Double Dead

by Gary Hardwick

  Ramona had enough street smarts left to know that the killers' would find her again if she didn't wise up. She needed help, and it had to come from people she could trust.

  She set the briefcase on the floor of the cab and at that moment broke her promise never to see her fast friends again: LoLo Wells and her crew.

  8

  Into The Wind

  Jesse and Richard Steel had checked the crime scene early in the morning. They'd gone early to beat the news crews, who were doing remotes from the street.

  The crime scene was in great shape, meaning that it contained plenty of usable forensic evidence.

  Jesse couldn't help but feel happy as he sat in his little office going over his notes. He was on his way to something big in his career. Despite the tragedy involved, this case was a godsend for him. The publicity from this would put his name on the lips of every major legal player in the country. He was stepping into a storm, but he was determined to ride the wind.

  “Not a lot of room in here for all that stuff.”

  Jesse turned and looked into the face of his friend Ellis Holmes. Ellis was a colleague from law school days, an upper-class kid who not surprisingly had made good.

  “Hey, man, what brings you down here to the ghetto?” asked Jesse, shaking Ellis's hand.

  “Just wanted to say hello,” said Ellis. He was about Jesse's size, not bad-looking, and light in complexion.

  “Well, thanks,” said Jesse. “Come on in and grab a seat.”

  “Where?” asked Ellis. “Man, this is the smallest office I've ever seen.”

  “Yeah,” said Jesse. He moved a heavy stack of papers from a chair. “At least I don't have to share it,” said Jesse. “I have so many important cases I get the run of the cracker box.”

  Jesse liked Ellis even though they were an unlikely pair. They'd become friends in a study group at Wayne State Law School. And though Jesse's grades were always better, Ellis had landed the better job. He should have hated a guy like Ellis, but what was the point? Men with better families had better lives.

  Ellis worked in a so-called silk-stocking law firm called Chapel, Swiss, & Silverstone. Big clients, big money, and a big fat deal for any black lawyer to get in. And Ellis was in solid. His father was the general counsel and part owner of an insurance company, and his mother was a state representative. Parents like that can steer a lot of business to a law firm.

  “So, you hear anything about the Yancy case?” asked Ellis.

  “No,” Jesse lied. “They don't tell me anything here. I'm just a hired gun.”

  “I can't believe Yancy's gone,” said Ellis. “Man, I was at the mayor's mansion the same day he died. How creepy is that?”

  “I didn't think people at your firm cared much for Yancy,” said Jesse.

  “Are you kidding? We get a lot of business from the city. We're the municipal bond experts. The city keeps us happy with billable hours. You know they really like you over there.”

  “Not again with that,” said Jesse. “You know I'm not for that place.” He was uncomfortable whenever Ellis brought up the subject of joining the firm. It made him feel even more inadequate.

  “They always need good litigators,” said Ellis. “You're black, but you're also conservative. They like that. And just look at me. I got in.”

  “You know my response to that,” said Jesse. “You were born in.”

  “It's gotta get a little darker over there,” said Ellis. “Times change. There might be a place for you there-- and soon. And hey, what's another nigger, more or less?” Ellis smiled broadly.

  Jesse laughed to himself. Rich, affluent black men like Ellis always felt the need to refer to themselves as a nigger, in the way that only black people can, as a term of endearment. Still, Jesse disliked the wretched word. He never used it, especially to refer to himself.

  “Thanks, but no thanks,” said Jesse. “You still the only brother over there?”

  “No. There's me, the senior associate, two new junior associates, and the partner.”

  “A black partner?” Jesse said.

  “The black partner,” said Ellis. “Louis Franklin. But he's old. Pretty soon he'll be gone. Then it's my turn. I can bring you in.”

  “Yeah, but I'll be cleaning the toilet.” Jesse laughed, and Ellis joined him. “So, why are you really here, Ellis? This place must make your suit hairs stand up.”

  “I just came by to invite you and Connie over for dinner. Penny and I would love to have you. It's been awhile.”

  “Connie would love that, Ellis. I'll tell her.”

