“You took the words right out of my mouth,” said Danny. “So what happened to this group?” asked Danny.
“The Castle was frowned upon as blacks of all skin colors rose to power in the sixties. There’s a story that it got so bad once that Dr. King himself had to issue an order to stop the infighting.”
“These are the same kind of people who have been dying,” Danny pointed out.
Erik and Danny said good-bye, promising to sort it all out tomorrow. Danny went home and called Fiona and was told rather angrily not to bother her, that all would be revealed when she was ready. Fiona didn’t just work a case, she took possession of it and there was no use in arguing with her.
Danny got a beer and turned on some loud, thumping music by Eminem. He thought vaguely about his first day of school at Davison Elementary. He recalled the sea of black faces and the strange looks he got. Looks that asked, “what are you and what are you doing here, here where you don’t belong?” He wondered if Eminem caught a lot of shit for being white and performing rap music.
As the driving beat thundered into his head, he tried to relax and not think about the killer, or Vinny, who had made another clean and graceful exit from their home.
Danny caught sight of a family picture from 1981 on his mantel. He was there with his mother and father. They all looked happy and peaceful in the bright sunshine. Soon, he fell asleep, his mind covered in peaceful darkness. Then he dreamed again of his mother’s awful death. He woke up in fright and never got back to sleep.
20
OASIS
The Bady brothers had broken into the office of the Oasis Halfway House with ease. For a place that dealt with criminals, it didn’t take many precautions against theft.
It was probably some of that honor-system rehabilitation shit, thought Muhammad. The system was full of that kind of silly, human nature crap. He remembered the people who made those kinds of rules, pie-in-the-sky-type assholes who believed if they thought good thoughts they could turn shit into gold.
The brothers had waited for several hours on Eight Mile just west of Gratiot. Muhammad had sat on a bus bench and watched hundreds of people roar by in their cars. He was particularly watchful of families in their big SUVs and dumbass station wagons. But he was not angry or envious. He had his family, too. It was just a different kind of family. They were devoid of lies, hypocrisy, and secrets. Instead they lived on respect, truth, and yes, even love.
When it was dark out, Muhammad and his brothers walked down Eight Mile toward Livernois then onto a side street where the Oasis Halfway House was located. They forced open a window of the place and slipped inside without attracting any attention.
The facility was actually a converted apartment complex. It was a dull gray color and had remnants of what were once colorful borders. Now they were faded memories washed into bleakness by time.
The neighborhood residents had fought against the facility, but had lost. The city needed businesses, any kind of businesses, and so in the end it was commerce that placed the halfway house where it was.
Muhammad rifled through the thick files in an old metal cabinet against the far wall of the front office. He was looking through the B files for his father, to see if he had resided there. This Oasis had to be the place Cameron Cole had talked about.
They had been careful in casing Oasis. It was not too far from the home occupied by the Locke and his men. The word was out on the street that the Locke was looking for the brothers and had offered a generous bounty for any information leading to them. First things first, thought Muhammad. Find their father and kill him. Then they could attend to the man who had tried to kill them.
Rimba went through the office looking for anything portable that could be sold on the street. Akema looked out a window watching for intruders.
“Shit!” said Muhammad. “He ain’t here.” Muhammad tossed a file into the air angrily and slammed his fist into the concrete floor. He was not cut out for this, breaking into houses to look for information. He was a bull, not a private eye. Muhammad took what he needed, but in this there was nothing to take. He had to be smart, to think, and sadly that was not his strength.
Muhammad stood up. His brothers looked at him, waiting for him to speak. Muhammad felt the weight of his brothers’ stares. He was the leader, the big brother, and he had to be strong. His outburst had probably rattled them. If he was not confident, then what chance did Rimba and Akema have?
Suddenly Muhammad’s face brightened. He walked back to the file cabinet and pulled out the last drawer marked EMPLOYEES and opened it up.
