Color of Justice

by Gary Hardwick

  “Those are his sons?” asked Erik. “They don’t look anything alike.”

  “Jordan’s adopted,” said Inez. “And he’s an exemplary young man. Logan is another story.”

  Danny understood that Logan, the natural son, was the hip-hop kid. The adopted kid was the one in the suit.

  “I’d be exemplary, too,” said Paul, “if my father was loaded like Hamilton.” His tone was very gossipy.

  “Any reason you know of that someone would want the Bakers dead?” asked Danny, trying to get back to business.

  “No,” said Paul quickly.

  “We understand that you had recently had some bad business dealings with the Bakers,” said Erik.

  “Surely, you don’t mean to suggest that we had anything to do with this?” said Mrs. Long.

  “We just need to know the nature of the business in question,” said Danny. He didn’t want to digress.

  “I don’t like this inquiry, Detective,” said Paul. “I’ll refer you to my lawyer.”

  “You’re not under arrest,” said Danny. “And you don’t have to talk to us if you don’t want to. But people will wonder why. I know I would.”

  “We had a fight,” said Paul with a sigh. Mrs. Long was about to say something, but he cut her off with a look. “We met the Bakers at a society function. Inez and I are originally from Atlanta. We moved here because Detroit’s coming back to life, and there are a lot of business opportunities. We hit it off with the Bakers and got into business together on an Internet deal.”

  “What kind of Internet deal?” asked Erik.

  “It was a company called New Nubia.com. It was a Web site that dealt in Afrocentric goods, art, books, everything. It went up a few years ago and posted strong sales. The Bakers got a lot of us in on the ground floor based on sales. We all bought equity in the company and were looking forward to an IPO next year. We were going to sell shares, cash out, and get a thousand times our investment. It looked like we were going to make millions.”

  “But it didn’t turn out that way, did it?” asked Danny.

  “No,” said Paul. “The company’s IPO was less than stellar.”

  “It was a disaster,” added Inez angrily. “We lost a fortune.”

  “Inez,” said Paul in a cautioning tone.

  “There’s no sense in hiding it,” said Inez. “We got taken and they’re going to find out sooner or later.”

  Danny and Erik kept quiet, each knowing to let the argument proceed naturally so they could get more information. When the Longs calmed down, Danny broke in.

  “How much did you lose?” he asked.

  Paul looked embarrassed for a second. It was obvious that he had pushed for the deal. Paul had fear in his eyes. He unconsciously shifted on his feet, looking down for a moment. “A couple of hundred thousand or so,” he said.

  “Four hundred thousand,” corrected Inez.

  Danny and Erik hid their shock at the number. It was lot of money even for people like the Longs.

  “Were you angry about losing that kind of money?” asked Danny.

  “Sure,” said Paul. “Who wouldn’t be? But when you check, you’ll see that there are people who lost a lot more. Millions ran through that company.”

  “So where did the cash go?” asked Erik.

  “We don’t know what they did with it, but it didn’t go into the company,” said Inez.

  “Mr. Baker have any bad habits?” asked Danny. “Gambling, drugs, anything?”

  “No,” said Inez quickly.

  Paul was quiet and looked away from the detectives for a second.

  “Something you wanna say, Mr. Long?” asked Danny, noticing his demeanor.

  “No,” said Paul.

  Danny and Erik caught his evasiveness and wanted to push him, but if they gave him too much time to think about it, he’d dig in and find an avenue around the information he was so obviously hiding.

  “We can ask you to join us downtown, if you like,” said Danny.

  “I told you all I know,” said Paul.

  “Okay,” said Danny. “We’ll tell our boss what you’ve told us and he’ll say ‘go back.’ And we’ll come back here again and again until everyone around you thinks there’s some kinda bad shit going on. So, if you know anything, you’d better tell us, or the investigation will start to focus on you and that could get ugly.”

  Paul looked even more upset now. Danny didn’t know a lot about rich folks, but he was sure that no one liked his friends to think ill of them. And Paul seemed like the twitchy type, the kind of man who’d wear a gas mask on the toilet, so he’d never know that his shit did in fact stink.

