Blood Betrayal (John Jordan Mysteries Book 14)

by Michael Lister

  “Unless you’ve got more than that,” I say, “I wouldn’t call it solving the case.”

  “Well, either I’m right or I’m not, but there’s another little piece of the puzzle you should know. Zelda’s husband is Troy Payne. And he’s a sergeant at your prison, isn’t he?”

  I jump up.

  “John?” she says, as I drop the phone. “John? You there?”

  41

  Jogging down the compound toward Confinement I’m acutely aware of how new I am to this institution.

  I can’t call Merrill or Anna like I once could at Potter Correctional, and though I’ve made some friends and earned some respect here at Gulf CI, I’m not sure who I would call even if there was time to do it.

  As I near confinement, a young African-American CO I don’t recognize falls in beside me, matching my pace, and says, “Everything okay, Chaplain?”

  “Need to check on an inmate in Confinement,” I say. “You got a minute to help?”

  “Sure,” he says.

  “May involve stopping a sergeant who’s abusing him,” I say. “That gonna be a problem for you?”

  “Who’s the sergeant?”

  “Payne,” I say.

  “Hell, nah,” he says. “That fuc—He’s a . . . No, sir. Won’t be a problem.”

  We’re buzzed through the gate of the fence that surrounds the confinement building by the officer in Tower II, then through the door of confinement itself by an officer in the control room.

  Through the glass of the officers’ station I can see that Payne isn’t inside it—just an overweight mid-thirties white guy slumped down in a small office chair.

  I run over to it and speak to the officer inside through the document tray.

  He rolls in his chair over to where we’re standing. Slowly. Apathetically.

  “Is Sergeant Payne on duty?” I ask.

  He nods.

  “Where is he?”

  He shrugs. “On one of the wings somewhere, I guess. Really don’t know.”

  “Which cell is Acqwon Lewis in?” I ask.

  He slowly lifts a clipboard and looks at it. “B-11”

  “Can you buzz us through?”

  “Sign in,” he says.

  As I sign in, he looks at the young officer with me and says, “What can I help you with?”

  “I’m here with the chaplain.”

  “Huh? I can let the chaplain in. I can’t just let other random COs in.”

  “Really?”

  “Not without some kind of authorization. Ain’t about to lose this cushy job over not following procedure.”

  I turn to the young officer. “What’s your name?”

  “Jay Nobles, sir.”

  “Go get the OIC or the Colonel, Jay, and bring them back down here,” I say. “Fast as you can.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  The officer in the control room buzzes me onto B block and Jay Nobles out the front door.

  I run down toward Qwon’s cell.

  The hallway is darker and quieter than usual.

  As I near it, I see that Qwon’s cell door is open.

  Inside I find Troy Payne beating a cuffed Qwon with a thick wooden officer’s baton.

  Qwon is on the floor trying his best to gather himself in a fetal position and protect his head, even though his hands are cuffed behind him.

  I enter the cell and yell for Payne to stop.

  He turns toward me, a madness in his distant eyes. “’Less you want some too, you need to get from in here.”

  “I’m not cuffed,” I say.

  “Won’t matter,” he says.

  And he’s right.

  He’s younger, faster, stronger, and has far more rage than me. I’m no match for him—and wouldn’t be even if he didn’t have a baton.

  As I lunge for the baton, he sidesteps me more quickly than I would have thought him capable, and jams the end of the baton into my abdomen.

  When I fall forward and grab at my stomach, trying to get my breath back, he backhands me with it.

  I raise my right arm instinctively, defensively, and manage to bock part of the blow, but my arm pays the price.

  Arcs of pain fire through my arm, up my shoulder, through my body.

  I kick at him, missing the first time but connecting with the second.

  He stumbles backwards and trips over Qwon, smacking his head on the stainless steel toilet as he goes down.

  He drops the baton and as he scrambles around to get it and get back to his feet, I grab Qwon with my left arm and pull him toward the door.

