Joe Dillard - 03 - Injustice for All

by Scott Pratt

  “Someone important? He didn’t say who?”

  “The Mexican didn’t tell him.”

  “Any ideas?”

  “A couple, but first I need to ask you a question. You remember when I asked you whether Hannah had said anything about being pregnant? You told me she was a virgin. How would you know a thing like that?”

  I immediately think again about the night at the bar.

  “I probably should have told you this before, but maybe four or five weeks before she disappeared, I went to a little birthday party for Tanner Jarrett up at Rowdy’s. Mooney kept buying drinks for Hannah, and before we knew it, she was plastered. Then out of nowhere she blurted out that she was a virgin.”

  “Who was there?” Bates says.

  “Caroline and I, Tanner, Mooney, Rita and the guy she’s dating, a few others.”

  “Who took her home?”

  “Tanner.”

  “Well, she wasn’t no virgin. My forensics boys dug up one of those early-pregnancy tests in a trash barrel outside her house. The lab guys were able to get prints, skin cells, and some urine off the tube. The DNA matched Hannah, and the test was positive. She was pregnant.”

  “Okay,” I say. “So she was pregnant. What does that have to do with a contract killing?”

  “The Mexican who paid this gangbanger said Hannah was pregnant and was blackmailing someone important. So before I release any news about finding her, there are a couple of things I want to do. My pathologist buddy says he thinks he can extract DNA from the embryo. We need to do whatever we can to find out who the daddy is. That should go a long ways toward telling who the killer might be. The other thing we need to do is go find Mr. Ramirez and try to get some answers out of him.”

  “Ramirez is gone, Leon. You’re not going to find him. And even if you do, you’re not going to get anything out of him. You don’t have any leverage.”

  “I said we. We’re going to find him. I’ve been talking to Rider some. He’ll help me. He hates Ramirez with a passion.”

  “Anything I can do?”

  “As a matter of fact there is, but I want you to take your time and do it right. No screwups. If this turns out the way I think it’s going to, there are going to be some big changes around here. Big changes, and I want you right in the middle of it.”

  “I assume you have a suspect.”

  “Two of ’em, brother. Two of ’em.”

  42

  A little while later, after Bates has gone, I look through my cell phone for Mike Norcross’s number. He answers after the second ring.

  “My ID tells me a former prosecutor is calling,” Norcross says.

  “How are you?”

  “Fighting for truth, justice, and the American way. You?”

  “Can’t complain. Listen, first off, I want to tell you I’m sorry you had to witness the little meltdown in Mooney’s office.”

  “Sorry? Are you kidding? That was one of the best shows I’ve ever seen in my life. You’ve got some set of balls on you, Counselor.”

  “I’ve heard that before, and every time I hear it, it’s because I’ve done something stupid.”

  “Well, between you, me, and the fly on the wall, I thought what you did was right. No way we could have made a case on what we had. Harmon was just trying to shake things up.”

  “Harmon? You mean it wasn’t Mooney’s idea?”

  “It was Harmon’s. He strong-armed Anita and me into doing it. He’s getting a lot of pressure from Nashville on this case.”

  “Yeah, I can imagine. Listen, I need to talk to Anita. She won’t pick up when I call. I’ve left her a few messages, but she hasn’t returned the calls.”

  “I know,” Norcross says. “She’s a little freaked out by what happened with you. I think she wishes she’d told Harmon the same thing you told Mooney.”

  “Are you with her? You guys working tonight?”

  “Nah, we knocked off about an hour ago. Not much going on, to tell you the truth.”

  “Do you know where she is?”

  “She isn’t exactly a party girl. My guess is she’s at her place.”

  “Mind telling me where that might be?”

  “You’re going to show up unannounced?”

  “Maybe. I have something on my mind that’s been bothering me. I want to talk to her.”

  Norcross is silent for a few seconds.

  “Sure, why not? Just don’t tell her where you got the address, okay?”

  “I won’t, as long as you don’t call her and tell her I’m coming.”

