“I assure you, Rup—”
Flame talked over him. “You want me to start, Mort, I’ll start. For turning witness, you drop everything except the murder two. Twenty-five with a minimum of five years—”
Carey screamed. “I’m not going to jail for five years!”
Decker said, “Penitentiary, Malcolm. Not jail.”
Weller said, “Murder one, life—”
“No—”
“With possibility of parole—”
“I’ll take my chances on a jury.” Flame stood.
Weller said, “Rup, be reasonable. How can I deal effectively unless I hear what your client has to say?”
Flame said, “You take a chance here or take a chance with a jury.”
Decker said, “Murder two, twenty-five to life, minimum fifteen years—”
“Seven,” Flame said.
Weller said, “Counselor, he’d get a harsher sentence from the drug charges alone.”
“Not after I finished with the jury.”
Weller said, “Murder two, twenty-five to life, minimum twelve—”
“Seven.”
Decker said, “Now he’s bluffing. Morton, I know I can get the other kids to turn against him—”
Flame interrupted. “Murder two only, twenty-five to life, seven minimum before possibility of parole, no time off for good behavior. Do we have a deal or not?”
Morton and Decker traded glances. The assistant DA nodded.
Carey banged the table. “No way I’m spending seven years in jail!”
Decker said, “Penitentiary.”
“Fuck you!”
“And it may even be longer than seven—”
Flame shot out, “Malcolm, you refuse, they talk to your friend and he takes the deal. Then look at what you have. The same evidence, the same charges against you…except now they have a witness to back up a first-degree murder charge. You want me to go to court with Sean Amos as state’s witness, I’ll take the money. But you’d better believe in miracles, son, because that’s what you’re going to need.”
The room became silent. Flame broke it. “We’ll take the offer.”
This time the teen didn’t argue. All eyes went to him.
“Go on,” Flame said. “The worst is over. You have nothing to lose. Tell them what happened.”
Carey spoke softly…deliberately.
“Sean came up to me one day…said he had a problem. There was this guy…a hype…who was harassing his girlfriend. He wanted the problem taken care of. Could I help him out?”
He scratched his fuzzy chin.
“I asked him what he had in mind. I figured maybe he wanted me to spook him or something like that. But as he kept going, I figured out he wanted something more permanent.”
Weller said, “What did he ask of you specifically?”
“Sean asked me to whack him.” Carey looked up. “I was shocked, man. I wasn’t in the business of murder. I told him he should watch who he talked to, man.”
He stopped, fidgeted.
“Go on,” Decker said.
“Then…then Sean starts asking…‘Well…do you know anyone who’d want to do the pop?’ So I’m like playing along. I ask him…how much? He told me ten grand. Then I asked him how he could produce that much cash.”
“And?” Marge prodded.
“He told me he had this trust fund with over two hundred and fifty grand coming to him in a couple of years. Now, I’m making, on my own, like one to two grand a month. So why would I risk my ass for only ten grand? But there are people out there…ten grand would be a lot of money.”
Marge arched her brows. “Hard to believe, but I suppose that’s true.”
Weller passed her a look, then said, “Then what happened?”
“So then Sean…see, he knows that I know certain people.” A small smile formed on Malcolm’s lips. “He says that if I don’t want to do it, maybe I can ask around. I’m still like playing along…I said sure. Then I forgot about the whole thing.”
A pause.
“Month later…Sean comes back to me, asks…did I find someone to do the job? I say no. ’Cause I never asked about it. I forgot the whole thing—”
“You already said that,” Decker interjected. “Go on.”
The boy seemed riled, took a few moments to find his footing. “Sean got nasty. You wouldn’t believe how pissed he can get. Tell you the truth, he spooked me.”
Right, Decker thought.
Malcolm became animated. “He started getting agitated. Like…really aggressive. Said I gotta help him out.”
He hesitated.
