by Joel Goldman
“Who wants to know?”
Rossi showed her his badge. “I’m Detective Rossi and this is Detective Harris. We’d like to ask you a few questions.”
“Whatever it is, I don’t know nuthin’ about it.”
“What if it’s about Gloria Temple?”
“Oh, Lord,” she said, her voice soft and sad.
She slipped the chain off and opened the door. She was the same woman Rossi had spoken to six weeks ago. He put her in her midfifties, medium height, with caramel skin, her face freckled and her black hair streaked with gray and mussed like she’d just gotten out of bed. She was wearing a nightgown that revealed too much, large heavy breasts swaying beneath the fabric, meaty arms, and thick legs. Suddenly aware of how exposed she was, she gathered her nightgown around her.
“Are you Virginia Sprague?”
“Yes, I am. C’mon, now, ’fore my neighbors see me standing here in my nightclothes,” she said, waving them inside. “You got me out of bed. Let me get something on.”
Rossi and Harris followed her into the living room. It was neat, orderly, and clean, the sofa and easy chair protected by plastic slipcovers. An old television sat on a stand in one corner. A painting of a generic landscape scene, the kind you’d find at a starving-artists sale, hung on one wall above a waist-high cabinet.
Virginia disappeared into the bedroom, returning a moment later wearing a robe over her nightgown.
“Did you find her? Is Gloria dead?” she asked, looking at Harris, not Rossi.
Harris and Rossi understood. She preferred to talk to a black man closer to her own age.
“No, ma’am,” Harris said. “But we’re hoping you might help us find her. Do you mind if we sit and visit, maybe in the kitchen?”
She nodded, leading them to a round table in an alcove off the narrow kitchen.
“I’m sorry for the way I look,” she said. “I work nights cleaning offices.”
“That’s all right,” Harris said. “We won’t keep you long. What made you think Gloria might be dead?”
Virginia shook her head, her face lined and weary. “That child come from trouble and she been headin’ for more her whole life. Your partner,” she said, nodding toward Rossi, “come lookin’ for Gloria a while ago. Now y’all are back and that can’t be good.”
“What’s your relationship to her?”
“She’s not my child, if that’s what you’re asking me. I took her in after her mama got kilt and her daddy went to prison. She was fifteen and a handful already.”
“I know how that is,” Harris said. “I understand that Kyrie Chapman was your grandson.”
She lowered her head. “That’s right.”
“I’m sorry for your loss,” Harris said.
“Everybody says so, but it don’t mean nuthin’, don’t change nuthin’. His funeral is tomorrow,” she said, sighing and wiping her eyes.
“What was the relationship between Kyrie and Gloria?”
She shook her head. “Kyrie chased after Gloria like a puppy, but she wasn’t interested in him.”
“How’d Kyrie take that?”
“He’d get real mad, but he wouldn’t give up on her, kept tellin’ me she gonna come around.”
“How mad did Kyrie get?”
“Oh, you know how boys can get. He’d say all kinda foolish things, but then he’d calm down.”
“What kind of foolish things?” Harris asked.
“How Gloria was the only one for him and she didn’t belong with nobody else. But I always tol’ him they ain’t no such thing as an only one, just only one at a time.”
“The last time Gloria was staying here, did she have a boyfriend?”
“That girl always had a boyfriend.”
“Do you know who her last boyfriend was?”
“Naw. She knew better than to bring boys into my house.”
“Ma’am,” Rossi said, “did Gloria ever mention Wilfred Donaire or Dwayne Reed to you?”
Virginia thought for a moment, closing her eyes to concentrate. “I don’t recognize those names.”
“How about Jameer Henderson?” Rossi asked.
Her eyes widened. “Ain’t he the one who got kilt the same night as my Kyrie, him and his family?”
“That’s right. Did Gloria ever mention his name to you?”
“Naw, but that’s a terrible thing what happened to that family. Terrible.”
