“Ms. Ryan, I didn’t know you was the po-po now. How you been, baby?”
Ryan shook her head. “No, Cherry, I’m still with the D.A.’s Office. You saw the body get dumped?”
Cherry continued smiling. “Yes ma’am, I sure did. And if that body was Tyrone Cleeves like everybody saying, whoever shot him up did the whole project a big favor. That man one crazy son of a bitch.”
“Did you see the guy?”
Cherry nodded. “But just for a second. I was out looking for a little business, and he pulled over. First I thought he a customer and I was about to go to the car. But he look real nervous and start dragging something out the trunk. I knew he wasn’t looking for no Big Cherry, so I got my happy ass out of there. Sorry I can’t tell you no more than he was a white man, short and sort of chunky. There was another girl out there might have seen something. I think she stay in my building. If somebody could give me a ride back, I could maybe help you find her.”
Sean nodded and turned to the sergeant. “I’ll get Jackson to ride with me.”
Ryan walked down the hallway toward the front door of the station, disappointed that Cherry hadn’t seen more.
Shep stepped in front of her and held the door open. “You’re friends with a hooker named Cherry?”
“We’re not friends. I reduced her charges a couple of times.” She started down the steps of the station, walking in the direction of Shep’s car.
Shep followed behind her. “I don’t believe you gave a hooker a deal.”
She stopped at the corner, next to Shep’s Corvette. “My goal in life is not to put everybody in jail. Dangerous criminals and drug addicts belong off the street. I don’t care so much about wasting jail space on hookers.”
He opened her door. “I just always thought of you as a rule follower.”
“I guess you don’t know as much about me as you thought.” She pulled out a cigarette and frowned into the pack. It was nearly empty. She put the cigarette back in.
“Maybe you’re right.” He shut her door and got in on the driver’s side.
Ryan pulled out the cigarette and lit it anyway. She could always buy another pack tomorrow. If she had to.
They drove in silence back to her house, Ryan not sure whether she was more embarrassed about the personal information she had just revealed to the men at the station, or more worried about the fact that her father would soon hear all about it.
“We’re going to find out who’s doing this,” Shep said finally, breaking the silence as they turned on her street.
Ryan sighed. “I’m more worried about what daddy is going to do when he sees the Sarge’s notes on me. I mean, how would you feel knowing about your daughter’s sex life?”
Shep stopped the car in front of her house. “You’re blowing this way out of proportion,” he said, opening the door and getting out. “You’re an adult. He must know you have sex.”
Ryan felt her face turn red. “But some of that stuff, especially the stuff about Chad, no parent wants to hear that.”
Shep was quiet as he walked her up the front steps to the door.
She unlocked the door and started to walk in.
“I think your dad is just going to be worried about you, Ry. I don’t think he’s going to be mad,” Shep said. “And for the record, I think Chad Lejeune is the biggest fool in the world.” He stepped away quickly, almost running down the front porch steps.
As Sean and his crew made their way through the project, calls of, “Five-O!” rang out, warning everyone in the vicinity of the police presence. Nevertheless, the six officers knocked on every door of Cherry’s building, unable to find the second hooker. They then tried the three buildings immediately adjacent to the corner where Cleeves was found, talking to the few people who would talk to them, getting absolutely no useful information. No one heard the gunshots, and no one saw anything.
Sean was ready to give up, and wished the press shared his sentiment. He couldn’t understand why his sister enjoyed playing up to them. But then, even as close as they were, he always had a little trouble understanding his sister.
Suzie Chin was still at the crime scene, and Sean went to check on her before he left. Suzie had carefully kept the note from Cleeves’ body hidden from the press, but the bow couldn’t be bagged before the press had seen it, the news cameras greedily recording the blood-encrusted decoration. The only positive thing was that the press hadn’t learned that Ryan was the intended recipient. Sean hoped they would catch a break before anybody outside of the circle of police found out.