  “And here, come to the firm's breakfast for The New City Project at the River Front Ballroom.” Ellis held out an envelope.

  “Aw., I hate those things.,” said Jesse. “They're so ... early.”

  “Come on,” said Ellis. “This thing is very important. The New City Project is going to rebuild Detroit.”

  “Okay, okay,” said Jesse. He took the tickets. “But I know you just need to get some black faces in that crowd for the press.”

  “Damn, you're cynical,” said Ellis. “And also very right. Thanks, man. I appreciate it.”

  Ellis got up and left. He was slick but still a pretty good friend. Jesse wondered if Ellis could really get him into Chapel, Swiss one day.

  “Who the hell am I kidding?” said Jesse out loud.

  He spent the rest of the day becoming more familiar with the case against Louise Yancy. The police report said Yancy had been murdered by a single, frenzied killer. Yancy was stabbed ten times in the chest and abdomen.

  Jesse went to Dick Steals's office to compare notes. They examined the massive crime report. Yancy had been killed between nine and midnight. And the guards who were supposed to come had never checked in.

  “I talked to the guards,” Jesse checked the files, ”Detectives Broadhurst and Reed. They said they weren't assigned to guard the mayor that night. And they both have alibis.”

  “Look,” said Dick Steals, “Louise Yancy knew he was cheating on her, and she got tired of it. She snapped, and bang, she killed him.”

  “That doesn't make sense,” said Jesse. “I'm sure she knew the mayor had women on the side. Hell, everyone knew it.”

  “The report also says there was probably only one killer,” Richard said.

  “But look at this,” Jesse said. “It says here that there was a possible blood residue in the bathroom. Type undetermined.”

  “I saw that,” said Richard. “People cut themselves in bathrooms. I know I do.”

  “And another thing,” said Jesse. “When we were at the crime scene, I'm sure you noticed how clean the place was?”

  “Clean?” asked Richard.

  “Yes, it was... it's hard to describe, almost like no one had ever been there. It was too neat. I mean, the man had just spent the night there, supposedly with a woman, and the place was immaculate.”

  Richard leaned back in his chair and folded his arms. “Are you trying to say there's a cover-up?” He stared at Jesse as if defying him to say it.

  “No,” said Jesse. “But we should keep this in mind as we go along.”

  “You sound like a defense counsel,” Dick Steals said.

  “Every good prosecutor is a defense counsel. You know that.”

  “Look, Jesse, Louise Yancy is our suspect. She has no alibi, and we found traces of a narcotic in Yancy's system. So she may have tried to poison him.”

  “I didn't see that.” Jesse shuffled through papers.

  “It's in the toxicology report,” said Dick Steals. “Got it this morning. Mayor Yancy had a heart condition. The autopsy found a drug called Procan SR in his system.”

  “SR? What's that stand for?” asked Jesse.

  Dick Steals checked the report. “Slow release,” he said. “Yancy had a prescription, but there was a lot more in his blood than should have been there. Procan SR treats heart arrhythmia, but if too much is taken--”

  “Heart attack,” said Jesse. “If she had given him enough, Y
ancy would have seemed to have died from a natural cause. How much did he have in his system?”

  “More than he should have, a lot more. So we should ignore the details in the report and focus on the big stuff because I think we got her cold.”

  “Defense counsel won't ignore those things. We'd at least better explain them away. You know how these juries don't trust the cops.”

  “Well, I'm counting on you to handle those people/' Richard said.

  “Those people?” asked Jesse. His back straightened.

  “The jury, I mean,” said Dick Steals. “Look, you know it's going to be a mostly black jury--”

  “I'm co-chair on this case, Richard,” said Jesse. He put his papers down and gave Richard a cold look. “I'm not going to play the happy black lawyer, smiling at the black jury while you do all the litigation.”

  “I never said that,” said Richard.

  “Don't play that denial shit with me,” Jesse said. “I know what goes on in this office. You and I are equals in this case. As hard as that may be to accept, it's a fact. So don't even think about relegating me to some second-class status.”

