Besides her own selfish motives, placing the blame of the horrific crime on Clay would make her a fraud. In reality, she’d gotten down on her knees the night prior asking God to remove the threat-filled corrupt preacher from her life. Truth be told, she was glad he was dead and gone and wanted nothing more than to reward Clay for the act. As she drove off in search of a few rocks of crack to get her out the gate, Lynn Banks looked back over at the police station and said a silent prayer Clay would beat the case and most importantly, no one else out there that day could identify her.
The Silah Family
Mr. Silah was fuming as he stepped foot off the elevator. With his offspring trailing close behind, he shook his head in defiance. Visibly upset with the system, the devout Muslim loudly let each officer that was on front-desk duty know just that. He felt slighted. He felt as if the detectives obviously had no real leads and were grasping at straws. It was bad enough the police had the nerve to send a squad car with flashing lights to his home as if his children had committed the crime themselves. They’d endangered his family, possibly having them labeled as snitches in the drug-infested neighborhood. Now, here they had added insult to injury. Now the “slimeball” as he referred to them detectives, had grilled his children repeatedly about what they’d seen the day the so-called Christian man of the cloth was killed. Mr. Silah knew his children. He trusted his children. He believed in his children. And most importantly, the father knew that his children would not lie to him or in the name of Allah.
Voicing his opinion, he let it be known he resented the implication from the officers that his teenage son, Abdul, and his baby girl would deceive them when it came to an act as serious as murder. The strict Muslim father practically dragged Fatima by her small arm as he marched the children toward the family car. Ignoring the stares and judgmental whispers of how they were dressed, he vowed to file several complaints. “They can’t treat us like this. It’s because we are black and because we follow Islam. Well, I’m gonna have justice served against them one day soon. This is not over by a long shot.” As he drove off into traffic, he glanced back over his shoulder at both children. Seeing them stare out the rear window, he could only wonder what was truly on both their minds.
Once home, Abdul and Fatima were asked to go to their rooms so their parents could discuss what had taken place at the police department. Making sure the door was closed, the two children could finally exhale and let their guard down.
“Big brother, I was scared. I almost told them the truth.”
“Don’t worry. You did good, Fatima. I was proud of you, okay? They believed us, and Daddy believed us too.”
“Yeah, I know, but we swore in front of the Quran. We lied, and now we gonna burn in hellfire later.”
“No, we are not. Dad always just tells us that to try to scare us. Allah knows our true heart and knows why we had to stay silent. That man Reverend Richards was bad and evil. And Clay always helped us when we needed it. We had to try to help him too.”
“Abdul, I know, he always helps us. But who is going to help us now if he’s in jail?”
“That’s what I’m talking about. That’s why we had to keep our mouths shut. If we would have said something, we would have been helping get him in trouble even more. And we couldn’t do that to our friend. Now, you understand that, don’t you?”
“Yes,” she simply replied.
“Then let’s just pray for Clay’s freedom and ourselves to stay strong.”
Trinity Walker
Trinity tightly held the gold chain with a diamond-encrusted cross, the one that once belonged to Reverend Bernard Richards before his untimely demise. When Clay snatched if off the crooked preacher’s neck and allowed it to drop to the ground, she snatched it up. Quickly realizing Clay’s fingerprints were on the expensive piece of jewelry, Trinity didn’t want it to fall into the wrong hands. She knew the shade was real on the block. She had felt it when Rhonda and her friends attacked her and no one stepped up in her defense except for Clay. And she also felt it when she and her kids were in line at the church waiting for a free food box. So, of course, it was safe to assume there were more than a few people standing out in the streets with her that day who were self-righteous. Trinity definitely didn’t know if their intentions were pure as far as Clay was concerned, so she did what had to be done. And the young mother of two knew the chances of them doing what she had done earlier were slim to none.
Standing tall when the detective came knocking at her front door, she knew what had to be done. Clay had come to her rescue on more than a few occasions, so it was the least she could do to return the favor. Although there were plenty of witnesses to the brazen murder Clay had committed, Trinity wasn’t going to be the one weak link. There was no way in hell she would go down in long-term memory hood history as a rat or snitch. Besides, in her heart of hearts, she wished she had the balls to do what Clay had done. Reverend Richards had taken advantage of her countless times in various forms. He’d talked to her like she was no more than a piece of shit on his shoe and threaten to call Child Protective Services when he could not get his way. The fact that she stood idly by watching him beg for mercy was enough to make her come in her own panties. Trinity found solace in knowing the crooked, out-for-himself preacher deserved everything he had coming—and more. There was definitely a place in hell waiting for him.
Fuck that ho-ass nigga. I hope he rot. I should have spit in his face one good time before he died. Old fake-ass pussy. Trinity had been in her feelings just like that as the police detective knocked at the door. After peeking out the curtain and realizing who it was, she knew she had to come through. Not only for herself to avoid the cops thinking she knew or had saw jack shit that day, but to come through for Clay as well. He deserved her loyalty and was going to get just that.