Cleeves had been shot twenty-five times, and it was apparent from the stippling or pattern of gunpowder on his clothing that the shots had been close range. Doug seemed doubtful that the ammunition could be traced. Ammo for AK’s could be bought at any one of the numerous gun stores or pawn shops in the metro area, not to mention gun shows and the internet. And of course, ammunition was frequently stolen during the course of robberies.
At Sean’s car, he and Suzie were stopped by an elderly white woman who could only be Eulah Mae Simpson. Stoop-shouldered, she was nearly as tall as Sean, who was 6'0", and easily outweighed his 185 pounds. She had a shock of white hair, cut in a masculine style, beady black eyes with tortoiseshell cat-eye glasses, and wore a thick purple terry cloth house robe with bright yellow galoshes.
Without preamble, she began her story. “Officers, the young man who lived in the apartment down the hall was murdered a year ago, and that place had been empty ever since.” She peered closely at Suzie. “You know, this isn’t exactly the kind of place for a little Asian girl. Some of these people are animals.” Eulah Mae spoke with a deep, masculine voice that matched her physique.
“I’ve got that covered,” Sean said, gently prodding her along. “Maybe you could tell me more about your problem.”
“Well, a few months ago, one night after I went to bed, curtains went up in one of the apartments in my building, like somebody was moving in. I’m the only one left in the building, which is exactly how I like it, although I think the housing authority is just waiting for me to die or get murdered so they don’t have to relocate me. Anyway, I called the housing office to see who moved in, but they refused to tell me. Said it’s none of my business, if you can believe it. So this phantom is living in my building, but I’ve never seen him during the day. Sometimes he plays music real low at night, but that’s it. I keep calling the housing authority, but they still won’t tell me anything.”
“So your problem is that the new person doesn’t come outside during the day?” Sean asked. “You’re not afraid of vampires, are you, Ms. Simpson?”
Eulah Mae’s eyes went dark. “No, I am not afraid of vampires, young man. But anybody that doesn’t come out during the daylight is certainly up to no good. I haven’t seen any indication of drug dealing like the last fellow that lived there, but it’s probably just a matter of time. I’ve knocked on his door a couple of times, planning on finding out exactly what he thinks he’s doing there, but he never answers.”
“Ma’am, unless you can point to some criminal activity you’ve actually seen, there’s really nothing I can do,” Sean said. He tried to be nice, but he had a murderer to catch and didn’t have time to worry about some poor schmo who had the bad luck to live in the same building as Eulah Mae. “And it’s probably not a real good idea to knock on somebody’s door you don’t know.”
“Well, I’m just warning you, if that bastard gives me any trouble, you’re going to find him sprayed all over the walls of the breezeway,” Eulah Mae said, shaking her finger.
Sean was taken aback. “Excuse me?”
Eulah Mae opened her robe, revealing too much age-spotted wrinkled skin and
a .45 caliber pistol strapped around her waist. “You didn’t think I would walk across the project without protection, did you, Five-O?” she asked, with a dry, cackling laugh. “And I have a concealed handgun permit, in case you’re wondering.” She closed her robe and walked away.
S
ean wasn’t planning on making a report, but he jotted down a note to pass along to Shep, just to keep him informed.
11:00 A.M.
Later that morning, Ryan tried to figure out how she was going to make it to the weekend without getting more sleep. And she knew sleep would be hard to come by. Every time she tried, she saw images of the dead bodies, even the gang bangers she didn’t care about. And when she did finally drift off just as the sun was rising, her father was in her dreams, handing Jasmine to Chad Lejeune with a smile, a bright red blood-soaked Christmas bow tied around her torso.
At least the morning had been uneventful so far. No press was waiting outside the courthouse, so no one had connected her to the homicides yet. The docket was almost complete and Ryan was thinking about going home during lunch for a nap when a clerk walked in and wordlessly handed Judge Jackson a file.
The judge glared at the clerk. “Why are you bringing me an add-on at eleven o’clock in the afternoon?”
The clerk shrugged, unconcerned. “It was transferred last week by Judge McAllister.”
