“What happened to the case?” the captain asked.
“Peter eventually refused the charges on the wife, so she was released. She still refused to prosecute, so Jeremiah’s case was also dismissed. No victim, no case.”
“He still has his wallet,” Shep said, his gloved hand holding up a battered wallet. “No cash, but he still has two credit cards and his driver’s license. Probably not a robbery.”
“Coincidence that he’s across the hall from Long Dong Smith?” Ryan nibbled the new hangnail on her thumb. “Why beat somebody to death in a building that was the scene of another homicide just the night before? I mean, they had to break through the crime scene tape to get in here.” She looked over at her father, who was now standing in the doorway, staring intently at two patrolmen outside. “And what happened to your cop on the dot? Isn’t that the whole point of COMSTAT?”
COMSTAT was an abbreviation for Computer Statistics, a crime tracking program implemented several years ago. New Orleans was divided geographically into eight police districts, each district commanded by a captain with a full staff of officers and support workers. The captains had to report the status of every investigation to the police superintendent at a weekly meeting. A giant map of the district was hung on the wall, with red dots placed on the crime scene locations. Putting extra patrols in those areas was referred to as “cop on the dot.” Captain Murphy frequently compared the map of his district to a pimple-covered ass.
The captain suddenly darted over to the two nervous-looking patrolmen, like a large, overweight lion pouncing.
“Not a good time to bring that up.” Sean walked closer to Ryan and lowered his voice cautiously, a habit picked up from their mother. “Abbott and Costello over there were supposed to sit parked all night, when Abbott wanted to go for a doughnut at the Krispy Kreme. So there you go.” He indicated to the two patrolmen who were now getting reamed by the captain. The two officers were saved from further embarrassment when Monte Carlson walked up from his police unit.
The captain abruptly stopped yelling and turned his attention to Monte. “Carlson, what brings you to a homicide scene for the second night in a row?”
Monte nodded at Ryan briefly before he looked back at the captain. “Cap, we just picked up a kid across the project in a heroin bust. Donnell Jones’ little brother, Devon. He claims he has information about your homicide last night.”
Donnell Jones was a frequent flyer in the criminal justice system, well-known to both the NOPD and the D.A.’s Office. Apparently, his younger brother was following in his foot steps.
“Why didn’t you call one of these guys to come pick him up?” the captain asked, and Ryan had an idea he was thinking about his conversation with her the night before. “Some reason you had to tell me in person?”
Monte looked around and lowered his voice. “He’ll only give the info in exchange for a walk. He heard that an Assistant D.A. was out here, and said he’ll only talk to her.”
“How would he have heard that?” the captain asked with a frown.
Monte flashed a smile at Ryan. “Ain’t every night we get a white woman D.A. in the projects.”
Ryan smiled back. “Seems like it to me.”
The captain wiped beads of sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand. “Carlson, do you think the kid is involved in dealing?”
Monte shrugged. “We did surveillance for a week. We only saw Donnell dealing, but there was a shitload of heroin in that apartment. Devon would have to be blind, deaf and dead not to know what was going on.”
“You want to talk to him?” the captain asked Ryan.
“As long as you’re not going to arrest him. I don’t want to be in the position where I have to ask my boss not to accept charges somewhere down the road.”
The captain nodded to Monte. “We’ll meet you at the station.”
Monte shook his head. “Kid doesn’t want everyone to know he’s pimping to the cops. He said he’ll talk here, and only to the prosecutor. No interrogation and no taped statement, or you can charge him with the dope deal.”
Ryan wasn’t surprised the boy didn’t trust the police. Gizelle Jones, the mother of Devon and Donnell, had been convicted of prostitution three years ago, after being arrested in a massive police sting. She was serving ten years as a multiple offender. A year later, Devon’s father had been shot to death by police after robbing a gas station on Canal Street.
The captain made a noise in his throat bordering on a growl. “So I guess now even the goddamn criminals get to tell me how to do my job?” He threw his hands in the air. “He’s got one minute.”
