Stone Cold

by Joel Goldman

  “You got all that from that one piece of Bonnie’s testimony?” Mason asked.

  “No. If that was all there was, we’d have a better chance of riding it out. We came out of the opening statements in decent shape, but some of the jurors started shifting during Rossi’s testimony. Bonnie did well at first, but she dug a hole with the we-don’t-keep-secrets stuff.” Kate ran her fingers through her hair, shrugging. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s the lesbian thing too. A lot of people are more comfortable with it in the abstract than they are up close and personal. Either way, we’re in trouble.”

  “That’s great,” Claire said. “Any suggestions?”

  “Yeah, figure out a way to make the rest of Ortiz’s witnesses look even worse, because if this case comes down to how the jury feels about Alex right now, she’s not going to like the verdict. I’ll go back to my hotel and study the juror profiles. Maybe I can find one or two who might give us a hung jury.”

  Claire nodded. “Not a good day for us, but it wasn’t supposed to be, not when Ortiz is putting on his case. We’ll see you in the morning.”

  “What are you going to do?” Mason asked after Kate left.

  “Prepare Bonnie for her cross. Did Blues get you what you needed?”

  “He got me an address. That’s where I’m headed. I’ll let you know how it pans out.”

  Claire sighed. “This is a hell of a way to make a living.”

  Mason laughed. “You know a better way?”

  “No,” she said, smiling. “And I can’t imagine there is one.”

  **

  Mason pulled up in front of a well-maintained house on the east side, a sign on the corner declaring it a neighborhood watch area. The house was in the middle of a block of other well-maintained homes, no boarded-up windows and no vacant lots filled with garbage. It was dusk and the front porch of every house was lit, making the street glow.

  He rang the bell and a man answered the door. He was white haired and solidly built, though his belly was losing the fight to age and gravity.

  “I’m Lou Mason.”

  “Frank Canfield. Grace told me to expect you. Come on in.”

  Mason stepped inside. A short entryway led past the dining room on his right and opened into a family room. The furnishings were old, simple, and inviting, the walls adorned with family photographs. The kitchen was adjacent to the family room; a lone figure sat at the table, back turned.

  “Gloria Temple?” Mason whispered.

  “In the flesh.”

  “Where’s she been hiding?”

  “Little Rock. She’s got people down there.”

  “Why’d she go and why’d she come back?”

  “She won’t say. Least not to Grace.”

  “How long has she been here?”

  “Couple of days.”

  “I’d like to see her room before I talk to her.”

  “Okay by me.”

  Frank led Mason to a bedroom at the top of the stairs. Clothes were strewn across the bed. A purse and a cell phone were on the nightstand. Mason picked up the phone.

  “Gloria’s?”

  “Not ours.”

  “You got a computer?”

  “Yeah. It’s in the other spare bedroom. Grace uses it for an office.”

  Mason picked up the phone and followed Frank into Grace’s office. He took a small, soft leather case out of his pocket and opened it, removing a cord to sync the phone to Grace’s laptop. After connecting the phone to the laptop, he inserted another device into a USB port on the computer.

  “What’s that?” Frank asked.

  “It’s a recovery device that will let me download everything on Gloria’s phone.”

  “You always carry that kind of stuff around with you?”

  “Only when a friend of mine thinks I might need it. This will probably take fifteen or twenty minutes. I’d appreciate it if you’d stay here until it’s done. All you have to do is unplug everything, put my gear back in the case, and put Gloria’s phone back where it was. I’ll get the case from you before I leave.”

  “I can do that.”

  Mason nodded and headed for the kitchen. He stood in the family room for a moment watching Gloria. She was staring out the window, not moving.

  “Hi, how ya doin’?” Mason said as he took a seat at the table.

  Gloria studied him with eyes narrowed and suspicious, her mouth tight, before looking away. Mason waited for her to say something, knowing how hard it is to remain silent. She caved after ten minutes.

  “Whaddya want wit’ me?”

  “To talk to you.”