“He couldn’t use a made-up name,” said Muhammad. “They woulda got his fingerprints and found out who he really was. So the only way he coulda been here if he wasn’t livin’ here was if his ass was workin’ here.” Muhammad said this almost to himself as he searched the files. Muhammad scanned the contents of the folders until he found what he’d been searching for. Herman Bady had changed his name by the time he got to Michigan.
Muhammad pulled out the photo that had been taken so many years ago. He had indeed changed. His face was fuller and he had hair on his face. But he could not change his eyes. Muhammad grew hot as he looked into those cold eyes in the photo, remembering the death and pain he’d brought into their lives.
“There he is,” said Muhammad. “We gonna take this and study everything in it so we can find out where he went—”
They heard a commotion at the door, the jingling of keys and a light flashing. Before they could react, the door was opened and in stepped a security guard. He was a man of about fifty or so. He held a gun in one hand and a flashlight in the other.
“Don’t move!” yelled the guard. The light in his hand shook as he trained it on the trio before him.
Muhammad looked at Rimba, who stepped in front of the gun without hesitation. Faintly, Rimba’s music could be heard from his stereo.
“You gonna have to kill him,” said Muhammad.
“I will,” said the guard. “Now, all of you put your hands in the air!”
Rimba took a step forward, and the guard cocked the gun. Rimba just looked the man in the eyes, steady, unflinching.
“Something else to kill a man,” said Muhammad. “Especially one who ain’t got no gun.”
“Shut up!” yelled the guard.
“Go on and do it,” said Muhammad. “As soon as you shoot him, I’ll kill you.”
“I said shut up,” the guard hissed. “I want all of you to put your hands up.”
Rimba moved closer. The guard’s flashlight shook even more now. Then the guard took a step back.
At that moment, Rimba leapt at the guard, knocking him down to the floor. Rimba hit the guard in the throat; the man croaked loudly. Akema was then all over the fallen man, grabbing his gun and placing it to the guard’s head.
“Stop,” said Muhammad. He walked over to the threesome. He looked at the guard coldly, then took the gun from Akema. “It takes a lot to kill a man,” he said to the guard.
“Please,” begged the guard. “Take whatever you want, I won’t say anything.”
“We got what we wanted,” said Muhammad.
Muhammad pointed the gun at the man, who had turned into a frightened child. Muhammad had seen that look many times, too many to remember them all. When the guard’s eyes calmed, when he’d accepted that he would die, Muhammad turned to his brothers.
“We’ll make too much noise if we shoot him,” said Muhammad.
Rimba tugged off the guard’s belt, wrapped it around his neck, and pulled it tight. The guard struggled, but Rimba held on fast until the man stopped kicking. Muhammad was not taking any chance that someone would find out what he was up to.
Muhammad pulled out a can of lighter fluid and set fire to all of the files. He couldn’t let anyone know which file he’d taken. He was planning a family reunion and he wanted it to be a surprise.
As the flames rose, Muhammad and his brothers looked at the picture of their father. The firelig
ht bounced eerie light off the glossy photo. Akema and Rimba stared at the visage with awe and anger. Muhammad’s plan was to make their father suffer before killing him. Now that he’d seen his face, he knew in his heart that it would be a very difficult thing to do.
21
FIONA’S TOUCH
Danny, Erik, and Janis got to Fiona early the next morning. They grabbed newspapers at the News and Free Press boxes. Both papers had front-page headlines about the latest killing. Mercifully, the story did not lead in either paper, but it was front-page news, and there was a strong suggestion that there was a link between Olittah Reese and the Bakers.
Danny, Erik, and Janis entered Fiona’s office and found her waiting for them. Jacob was in a corner office poring over a stack of files, muttering to himself. Fiona had given him some kind of shit assignment to keep him out of her hair.