  Erik caught Danny’s eye and gave him that look, that partner look that said, “Good job.” Danny smiled a little. Erik’s approval meant a lot to him.

  Paul’s face showed defeat, but he had a smile on his lips. It stayed there for only a second, then it vanished into a flat line.

  “He had a thing on the side,” said Paul.

  “Mr. Baker had a lover?” asked Danny.

  “I wouldn’t call it that,” said Paul. “She was a whore.” He said the word with more than a trace of disgust.

  “Do you know her name?” Erik asked.

  “Most certainly not,” said Mrs. Long.

  “Xena,” said Paul without hesitation. This got him a look of shock, then pure evil from his wife.

  “Like the TV show,” said Danny.

  “TV show?” asked Paul.

  “Never mind,” Danny said as Erik chuckled softly behind him. “Was she a call girl from a service?”

  “No,” said Paul with a sly smile. “She was some girl he found on the street. Imagine that.” Paul straightened his back a bit, enjoying his gossip.

  “And just how do you know John’s whore?” asked Mrs. Long. She had turned her body toward Paul and raised her hands to her hips.

  “Inez, it was male talk,” said Paul.

  “John told you the name of his hooker girlfriend? Some street tramp? I don’t think so.”

  “He didn’t tell me. Charles Eastergoode told me, and I don’t know how he found out.”

  “Judge Eastergoode?” asked Erik, recognizing the name.

  Before Paul could answer, his wife was in his face. “And you never shared that with me? Why?” Inez raised an accusing finger in his direction.

  “Yes, it was the judge,” said Paul, then he looked back at his wife.

  The couple was headed for a nasty argument, and as much as Danny and Erik wanted to watch it, they had to get back to the job. They had business with the forensic lab.

  “Thanks for the information,” said Danny. The Longs stopped arguing and looked at the detectives as if they had just walked up.

  The couple turned back into congenial hosts and quickly had Carlos escort Danny and Erik out of paradise and to their car. They drove out of the private road, leaving the mansion behind.

  “So, what do you think?” asked Erik.

  “I think I need to play the lotto tonight,” said Danny. “This company, the New Nubia, had to have records. We get them, and I say we got us a list of suspects.”

  “Yeah, if I lost that kinda cash, I might have killed their asses, too.”

  “Or paid someone to do it,” Danny added.

  “Right,” said Erik. “These kinda folks don’t get their hands dirty.”

  Danny glanced out at the Detroit River rushing by them as they headed back into the city. Soon the river would disappear and only the urban sprawl would be in their view.

  “Man, a lot of times I wonder what it feels like to be rich,” said Erik. “You know, you see some shit, you want it, you just buy it and not once even think of how much it cost. Me, I buy a Tic Tac, and I automatically deduct from my retirement.”

  “It’s probably not a lot different from being poor.”

  “Bull—shit,” said Erik, taking a pause between the words. “You been watching too much TV where they want you to think rich folks are all sad and fucked up, cryin
g and shit. ‘Poor me I got so much money and it’s killin’ me,’” he mimicked crying. “In real life, they’re happy, drunk, fuckin’, and laughing at your poor ass.”

  Danny laughed at Erik’s assessment. He had a way of reducing things to their common denominators that was amazingly fast and always right. In his head, Danny saw the Longs laughing, screwing, and drinking from large bottles of liquor.

  Just as quickly, Erik was back to business. “Those people, the Longs,” he said. “They suspect something, but I don’t think they even know what it is.”

  “Yeah, I got that,” said Danny. “But it could be they’re just two scared-ass people. I’m sure this kind of thing don’t happen a lot in their lives. I just wonder what kind of person did it.”

  “What kind?” Erik sounded curious.