  “Deal,” Norcross says, and he gives me Anita’s address.

  I leave Caroline a note and get in my truck. The address Norcross has given me is a new condominium complex called Pointe 24, across the Bristol Highway from Winged Deer Park. The buildings sit high on a ridge above Boone Lake, just a few miles from my place. I pull in and find her condo without any problem. She answers the door a few seconds after I ring the bell.

  “Sorry to show up out of the blue like this, but I’d like to talk to you,” I say.

  She’s wearing a pair of jeans and a frayed blue hoodie with “Memphis State” written across the front. The light from the lamppost outside her door catches her green eyes, and they sparkle. I’m worried she’ll shut the door in my face, but she smiles.

  “Come in.”

  I follow her through a foyer highlighted by a chandelier and immediately notice the smell of incense—jasmine, maybe. There’s a stairwell on the left and a kitchen with an island and stainless-steel appliances to the right. She leads me into a den dominated by a bookshelf that covers half the wall to my right. It goes from floor to ceiling and is full. The other half of the wall is covered by an upright piano. The tastefully decorated room is warmly lit by a lamp in the corner. Classical music is playing softly. There are framed photographs on a couple of small tables and more on the walls. I notice there is no television.

  “Sit, please,” Anita says, motioning to a couch.

  “Have you read all of these books?”

  “I have. I’ve read most of them twice.”

  “What do you like best?”

  “I lean toward the classics, but I get a kick out of some of the genre fiction. Especially cop stuff.”

  “Do you have a favorite writer?”

  “Dozens of them. Did you come over here to ask me about my tastes in literature?”

  “I came to tell you something, but to be honest, I’m feeling a little awkward.”

  “Would you like a glass of wine? Maybe that would help. I’ve already had one myself, but after the past couple of weeks, I wouldn’t mind another.”

  I drank two beers with Bates, but it’s been more than an hour. I don’t think a glass of wine will put my blood-alcohol level over the legal limit, but the last thing I want to do is catch a buzz and start blathering. The room is so cozy, though. So warm. And she’s so damned easy to look at.

  “Sure, a glass of wine would be nice.”

  “I’m drinking Chablis. Do you like Chablis?”

  “I have no idea. Not much of a connoisseur, I’m afraid.”

  “I’ll be right back.”

  She goes to the kitchen, and I wander around the room and look at some of the photos. Most of them are of a handsome black man. In a couple of the photos, the man is young, wearing the uniform of the United States Air Force. I notice silver bars on his collar. He’s a captain. In another photo, he’s older, wearing a police officer’s uniform.

  “Is this your father?” I ask when Anita comes back into the room.

  “Yes. He just retired from the Memphis Police Department. He worked there for more than thirty years.”

  “And your mother? Is this her?” I point to a photo of a middle-aged woman sitting on a porch swing.

  “That’s my grandmother. My mother left us when I was very young.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry.”

  “It’s all right. It was difficult at the time, but I learned to deal with
it. I didn’t hear from her until I graduated from law school. Turned out she didn’t go any farther than Collierville. She was living with a man there. My father never divorced her, though. I think he still loves her.”

  “Why did she leave?”

  “She was lonely, I suppose. My father worked all the time. He thought he was doing what he was supposed to do. It’s all he’s ever known.”

  Anita walks back over to her chair and sits down. I take a sip of wine. It’s warm going down my throat.

  “How do you like it?” Anita says.

  “Excellent.”

  “Do you like Chopin?” She waves her hand slightly. “I think it’s beautiful.”

  “I like classical music in small doses. I’m more of a rhythm and blues guy.”

  “So what did you come to tell me?”

  I take another sip of the wine and look at her. I’ve been struggling with this for weeks now. Before I start to talk, I raise the glass to my lips and take a long swallow. I set the glass on the table, rest my elbows on my knees, and fold my hands.

