by Lisa Turner
“Are you okay?” she asked.
“I’m fine. How could a big woman like that disappear so fast?”
“She said someone dropped her at the station. They must have been waiting in the parking lot. She could be holed up anywhere.”
He slammed his fist into his palm. “Damn it!”
“At least we got the box.”
J.J. pushed through the door and stuck his head out. “You guys working with no backup? Cause you damn near got jacked up.”
“Good play, J.J. I owe you,” Billy said.
J.J. grinned. “Like I always say, Jesus saves.”
Frankie held the box out to Billy. “You want to go inside and open this?”
“Heads up,” J.J. said and gestured toward the street behind them. An MPD patrol car, blue lights rolling, was two blocks away and cruising in their direction.
Chapter 48
We’d better open it at the barge,” Billy said, knowing they had already pushed their luck.
She handed him the keys. “You drive.”
He stowed the box in the back of the Jeep. Frankie used callback on Dominique’s number and got the “not accepting calls at this time” message. Dominique had either turned off the phone or removed the battery so her phone couldn’t be tracked. He suggested Frankie call cab company dispatchers and the ticket agent at the bus station, giving them Dominique’s description. After she did that, she checked with the night manager at Robert House who said that Dominique had left there around eight thirty P.M., carrying a suitcase and a box wrapped in plastic. She had not returned.
The rain stopped. The sidewalks became crowded again, making it unlikely they would spot Dominique. They considered calling in patrol officers for help, but that would require explanations they didn’t want to make. Dominique didn’t have money for a plane ticket, there was no passenger train until midmorning, and she wouldn’t dare go back to the bus station. They’d done what they could to contain her within the city. Most likely, she’d found a place to stay for the night. The only thing left was to head to the barge and open the box.
When they got inside, he gathered gloves, scissors, tape, and his laptop. He made coffee while Frankie wiped down the stainless-steel counters, the best surface in the place to deal with evidence. If she noticed the pie sitting on the cutting board, she didn’t mention it.
They snapped on gloves and cut away the green plastic, revealing a packing box with pictures of jumbo cans of tomatoes on the side. Dominique would have picked up the box in the shelter’s kitchen. Frankie popped open the flaps. On top was a soft, gray conjure bag. Beneath that was a white pillowcase with red trim and the Cardinal’s insignia.
Billy’s heart jumped at the sight. They looked at each other and grinned. He’d felt the three deaths were connected. Here was the first evidence pointing in that direction.
Frankie unfolded the pillowcase and began lifting out watches zipped into plastic bags, their crystal faces showing through. She laid everything on the counter: eighteen watches, two worn baseballs covered with signatures, two blues harmonicas, and seven framed photographs of civil rights martyrs. The Bulova with the green band was missing. No phone, no laptop. At the bottom of the box lay a large mailing envelope bulging with pages. Frankie slipped the manuscript out. A USB flash drive tumbled out with it.
She picked it up. “I’ll bet Pryce gave this to Augie so he could upload the manuscript.”
“Is the missing photo in there?”
She shook the envelope. No photo. He tried to not let his disappointment show.
“Let’s start with the conjure bag,” he said.
He handed Frankie a plate and a spoon. She poured some of the bag’s contents on the plate and used the spoon to spread the mixture.
“Dried herbs, sand, dust balls, peppercorns, and some bug legs,” she said. “The white thing in the middle is a tooth, probably bought out of the mouth of someone at the shelter.” She spooned the contents back into the bag. “It’s fake. Dominique thought I wouldn’t know the difference. Of course that doesn’t mean she’s in the clear. It would help if we could get Ovia to make an identification, but there’s no way in hell she’ll do that unless Ramos pushes her.”
“You’ve convinced me Dominique planted the curses in the rooms and triggered Red’s and Little Man’s deaths,” he said. “But why? What was her motive?”
“She’s hot-tempered and might hold a grudge, but I don’t think she’s the kind of person who could pull this off by herself.”