“Yes, it is,” Harris said. “Ms. Sprague, please don’t take offense at this, but I have to ask you since we can’t find Gloria. Is it possible that Kyrie got so angry at Gloria for always turning him down that he might have harmed her?”
She bit her lip and nodded. “Oh, I hope not.”
“You sound worried about that. How come?”
She let out a sigh. “Last week, Kyrie come by to see me, and he was all worked up about Gloria. He said she tol’ him once and for all, it ain’t never gonna happen between them and to leave her alone.”
“What else did Kyrie say?”
Her eyes filled and her voice broke. “He said he tol’ her if he can’t have her, ain’t no man gonna have her.”
“When was the last time you saw Gloria?”
“Been a while, a few weeks, maybe. She keep a lot of her things here, comes by sometimes to get somethin’.”
“Could we see her room?” Harris asked.
“Long as you don’t blame me for the way it look. That girl don’t take care of nuthin’ but herself.”
She led them down a narrow hall and opened the door to a cramped bedroom, clothes piled on the floor, bed unmade. Rossi stepped over and around the mess, opened the closet door, and stepped back.
“Check this out,” Rossi said to Harris, pointing to the floor of the closet.
“What is it?” Harris asked from the other side of the room.
“An aluminum baseball bat.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
“I can’t believe my trial starts tomorrow,” Alex said.
“That’s why they call it a speedy trial,” Lou Mason said. “Six months from when you were arraigned. Not bad for a murder case. Usually takes longer.”
They were in Mason’s office above a midtown bar called Blues on Broadway, Alex on a sofa, Mason behind his desk. Claire’s office was in an old house she’d rehabbed that was a mile closer to downtown. She’d kicked them out while she finished preparing for jury selection and her opening statement.
A whiteboard hung on one wall, peppered with lists of exhibits and witnesses. The names of prosecution witnesses were in red, and defense witnesses were in blue. Mason had drawn green lines showing connections between various witnesses, jotting notes about their relationships.
“If it took any longer, I’d go crazy. All this sitting around and waiting.”
“It’s too bad Robin Norris wouldn’t let you keep working until the trial.”
“She didn’t have much choice but to suspend me. It’s hard enough to get our clients to trust us, but if they think their lawyer murdered her last client, well, you can forget about it.”
“I hear that.”
Alex studied the list of witnesses. “Have we figured out why Ortiz put Gloria Temple on his list?”
“All we know is that the police put her on Kyrie Chapman’s list of known associates. Ortiz says he doesn’t know where she is or what she will testify to, but he put her on his list in case he finds her.”
“According to Jameer Henderson’s testimony in the Wilfred Donaire trial, Kyrie Chapman told Jameer that a girl gave Dwayne Reed a gold necklace that belonged to Donaire. Dwayne had the necklace when he was arrested. Gloria could have been that girl.”
“If you’re right, what does that have to do with your case?”
Alex ran her fingers through her hair. “I wish I knew. Any chance we’ll find her before Ortiz does?”
“It doesn’t look good. I’ve run every trap I can think of, and I’ve had help from the best.”
“You mean Blues, the guy who owns the bar. He’s
that good?”
“I tell you he’s that good. He’s an ex-homicide cop and he’s done a lot of investigative work for me. If he can’t find her, nobody can.”
“Do you think she’s dead?” Alex asked.
“Smart money says yes.”
“Then she’s one less thing to worry about.” Alex rose and walked to the board, tracing her finger around Bonnie’s name.
“How are things between the two of you?” Mason asked.
She shrugged. “About what you’d expect-awful, horrible, disastrous. Take your pick. And things have only gotten worse since Ortiz subpoenaed her to testify at the trial. We can’t even talk about the case because she’ll have to testify about whatever we say. We don’t know what to say to each other, so we don’t say anything at all.”
“That’s a tough way to live.”