  He begins to push with his legs and kind of half crawl, helping in our progress.

  I manage to get Qwon out into the hallway, but as I’m stepping over to shove the cell door closed, Payne comes charging toward me.

  That’s when I make a serious mistake in calculation.

  Instead of lifting my arms to protect myself or trying to tackle him, I attempt to close the cell door.

  I don’t get it closed in time.

  Payne takes advantage of my defenseless position, raising the baton up over his head and bringing it hard down on mine.

  And that’s it.

  Closing time.

  The bartender inside my head says You don’t have to go home, but you got to get the hell up outta here.

  And then the lights go out.

  And then nothing.

  42

  When I come to, Jay Nobles is looking down at me.

  “You okay, Chaplain?”

  I nod—but when I do it hurts. “Where is—” I turn to look for Qwon and Troy Payne.

  “Everything’s okay,” he says.

  Troy Payne is cuffed and standing twenty feet or so down the hallway, a captain and another CO standing with him, each with an arm on his shoulder.

  Qwon is closer, only five feet away, a nurse examining him.

  “Help me up,” I say.

  “Just wait, the nurse hasn’t examined you yet.”

  I start to get up slowly. “I can do it on my own or you can help me.”

  He helps me to my feet and I hold onto him for a moment to steady myself as my head pounds, my stomach turns, and the hallway spins.

  “You okay?” he asks softly so only I can hear.

  I nod. “Thanks”

  The colonel walks over to me.

  “Hey,” Payne yells to him. “Why am I cuffed? What’s going to happen to—”

  “You’re going to jail,” I say.

  “What happened here, Chaplain?” the colonel asks.

  I tell him—about the case, about Zelda, about Payne’s abuse of Qwon and his motive for it.

  “I was told that Inmate Lewis was being released,” he says.

  I nod, wincing as I do.

  “You work for the sheriff’s department, right? Were you serious about taking him to jail?”

  I nod again, and remind myself it’s not a good idea. “I’m sure he’ll face a DC investigation and discipline, but we need to interview him in connection with the Angel Diaz case. And I witnessed his assault on Qwon.”

  He nods. “Okay. He’s all yours.” He turns to walk away, then turns back. “And . . . nice work, Chaplain. Welcome to GCI. Happy to have you aboard.”

  When I get home, the deadbolt is on and I can’t get in.

  I ring the doorbell and send Anna a text, letting her know I’m outside.

  When she opens the door, she quickly looks out and all around as I walk in.

  “Chris was released today,” she says.

  “Have you seen or heard from him?”

  “No. Is that blood on your head? Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine. Qwon was released today too. Zelda’s husband wasn’t too keen on that and took a baton to my head.”

  “What?”

  I tell her.

  “Are you okay? How bad does it hurt?”

  “Being home has it feeling better already.”

  “You can’t imagine how happy I am to have you home. Do you have to go
back out? Did you interview Payne already?”

  I shake my head. “Handed him off to Bay County. They picked up Zelda too.”

  “Really? You’re okay with that?”

  I nod. “Played my part in it. Qwon is out, the investigation is reopened.”

  “But don’t you want to be involved still? Don’t you want to be the one to solve it, to build the case, make the arrest?”

  “Always want to, but . . . I’m fine with my role in this one. We have Chris and a thousand other things to deal with. I helped get Ida’s nephew out.”

  “You didn’t just help. You’re the reason he’s out. By the way, Ida called. They’re having a homecoming party for Qwon tomorrow night. She’s coming down from Atlanta for it. They really want us there.”

  43

  Somehow Kathryn convinced the owner of the old Fiesta and La Royale Lounge buildings to let her throw Qwon’s homecoming party in the courtyard between them.

  And it’s perfect.

  Strings of small white lights strewn all around provide subtle illumination. Soft music from a PA system sets the mood. An open bar on one side. A table of catered finger foods on the opposite side across from it. A small riser stage with a mic and mic stand in back by what was once Bubba’s office. Next to it a large framed photograph of Angel is surrounded by flowers and candles. Patio tables in the center. People sitting, milling about, hugging an overwhelmed Qwon.