After swinging the door wide open, she went into action. The young mother made sure the wide-eyed detective could easily see everything she was working with. Just falling short of parting her legs and inviting him to dive in, Trinity played the role of the neighborhood slut. Without much effort of explaining where she was that afternoon in question, she made it clear she was busy doing what she did best—fuck and suck dick for sport and gain. The detective was not only convinced of her whereabouts and actions, but seconds away from being snatched into her sexually charged web himself. When Ms. Walker finally took his card promising to call if she heard anything in the streets, the detective was dry mouthed, ready to go home and take a cold shower.
I ain’t gonna be the one to fold Clay. I swear I got you until the wheels fall off. Ain’t no nigga or bitch gonna make me turn my back on you after all the times you done held me down. Trinity thought about going to sell the chain at the pawn shop and give the money to Clay to help if he needed a lawyer but knew the police would maybe trace the deceased monster’s property back to her. Instead, she chilled and watched the block to see who was doing what. She’d taken notice that squad cars had been in front of the old woman’s apartment as well as the Muslim family’s house. The only thing Trinity could do was pray they had not said shit either. But she knew others around there were not cut like her.
Mrs. Gale
“Thank you so much for the ride. I showl appreciate you young men, but like I told the detectives, I didn’t see anything.” Against every rule she’d ever taught her children growing up, she lied.
“No problem. We understand, Mrs. Gale. And it was no problem at all,” one of the officers smiled as he pulled up in front of the place Mrs. Gale called home. “We definitely appreciate you as well. We don’t expect every day to be Christmas or New Year’s Eve. Sometimes we may strike out,” he nonchalantly announced as he wasn’t a detective, just a uniformed driver.
“I know, but I feel bad for you all to go through all of this trouble, and I could not help you.” She reached for her cane and purse as the other officer opened her door. “All of this fuss for nothing. But it was a nice ride, though. And he is a real good driver.”
With a snail’s pace, she made her way up her front stairs. As Mrs. Gale stood at the top landing of the porch of the apartment building, the elderly woman watched the police car roar down the road. Attempting to catch her breath, she took her time to look up and down the street. Oh my goodness. It’s like I’m in a dream. I need to go upstairs and get my Bible. This was the same block she had lived on for years. Sadly, this was the first time in quite a while the block was as motionless as it was. Mrs. Gale saw no drug dealers, no crackheads waiting in line to be served, and no people in need milling about in hopes of receiving food assistance boxes. The senior citizen didn’t even see her longtime neighbors, Mr. and Mrs. Jessie, out and about.
Once upstairs, Thelma sat down in her favorite chair. Reaching for her Bible, she began to read scriptures. Caught up in her thoughts, she began to think more about Clay. Her mind wandered and wished he was born kin to her. She knew that if that had been the case, maybe she could have stepped into his turbulent life years before the present. Maybe, just maybe, Clay would have been able to finish school and pursue a career other than that of a drug dealer and murderer. At various points during their impromptu conversations, Mrs. Gale easily saw glimpses of his other side; the good, God-fearing side that wanted no more than to do right. Clay’s inner soul seemed to be begging to be saved. Mrs. Gale felt all she needed was more time to do so.
As she held the Bible open reading, she rocked her body back and forth. Removing her glasses, tears started to form in the corner of her weary eyes. My, my, my. Why did you have to do it, Clay? Why? I knew Reverend Richards was no good. He did things that no man of God should have even participated in, and he definitely deserved to be held to task for all his sins. And maybe I should have stood up a long time ago and said something about what things I saw and knew were taking place in that wicked house of worship. Lord have mercy. I’m so sorry I failed you, boy. Oh, my sweet child, Clay. You deserve so much better than what the rest of your life holds. You deserve not to be locked up. But you is. You is, and I can’t do nothing to help you; nothing but pray. And I know I can’t turn back the hands of time.
Mrs. Gale placed her Bible down on the end table and struggled to stand. Making her way over to the front window, she moved the sheer curtain over to the side. Regretfully, she then peered out. The block was still quiet, as if it knew its fearless leader was doomed. Taking a hold of her feelings, her eyes focused as best they could. She looked upon the very spot where the crime of what would certainly be considered cold-blooded murder had taken place. The one and same place she saw her pastor take a few slugs to the body, then take his final breaths. I know you are truly guilty of what the police was asking me about down at that place, but I just could not bear to be the one to assist them in your demise. I know other people was standing out there. And I am more than sure they don’t know you like I think I do, so let them tell the tale. The fact that I lied, I know God will forgive me. And you know what, Clay? If you repent, he will forgive you as well.
Preoccupied with everything going on with the young man who she’d adopted into her heart, Mrs. Gale had failed to constantly call her own biological children. Even when the news of Reverend Richards’s murder was plastered all across the papers and television screens, her kids had also failed to get in touch with their mother. She was content knowing Clay, and she had formed the bond that they had. Thelma Gale went back to sit down, hoping her little friend knew.