  She was in her late teens, maybe early twenties, with a modest bust on a thin frame. Her hair was done in short, tight curls. She was wearing skinny blue jeans and a black T-shirt. And she smelled like she hadn’t bathed in a while.

  “’Bout what?”

  “Dwayne Reed.”

  “What about him?”

  “For starters, he’s dead.”

  “I know that.”

  “How’d you find out?”

  “Heard about it, that’s all.”

  “What do you know about how it happened?”

  She wiped her nose on her arm. “I don’t know nuthin’ ’bout it.”

  “Why’d you go to Little Rock?”

  No answer.

  “Why’d you come back?”

  No answer. Mason stared at her, waiting her out, minutes passing.

  “What?” she said.

  “Look, Gloria. I don’t have time for this crap where I ask you questions and you pretend not to know the answers. There’s only one reason you’re here with a roof over your head instead of OD’ing in a piss-soaked crack house, and that’s because Grace Canfield thought you deserved a break. So show some gratitude and talk to me.”

  Grace leaned back in her chair, arms crossed over her chest. “I ain’t axed that bitch to do shit for me, and I ain’t got nuthin’ to say to you, so why don’t you get your white ass outta my face.”

  “Because I’m representing a woman who’s on trial for killing Dwayne Reed and the prosecutor has listed you as a witness and I want to know why.”

  “Then you oughta be axin’ him, ’cause that shit don’t mean nuthin’ to me.”

  “Then why did you run off to Little Rock after Dwayne died? What were you afraid of?”

  She stood, fists balled, arms tight against her sides. “I ain’t ’fraid of nuthin’!”

  Mason got up and snapped a photograph of Gloria with his phone. “My advice, Gloria—make that the last lie you tell.”

  Chapter Forty-Five

  ROSSI WAS IN HIS CAR parked across the street from the public defender’s office. It had been eight hours since he’d gotten off the witness stand, and he was beginning to wonder if Grace Canfield was going to spend the night at her desk. He opened his phone and called Gardiner Harris.

  “Anything happening at your end?” he asked.

  “Nothing. I sent Trumbo inside a couple of hours ago. He said Blues was tending bar. He hung around for a few minutes and left.”

  “Which door did you take?”

  “The alley. There’s only one car parked there, so I figure it’s got to be his. The guy is staying put. How about you?”

  “Same here. It doesn’t make sense.”

  “What doesn’t make sense?” Harris asked.

  “I’m sure Blues and Grace Canfield are working together on this Gloria Temple thing. First I see them coming out of Chouteau Courts together and then I see them talking on the street. She writes something down, probably the address where she’s stashed Gloria, and gives it to Blues. So why isn’t one of them babysitting her?”

  “You mean instead of keeping our asses nailed down while we wait for them to do something or go somewhere?”

  Rossi slammed his hand on the steering wheel. “Motherfucker! How could I be so fucking stupid? That’s exactly what they’re doing!”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Blues kno
ws we’re looking for Gloria. Grace Canfield must have found her. Blues saw me outside Chouteau Courts and again outside the courthouse today. He probably made you and Trumbo and told Grace to look out for me. He figures that we’re waiting for Grace or him to lead us to Gloria, so they hole up while someone else takes care of her and we sit here with our thumbs up our butts.”

  “Who?”

  “My guess? Lou Mason, the disbarred member of the defense team. Shit!”

  “What do you want to do?”

  “Let’s work this out. My CI said he saw Gloria at a crack house. If Grace Canfield found Gloria, she wouldn’t leave her there and she wouldn’t take her back to Virginia Sprague.”

  “Because she knows we’re watching the apartment.”

  “Right. So she has to put Gloria someplace where she’s not only safe but will stay put. How many places does that leave?”

  “Hell if I know,” Harris said.

  “Not many, and I’ll bet one of them is Grace Canfield’s house.”

  “Why?”

  “I checked her out. Her husband is a retired firefighter. Got a couple of medals for running into burning buildings and saving lives. Guy like that would tie Gloria down if that’s what it took.”