“Then someone threatened her or paid her,” he said. “Either way, someone else is involved.”
“Let’s start with the theory we talked out earlier.”
He shook his head. “It doesn’t hold up. Red was in no shape to wander around selling scripts to raise cash. And no one from the shelter, especially a six-foot Jamaican cook, could have gotten into the DeVoy and killed Augie.”
Frankie stared at the evidence on the counter. “Okay. We’ll start over.”
“How about if you catalog the evidence on my laptop while I scan through this manuscript?”
“I’ll do that, but why stop to read it now?” she asked.
“Because I’m stumped. When that happens, I look past the obvious.”
He sat in his reading chair in the living room with the stack of pages on his lap while Frankie worked on the evidence in the kitchen. He flipped through, looking for Pryce’s name. It didn’t appear anywhere on the manuscript. Then he read the introduction. Halfway down the page he read: There came a time when, for one brief moment, God turned his back on the people and the devil had his way. Dr. King was murdered right here in our city. Dedicated people paid with their lives. Others have worked since then to prove the devil hasn’t won . . .
It was a powerful statement, more passionate than he would have expected from Pryce. He scanned more pages until chapter five stopped him cold. He read every line. Twenty minutes later he went into the kitchen and laid the manuscript on the counter.
Frankie looked up from the computer. “I’m almost finished. Did you find anything?”
“According to this, Calvin Carter was on the FBI payroll for years.”
She blinked. “He was a paid informant?”
“Like Garrett said, all kinds of people were talking to the cops or FBI agents. This book claims Carter did more than that. He gave up information about civil rights leaders who were risking their lives, and regular folks, in the movement. Even a priest who ran an outreach ministry.”
He thumped the manuscript. “Carter attended meetings with top civil rights leaders. While they discussed strategic planning, he snapped photos and listened. Then he met with agents and turned over the names of the people present and the dates of marches and demonstrations with their locations. That gave agents plenty of notice to setup street fights that would turn peaceful demonstrations violent. They made it look like the organizers were behind it.”
He paused. “Carter gave the agents personal information to leak to the press. They contacted employers to get ordinary people fired for being involved in the movement.
“You remember what I told you about Grant putting pressure on Freeman’s dad? Pryce focuses on that kind of surveillance. Some say the NSA is doing that now.
“Pryce got his hands on Dahlia Poston’s FBI file. She was the type of activist who scared the pants off Hoover and the white establishment. She was educated, outspoken, and black. The FBI was keeping an eye on her. I’m sure Augie must have read this. He told me there was more to his mother’s case, but he never explained what he meant. Now I see why he was so obsessed with her death. Pryce must have given him a copy of her file and maybe even one on Carter. They’re probably on his laptop.”
“Speaking of that, I should upload whatever is on that flash drive,” she said, feeling around behind the computer for it.
“I have to hand it to Pryce,” he said. “He’s uncovered a blockbuster story. Carter was a hero in this city for forty years. Old warriors in
the movement, especially the people who trusted him, will be heartbroken. Some will be outraged. Some will condemn him. Others will deny he did it.”
“Outing Carter as an informant will crush Sid Garrett,” she said. “The museum just won a big grant. Garrett’s in charge of fund-raising, and the board promised to dedicate a wall honoring his brother. The revelation about Carter will kill donations.”
They looked at each other. Frankie’s eyes narrowed.
“Garrett’s got a lot to lose,” he said.
Chapter 49
I’ll get my case file,” he said. “Let’s meet in the living room, and we’ll start at square one.”
He returned with the expandable folder he’d been using to store the case information. He sat on the sofa beside Frankie and brought out the stack of photo, handing her the one of Carter talking with Grant.
“Garrett saw this photo of Carter at Itta Bena,” he said.
“Do you remember if there was a second Carter?”
“I don’t, but if Augie had a shot of Carter, it would definitely have gotten Pryce’s attention. The promise of more pictures like it would make him take the risk of meeting with me. So we’ll have to assume Augie stole one similar to this.” He picked up a pad and made a note. “We’ll start with Red buying the jacket and finding the photos. He would have recognized Carter right off the bat.”