  “I saw Tommy Miller the morning Judge Green was killed. I found him sleeping downstairs on a couch at my house before I left for work. I didn’t really think anything about it at the time. I thought he probably just didn’t want to go home the night they buried his dad. But later, after I found out what had happened to the judge and after I talked to you at the crime scene, I guess I should have told you.”

  She’s holding the wineglass under her nose with both hands, gently swirling the liquid and breathing in deeply.

  “Now you’ve told me,” she says quietly. “It doesn’t really change anything, does it?”

  “There’s more. I found out later that the clothes he was wearing when he woke up smelled like gasoline. He had what seemed to be a reasonable explanation at the time, so I didn’t say anything to anyone.”

  “What was his explanation?”

  “He was drunk, and he spilled gas on himself when he stopped at a station.”

  “That should be easy enough to verify, provided we can ask him which station he went to.”

  “You’ll have to find him first.”

  “Did he tell you all of this?”

  “No. I haven’t talked to him. It’s all secondhand.”

  “And what became of this clothing?” Anita says.

  “I’m not sure. I think it might have been destroyed.”

  “Intentionally destroyed?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  “By whom?”

  “I can’t tell you that.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because it could potentially harm someone I love very much.”

  “Your son?”

  “Someone I love very much. That’s all I’ll say.”

  Anita leans forward, the wineglass still dangling from her slender fingers.

  “You realize you’re telling me you may very well be guilty of a crime, Counselor. And this person you love so much, he or she could be guilty of a crime as well.”

  “I know.”

  “What do you want me to do?”

  “I don’t know.” I hesitate for several seconds. “I still don’t think Tommy killed the judge, but I guess I just wanted to apologize for not being honest with you from the beginning.”

  She’s silent for a minute, and then she does something that takes me completely by surprise. She gets up from the chair, walks over, and sits next to me on the couch. I feel a tightness in my stomach, a rush of excitement. My face flushes, and I immediately feel guilty.

  “I owe you an apology, too,” she says. She smells like lilac.

  “Really? For what?”

  “For getting you fired. Indicting Tommy Miller was my boss’s idea. But sitting there listening to you rip the case apart and thunder away at Mooney made me realize I should have stood up to him. I guess I was feeling a little desperate with all the pressure to make an arrest. Judges and politicians from all over the state were calling my boss, and he was starting to lean on me. You know how cops are. The last thing you want to admit is that you have nothing, that you can’t prove a single thing. So when Harmon came up with this bright idea to go to Mooney, I went along with it. I shouldn’t have done it. I’m sorry.”

  “You’re not the first cop who’s given in to the temptation to use the power of the grand jury prematurely,” I say, “and I’m sure you won’t be the last.”

  “I never dreamed it would cost you your job,” she says.

  She places her hand on my thigh, and my skin tingles. I take another drink of the wine.

  “I’m fine,” I say. “We’re fine. Don’t worry about it. Listen, I need to get going. Caroline should be home by now. Thanks for talking to me.”

  I set the empty wineglass on the table and stand. Anita leads me back through the condo to the door. She opens it and I step out into the night air. Relief washes over me. I’ve escaped. But I turn back.

  “May I ask you a personal question?”

  “Sure.”

  “Why aren’t you married? I mean, you’re bright, you’re beautiful, you’re talented. I can’t believe they’re not standing in line to snatch you up.”

  “I’m waiting for a man like my father,” she says. “I’ve only met one who could even come close, and he’s taken.”

  She smiles at me and winks, and gently closes the door.

  43

  The next morning I’m at the grocery store, leaning over the fresh chicken comparing prices, when I suddenly feel uncomfortable. I can see someone in my peripheral vision standing about ten feet to my right. I glance over and see a blond, overweight, middle-aged woman I vaguely recognize. She’s staring at me. I try to place her but can’t. The look on her face is one of contempt, and I turn back to the chicken, hoping she’ll go away.

  I pick out a small packet of breasts, place it in the basket I’m carrying, and glance back toward her. She’s still there, and she’s still staring. I turn and start walking in the opposite direction. I’ve taken about five steps when I hear a voice behind me.

  “We missed you at the execution.”

