Double Dead

by Gary Hardwick

  “Sounds like a reelection speech to me,” said a female reporter.

  It was Carol Salinsky, star TV reporter. After a series of exclusives on a serial killer case she'd been crowned queen of the local news circuit. CNN and all four major networks were interested in her. Though her departure was imminent, she was still on the job as tenaciously as before.

  “I don't care what it sounds like, Carol,” D’Estenne said. “It's the truth and it's the way this case will proceed.” D’Estenne motioned Jesse and Dick Steals over. “This is our litigation team. Jesse King and Richard Steel. They will be co-chairing the matter and will report directly to me.”

  The questions started to fly again.

  “Will the case be televised?”

  “Why don't you prosecute it yourself?”

  “Will you seek a racially balanced jury?”

  “Who is the judge going to be?”

  D’Estenne spoke over the crowd. “I will not make this a media case. We've all seen the folly of that. I think we're a little more sophisticated in Detroit. I will not use TV to try this case.”

  “That is such bull,” said Salinsky. She was probably the only reporter who could use those words and get away with it. “You can't just arrest the first lady of Detroit and say no comment. You're using this case to run for reelection against Xavier Peterson. The people have a right to know-everything.”

  “You'll all get a copy of our statement,” said D’Estenne. “Our office will keep the press updated as the case proceeds in the normal course of business.” His words had anger and power behind them.

  D’Estenne left the podium amid more yelling and questions. The reporters accosted Jesse and Dick Steals, but they followed their boss without uttering a word.

  D’Estenne, Jesse, and Dick Steals were ushered by a uniformed officer to the crosswalk connecting the City-County Building to Millender Center. From there they went to their car, then back to Frank Murphy.

  D’Estenne didn't talk in the car. He only liked to talk around his lawyers, and the driver's presence precluded that. They got to Frank Murphy and went inside. On the elevator D'Estenne adjusted his tie and hit a button hard with his fist.

  “I hate that... woman.” He stopped short of calling Salinsky a bitch. “I will not have this case become a circus and blow up in my face.”

  “We don't have to worry about her, sir,” said Dick Steals. “Our case is strong. It will speak for itself.”

  The elevator was silent. Then, against his better judgment, Jesse spoke.

  “She has a point, sir.”

  There was a silence that felt longer than it really was. Then D’Estenne spoke.

  “How so?”

  “Well, sir,” Jesse said, “the case is volatile and no matter what we do, it will be a major bone of contention with Xavier Peterson. If you conduct a lot of media interviews, Peterson will criticize them, nitpicking your choices. If you say nothing, then he gets to set the agenda for how the case should be tried. And you know the media will ask him. But at least if you speak, you get to have your opinions heard.”

  D’Estenne took a deep breath. He looked up into the dim, fluorescent lights of the elevator, as if looking to God.

  “Dammit, you're right, Jesse. I'll call Stan Cramer and ask him if I can have a special segment on the news tonight. And I'll request Salinsky as my interviewer before she butchers me.”

  The elevator stopped, and D'Estenne got off. He walked hurriedly toward his office, but stopped short.

  “Good thinking, Jesse,” said D’Estenne. “You two get over to 1300. I'll be in touch.”

  Jesse pushed a button on the elevator, and the doors closed. “I've never seen him like this,” Jesse said.

  “He's just worried about the election. It'll blow over,” Dick Steals said. He had an irritated look on his face. Jesse had upstaged him with the boss, and he didn't like it.

  “I'm surprised at your advice. I thought Peterson was your man.”

  “He's my friend,” said Jesse. “But I don't work for him.”

  “You gonna back him in the election?”

  “I'm gonna stay out of it, like any smart lawyer would,” said Jesse.

  “Well, if Peterson does win,” said Dick Steals, “I'll resign. I won't work for him.”

  “Why not? He's a good man,” said Jesse.

  “But he's just not my kind of man,” said Dick Steals, “and it has nothing to do with him being black.”

  “I didn't say that,” said Jesse.

  “But you were thinking it.”