  The crowd consists primarily of Angel and Qwon’s school friends—McKenna Roberts, Billy Anderson, Rex Timberson, Derrick Edwards, Paige Askew—many of whom walked through downtown with me and Kathryn last week working on the case. Both Angel and Qwon’s parents are present. So is Ida.

  There are a few people I don’t recognize—at least two of which I’d guess did time with Qwon at some point.

  Eric Pulsifer is also present. I wasn’t sure he’d show.

  Merrill and Za are here.

  So is the Bay County Sheriff’s investigator in charge of the reopened case.

  Anna and I and Merrill and Za are standing near the back, which is actually the front, near the wrought iron gate on the Harrison side, cups in hand, watching.

  We are able to be here because Dad and Verna are at our house with Taylor and Sam. And Dad has his .45 in case Chris shows up.

  “Thank you for what you did, boy,” Ida says, as she hugs me.

  “It was a group effort,” I say. “Anna and Merrill did as much as I did—probably more. Za helped too.”

  She thanks and hugs them too.

  “Y’all just can’t know what this does for a sad old woman’s heart.”

  “We’re very happy for that,” Merrill says.

  She calls Qwon over to us.

  “You thanked these good people enough yet, boy?” she asks.

  “No, ma’am. It’s not possible. Plan to thank them every day of my free life.”

  “How’re your head and ribs?” I ask.

  “Sore,” he says, “but for some reason they feel a lot better out here than they did inside. How’s your head?”

  “Was hoping the blow knocked some sense into me, but . . . nothing so far.”

  “He never let on he had any connection to my case,” he says. “That he was with Zelda. I just thought he was a sadistic prick. Sorry, Aunt Ida.”

  “For what? Sounds like that’s exactly what he was.”

  “Anyway, thanks for saving my life,” he says to me.

  “Yes, John,” Ida says. “Thank you for that too.”

  “Anybody not here you thought would be?” I ask Qwon.

  “You still workin’ on the case?” he asks.

  “He never stops,” Anna says.

  “Yeah,” he says. “I was surprised not to see Darius and Amber. Katie said they helped you in the investigation. Just figured they’d be here.”

  Kathryn steps up onto the little riser stage and takes the mic from the stand.

  “Hey,” she says. “Can you hear me?”

  People stop talking and someone turns the music down but not off.

  “I wanted to thank you all for coming out to help us celebrate tonight,” she says. “This has been a long, long, long time in the making. I’m so glad we get to do it here. For many of us this was the last place we were truly young, free, and happy. I have to say . . . that as happy as I am that Qwon is out here with us where he belongs, I am equally sad that Angel is not.”

  She glances over at the picture of Angel surrounded by flowers and candles. Everyone follows her gaze. She then looks at Angel’s parents.

  “It means so much to us that Buck and Kay can be here with us tonight,” she says. “They have always believed in Qwon’s innocence and their support has been astounding. Their presence and this memorial of Angel are reminders that this isn’t over. We celebrate that an innocent man is out of prison, but we won’t stop until the guilty one is inside.”

  The group cheers and whistles at that.

  “With that in mind, I want to thank John Jordan for helping free Qwon. He and his wife, Anna, and their friend Merrill Monroe are the reason we’re here tonight. I want to also say how happy we are that the case has been reopened and that the investigator in charge of it is also with us tonight. Randy Pinter is going to make sure we get justice for Angel this time.”

  Randy waves and the small crowd gives him a round of polite but anemic applause.

  “Now, without further ado I give you the man of the hour,” she says. “Mr. Acqwon Lewis.”

  44

  Qwon makes his way to the stage and the two hug for a long moment.

  When she hands him the mic and steps away and he turns to face the group, he breaks down and begins to sob.

  The small gathering gives him audible love and support.

  “We love you, Qwon,” Billy, his former classmate yells.