Fiona told the three officers how Olittah Reese, thirty-three, had met her demise. The fact that she’d been in the river made everything a little speculative, but Reese had probably been beaten, bound, and gagged and then shot in the same manner as the Bakers. This time, no chloroform was used.
Danny inquired if there were abrasions on her face as if the killer had lifted the gags as he’d done before. Fiona answered yes to this. The murders were identical, only this time the killer had the river to help cover his tracks.
Olittah Reese had known the Bakers as political allies of the current mayor. If the mayor was somehow a target, it was a mystery to everyone but the killer. More interesting was the fact that Olittah had helped the Bakers with several investor parties for New Nubia.com. Danny felt certain that somewhere in that group was Janis’s so-called serial murderer.
“So, do we have anything we can use?” asked Danny.
“Yes, there is one thing,” said Fiona. “Our deceased had a little prize in her stomach, some male sperm.”
Danny and Erik both reacted, but not with shock. They were happy. Tangible evidence was always appreciated.
“Excellent,” said Janis. “We can definitely use that.”
“Sperm makes us girls excited,” said Fiona. Janis visibly blushed.
“Got a type on it, yet?” asked Erik.
“I sure as hell do,” said Fiona. “Get me a match, and maybe we got your killer.”
“Wait,” said Danny. “Reese was married. It could belong to her husband.”
“One way to find out,” said Erik.
They said a quick good-bye to Fiona, who promised a full report soon.
Danny was thinking that the prize in the deceased, as Fiona called it, could not have been done forcibly. That kind of sex was not the thing that a rapist/killer would engage in. Too dangerous to put it in some woman’s mouth. What it did indicate was that this killing was not as clean as the Bakers, and usually when a killer slipped up you could follow the mistake to a clue. They were on to something, and Danny tried not to be too excited as they drove uptown to Sherwood Forest, a fashionable, upscale black neighborhood in the city.
They entered the spacious home of Thomas Reese, the deceased’s husband. Reese looked like shit. Since his wife had been missing, he hadn’t slept much and was on leave from his job at DaimlerChrysler. However, even stressed out and grieving, Reese was a handsome black man of about forty or so. Olittah had been a beautiful woman, and they had probably made a striking couple, Danny thought.
“Mr. Reese,” said Danny. “I know this is hard for you, but we need your help, sir.”
“Sure, anything,” said Reese. “You guys want a drink, oh shit, right, you can’t. You mind?”
Danny, Erik, and Janis shook their heads as Reese went to the bar and made a drink. He downed it and quickly poured another.
“Olittah was a great woman,” said Reese. “She and I had our shit all together, you know. She was connected downtown with the brothers, and I had the white folks. Oh, no offense, man,” he said to Danny.
“None taken,” said Danny. “Mr. Reese, we have something to ask you, and it’s pretty sensitive. It’s about what your wife did before she died.”
“Well, I really don’t know,” said Reese. “I told the police all I could. I was working late, and when I came home, Olittah was gone.”
“Was it normal for you to work late?” asked Janis.
“I do it sometimes but usually I’m home by nine or so. Why?”
Danny took a moment to let him feel the seriousness of what he was about to ask. “Mr. Reese, did you have sex with your wife the day she disappeared?”
“What?” asked Reese, wide-eyed. “Wha—Why is that—?” His eyes got larger, and a rage filled them. Reese sat down hard in a chair, and even before he said it, Danny knew. It was not his semen they’d found in his wife’s stomach.
“Fuck,” he said. “How could she?” He shook his head and looked at his feet.
“Do you have any idea who it might have been, sir?” Erik asked.
“If I knew, he’d be dead!” yelled Reese.
Suddenly Danny was thinking about Vinny and her new study partner, his body language, and the almost plastic smile on his face. A man may not know the truth, but he always has suspicions of what the truth is. He also thought about how Olittah Reese had flirted with him so openly. Thomas Reese had to know something.
“Mr. Reese, your wife was a nice-looking woman,” said Danny. “I’m sure you noticed men who were more than just friendly with her. A man who you just felt had the wrong intention?”