Monte roughly jerked a small handcuffed boy of about twelve from the back seat of the car. Long dreadlocks hung from his head, and his shirt featured a picture of a rap group flipping the bird, the words “Fuck dem Niggaz,” spelled out in bullets underneath them. His pants were pulled so low half of his red boxer shorts were revealed. “Any bullshit and you going to Juvie, got that, podner? Ain’t nobody playing with you.” Monte shoved Devon toward the captain. “He’s a punk. Unless he gives you gold, I’d put his ass in the system.”
The captain grabbed Devon and pushed him against the building, searching the boy thoroughly before turning back to Monte. “Put him back in the car and leave him cuffed. And you,” he pointed to Shep, “make yourself useful and go talk to Sisko and Malette. If I have to so much as look at those two imbeciles again, I’m going to give myself a stroke.”
Monte thrust Devon into the backseat of the car, giving him a warning look before opening the front door for Ryan.
Shep reluctantly approached Sisko and Malette. He wanted to hear what Devon had to say, and had absolutely no interest in questioning two cops he knew were going to be on the defensive. He would try to make this as quick and painless as possible.
Shep stopped in front of Sisko and Malette, who were both eyeing him with distrust. “You’re sure you didn’t see anybody walking around here or driving off when you got back?”
Sisko shook his head. “Nobody was here. No cars driving off, nothing.”
Shep pointed to the building Jeremiah was in. “Unless that guy beat himself to death, I’d have to say you’re wrong.”
“I’m sure somebody saw or heard something,” Malette said with a shrug. “But drug dealers are the only ones likely to be out around here, and they’re not exactly forthcoming with information.”
“Well, if the two of you hadn’t needed a doughnut fix maybe we wouldn’t have that problem right now.” Shep hadn’t intended on provoking the men, but Malette’s attitude pissed him off.
“I needed some coffee,” Malette said, an edge to his voice. “We didn’t go for doughnuts, for the record. We been sitting in the same spot since eleven, watching a whole lot of nothing. I was about to fall asleep, so we went for coffee.”
“Yeah, you stick to that story, Malette. Unless you guys have anything else, you can go back on patrol.” Shep nodded toward the street. “If you think you can manage it.” He turned to walk away, but Sisko grabbed his arm.
“So Chapetti, off the record, what’s the story with the captain’s daughter, little Miss Tits?”
“What do you mean?” Shep asked with a frown.
“You know, what’s her story? I heard she’s into cops,” Sisko said, making an obscene gesture with his tongue.
Malette made a big point of adjusting his crotch. “I wouldn’t mind getting a little piece of that.”
Shep shook his head in disbelief. “Didn’t I just tell you to get back on the street?” He nodded in Ryan’s direction. “And I doubt either one of you could handle even the smallest piece of ‘that.’”
“Looks like Chapetti’s got a hard-on for the captain’s daughter,” Malette said, nudging Sisko with his elbow before turning back to Shep. “And here I thought you’d be getting enough pussy from your court reporter.”
Shep grabbed Malette by the front of his blue uniform shirt. “Do you know where the street is, you doughnut-ea
ting mother fucker? Because I can show you, if you need me to.”
“Fuck you, Chapetti,” Malette said, pushing Shep two steps backwards. “And get your hands off me.”
Shep moved forward to buck up against the other officer, but Sisko grabbed Malette by the arm and pulled him toward their police car, looking in the captain’s direction the entire time.
Shep thought about chasing after Malette to finish the discussion, but decided it wouldn’t be worth making a scene, and walked back over to the captain instead.
“Those jerk-offs have anything?” the captain asked.
“They went for coffee,” Shep answered. “They didn’t see anything. Sort of like the witnesses out here.” Shep stopped his explanation as Ryan got out of Sean’s car, a smug look on her face. “Maybe the juvenile delinquent gave Ryan something useful.”
“What are the chances?” the captain asked, heading in Ryan’s direction.