  “Well, the Bakers had money, so let’s say someone hired a man to kill them. Your average killer for hire comes in two basic types. The lowlife muthafucka who’ll whack you over the head for a high, and the pro who’ll cap your ass with a silenced pistol, then make it look like a burglary. Our murderer was neither. He was angry, but he was also clean and planned out. Maybe he’s crazy, but he’s not a fool.”

  “And what about this alleged ho Mr. Baker was seeing?” asked Erik.

  “Shouldn’t be hard to find her, although the name Xena is obviously fake. All the girls use them.”

  “You seem to know a lot of hos, my brother,” said Erik with a smile.

  “I know a few, professional and not.” Danny laughed.

  “I got a boy in Vice,” said Erik. “I’ll get him on it. Shoot, he knows every hooker from here to Argentina.”

  They drove out of Grosse Pointe back into Detroit via Jefferson Avenue. As the brightness of the suburb gave way to Detroit, Danny could feel the hardness of the city slowly creep back into him, filling him up.

  9

  TRIPLE THREAT

  Fiona sipped coffee from an enormous mug while she stood over the Bakers’ dead bodies. Forensic science was fascinating, but it was complicated. Danny had learned that to think like a forensic cop, you had to think of a world you could not see, a place where every molecule told a story. He didn’t know what the hell that meant exactly, but he knew Fiona was good at her job and he trusted her.

  Fiona’s lab was one of those white, sterile rooms where you had to wear latex gloves and paper on your shoes. It was cold as hell, and Danny got a chill every time he came here. The place was creepy, filled with bloody solutions and dead bodies. Not the kind of place for a street cop.

  And what was worse, the room reminded Danny that his mother’s body had been in one of these rooms not long ago, on a slab being examined by a doctor. He’d tried to stop the procedure, but it was routine in such cases. It was ruled death by accident.

  “Well, I thought this was going to be some boring shit, but I was wrong,” said Fiona as she put down her mug and grabbed a clipboard. “Our boy is a sadistic bastard and very smart.”

  Danny looked at Fiona with her all-white skin, wearing a white lab coat against the white walls of the room. If he blinked hard enough, he’d lose her in the whiteness.

  “Give me the sadistic part first,” said Danny.

  “He knocked them out with chloroform. Since the wounds show that the victims moved, the asshole waited for them to wake up. Then he shot them with a .22. Only like a million of those in the city, right? And we got slugs, but they’ve been doctored. Check this shit out.”

  Fiona grabbed a pan. About seven lead slugs rolled inside. She put one under a projector and an image jumped onto a screen.

  “What in the fuck is that?” asked Erik.

  “That’s what killed your victims,” said Fiona.

  “That ain’t no ordinary bullet,” said Danny. “It looks like a jagged rock.”

  The picture on the screen showed a dark shape with peaks and valleys cut into it.

  “Yes,” said Fiona. “Our killer filed the tips of the little bullets, so they would be sharp and jagged after they fired. That way, after the bullet entered the body, it would hurt you three times. Once when it went in, again as it tore through tissue and organs, then the third time when you moved—it would move and do even more damage.”

  Fiona took another swig of coffee and Danny wondered how long it had taken her to be able to consume food around dead people. She put down her mug, and Danny noticed the faded picture of a ballerina on it. He remembered that Fiona had trained as a dancer in her younger days.

  “The male victim was shot four times—in the heart, liver, and spleen areas,” she continued. “Our killer knew that these areas would do the most damage. The body filled up with bile, blood, and other fluids and he drowned in them.”

  “But it would take time, right?” asked Danny. “How much time?”

  “Depends on the person, the shot, and other factors,” said Fiona. “I’d guess it took them a half hour or so before they were pretty much goners. Now, the woman was shot in the same manner, but one of the slugs is still in her. It impacted some bone.”

  “Okay, so what else did our boy leave at the crime scene?” asked Danny.

  “Not much,” said Fiona. “We found some fibers that didn’t match anything in the bedroom, but they are so common, they could belong to anyone. We found powder residue used in the making of surgical gloves, so we know why there were no fingerprints at the scene.”

  “Hair, skin, blood?” asked Danny. Even he could hear the desperation in his voice.