“Why?”
“Red and Little Man played the clubs on Beale Street off and on for forty years. Carter had a studio on Beale. A big part of his income came from taking promo shots of musicians. The three men had to have crossed paths. The question is whether Red knew these were surveillance shots and understood what that meant.”
“I may have an answer to that,” she said. “In Garrett’s eulogy, he said Red talked about agents hanging around Beale at the time of Dr. King’s assassination. Maybe he recognized Grant.”
“So it’s reasonable to assume Red knew Carter was talking to an agent and was pretty convinced Carter was an informant. Red wouldn’t have cared until he thought about the one person who’d be devastated by that piece of news—Sid Garrett. The photo suddenly became valuable if he could collect on it.”
“Red didn’t seem to be the kind of guy who’d go for blackmail,” she said.
“Except that he was obsessed with Jones, desperate to keep her in school. Remember ‘Old Fool Love’? He was hooked. It would make sense for him to approach Garrett and offer to sell the photograph. Fifteen thousand for Theda’s tuition. Or maybe he asked for more. Garrett’s loaded. Red might even have threatened to find another buyer. If he said he had more pictures, Garrett would know he was going to be on the hook for thousands.”
“If Red was working a deal with Garrett, why borrow money from Augie?” she asked.
“I don’t know. Possibly a payment on Theda’s tuition or for living expenses. She looks like she could go through a couple of grand a month.”
Frankie stood and began pacing. “How do you think it went down?”
“Red went to Garrett and made his pitch. Garrett probably pretended to accept but stalled for time to figure out what to do. That could be the reason Red had to ask Augie for the money. In the meantime, Garrett was looking to stop Red, but in a way that wouldn’t dirty his hands. He remembered Red and Little Man were into Santería, so he lined up Dominique to put curses in their rooms. He wanted to scare them bad enough to leave Memphis and never come back. He couldn’t know the curses would kill them. But after it happened, he was okay with it. Problem solved.”
“We’ve put Red and Garrett together using the Carter photograph,” she said. “Robert House connects Garrett with Dominique, and the death curses. But what about Dominique and Augie? They didn’t know each other. You said you don’t believe she could’ve killed Augie and gotten in and out of the building. If that’s true, how did she end up with his stuff?”
Billy said nothing for a time. He’d believed the photographs were a common thread between the three murders. Now the answer was coming to him.
“Let’s go at it from another direction. Who stole Augie’s stuff in the first place? At the stadium Augie said that he had business to take care of. Pryce’s book was serious business to him, but we know Pryce isn’t the killer. However, on the afternoon before Augie was murdered, he spent several hours with Garrett, making funeral arrangements. Augie was angry with me. I wouldn’t be surprised if he talked to Garrett about his mom and brought up the manuscript. I saw Garrett’s book at Augie’s place, so Augie knew they had a common interest in the civil rights era. Maybe Augie invited Garrett over, or Garrett invited himself.”
“Lots of people have that book. It proves nothing.”
He raised a hand. “Hear me out. We know the parking lot for the DeVoy is behind the building. With Garrett’s disability, it would be hard for him to walk around to the front entrance. It’s reasonable to imagine that Augie would give him the pass code for the door and the elevator. Even if he came through the main entrance, I doubt the cop who reviewed the tapes would flag him as a person of interest.”
“Okay. That’s reasonable.”
“In the course of the conversation, Augie went into more detail about the manuscript and about Carter’s involvement with the FBI.”
“But wait,” she said. “If the manuscript set Garrett off, shouldn’t he have gone after the author instead of Augie?”
“He didn’t have a name. It’s not on the manuscript, and Augie wasn’t giving it out. When Garrett did find Pryce, he tried to burn him and his book.”
Frankie threw up her hands. “I don’t buy this. Garrett’s not the violent type. He may have indirectly caused Red’s and Little Man’s deaths, but he’s too sophisticated to resort to bludgeoning a man when he had other alternatives.”