  “I . . . love . . .”

  Qwon tries to speak a few times, but is unable. Eventually, he composes himself enough to get through it.

  “I can’t tell y’all how happy I am tonight,” he says.

  His voice is thick and hoarse and he sniffles a lot.

  “I honestly never thought this day would come. And it wouldn’t have if it weren’t for my amazing sister, Kathryn Lewis. Just like her to thank everyone else, but not mention herself. She’s been my biggest supporter and believer. And my folks. Thank you, Dad, Mom. I love y’all. And Buck and Kay. I love and appreciate y’all more than you’ll ever know. I’m so, so, so sorry for what happened to our Angel. The only thing that bothered me more than being in prison for something I didn’t do was knowing whoever did it was still free. But he’s not free for long.”

  The crowd cheers.

  “Mom, Dad,” he says, holding up the mic, “want to say anything?”

  Henry and Mary Elizabeth step up on the stage.

  “We can’t tell you how hard this has been on our family,” Mary Elizabeth says “or how happy we are tonight or how proud we are of both our children.”

  “So we won’t try,” Henry says. “Thank you all for your support, for coming tonight, and please, please help us find the monster who killed Angel. Thank you.”

  They step off the stage and the four of them, a family again, hug.

  The music is turned back up. People begin to talk and move around again, to eat and drink and laugh and eventually even dance.

  I turn and look out on Harrison, scanning the area around us—the empty buildings across the street, the vacant sidewalks, the quiet night in the abandoned downtown.

  “What is it?” Anna asks.

  “Just wondering if Randa is out there somewhere watching us,” I say.

  “I hope she’s in another country,” she says. “Except . . . I hope Daniel is not that far away. Do you think she really could be watching us?”

  “I think she knows too much not to be keeping tabs on us and the investigation—”

  “We want to apologize for our behavior,” Kay Diaz says.

  I turn around to see her and B
uck standing there.

  “The way we acted when you were at our house,” she continues, “was . . .”

  “Understandable,” I say. “Don’t give it another thought.”

  Buck nods and extends his hand. I shake it.

  Kay hugs me and they move on.

  The crowd begins to thin out some, but all the family and close friends stay.

  Eventually Darius and Amber arrive, and I wonder if they came together. If so, that’s an interesting development. Or is it? Maybe it’s not a development at all—at least not a recent one. Maybe they’ve been secretly together for a while now.

  Long after I would have normally left an event like this, we are sitting at one of the patio tables—Anna, Merrill, Za, and me.

  “You want to watch everyone for as long as you can, don’t you?” Anna says.

  I nod. “Especially as they drink.”

  And people are drinking. No one more than Buck and Kay, but everybody except me and Randy.

  Randy Pinter, the Bay County Sheriff’s investigator, ambles over toward us.

  “Pull up a chair,” I say.

  He does.

  Someone, McKenna I believe, puts on 90s music, turns it up, and the classmates wind up on the dance floor together, dancing to Sugar Ray, Destiny’s Child, Christina Aguilera, Cher, Britney Spears, the Goo Goo Dolls, Santana and Rob Thomas, taking turns dancing with Qwon, acting as if this is a class reunion instead of what it is.

  “Payne says he was a little tough on Acqwon because he thought he was a killer and he knew his wife had once been involved with him,” Pinter says. “Says maybe he got a little carried away, but . . . nothing more than that.”

  I rub the bump on my head. “A little carried away, huh? What’s Zelda say?”

  “Haven’t located her yet,” he says. “She wasn’t at their house and hasn’t been back. We’ll find her.”

  “I really think you will,” I say, nodding toward the entrance and the woman I recognize from pictures on Troy Payne’s Facebook page.

  There, just inside the wrought iron gate, Zelda Sager stands staring at her former classmates.

  “Well, how about that,” Pinter says. “Payne says she didn’t have anything to do with Angel’s death and that the only reason he was so tough on Acqwon was because he was jealous. He thinks she still has a thing for him.”