  I keep walking.

  “Hey, superstar lawyer! I said we missed you at the execution!”

  I suddenly realize who she is, and my throat tightens. It’s Brian Gant’s wife, Donna. I’d read the cursory account of Brian’s execution in the newspaper a few days earlier with a deep sense of regret. With everything that had been going on, I’d forgotten about it completely. I remember mentioning it to Mooney the morning Judge Green was killed, but after that, Brian had faded from my consciousness like fog being warmed by the sun. I stop and turn to face her.

  “I’m sorry, Donna. I’m truly sorry.”

  She steps up close to me, her eyes filled with fury.

  “You’re right about that,” she says. “You’re the sorriest damned excuse for a lawyer I’ve ever seen. How does it feel to be responsible for the death of an innocent man?”

  “I can’t explain how it feels,” I say honestly. “I wish I could have done more.”

  “Brian told me you came down to the prison a few weeks ago and tried to unload your guilt on him. He said you told him you were sorry. You’re just sorry all over the place, aren’t you?”

  “What do you want from me, Donna? I did all I could.”

  “You know what the worst part of this is? The only reason Brian ended up with you as his lawyer was because we were poor. Tell me something. When the judge appointed you to represent him, why didn’t you tell the judge you didn’t have enough experience to handle a death penalty case?”

  “I thought I was ready.”

  “You thought you were ready? You thought wrong, didn’t you? You got your ass kicked by a confused five-year-old girl. And now my husband is dead.”

  I look at the floor in shame. The same thing has passed through my mind a million times. I was young, I was eager, and I wanted to make my mark. But she’s right. I wasn’t ready.

  “Look at me, you son of a bit
ch,” she says.

  I raise my head slowly and look into her eyes. There are no tears, only the stark face of hatred.

  “My husband was innocent,” she says. “Say it!”

  “Your husband was innocent.” The words come out weakly. I feel so ashamed, I’m barely able to speak.

  “And you killed him. Say it!”

  “And I killed him.”

  She moves even closer to me, so close I can feel her breath on my cheek. Then she spits in my face.

  “I hope you rot in hell.”

  She abruptly turns and walks away.

  44

  At some level, I’m conscious that I’m dreaming, but my mind won’t allow me to wake up.

  I jump from the door of the C-130 Hercules and tuck. The static line snaps me backward as it rips the cover off my pack and deploys the parachute. I take a quick look up at the green canopy and then look down. I’m dropping toward a narrow peninsula on an island, thousands of miles from home. An airstrip extends far out beneath me. The green ocean is beating against jagged rocks no more than thirty feet on either side of the strip.

  Two hours earlier, I’d never heard of Grenada. All they told us when we left Georgia was that we were going to war.

  During the long flight, they’ve given us a quick briefing. The Grenadian government has been overthrown by left- wing radicals. Russian, Cuban, and North Korean advisers have been spotted on the island. They’re completing a ten-thousand-feet-long airstrip. A military buildup is suspected. There are hundreds of Americans on Grenada, most of them students at the Grand Anse area’s True Blue campus of St. George’s University School of Medicine. President Ronald Reagan has issued an executive order. We’re going in.

  Our mission is to jump from only five hundred feet above the airstrip at a place called Point Salines. We’re to neutralize any resistance and secure the airstrip so our planes can land. Once we’ve done that, we’re to evacuate the students from the medical school. They’ve told us that a small number of Delta Force operators are already on the island, along with a few Navy SEALs. A U.S. Marine amphibious force has been diverted from a mission in Lebanon and will be mounting an assault. The Air Force is sending AC-130 Spectre gunships and combat controllers. Two battalions of Rangers are going in, and fighters from the Eighty-second Airborne Division will land as soon as we clear the runway. They’ve told us that Grenada is roughly one hundred twenty square miles, but that the fighting will concentrate around a city called St. George’s. The entire country has a population of one hundred thousand. I remember shaking my head when the lieutenant said that. All this for a country with a population roughly the size of Knoxville?