  “Nada,” said Fiona. “That’s the smart part. Our boy is no dummy. He knows enough about forensics that he was not going to get sloppy.” Fiona smiled at them. “Fellas, you got yourself a goddamned dilly of a murderer.”

  “How many sweeps did you do of the house?” asked Erik.

  “Two,” said Fiona.

  “Do another one,” said Erik.

  “Okay, but we won’t find anything,” Fiona said. “I’ve seen a lot of sick bastards in this town, and I’m telling you, this guy’s gonna be on my top ten. You know, these stiffs, the Bakers, had one helluva bad week. We found dog hairs in the house, but no dog, right? Turns out their dog died.”

  “How?” asked Danny.

  “I know what you thinking,” said Fiona. “It wasn’t shot. We found the records from a vet. The mutt died of old age.”

  Fiona finished up her report then Danny and Erik left. Danny felt his body warm as soon as he stepped into the hallway. Erik looked pissed about something. He walked along, his steps falling a little harder than normal.

  “What’s up?” asked Danny.

  “I had some downtime coming,” he said. “But now it’s not gonna happen.”

  “Probably not. The boss will want us on this full time.”

  “Marsha and me were going to Mackinaw. Boating, fishing, fucking. I had it all planned,” said Erik.

  “If it’s that important, we can ask Jim to let you off,” said Danny.

  “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Solve this case by yourself and get a promotion?”

  “Did I say that?”

  “No, but you were thinking it,” said Erik. “I know you.”

  “Then you know I was just trying to be nice. I don’t want your ass to go anywhere while this guy’s out there. There ain’t nobody in the squad who can cover my back the way I work.”

  They walked out of the forensic area not saying another word. Danny was sure that Erik was thinking about how he was going to tell his wife that she’d be stuck in Detroit for the rest of the spring. Danny was thinking that if the killer had a plan, it was mysterious and so elaborate that he’d invented a unique and terrible new way to kill.

  10

  THE LOCKE

  The Locke watched the abandoned house as the last of the men went inside. He was one street over looking through the vacant lot. The weeds had grown big, so he had to look over them to see, but there was no doubt that these were the men he wanted.

  They had no idea what Detroit was about or they would ha
ve left town right after they’d robbed his store. Perhaps they were as crazy as he’d heard. His street sources told him that the three brothers were from out of town, from the South somewhere. When he was done today, they’d wish they had stayed there.

  The Locke, as he was called, waited until the men had been inside the little dilapidated home for a few minutes; let them settle in. When he was sure it was time, he signaled his men to get ready.

  In the back of the SUV, Dapp, a muscular black who sported a gold stud in the side of his flat nose, and Grease, a kid with a bald head and a Tigers cap pulled down tightly over his brow, took out their guns and checked them.

  Desandias Locke was that rarest of criminals, the successful one. When he was just a kid, the Locke was double promoted in grade school, after his distraction in class was found not to be a learning disorder, but boredom. He had dazzled the teachers with his mastery of math and science and his remarkable memory. In junior high, he had skipped another grade as he exceeded his teachers’ already high expectations. He’d graduated from Northern High School at fifteen.

  He should have gone on to college then some good job somewhere, escaping the nightmare of the ghetto. But the long arm of the hood was longer than anyone knew. The Locke’s parents were both alcoholics. Codependent and hopeless, they took little interest in their brilliant boy and so when the Locke started running numbers for a man named HiLo, all they cared about was how much money the boy was going to make.

  The Locke took the job and excelled. He “kept book” as they called it, for HiLo, mentally marking all monies owed and owing. HiLo loved this because there were no written records to use against him if the cops caught on. But the Locke was more than just this one useful function. He thought up new ways to make money for his boss. The Locke invented a game that was tied to the sum of all the points scored by Detroit’s professional teams in one day, another was a card game that traveled in a small mobile camper. He was so good that when HiLo was killed by his girlfriend the Locke took over the game at the ripe old age of eighteen without so much as a ripple in the transition.