“You’re the one who pointed out that he may be a drug addict. If it’s true, his impulse control is shot. Augie showed him a photo of Carter and Grant. The blackmail scheme was back to haunt him. Garrett thought he’d never get out from under. Everything he cared about was at risk. He snapped. He killed Augie in a rage. Then his rational side kicked in. To keep anyone from finding the manuscript, the photo, the phone, or the laptop, he tossed the place. He took the watches and the rest of the stuff to make it look like a burglary.”
“You really think Garrett is responsible for three murders?” she asked.
“I’m convinced he set in motion events that led to Red’s and Little Man’s deaths. Concerning Augie, I saw Garrett at the museum the day after the murder. First, he was in a lot of pain, which you’d expect if he swung that bat. Second, he pushed hard to persuade me that Augie had a drug habit and was involved with dealers. He did a good job putting out a phony lead, good enough to have me considering it.”
Frankie thought about that. “If your scenario is right, we’re back to the question of how Dominique got her hands on the stolen stuff.”
He shrugged. “I haven’t gotten that far. Garrett’s too smart to keep incriminating evidence at Robert House. And he wouldn’t have given Dominique the watch.”
Frankie sucked in her breath. “Oh, God. She complained about having to scrub Garrett’s toilets and iron his shirts. She was mad as hell about it. She said, ‘I show him.’”
“That makes sense. As his housekeeper, she could snoop around. She found the box and knew it was valuable stuff. Since she was ready to skip town, she went there today and took it. But she didn’t get to the phone and laptop because he has them locked up.”
“Speaking of laptop, we need to check that flash drive,” she said.
He brought the computer from the kitchen and set it on the table. The dialogue box on the screen gave them the option of showing all files. The flash drive contained a docx folder and a jpg file. He clicked the folder first. It contained a copy of the manuscript. Then he clicked the jpg file.
A photograph of Agent Leland Grant opened. He was facing the camera and talking to a teenage boy whose head was tilted up, squinting against the sun. F
rankie and Billy stared at the screen.
“Where did this come from?” she asked. “Did Augie steal two photos?”
“No, just the one.” He fell silent, thinking. “The reason Augie stole the photo was to give Freeman a picture of Grant. This is the best shot of Grant in the bunch. The others are in profile. This has to be the one Augie stole and showed to Pryce. It’s on the flash drive because Pryce scanned it for him.”
“Then Augie never had a photo of Carter.” She leaned closer to the screen. “You think this kid is significant?”
He shook his head. “I don’t know. We’ve missed something. I was sold on Garrett for all three murders because I thought seeing the photo of Carter had sent him over the edge. Now I’m not sure.”
In his mind’s eye, he’d seen Augie at the refrigerator, his back turned, having offered Garrett a beer. And there was Garrett, panicked and raging, picking up the bronzed bat. Augie half turned, catching the first blow on his temple. Stunned, he stayed on his feet long enough for Garrett to deliver the second, crushing blow to the back of his head. Then he went down.
The images sickened him. He wanted Garrett to not be the guy, but he couldn’t let that sway him.
“You with me?” Frankie said.
She’d been speaking to him.
“You said, ‘If Garrett didn’t do it, who do we have?’”
He rubbed the back of his neck. They stared at the screen, trying to come up with something.
“Look,” she said. “We have some compelling evidence, but we need more. There’s a ground-breaking ceremony at Robert House tomorrow. You should take some of this stuff with you and wave it in Garrett’s face. Maybe if you shake him up in public, he’ll incriminate himself.”
“I can’t use the actual evidence. I’ll have to go to the Redbirds store tomorrow for a pillowcase and make up a dummy manuscript. Here’s the dilemma. If I don’t hand over this evidence immediately, Dunsford can charge me with obstruction of justice for withholding it. And if I do turn it over, he’ll claim I had possession all along, which for Dunsford is proof I killed Augie.”