  “Sounds like he’s the perfect babysitter,” Harris said.

  **

  Frank Canfield met Mason at the bottom of the stairs.

  “Here’s your spy kit,” he said. “Did she tell you anything?”

  Mason shook his head. “Maybe Grace can get something out of her.”

  “I doubt it.”

  “Why? Grace got her to come here.”

  “Only ’cause she spent the money Virginia Sprague gave her and it beats the hell out of sleeping on the street or turning tricks for a hot meal, but that doesn’t mean she trusts Grace enough to talk to her, at least not yet. How long can you wait to find out what she knows?”

  “Not long enough if the cops find her.”

  “How are they going to get her to talk if you or Grace can’t?”

  “Depends on whether they’ve got leverage we don’t.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like serious jail time. If the cops come for her, let me know.”

  “You may not have to wait,” Frank said, pointing to the sedan pulling up in front of his house, watching the driver step out.

  “Shit.”

  “You know him?”

  “Yeah. Hank Rossi. Homicide cop. He’s been chasing Gloria too.”

  “What should I do if he asks if Gloria is here?”

  “Let him in. No reason for you to get in any trouble over this. You’ve done enough and I appreciate it.”

  He walked past Rossi to his car without stopping. “Evening, Detective.”

  “Counselor,” Rossi said.

  Frank Canfield stood outside his door. “Can I help you?” he asked Rossi.

  Rossi flashed his badge. “I’m looking for a woman named Gloria Temple.”

  Frank opened the door. “In the kitchen.”

  Chapter Forty-Six

  ALEX SAT IN HER CHAIR at the defense counsel table, bleary-eyed from a restless night, hands in her lap, rubbing her palms and twisting her fingers. The morning session had begun with Claire’s cross-examination of Bonnie. Claire had been brief, highlighting how afraid Bonnie had been of Dwayne Reed, staying away from whether Alex had been truthful with her about the gun. Having Bonnie repeat or explain that testimony would only remind the jury of it. A lie was a lie.

  Alex and Bonnie had hardly spoken last night, knowing that they couldn’t yet lift their self-imposed gag order. All they could do was get in bed and hug and hold each other.

  “I’m so sor—,” Bonnie started to say before Alex pressed a finger gently against her lips.

  “Don’t,” she said as they wrapped themselves together.

  Alex waited until Bonnie was asleep before untangling herself and getting out of bed, putting on a coat and sitting outside on the patio. Quincy followed her, curling up on top of her feet, keeping them warm.

  She knew that Ortiz had won the day and she knew how difficult it was to play catch-up in a murder trial, shivering at what that might mean for her and Bonnie. After an hour, the cold chased Quincy and her inside. She spooned against Bonnie’s back, kissing her on the cheek without waking her, asking herself again whether killing Dwayne Reed had been worth it. No matter what else happened, he would never hurt anyone again, especially Bonnie, and that was answer enough. As she drifted into sleep, an image of Dwayne’s body lying on the floor swept across her closed eyes, leaving her with an uneasy peace.

  Sitting in court the next morning, she saw another picture of Dwayne’s body, only this time it was splashed across a fifty-inch video screen and Odyessy Shelburne was weeping at the sight of it. Ortiz had called her as his next witness after Bonnie. She’d been on the stand the rest of the morning, testifying about Dwayne from the moment he was born, bragging about how good he’d been to her and how little she deserved it because of the life she’d led, admitting to a litany of petty crimes, drug abuse, and prostitution.

  Her family story and personal confession out of the way, Ortiz led her through the events leading up to the moment Alex shot Dwayne, pointing to the photograph and asking her if she recognized her son. Odyessy’s answer was in her tears.

  “Ms. Shelburne,” he said, “would you like a moment to compose yourself?”

  She shook her head, pulling a tissue from the box on the witness stand, rubbing her eyes and wiping her nose. “I’m okay.”