  “Okay, maybe I was, but it still shouldn't matter to you.” “Peterson doesn't have any experience,” said Dick Steals.

  “When D’Estenne was elected, he didn't have much experience either,” said Jesse. “In fact--”

  “I think you should seriously check out your loyalties, Jesse,” Richard interrupted. He had a stern, almost paternal look on his face. “D’Estenne picked you for this case even though he knows you might back Peterson in the election. That's the kind of man he is. He made us both, Jesse. We are both hot young lawyers because of him. He has my allegiance. What about you?”

  “My loyalties are with the people,” said Jesse. “I want the best man to win, and the voters will decide that. “

  “That's bullshit, Jesse, and you know it,” said Dick Steals. “This is political, and racial, like everything else in Detroit. Look, Jesse, I know D’Estenne comes off like a silver-haired grandfather, but you fuck him and God help you.”

  Jesse didn't respond. He was tired of the conversation. He forgot the first rule of working for a politician: Never become political. Still, he couldn't tell if Dick Steals's statement was a threat or a warning.

  The elevator stopped on the ground floor. The reporters were everywhere. Jesse and Richard slipped out a back entrance where the prisoners were taken out. They walked over to 1300 to question their suspect in the case of their careers.

  11

  Fast Friends

  The drug house on Bristol Street bustled with activity. LoLo stood behind the long table and watched as the transactions were made through a side window of the house. Money was pushed through a slot in the front; then drugs were picked up at a side window. Drugs out, money in, simple and smooth.

  Business was good, even after the mess the men had made of the trade. Some fools had tried to reinvent crack but had only managed to poison people and cause their own deaths in the process.

  So now the women had finally gotten some play. And it wasn't easy. Even in the drug game men didn't play fair. LoLo's suppliers charged her more, and if a cop shook her down, it was almost double to get rid of his ass. This was the telling tale of life: Even in crime women were not equals.

  A young boy ran into the house and went straight to LoLo. LoLo listened intently as he whispered into her ear. Her face turned into a frown. She nodded, then sent the boy away. LoLo ignored the stares of the rollers as she walked into the kitchen.

  The room was hot and crowded. The oven as well as several microwaves was baking crack. Six women of various ages made the stuff, working like bees in a hive. They moved as LoLo entered, parting like dutiful servants.

  This was her family, LoLo thought. She had never known her own family. Her mother and father both had died when she was five. They overdosed on speedballs while LoLo slept in the next room. With no family left, she went into the system, bouncing from one foster family to another. Always an intruder in someone else's family, longing for her own.

  She started out hanging with male rollers, first as one of the many women they kept. But she grew tired of having sex with them and taking their money as payment for it. She became a roller for a dealer named Breeze, a leftover from the old Union. Breeze was a smart dealer, but he stayed high. Eventually the cops got him on possession, and he got life under the three strikes law.

  LoLo continued as an independent and soon put together her own crew. She recruited young girls like herself, outcasts, lost and in need of family s
trength. Life in a crew provided much of what a family did: friendship, safety, even love if you believed in that.

  “Earl's foot got infected,” said LoLo grimly. “He was lying in a vacant lot all day. He died.”

  Yolanda sat on an old chair and ate McDonald's. Sheri pushed her food away at the news.

  “I'm gonna kill that fuckin' Cane!” Sheri yelled. She slammed her chair into a wall. Earl was Sheri's sometime boyfriend. Sheri was a possessive woman who didn't like anyone tampering with her possessions.

  “Chill out, girl,” said LoLo calmly. “We'll get Cane, but not now.”

  “Fuck that,” said Sheri. “I want his ass.”

  Yolanda finished her meal and leaned her big frame back in the chair.

  “Cane ain't nobody to fuck with by yo'self,” she said. Her voice was surprisingly soft. Yolanda didn't talk much, but when she did, she usually had something important to say.

  “You damned right he ain't,” said LoLo. “The hospital said Earl's foot was chewed up by some kinda animal.” She waved a hand in disgust. “Cane. That nigga is crazy.”