“Now this was where I fucked up. Like Mr. Flame said, I got a big mouth. I talk without thinking sometimes. So I told Sean this. I said, ‘Look! If this guy’s a hype, why are you bothering to pop him? Why don’t you play it natural?’ Sean looked at me, asked me what I had in mind. I told him I don’t have anything in mind personally, but if I was going to do the pop, I might want to just…put him out in a blaze of glory.”
Carey stalled, went on.
“That’s exactly how I said it. In a blaze of glory. Sean…” The teen smiled. “Now he can be a little dense. But I could see his brain working. He stuck out his arm and made an injection into his vein with his finger. Looked at me questioningly. I nodded. So he asked how. I told him, ‘Man, you’ve stuck yourself. How do you think you do it?’”
The boy took a sip of water.
“Sean thought a little bit. Then he told me that the hype was also a drunk. I say, ‘Man, what’s the big deal? It’s a sure thing. You get the key from your bitch, wait until he gets plastered, then stick him where it counts.’”
Malcolm tapped the table with his fingers.
“I could tell Sean liked the idea. But he didn’t have the balls to do it alone. So he asked me to come along as backup.”
Weller raised his eyebrows. “You went?”
“It was something to do.” Malcolm shrugged. “I told him backup will cost. Ten grand. I never thought he’d go for it, but I was wrong. Sean was real serious about this thing—”
“You mean murder?” Decker clarified.
Carey looked away. “Sean told me the ten grand could be arranged. But for that price, I’d have to supply the dragon. He wanted pure scag. I told him it was stupid to use pure scag. Pure anything in a hype’s vein looks suspicious. I told him I’d have to cut it. But I could deliver.”
The teen licked his lips.
“Sean got a key…we waited for the right time. Garrison got drunk almost every weekend. We did a couple of practice runs…to see the layout. And we had to make sure the hype was under big time…sleeping off a real bender. Third time we checked, the guy was out cold. I put the scag in the medicine cabinet while Sean shot him up. I was out of the room when it happened. I never touched the guy.”
Weller said, “Did you get the money, Malcolm?”
“Yeah, he paid me.” The boy’s lips turned upward. “Sucker wouldn’t dare stiff me.”
“Where’s the money now?” Decker asked.
Malcolm sipped water. “Spent it.”
“You went through ten thousand dollars in one month?” Weller said quietly.
A sly smile played upon his lips. “Fine wine and good women cost a bundle. I also bought things.”
“Like what?” Decker asked.
“Coins, stamps…guns. Same kind of shit my dad buys. He’d be real proud.”
“You’re just a chip off the old block,” Marge said in an undertone.
“Detective…” Flame warned.
“S’right,” Carey said. “It’s true. White-collar crime, blue-collar crime, violent crime…it’s all the same. Dad and I are one of a kind. Only difference? I don’t mind getting my hands a little dirty.”
37
Strapp coughed. “Good news. Sean Amos is being held without bail.” He checked his watch, let out a small shiver. “It’s almost three. My head’s about to explode. He’ll keep until the morning. See you here at ei
ght tomorrow. Now go home.”
Decker hesitated. “All right.”
Strapp studied his lieutenant. “Christ, Decker, what is it this time?”
Decker said, “Something was off with Carey.”
“What are you talking about?” Strapp shot back. “I was behind the one-way. Saw and heard the whole thing. What was off?”
A long pause. “Didn’t it sound…rehearsed?”
“No, it didn’t sound rehearsed!. It looked and sounded like a psycho kid getting a thrill out of telling us how bad he was.”
Decker rubbed his eyes. “Maybe it’s fatigue.”
“I think so. Good night, Lieutenant.”
“’Night, Captain.”
Strapp muttered, “By the way…good job.”
“Thanks.” Decker left, feeling very unsatisfied.
A kid who had everything—money, looks, connections—and that still didn’t stop him from screwing up.
What Martinez could have done with any one of those advantages. He smoothed his black mustache, his cheeks still stinging from an early-morning shave. He wanted to look good in front of the captain.