Ryan was excited to have information nobody else knew, and wanted to prolong the drama as long as she could.
The captain was not in the mood to wait. “So what does the junior drug dealer know?”
“Well,” Ryan said slowly, trying to drag the story out, “Devon said about a half-hour before the patrolmen showed up last night, he saw three men going into the empty apartment.”
“Can he describe them?” Sean asked, his eyes big blue dots on his freckled face.
“The first two he recognized as L’Roid Smith and Jeremy Jeremiah.”
“What about the third one?” Sean asked.
She paused before she answered. “The third guy was a white man.”
“White?” Shep asked. “The only white men that ever come out here are cops.”
“Well, that’s the really interesting part,” Ryan paused, longer this time, for effect. “He said the white guy is a cop.”
“Jesus Christ, Ryan, why didn’t you say that to begin with?” the captain asked. “How does the delinquent know the guy is a cop?”
“He said he’s seen him investigating some of the crimes uptown.”
“Did Devon happen to say what he was doing out here at that time of night himself?” Shep asked. “Was he out here dealing?”
Ryan shook her head. “He said he had ‘found’ a bike earlier in the day and hid it in the next building back. He had come to pick it up when he heard a car. Nobody comes to this side of the development except to sell drugs or commit murder, so he hid. He saw a white man getting out of a black Taurus. The man met Smith and Jeremiah outside building 21. They went inside and then Devon heard a pop. A few seconds later Jeremiah left, carrying clothes and shoes. The white man made a call from the payphone and then drove off.” She pointed to the payphone near the street.
“Well, that checks out,” Sean said. “The calls came from that payphone. The phone’s already been printed. Maybe we’ll get something.”
Ryan shook her head. “You won’t get the killer’s prints. He wore finger rubbers.”
“He wore what?” the captain asked.
“Those little rubber finger protectors,” she explained.
“And Devon can’t identify him?” Shep asked. “It seems if he could see well enough to see fingertip protectors, he probably got a good view of the guy’s face.”
“He only admitted he recognized Jeremiah and Smith because he knows they’re both already dead. And he said he didn’t think he could ID the cop.”
Her father narrowed his eyes at her. “Did he at least give you a description?”
“He said the cop was overweight, not too tall, and acted nervous, like Archie Bunker on crack.”
“That should be easy to narrow down,” Shep said. “Short and fat. He just described half the force.”
“Good thing they get Nick at Nite in the projects, or you might not even have that,” Ryan added. “And Devon’s not talking again.” She began ticking points off on her fingers. “He won’t give an official statement, he won’t testify, and if you want anything else, you might as well just bring him to jail right now.” She handed the captain a piece of paper she had torn from the back of a note pad in Sean’s car. “But he did give me this.” It was a picture Devon had drawn of a somewhat elaborate devil face. “The white guy had this inked on his upper right arm.”
“We might be able to trace it,” the captain said, doubt in his voice. “I better call the superintendent before this story gets out.” He handed the drawing to Sean before walking away.
“There’s a tat place on Carrollton. If I remember correctly the guy is a biker who specializes in devils,” Shep said. “Maybe he’ll know something.”
“Jimbo,” Ryan offered. “He’ll probably help you out if you mention me.”
“Jimbo?” Sean began rubbing his temples. “You’re on a first name basis with a biker that does tattoos?”
“I get around a little,” Ryan answered, trying to gauge if her father was paying attention. Luckily, he was already engrossed in a conversation on his cell phone.
“You have a tattoo?” Shep asked, looking her over as if searching for it.
“No,” she answered quickly, glancing at her father again.
“Is the kid getting a walk?” Monte asked.
Ryan nodded. Monte and Sean walked back to Monte’s car.
“If we believe the kid, the cop wanted to make sure we found Smith’s body,” Shep said. “And tonight’s body was called in from the same payphone.”
“You think there’s a connection?” Ryan asked, pleased to be in on the investigation.
“I don’t believe too much in coincidences.” Shep rubbed his chin. “Looks like somebody wanted us to find Jeremiah, too. How long would it have been before we found these bodies if somebody hadn’t made the calls?”