  “Don't be so sensitive, Jesse. I'm just not good with juries, and I'll need your help, that's all.”

  Jesse knew that was a lie. Richard was fantastic with juries. Jesse had witnessed it firsthand. What Richard wasn't good at was dealing with race in the courtroom and in the office. Richard was known to have had terrible arguments with several black judges. He was also known to make offensive racial jokes, and he resented women lawyers in the office. It was a shame that he was so good at his job. He'd be easier to hate.

  “As long as we understand each other,” Jesse said. He returned to the file. “Now, I see there was evidence of a woman with Yancy.”

  “Yes, we found some fingerprints and ran them through the system,” said Richard. “She has a record, but the cops haven't found her yet. Her name is Ramona Blake. Yancy was balling her regularly. We're looking for her, but I'd bet she's gone by now.”

  “Did we get Yancy's phone records?” asked Jesse. “Yeah,” said Richard. “I checked them. The mayor called a few people that night, but they all look like business. “

  Jesse grabbed the phone records. Harris Yancy had made a lot of calls in the days leading up to his murder.

  “The mayor's guards botched the assignment that night,” said Jesse. “We need to find this guy Walter Nicks. He's the captain or something. He set the schedules.”

  “We tried, but he's gone,” said Dick Steals. “Disappeared. Not at his house or anywhere else we know of.”

  “Quite a coincidence,” Jesse said. “A major fuckup, and now he's gone. The security was run out of the mayor's mansion. I think I'll go over there and talk with some people.”

  “Don't hurt yourself,” said Dick Steals. “We've got our killer.“

  “But it's gonna be a hard case to sell in this town,” said Jesse. “Louise Yancy is the first lady of Detroit. People love her.”

  “Well,” said Richard, “we have one more piece of evidence. I'm sorry I didn't tell you about it before, but the boss told me not to breathe a word until tomorrow. But what the fuck, you should know. If he gets mad, just back me up.”

  “Okay,” said Jesse. “What is it and where is it?”

  “I don't have it with me. D’Estenne is keeping it .”

  “Okay, then, what is it?” Richard leaned in closer to Jesse. His eyes had a familiar gleam. It was the look a prosecutor gets when he knows he has a bombshell to drop on the court.

  “The murder weapon,” Richard said. “We found it yesterday night, wedged in the back of a cupboard in the basement. And it has Louise Yancy's fingerprints all over it.”

  9

  Visitor

  Jesse headed home, reeling from Dick Steals's information. Tomorrow there would be a press conference following the arrest of Louise Yancy. D’Estenne was going to contact her attorney and set up a time and place for her to surrender. He wanted as little fanfare as possible.

  Jesse walked back to his office. A tall woman in a police uniform passed by, talking urgently to a new young prosecutor named Sharon Reed. The young prosecutor looked over at Jesse with a worried expression. Then she smiled like an angel at him, her face taking on new life. Jesse waved as they passed. Sharon said hello; then her face fell back into its worrisome cave. She's adjusted already, Jesse thought. The job divided your emotions. And you learned to switch them on and off at will.

  “Jesse,” said the tall woman, “how are you?”

  “Fine,” said Jesse. He didn't recognize the woman's face.

  “It's me, Nell Parker,” said the woman. “You never could remember my name.”

  Jesse took a closer look. Then he remembered. “Oh, Nell, I was your first,” he said.

  “First?” asked Sharon with more than casual curiosity. “First what?”

  “Jesse was the prosecutor the very first time I testified,” said Nell. “You never forget your first time, right, Jesse?”

  “It was an armed robbery, and the defense counsel tried to say you manufactured evidence,” said Jesse.

  “I was terrified,” said Nell. “But Jesse settled me down. Then we convicted those bastards.”

  “Nell is closing out a case with me before she starts undercover,” said Sharon quickly, trying to get a word in between the two old friends.

  “Congratulations,” said Jesse. “Big move up.”

  “Thanks,” said Nell. “I'm gonna love it.”

  “We'd better get going,” said Sharon. She took a few steps to prove she meant it.