Pulling out his notes, he appraised the situation. Sean Amos in jail blues, head down, lips smashed together. No eye contact with his parents. Mom was a rail-thin bubble blond on his left. Sitting on the right was a big-boned, ultra-good-ole-boy Texas lawyer named Edgar Ray Trit, wearing a three-thousand-dollar Brioni suit and a string tie.
Dad was at the lawyer’s right. Lamar Amos tried to hide his beer gut under a black suit and white shirt, but to no avail. Ruddy complexion, veiny nose, slicked gray hair like a silverback gorilla.
No ten-gallon hat.
With Martinez were Webster and Katherine Villard, a fortyplus, good-looking deputy DA. Black hair, black eyes, serious expression. A no-nonsense woman. Behind the one-way mirror were Strapp, Decker, Marge, and Oliver.
Webster got the ball rolling, made the preliminary statements. Identification of all the parties in the room. Then the current charges against Sean Amos starting with the murder one of David Garrison.
Trit interrupting, his voice booming, “Now, Kate, we’re all friends here. So I’m going to open up the discussion with plain, old-fashioned honesty. I just don’t understand where you got the gumption to take up on this murder one.” He screwed up his face. “Now if you’re relying on the word of that psychopath, Malcolm Carey…if you’re planning to go to court with that, well, you’re going to end up looking like a fool—”
“It’s Katherine,” the deputy DA answered curtly. “Has the bailiff forwarded you a copy of the statement?”
“Not yet.”
The prosecutor opened her briefcase, took out several sheaves of papers. Handed them to him. “Here you go.”
Again, Trit grimaced. “Reckon I could use a good laugh right now.”
“Edgar, we’re standing behind his statement. You want to go to court, we’ll bring him to court on a murder one—”
Sean broke in. “I didn’t kill anyone—”
“Hush up!” Trit snapped as he flipped through the pages, eyes racing over the document.
Katherine said, “I’m sorry you didn’t get the statement sooner. You’ll need time to look it over. We can reconvene at two—”
Sean said, “Malcolm Carey is a fucking liar—”
“Boy, close your mouth—”
“Oh, fuck you—”
An arm reached out and backhanded Sean across his face. Lamar Amos had turned beet red. “You just sit there and shut yo damn mouth and listen to yo lawyah, y’hear?”
Trit stuttered out, “Lamar, I’ll handle—”
“Are you contradictin’ me, Edgar Ray?” Lamar broke in. “I hope not lest y’foget who’s payin’ yo bills.”
Sean held his cheek. Breathing hard, he said, “See what happens when you got a balloon inside your dick.”
Veins bulging, Lamar charged. Mom screamed as Trit and Martinez held Daddy Lamar back, the Texan screaming obscenities until he was purple. The shrieks brought in a posse of backup. After a moment, Lamar stopped rushing, shook loose. He stalked out of the room. Mom’s eyes went to her son, then to the open door. She rose, then raced out.
“Gee. Thanks for the support, Mom.” Sean sighed. “Hasn’t been married to him in ten years and she still licks his boot heels…goddamn bitch!”
Webster said, “‘How sharper than a serpent’s tooth—’”
“Yeah, well, all the better to bite with, my dear,” Sean retorted. “And I know that’s from Shakespeare. I’m not as dumb as you think.”
“Sean, we think you’re very bright—”
“That’s enough.” Trit stood. “We’ll reconvene at two—”
“I’m not going anywhere until this is hashed out. Malcolm Carey is a crazy fucker—”
Webster said, “Then why were you with him on the night David Garrison was murdered—”
“David Garrison wasn’t murdered! He OD’d!”
Martinez said, “Sean, let me tell you so you know what you’re up against. We have witnesses that put you with Malcolm Carey on the night of David Garrison’s death.”
Webster named the date. “First you went with Carey to shoot some pool, then you went back to your house to smoke some dope, then you went over to David Garrison’s house—”
“I’ve never, ever been to David Garrison’s house. If Malcolm told you that, he’s lying!”
“Are you saying you didn’t shoot pool with him?”
“Yes. I mean no. I mean yes, I shot pool, but—”
“And you smoked dope—”
“But—”
Trit said, “Sean—”
“I didn’t kill anyone—”
“Why were you stuffing pictures of Wade Anthony down the toilet?” Webster asked.