  Sheri pulled a gun. “I'm crazy too. Look, we want to move on him anyway, right? Now we got a reason.”

  “A reason?” said LoLo. “Just 'cause you was fuckin' Earl and set him up to knock off Cane's house. That don't give me a reason to start a war with Cane.”

  “But he was my man,” said Sheri.

  “Fuck men,” said LoLo. “They don't mean shit in this crew. You knew that when you joined up. You get the dick; then you get gone.” Some of the workers chuckled quietly.

  “Don't nobody fuck with my man,” said Sheri. “I'm gonna pop Cane. And I don't need your damn help to do it!”

  LoLo's face tightened. She walked over to Sheri and stopped in front of her. Reaching back, she unfastened her ponytail and put it in her pocket.

  “Don't want my hair gettin' dirty.” She moved close to Sheri. “You running the crew now?”

  “LoLo ... I didn't say that,” said Sheri.

  Sheri still had the gun in her hand. LoLo had no weapon. The workers in the kitchen all stopped, sensing danger. A small girl backed toward the door as LoLo passed her. LoLo stopped in front of Sheri, her head tilted slightly, looking up at the taller woman.

  “You got the gun, you defying me in front of my people, you must be in charge.” LoLo stared at Sheri. “I don't mean shit to you, I guess.”

  “LoLo, you know it ain't like that,” said Sheri. “I just want to--”

  “I'm just the one who got you away from that nigga that was pimping you. He had you sellin' ass to his so-called business friends.”

  “I'm not trying to run the crew,” Sheri said awkwardly. “I just--”

  LoLo pulled Sheri's gun to her own forehead. “Go on, you a hard-ass bitch. It only takes a second to promote yourself around here.”

  LoLo could hear the feet of the workers scurry out of the way, getting out of the line of fire. Somebody cursed. Yolanda stood but did not pull her weapon. LoLo didn't take her eyes off Sheri.

  Sheri didn't move for a moment. Her hand trembled on the gun.

  Then she pulled the gun down.

  LoLo snatched the gun, then clamped her hand on Sheri's face and shoved her backward into a corner. Sheri fell, knocking over a garbage pail. She started to get up, but LoLo was coming at her, with the gun out in front.

  Sheri didn't move as LoLo got to her, then knelt, bringing her face close to Sheri's.

  “I would have pulled the trigger,” said LoLo. “That's why I'm running this crew. Now, I don't wanna hear no more shit outta you.”

  LoLo stood and stepped back. Then she reached out and helped Sheri to her feet.

  “You know I don't like to fight with my people,” she said in a soft, almost motherly voice. She gave Sheri the gun back and walked out of the kitchen. Yolanda followed.

  Sheri looked around the room. The workers were back into it, trying not to look at Sheri. Sheri started to leave, then stopped. She looked at LoLo and Yolanda in the other room, then sat back down at the table in the kitchen.

  “What we gone do about her?” Yolanda asked.

  “Nothing,” said LoLo. “She's still a good roller. She's just young. All she needs is some training.”

  Yolanda was silent, but LoLo could read her thoughts. Yolanda had never warmed to Sheri and thought her a liability waiting to happen. Maybe she was right. But LoLo didn't want to jump the gun. Good rollers, especially women, were hard to find.

  The young boy who'd brought the news about Earl walked in the door and came over to LoLo.

  “Some woman outside to see you. She got a big-ass suitcase.”

  “What's in it, Little Jack?” asked LoLo.

  “Don't know,” said Little Jack.

  “Send her ass away,” said LoLo.

  “Cool,” said Little Jack. “She don't even know who you are. Said she wanted to see the Fast Girls. I told her it was Nasty Girls--”

  LoLo yanked the boy closer. “She said Fast Girls?” asked LoLo. Her voice was full of energy.

  “Yeah,” the boy said, startled. “I told her she was wrong.”

  LoLo and Yolanda went to the door and flung it open. On the front porch stood Ramona, dressed like a cheap hooker and holding a metal briefcase.