  Nell and Jesse shook hands and said good-bye. Jesse went to his office. He had been planning to do some more work but decided against it.

  He left the building, got in his car, and drove east on Jefferson. The early October night was crisp. This was the best time of year, Jesse thought. Past the muggy summer and just before the cruel Michigan winter.

  Jesse turned into The Harbor, a tower of apartments on the near east side. The building was close enough to the river that one side of it had spectacular views of the waterway. Jesse lived in a one-bedroom unit facing the city, away from the water. It was cheaper if you didn't get the view. But he had no complaints. He was lucky he could make the rent on his salary.

  Jesse parked, then took the elevator up to the tenth floor. He walked toward his apartment, only to find a young black security officer at his door.

  “I'm sorry, Mr. King, but this lady said she was a relative, and she looked sick, so I let her in.”

  “What lady, Renaldo?”

  “She's inside your unit. Please don't report me. I really need this job.” Renaldo looked terrified.

  “It's okay, man, just go.” “Thanks, Mr. King.” Renaldo left. Jesse opened the door to his apartment and entered. He didn't

  see anyone inside. Jesse had a fondness for African art and had bought a lot of it. The apartment had put him in debt, but he had to have a nice place. He'd lived in some of the worst places in Detroit and had vowed never to go back.

  A thin black woman walked out of the kitchen. She was in her late thirties; her clothes were shabby; her hair was unkempt. She looked a mess. She might have been pretty once, but her face had grown haggard and hard. She smiled beneath the dark glasses she wore.

  “Jesse,” said the woman.

  “What do you want, Bernice?” Jesse said flatly.

  Bernice walked over and hugged Jesse. He did not return the embrace.

  “What do you want?” asked Jesse again, pushing her away gently. Instinctively he checked her hands. They looked bloated and shiny.

  “I just dropped by to see my brother, the big-time lawyer,” Bernice said. She fumbled with her purse as she sat on the sofa. Her movements were slow, sluggish.

  “Don't waste my time, Bernice. What do you want?”

  “Damn, you suspicious.” Bernice laughed a little. Her words were slurred, and she hung on them, picking them carefully.

  Bern
ice King was Jesse's older sister. She was a drug addict, a crackhead mostly, although she'd use anything if she had the money. And when she wasn't using, she could have been Jesse's twin. But Bernice was always using. Jesse couldn't bear to see her this way. She reminded him of the life he'd left behind and the way it always reached out to find him.

  Bernice was his only sister. Their brother, Tyrus, had run away from home at sixteen and never returned. Unlike Bernice, Tyrus was strong. He was just not very smart. Tyrus at least had the decency to stay out of Jesse's life. Bernice was not the same.

  “I told you never to come here when you're high,” said Jesse.

  “I ain't on nothing,” Bernice said. She took out a pack of cigarettes.

  “Don't smoke in my house,” Jesse said. “

  Damn, somebody gone die if I have a smoke?”

  “Put the fuck-- Put them away.” Bernice put the cigarettes in her purse. She scratched her arms.

  “I itch, some allergies or something.”

  “Look, Bernice, I don't have a lot of time to waste on you,” Jesse said. “I can tell you're using again.”

  “Why you always think somebody on drugs? That's all you think about.”

  “Your hands are swelled, you can barely make a sentence, and-” Jesse grabbed her glasses from her face.

  Bernice shielded her eyes. “Damn!” she yelled.

  “Drugs always aggravate your eyes.” Jesse handed her back the glasses.

  “Look, I just got outta that county detox thang last week,” said Bernice. “I'm trying to get it together. I just need some money for my kids.” She put the glasses back on.

  “No,” said Jesse angrily.

  “Jesse, your niece and nephew need clothes.” She scratched her neck vigorously.

  “Last time I gave you money, you went right to the dope man with it,” said Jesse harshly.

  “I ain't gonna do that, I swear,” said Bernice. “I get my check next week. Just let me hold a couple dollars until then. My kids is starvin'. “

  “I thought they needed clothes.”