Sean broke into a cold sweat. “What are you talking about?”
“When we busted you,” Webster said. “You were flushing pictures of Wade Anthony down the toilet.”
“Along with a daily schedule of Anthony’s activities,” Martinez added.
“I didn’t know what I was doing,” Sean said. “I just panicked—”
“What were you doing with those pictures of Wade Anthony in the first place?” Martinez asked. “Starting a fan club?”
Trit said, “We’re not talking anymore—”
“What does Wade Anthony have to do with this?” Sean said.
Trit said, “He’s a minor. Don’t even try to use any of this.”
The DA broke in. “Edgar, he’s been Miranda’d—”
“He’s a minor—”
“He’s seventeen. Old enough to understand—”
“Wade Anthon—” Amos turned pale. “Oh, my God!”
“What?” Martinez asked.
“Let’s go, Sean,” Trit insisted.
“The asshole set me up!” the boy blurted out. “Again.”
“What asshole are you talking about?” Webster asked.
Sean slapped his cheeks with his palms. “How could I be so stupid!”
“Who set you up?” Martinez asked.
“Malcolm Carey! No wonder he asked me…he was gonna set me up. Just like he did the last time. God, am I stupid—”
Trit said, “If you’re going to talk, at least let me get you immunity.”
“Depends on who he implicates,” Katherine stated.
“Who are you going to implicate, Sean?” Martinez asked.
“Don’t answer that!” Trit said. “I’ll let him talk. But anything he says can’t be entered in court unless we strike a deal—”
“No dice—”
“So you go to trial with Carey as your star witness?” Trit muttered. “Good luck to you.”
Martinez said, “Can we just hear the kid out?”
Katherine said, “No, we can’t just hear the kid out. Unless we deal, the entire statement can’t be entered as evidence.”
“So even if that happened, we’d be no worse off,” Martinez plowed on. “We’
d just go to court with Carey.”
“Good point, Kate,” Trit said.
“Katherine!”
“Deal?” Trit asked.
Katherine threw up her hands.
“I’ll take that as an affirmative response.”
Webster said, “Tell us about David Garrison, Sean.”
“I don’t know anything about David Garrison. That’s what I’m trying to tell you.”
“He’s your girlfriend’s brother, isn’t her?”
Sean became crimson, didn’t answer.
“We’re referring to Jeanine Garrison,” Martinez said. “Don’t insult our intelligence and deny that you know her.”
“Of course I know her. She’s my tennis partner.”
Webster said, “Sean, you’ve been blabbing ’bout her and you to just about everyone in your class.”
“We’re just friends.”
“That’s not what you’ve been telling people.”
The boy was sweating. “Rumors get started. Maybe I went along with them. So what? That doesn’t mean—”
“Sean, listen up,” Martinez said. “You are seventeen, she is twenty-eight. If you two were in on some nasty thing…guess who’s gonna wind up the baddie.”
“We’re not in on anything, let alone something nasty!”
Still the boy continued to sweat.
Webster said, “And you expect us to b’lieve that?”
“Why would I lie?”
“’Cause I reckon you got some kind of misguided notion that by protecting her, you’re being noble. Well, you’re not being noble. You’re just being stupid. Might want to start thinkin’ about savin’ your own skin.”
“He’s not stupid,” Martinez countered. “He loves her.” He turned to the teen. “That’s it, isn’t it? You do love her, don’t you?”
Silence. Sean swiped his eyes. Talked in a hush. “It wasn’t supposed to happen like that. It’s just that…David Garrison…he was really bugging her.”
“Who is her?” Martinez asked. “Jeanine Garrison?”
Sean nodded.
“How was he bugging her?”
“Just asking her for money—all the time. Guy was a hype, shooting up dollars into his veins. Jeanine…like she helped him. But enough was enough, you know. Me? I just wanted to help.”
Faye Kellerman_Decker & Lazarus 10 Page 36