“So why wasn’t this case on my docket?” the judge asked. “And why is it just being brought to me now?”
The clerk shrugged again. “We were going to put it on the docket for tomorrow but his attorney came in and said the 701 runs today.”
While the judge began chastising the clerk for the late add-on, Bo Lambert walked in, followed by a young black woman. She sat in the first row while Bo walked up to Ryan.
“My rape case,” he explained. “Durrell Wilson. His attorney came in screaming about his case not making the docket over here because the clerk’s office was sitting on the transfer. I called for a jury so I could try it because the 701 runs today, but the jurors were released already.”
Bo appeared nervous, and Ryan almost felt sorry for him. Even though the error technically wasn’t Bo’s fault, he should have realized the defense attorney would manage to get the case on the docket the day the 701 ran. And regardless of how she felt about Bo, she didn’t want a rapist to get a second shot at his victim because of an administrative screw up.
The judge waved them up to the bench. “State, how are we going to handle this?” He looked at Bo.
“Your honor, I was just waiting for the case to make your docket. I’m ready to try it right now,” Bo said.
“Not if he wants a jury trial,” the judge said. “The jurors are gone. Why was this case transferred?”
“McCallister represented the defendant’s sister on something in civil court years ago,” Bo explained.
The judge glared at Bo. “So why did he wait almost two years to transfer the case?”
Bo shrugged. “I don’t know, judge. I was just waiting for the clerk’s office to put it on your docket so I could try it.”
“Except that it didn’t make the docket,” the judge muttered. He turned to Donna. “Make sure Durrell Wilson gets brought up. Five minute recess.”
When the judge went back into his chambers, Ryan grabbed Durrell Wilson’s file and began thumbing through it. A second later, Rick walked in and began talking to Bo in a hushed tone. Ryan sat down at the state’s table, trying to overhear what Rick was saying, but his voice was too low. Bo then went over to the young black woman, apparently the victim on the case, and began explaining the situation to her.
Rick walked over and sat down next to Ryan. “I heard one of your defendants took a hit this morning. I got called into a meeting with the D.A. about it first thing this morning.”
“Oh yeah?” Ryan asked, wondering exactly where this was heading.
Rick lowered his voice. “I was going to tell you later today, but since I’m here now you might as well know. We’re going to delay a decision on the Strike Force position until we see what’s going on with Cleeves’ murder.”
Ryan stared. “Exactly what does Tyrone Cleeves have to do with the Strike Force spot?”
“Nothing,” Rick’s answer came quick. “But if it gets out that he was killed because you lost his case, well, it’s just probably better for us to wait. It’s not imperative we decide this week.”
Ryan tried to keep the anger from her voice. Pissing off Rick would not help her. “So if this somehow makes the evening news, I’m going to get screwed out of Strike Force?”
“Ryan, you’ve still got my vote. You’re doing good work.” A compliment from Rick was rare, a highly prized commodity in the office. “It’s just a timing issue. It shouldn’t change anything in the long run.”
Bo walked up, cutting off any response Ryan might have had. “The victim’s upset. She understands that the clerk’s office is at fault, but she’s nearly hysterical knowing Wilson might get released today.”
“I don’t know what took so long to get this case to trial,” Rick said with a harsh look at Bo. “I know McAllister is a slow section, but the state should never let a rape case get to the point of a 701. Come see me in my office when you get back.”
Ryan tried not to feel smug about Bo’s predicament. After all, she had just received praise for her work, while Bo had just gotten a lecture, albeit a short one.
Ryan opened Bo’s files on Durrell Wilson again, noticing that Bo hadn’t even bothered running a current rap sheet for the file. Every case was supposed to have an updated rap for each court date. On a hunch, Ryan used Donna’s computer to access the NCIC system. The first thing listed on Durrell Wilson’s rap sheet was a warrant for an open traffic violation. This was good news for Bo and his victim, and bad news for Durrell Wilson.
Ryan kept the discovery to herself. No sense letting Bo off the hook yet.