  “Does this photograph show your son when you found him after the defendant shot him?”

  Alex nudged Claire, whispering, “Object! That’s leading.”

  Claire gave her a sideways glance, keeping her voice down. “I’m not going to drag it out, and neither would you if it weren’t your case.”

  Alex nodded, her face flushed with embarrassment. She knew better but couldn’t help herself.

  “Ms. Shelburne?” Ortiz said.

  Odyessy sniffled. “Yes. That’s my boy.”

  “Where were you when the defendant shot him?”

  “I was on my way down the stairs.”

  “Where had you been before you started down the stairs?”

  “In my room.”

  “Why did you leave your room and go downstairs?”

  “On account of I heard his lawyer shoutin’ at Dwayne.”

  “What was she shouting?”

  “All kind of crazy stuff.”

  “Can you be more specific? What exactly did she say?”

  Odyessy straightened and glared at Alex. “She say she gonna kill him.”

  “Had you been in your room the entire time that the defendant was in your house before you heard her say she was going to kill your son?”

  “Yes, sir. I was up in my room the whole time.”

  “And was your door open or closed?”

  “It was open.”

  “Could you hear the conversation between your son and the defendant before she said she was going to kill him?”

  “Not too much till she started screamin’.”

  “What did you do when you heard the defendant say she was going to kill your son?”

  “I hightailed it down the stairs.”

  “Why did you do that?”

  “I was scared for my boy.”

  “Were you scared that you might be in danger if you went down the stairs?”

  Odyessy shook her head. “I wadn’t thinkin’ like that. I was jus’ scared for Dwayne.”

  “What happened while you were coming down the stairs?”

  “She shot him. Shot him down like a dog.”

  “Who did you see shoot your son?”

  “That woman!” she said, flinging her arm at Alex.

  “And could you also see your son at the moment he was shot?”

  “I surely did.”

  “What was he doing at that moment?”

  She folded her arms across her
chest, setting her jaw in a hard line. “He wasn’t doin’ nuthin’. Just standin’ there.”

  “Was he holding a gun?”

  “Not that I saw.”

  “Was he saying or doing anything to threaten or endanger the defendant?”

  “Objection,” Claire said. “Calls for speculation as to Mr. Reed’s state of mind.”

  “Sustained,” Judge West said. “Rephrase.”

  “Thank you, Your Honor,” Ortiz said. “Did you hear your son say anything at all to the defendant?”

  “Naw.”

  “Did you see your son point a gun at the defendant?”

  “No.”

  “Did you see your son raise a hand or a fist at her?”

  “Uh-uh, no, sir.”

  “Did you hear him say anything or see him do anything at all from the moment when you heard the defendant say she was going to kill him until she shot your son?”

  “Nuthin’, nuthin’ at all.”

  “And what was the next thing that happened after the defendant shot your son?”

  Odyessy sucked in a breath, dropping her chin to her chest, and then looked up at Ortiz. “I ran to my boy. Blood was pourin’ out of him. I got down on the floor next to him and laid his head in my lap, and I held him and I called his name and then he died.”

  Ortiz paused, looking at the photograph of Dwayne’s body on the screen, then at Alex, and finally at the jury.

  “Thank you Ms. Shelburne. No further questions.”

  Judge West banged his gavel. “We’ll take the noon recess and resume at one thirty.”

  Odyessy stepped down from the witness stand. Ortiz cupped her elbow with his hand and walked her toward the hall.

  Mason rose and turned toward the back of the courtroom. Blues was standing near the door. Their eyes met and they nodded. Blues waited for Ortiz and Odyessy to pass before slipping out.

  “What’s that about?” Alex asked.

  “Just due diligence,” Mason said as a short, round-shouldered, pasty-faced man approached them.

  “Lou?”

  Mason turned toward the man. “You got it?”

  “Yeah. Six months’ worth of data. Hope you find what you’re looking for,” he said, handing Mason a flash drive, and left.

  “Who was that?” Claire asked.