI field office parking lot. Abram looked at Jackson, “Ain’t no how I ever ‘spect I be comin’ here on purpose.”
Jackson opened the passenger door and smoothed out his shirt as he prepared to walk in with Abram. “Feels good man.” Jackson nodded his head and looked at the mid-day sun in the sky. “We did real good today.”
They reached the door to the building and Abram held it open for Jackson. Mass saw them coming in from his open office door and rose to greet them. He walked over, introduced himself and asked them to join him in his office.
When they were all seated, Mass said, “You two are heroes. I need you to give full statements to one of our agents. First, I have some news.”
Jackson didn’t always get good news. ‘Specially from cops.
Mass smiled, “Five of the kidnapped people that were being transported here from Baton Rouge had families and communities offering rewards for their return. Roger Dance put in his official report that both of you are to receive those rewards.” Mass leaned back and smiled.
Silent Crickets: A Shallow End Gals, Trilogy Book Three Page 22