Reese downed his second drink, then another, and looked up at the ceiling. He lowered his head. “Charles,” he said.
“He got a last name?” asked Erik.
“Eastergoode,” said Reese. “Judge Charles Eastergoode.”
Danny and Erik shared a look of recognition. Danny pulled out his notebook and checked the notes from the Longs’ interview. It was there, Charles Eastergoode, the man who had gossiped about Mr. Baker’s lover. Danny fought the urge to smile at what was their first real lead in the case. Mr. Reese was in pain, and Danny didn’t want him to think he was insensitive.
“Thank you, sir,” said Danny.
“Mr. Reese, a doctor will be here shortly to ask for some blood to compare to the fluids we found in the body,” said Janis.
“Why?” said Reese, fighting his tears. “It wasn’t me, okay? My dead wife was fucking some guy and it wasn’t me.”
“We just have to be sure,” said Janis. “Whoever it was will claim it was you in court.”
“Okay,” said Reese in a low voice that contained his surrender to all the grief in his life.
Danny felt for the man. Not only was his wife dead, she’d been having an affair, and to add insult to injury, he now had to prove it by being stuck with a needle.
Danny, Erik, and Janis left and drove back downtown to Recorder’s Court, the special criminal division of the Circuit Court. They parked their car on St. Antoine along with the other double-parked police vehicles and went inside. They flashed their badges, passed the security station, then took the elevator up to the seventh floor.
Judge Charles Eastergoode was one of those men who had probably always been destined for greatness. He was the son of two black physicians, which in the 1950s was a big-ass deal. He was a track star at Cass Tech High School, a special public magnet school where Detroit’s smartest kids went. Eastergoode attended the University of Michigan undergraduate program, then later the law school.
He worked briefly for Mayor Harris Yancy, becoming one of his rising stars, then he opened a law practice that specialized in civil litigation. He made a ton of money suing insurance companies and corporations. After spreading his wealth around, he got an appointment from then-governor James Blanchard to the Circuit Court bench.
Danny had testified before Eastergoode on a number of occasions. He was smart, arrogant, and didn’t take any shit. He was highly connected, so Danny knew that they had to tread softly with him. Messing around with someone’s wife was not a crime, but Eastergoode might have some other informati
on that would prove useful.
Danny, Erik, and Janis sat in the spacious chambers of the judge while he concluded a case involving an assault. Soon, they heard the commotion of people leaving and a bailiff signaling the end of the session. The door sprang open and the judge walked in, removing a pair of reading glasses. He was medium build, in great shape for a man over fifty, and his hair was turning gray.
Eastergoode was not a handsome man, but had a quality about his face that was not unpleasant. He was rugged-looking and carried himself with confidence.
The judge was followed in by a female bailiff, who had a mean look on her face. She gave Erik, Danny, and Janis a nod, then stood by the door.
Eastergoode removed his robe, put on his suit jacket, and then pulled out a pipe. “What can I do for you boys—and lady?” he added, looking at Janis. He lit the pipe and took a long puff. The sweet smell of the tobacco wafted across the room.
“We have a sensitive matter to discuss, Judge,” said Danny.
“Is it about a case on my docket?” he asked.
“No,” said Erik.
“Then no need to pussyfoot,” said Eastergoode. “Out with it.”
Danny glanced over at the bailiff, who was still watching. Then he looked the judge directly in the eyes, making sure he got his meaning.
“It’s about Olittah Reese,” Danny said.
Eastergoode’s eyes grew ever so slightly wider, then he put down his pipe, and asked the bailiff to leave. When she was gone, he turned back to them.
“Sad thing what happened,” he said. “How can I help?”
“We’ve got a problem, Judge,” Danny began. “I can sit here and ease my way into it, but I don’t think a man like you would appreciate that.”
“I prefer candor,” said Eastergoode.
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