Chapter Twenty-six
The Cops
“Okay, this is looking like our only chance to wrap this shit up and save face. I have a strong feeling in my gut these two are gonna bury that murdering son of a bitch we got locked up. And if they do, we can finally go home to our families and get some rest.”
“Let’s pray for your sake and mine,” the lead homicide detective told his partner, making sure he had a pad and pen ready, “because in between the chief, the mayor, and all the damn reporters, our necks are on the line here. This is the most terrible case I’ve ever had the misfortune to catch. At first, I thought it would be simple one, two, three.”
“You telling me,” his partner agreed, holding up a memo that just came in from the Prosecutor’s Office as well. “I ain’t trying to have no unsolved mark on this case. They up there in the higher-up’s office talking about demoting all our asses. Fuck that. I’ll take an early retirement first.”
After a few more minutes of chatter about how the case was going and how badly they needed a home run, the final witnesses arrived.
“Hello, everyone,” Mr. Jessie spoke as he and his wife walked through the squad room door.
“Yes, hello. Come on in and please have a seat. Mr. and Mrs. Jessie, correct?”
“Yes, indeed. I trust we are on time?”
“Yes, you are on time, and we definitely appreciate that. Can we get you two anything . . . coffee, tea, maybe a bottled water?” the detective asked as only a formality, as he was ready to get down to the pressing business at hand.
“No, thank you,” Mrs. Jessie answered for them both. “We just finished with our breakfast, so we’re good.”
“Okay, then, let’s just get to it, shall we?”
“Of course. By all means, go ahead.” Mr. Jessie’s heart was racing inside, but he sat perfectly still. “How can my wife and I help?”
“Well, first of all, before we get started,” the detective watched for any signs of nervousness but saw none, “me and my partner want to say sorry for your loss. We understand you and the victim were close. Is that true?”
“Yes, it is. I mean, you can say that,” Mr. Jessie replied as he looked over toward the window, wishing he could just fly away like one of the birds that was sitting on the ledge.
“Well, hopefully, you can help us put away the monster that committed the crime,” the detective said, folding back the first sheet of the yellow legal pad. He questioned Mrs. Jessie first. “So, can you tell us where exactly you were when Bernard Richards was murdered?”
“Well, I was working in my garden in the backyard, and my husband was getting me a bag of top soil out of the garage. The rosebush was needing a little bit of reinforcements. The strong rains and wind the other week had it bending over some.”
“Okay, is this true,” the detective then questioned Mr. Jessie as he wrote down every single word Mrs. Jessie had said, “you were in the rear of your dwelling . . . in the garage like your wife said?”
“Of course it is, young man. What are you trying to say?”
“Nothing, sir—nothing at all. Just trying to get both your statements correct, that’s it.” He tried to hold his composure, hoping this interview wasn’t headed in the same direction as all the others had gone. “I mean, a man gets murdered directly in front of your home, you are both yards away, and didn’t see it? That’s strange.”
“Listen, Officer,” Mrs. Jessie hastily intervened, sensing her husband might break under pressure, “the neighborhood we live in has changed so very much over the previous years. It used to be families that care about each other. We used to all go on picnics and vacations together. But all of that has since changed. My husband does the best he can, but sometimes, it’s not good enough. It’s like he is a one-man army. So, you see, on our block, you liable to hear arguing, loud noises, and gunfire, morning, noon, and night.”
The detective could hardly keep up with everything she was saying, so he stopped trying to write and just listened. “I understand you and your husband’s plight, I truly do.”
“Okay, well, as I was saying, so when we heard the gunshot, we ran back
in our rear door and locked it. It sounded so close, there was no way in Jesus’ name we were going to just stand there in the backyard, let alone run to investigate. We just ran inside and prayed whoever was shooting didn’t come our way.”
“My wife is right. We took cover like we’ve been doing for years now since we have no real police presence over there. I try my best to watch and see what’s going on, but it’s hard. It’s just so rough over there.” Mr. Jessie pulled it together a lot quicker than he did the night they got robbed, even trying to flip the script on the inquisitive cops. “Like she said, the shots were so loud; extremely loud. It wasn’t until we felt it was safe that I finally opened the front door and saw my friend lying on the ground bleeding.”
“Well, did either of you call 911?”
“Umm, no, I guess I was in shock,” he quickly replied. “I wasn’t expecting to see him there. I mean, he and I had shared some pretty decent times over the years. We had common goals and interests. We both wanted to see the block regain its beauty and unity. We both knew it was a long shot, but we believed in the dream.”
“I was going to call 911, but before we knew it, the police and ambulance were there. I mean, it all happened so quick; there was nothing either one of us could do but pray.” Thankful for Clay saving her and her husband from those young predators, there would be no way whatsoever they would betray him, especially for someone like the unscrupulous, self-serving Reverend Richards had become. It was as if she had traded one block tormentor for the next, but nothing was more important than her husband’s freedom. Standing by Clay was an easy choice to make.
“Well, at least, did you see anyone or recognize any voices?” the other detective in the office eagerly asked.
Testify Page 18