The judge took the bench after Durrell Wilson was finally brought up from the prison. “Mr. Wilson, where is your attorney?”
“Mr. Klegg in the hallway,” Durrell Wilson said and looked over at the victim with a smile, displaying a sparkling diamond chip. “We ready for trial.”
“Well, we can’t call your case with him out in the hallway, can we now?” The judge waved his hands around impatiently. “Nero, go get Mr. Klegg.”
A few seconds later, Bill Klegg walked in, a tall, round man with a receding hairline and an extravagant red nose. He looked like an alcoholic Humpty Dumpty.
“Your honor, the defense is ready to proceed to trial,” Klegg said and put his briefcase down loudly on the defense table.
“Mr. Klegg, your case didn’t make my docket today because of the negligence of the clerk’s office. As a matter of fact, it wouldn’t have made it as an add-on had you not personally gone into that office and had them pull the file. While I commend you on your diligence in representing your client, the jurors were already released for the day by the time the clerk alerted me to this case. Since there are no jurors tomorrow, the only thing I can do is set it for trial for Monday, when the jury will back. Unless of course you wish to proceed by bench trial.”
“I don’t mean to be a hard ass, your Honor,” Klegg began, “but my client’s 701 runs today. The law is clear that if a continuance is due to the court, the 701 is not interrupted.”
The judge scowled. “You expect me to release your client on a 701 for a charge that carries a mandatory life sentence?”
“I not only expect it, I must insist upon it.” Klegg wore a sly smile.
Bo had a look of panic on his face, as did his victim.
The judge looked at the victim as he spoke. “While I loathe doing this —” the judge began, but Ryan stood up.
“Judge Jackson,” Ryan stopped him, waving the printout of the rap sheet in the air. “I have the defendant’s rap sheet in my hand.” She felt very Law and Order as she announced, “Mr. Wilson has an attachment for a traffic violation.”
Klegg stared at the file, the smile frozen on his face. “What’s that?”
“An attachment is similar to an arrest warrant, Mr. Klegg,” Judge Jackson spoke slowly. “It’s an order to hold a defendant until he appears before a judge, in this case, in traffic court.”
“No, I know what an at
tachment is,” Klegg sputtered. “Of course I know that. I meant, what’s the violation?”
Ryan circled the open attachment on the rap sheet in red marker and held the page up for Klegg to see. “Mr. Wilson failed to appear for his traffic court date three months ago.”
“Your honor, my client was incarcerated three months ago,” Klegg began.
The judge interrupted him. “That’s not my problem, Mr. Klegg.”
“My client still gets released on his 701, right?” He didn’t sound quite as confident now, and the smile was beginning to show strain at the corners of his mouth, twitching slightly.
“Well, Counselor, regardless of whether your client is released on the 701 today, he’ll still have to wait in jail for the traffic warrant.”
“I can make bond on the traffic,” Klegg said, more to his client than the court.
The judge looked at Durrell Wilson. “I’m sure you can. Mr. Wilson, I’m going to have you transferred to traffic court at the convenience of the sheriff’s office so they can deal with the attachment. When the traffic division is finished with you, they’ll bring you back so I can rule on the 701.”
“Your honor, that could take until tomorrow afternoon,” Klegg argued. “You’ll be gone by the time the traffic court handles the matter.”
“Assuming that’s true, then your client will remain in jail over the weekend and make my Monday docket. The 701 will become moot when the case is tried then.”
“Your honor, my client is entitled to bond on the traffic violation,” Klegg argued.
“In case you haven’t noticed, Mr. Klegg, this is not traffic court. The traffic court judge can set the bond when he’s transferred. And then your client will be sent back here. We’ll rearrange the whole docket Monday to try this rape. This should resolve the 701 issue.”
“But your honor, my client should be released today for this charge.” Klegg looked around the courtroom as if trying to find someone who would agree with him. “I have to insist you set a bond on the traffic violation and then rule on the 701.”
Gumbo Justice Page 12