“Tell me about it. Here’s the interesting part. I don’t think she’s mad at me because I killed Dwayne. She put up her IRA as collateral for my bond without saying a word about that because she knows we can’t fucking talk about the fucking case. For all I know she may be glad I killed him after the way he threatened us. And even though we’ve never talked about what happened that day, I’m certain she believes it was self-defense.”
“Why?”
Alex turned toward him. “Because she can’t live with the possibility that I’m a murderer. But I think the thing that’s really festered, especially since we’ve never talked about it, is my gun.”
“What about your gun?”
“I bought it, didn’t tell her, and lied to her about working late when I was at the Bullet Hole shooting range learning how to use it.”
“And that,” Mason said, “is why Ortiz listed the owner of the Bullet Hole as a witness. He’s going to argue that you began planning to murder Dwayne the moment Dwayne made you throw up on the street and that buying the gun was the first step, not telling Bonnie was the second step, and spending nights and weekends at the Bullet Hole was the third.”
“And how is he going to get into evidence what Dwayne told me? I’m the only one, besides you and Claire, who knows about that.”
“The detective, Rossi.”
“I never told Rossi.”
“When Claire deposed Rossi, he said that he thinks Dwayne told you he’d killed Wilfred Donaire because of the way you reacted.”
Alex planted her hands on her hips. “Dwayne didn’t tell me that. I asked him if he killed Donaire. He wouldn’t say, but he threatened me if I ever brought it up again. Scared me shitless. That’s why I puked.”
It was the lie she’d been telling since she first sat down with Claire and Mason to tell them what had led up to Dwayne’s death. She hadn’t intended to lie-at least she couldn’t remember making that decision in advance. But sitting in Claire’s office, listening to her explain the gravity of the charges and the strength of the prosecution’s case, it made sense. Her claim of self-defense depended on proving that she was in immediate fear for her life. And Dwayne had threatened her. It made no difference to her that he’d also confessed, but Patrick Ortiz would use that detail to build his case that she’d turned from public defender to private avenger. Dwayne was the only who could contradict her testimony, and he was permanently unavailable.
Mason looked at her, his face blank. “I know. You’ve told me.”
“So how can Judge West possibly let Rossi’s speculative bullshit into evidence?”
“Because he’s the judge and you’re the one who insisted we stick with him even though he’s the most pro-prosecution judge in the history of mankind. And, in case you hadn’t noticed, he’s ruled against us on every one of our pretrial motions. He’s leaving everything on the table until it comes up at trial. That’s when he’ll decide. In the meantime, we should expect the worst from him.”
Alex couldn’t argue with Mason about Judge West. She had insisted, over both his and Claire’s strong objections, that they not ask for a different judge, telling them that she’d rather take a chance with the devil she knew than the devil she didn’t know, especially since Judge West would choose his replacement. She couldn’t tell them that she had counted on her new special relationship with the judge to outweigh his normal bias, not considering that he’d treat her like any other defendant he decided was guilty.
“At least he’s given us grounds for an appeal if we lose.”
“Is that helping you sleep at night?”
Alex wrapped her arms around her middle. “Not at all. What are my chances?”
“What do you think?”
“I think it comes down to Odyessy Shelburne’s credibility. If Claire can take her apart, I’m in good shape.”
“And if she can’t?”
“Then I’ll have to testify. I’ll tell the jury that I went to Odyessy’s house because I was looking for Dwayne so I could tell him I knew that he’d threatened to rape Bonnie, that she was my girlfriend, and because of that I had to withdraw as his lawyer. He’d threatened me that night outside police headquarters and now he’d threatened Bonnie. So I took my gun. We argued, he drew his gun, and I fired first because I was in fear of my life. If that’s not self-defense, nothing is.”
“You realize that you may have to testify no matter how things go with Odyessy. The jury will want to know your version. No one can tell that story but you.”
Alex studied the board, arms at her sides, fists balled. “I’ll do whatever it takes.”