  “So, y'all got any food up in here?” Ramona said, smiling.

  “Girl!” LoLo hugged Ramona.

  Yolanda smiled and did the same. The three Fast Girls went back into the house. The people inside didn't stop doing business as they hugged and kissed one another.

  “I can't believe it's you,” said LoLo. “I thought you was in the big time now.”

  “So did I,” said Ramona. She took a moment to look around.

  “Quite a thing you got going here. Took me some time to track you down.”

  “Pays the rent,” said LoLo.

  “How you doing, Yolanda?” asked Ramona. “Wait, don't say nothing. I want it to be just like old times.”

  “Where you get this ho outfit?” Yolanda asked.

  LoLo and Ramona laughed loudly. Ramona put the black brief case on the floor. Her smile faded. “I'm in trouble.”

  “Figured that,” said LoLo. “Well, you know you can hang with us. So, what is it?”

  “How about that food first?” said Ramona. “I'm starving.”

  LoLo called Little Jack over and sent him out to get food. LoLo, Ramona, and Yolanda went back on the porch and laughed, joked, and talked loudly about old times.

  In the kitchen Sheri watched the trio celebrate. Her eyes were hard, unblinking. She clicked on her gun's safety and put it into her waistband.

  12

  Compelling Evidence

  As Jesse walked into the interrogation room at BOO, apprehension overtook him. He'd pored over the case file three times and could think of at least ten areas where the prosecution's case was weak. He would have to work hard to plug the holes.

  Jesse entered the stuffy room and stopped short. At the big table was Louise Yancy, looking firm and resilient. On her right was Ira Hoffman, one of the three top criminal lawyers in Detroit. Several detectives and members of the Police Commission were also in the room behind them. Jesse had expected these faces. What threw him was his former fiancée, Karen Bell, sitting with them.

  Jesse and Dick Steals went to the table and introduced themselves. The bureaucrats made silly statements about fairness and justice, just enough to cover their asses; then they left.

  “Jesse,” Karen said. Her voice was soft and just ever so husky from her smoking days. She seemed amused at Jesse's shock.

  Jesse said something cordial, but his mind was already traveling back through his affair with Karen. The wild sex in offices, cars, and other semi-public places, her divorce from her husband, their engagement (more out of guilt than love), and their nasty breakup, which she had initiated.

  Karen looked great. She had a beautiful face. Her skin was the color of cinnamon, and her hair was jet black. Her eyes were hazel,
and she had a tiny black mole on the corner of her mouth.

  But Karen's body was her best feature, full and sensuous from her days as a dancer. Jesse remembered how she'd caused a fender bender on Jefferson Avenue by wearing a short skirt.

  Seeing Karen brought back both fond and bitter memories. She was a powerful woman, savvy, independent, and viciously intelligent. They had been doomed from the start. In the end Jesse had been no more a match for Karen than her husband had been.

  Karen was also a brilliant lawyer, and Jesse didn't know what was worse: the pain of their past relationship or facing her as an adversary.

  “We want to thank you for not incarcerating our client,” said Ira Hoffman. He was a small man with quick mannerisms. He had a full head of silver and black hair and was still, for sixty-five, very handsome.

  “No problem,” said Jesse. “It benefits us both.”

  “We can make this an easy meeting, Ira,” said Dick Steals.

  “You've heard what we have in proof. I think you should make us an offer.”

  “No,” said Karen.

  “Hold on, Karen,” Ira said. Then he turned to Jesse and Dick Steals. “I want you to know that I am advisory counsel on this case. Ms. Bell here is the lead counsel. Direct your statements to her.”

  Dick Steals seemed in shock. Jesse couldn't help but smile a little. Karen was insulted that they assumed Ira was the lead. And if he knew her, she would now be even more nasty.

  “I'm sorry, Karen,” said Dick Steals.

  “It's okay,” said Karen. “I know what you're going to say, and the answer is no. We won't deal. My client is innocent.”

  “Karen,” said Jesse, “you have to admit our evidence is compelling. We have a murder weapon with her fingerprints on it.”