“It probably wouldn’t have been that long, with this heat and all.” She made a face and waved her hand in front of her nose. “I can smell dead body from here already, and it’s only been a couple of hours. I just hope Jimbo knows something about the tattoo.”
“Unless Devon will look through some pictures and make an ID, we don’t have much else to go on. Just keep it to yourself that both bodies were called in by the same payphone, okay? We don’t need people talking about a serial killer yet.”
“Do you think this might be a serial killer?” Ryan wasn’t sure whether she was more scared or excited by the prospect.
Shep shrugged. “I didn’t say that. But knowing how much you like being on television, I just want to warn you not to mention it to any reporters.”
Ryan made a face to Shep’s back as he walked away to building 21. She waited alone, bored now that she was no longer the center of attention, annoyed that the reporters who were pulling up on the street didn’t seem to have any interest in her. Shep could have saved his breath warning her about keeping her mouth shut. Nobody wanted to talk to her anyway. After a few minutes, the captain walked back up, flashing an angry look at the news vans.
“I’ve got to meet with the superintendent right now. Get Sean to give you a ride home.” He pointed in the direction of the press. “And for God’s sake, don’t talk to any of them.” The captain then walked quickly to his car, red-faced and sweating.
Ryan wondered if her father could possibly be in trouble. While she knew the superintendent couldn’t possibly blame the captain for this murder, she also realized that the big boss would want to hold somebody accountable, and the district captain was usually at the top of that list. But then again, the captain always said shit rolled downhill, which put Sisko and Malette in an unenviable position.
She started to walk over to Sean when Shep waved her over to his Crown Vic. Sean was apparently too tied up with the crime lab, and the on-duty tech, Suzie Chin, to give Ryan a ride home.
Shep drove slowly through the development down St. Thomas Street, not bothering to take the long way like the captain had. The streets throughout the project were in deplorable condition, full of even more potholes than the rest of the city streets, and Shep’s deli
berate pace allowed Ryan a glimpse into a subculture she never would have gotten to see otherwise.
People were still mingling outside the breezeways of the development, under the sparse streetlights, and on the steps leading into the buildings. Ryan wondered what they were all doing up at this hour. The crime scene was too far away for the activity to have disturbed anyone here, so she assumed they were just up for the sake of being up. Several teenage males were standing in an open door of one of the units, talking and laughing. The adults nearby ignored them, engrossed in their own conversation. She wondered why those kids weren’t in bed sleeping, getting ready for the school week.
“So, when did you get a tattoo?” Shep’s voice brought her out of her trance.
“One night when I thought it would be fun to mix shots of Tequila with Jagermeister. What’s the big deal anyway?” She was only half-focused on Shep, still wondering about what kind of chance those boys had when nobody even cared where they were in the middle of the night. Maybe there was a reason for the L’Roid Smiths of the world.
Shep had a slight frown. “Tattoos just seem so, I don’t know, what’s the word I’m looking for?”
“Dangerous?” Ryan suggested, forgetting about the St. Thomas teens. If their own mamas didn’t care, who was she to worry about them? She turned to face Shep, putting her back to the project residents.
His frown relaxed. “I was thinking trailer park.”
“Bite me, Chapetti. You don’t happen to have a cigarette, do you?”
He turned onto Jackson Avenue and picked up speed, leaving the development behind them. Just like the night before, the streets were empty and quiet.
Shep shook his head. “Smoking is so bad for you. For somebody so smart, you sure do a lot of bonehead things.”
Ryan made a face at him. “How lucky for me that you got to drive me home. I got a public service announcement and the chance to be called stupid all in one night. You must be taking lessons from daddy.”
He crossed Magazine Street, obviously intending to take the quicker St. Charles route. “You might find this difficult to believe, but sometimes your dad makes sense. He definitely has a point about the way you dress, especially to come out to a crime scene.”
Gumbo Justice Page 5