Chapter Thirty-Four
Alex and Bonnie had breakfast together the next morning, a ritual reserved for weekends and holidays, not Monday mornings. They sipped coffee. It was all they could stomach.
“How long will the trial last?” Bonnie asked.
“Depends on how many witnesses Ortiz calls. He could stretch it into next week if he wants to.”
“Don’t you have a lot of witnesses too?”
“We’ve listed half a dozen, but it will depend on what Ortiz does.”
“Shouldn’t you have more witnesses? Just to balance out the prosecutor’s?”
Alex gave her a small smile. “It’s not like that. No one keeps score. It’s about what the witnesses say, not how many there are.”
“Oh,” Bonnie said, her brow wrinkled with worry.
Alex reached across the table and took her hand. “It’s going to be okay. Claire is a terrific lawyer.”
“You’re a terrific lawyer and you lose most of your cases.”
“That’s because most of my clients are guilty. I’m not. It was self-defense.”
Bonnie covered Alex’s hand and stroked her arm. “I know, but is being innocent enough? I’ve read so many stories about innocent people being convicted and going to jail for years and years before somebody digs up DNA evidence that proves they’re innocent.”
“This isn’t that kind of case.”
Bonnie sighed and leaned back in her chair. “I can’t even be there with you.”
“Witnesses aren’t allowed in the courtroom until they testify. After you’re done, you can stay.”
Bonnie bit her lip, her eyes watering. “This has been the worst six months of our lives.”
Alex got up and walked around the table, pulling Bonnie to her feet and wrapping her arms around her. Quincy wedged his way between them.
“And it will be over soon and everything will be back to normal. I promise.”
Bonnie eased back from their embrace so she could look at Alex.
“I’m going to hold you to that.”
The doorbell rang.
“My ride is here. Lou Mason is my body man until the trial is over.”
Alex opened the door, finding Mason standing between her and a horde of reporters, photographers, and cameramen crowded onto the front lawn. After the initial burst of publicity, the media had left her alone. Now that the trial was about to begin, they were back. Mason threw a protective arm around her waist, using the other to stiff-arm the press, both of them ignoring their shouted questions.
“Al
ex, what’s it like being the defendant?”
“Alex, where’d you learn to shoot?”
“Alex, why did you gun him down?”
“Alex, are you going to make a deal to avoid trial?”
Mason opened the front passenger door and she ducked her head, sliding onto the seat. He joined her, backing the car onto the street and leaving the pack behind.
“My God,” Alex said. “They’re like vultures.”
“Are you kidding? A lawyer kills her client. It’s usually the other way around. This is classic man-bites-dog stuff. No way they can lay off it. I’d have cut off my arm to defend you, but since I lost my law license, I have to settle for being your driver. By the way, that last question about making a deal-Claire can probably still make that happen.”
“No deals. No way.”
“Ortiz’s last offer was voluntary manslaughter with a recommendation of seven years.”
“Even if I were interested, he took it off the table when I turned it down.”
“That’s technically correct, but I know Patrick. I tried a lot of cases against him. He’s a reasonable guy and this isn’t a career case. When it’s over, he goes back to the classroom. It’s worth a shot trying to get it back on the table because it’s a good deal for someone charged with first-degree murder and armed criminal action. You’re facing life on the murder charge and however many hundreds of years West can tack on for armed criminal action.”
Alex swiveled toward him. “In the first place, I’m not guilty of voluntary manslaughter or anything else. In the second place, what happens when I get out? I can’t practice law. My girlfriend will be a distant memory. I’d have nothing.”
“Except for the rest of your life.”
“Is this supposed to be your pregame pep talk?”
“It’s the same conversation you’ve had with your clients. Pretend that I’m the client and you’re my lawyer and the facts are the same and tell me you wouldn’t recommend I take that deal.”
“It’s a lot easier to tell a client to do the time, but it’s a whole hell of a lot different when I’m talking about me.”
“Still, you’re taking a big chance. You like your odds that much?”
