The Blood of Saints (Tom Connelly Book 2)

by Nick Dorsey

  “Not charged?” The ADA looked down at his notes. It took a minute for him to realize he was being corrected. He took the instruction in stride. “Oh. Yeah. Arrested . My apologies.”

  “Go ahead.” The Judge leaned back, patient. Jean could see the small yellow fleur de lis set on her black robes. This was a flourish New Orleans judges allowed themselves.

  “After the search of the backpack, the officers discovered twenty-nine baggies containing approximately one ounce of marijuana between them. At which time Mr. Adams was arrested.”

  “Ms. Perez?” The Judge was asking Jean if she had an argument that would contest the ADA’s presentation of events. An argument that would reduce the charge, or even get the charge thrown out. Jean didn’t have high hopes, but she took a swing anyway.

  “I don’t see anything here that would warrant a search. No suspicion or probable cause. To my knowledge, meeting a friend in a public place is not a crime. I’m not sure that Mr. Adams should have been stopped at all.”

  “The officer noticed the smell of what he knew to be marijuana.” The ADA peered at her over the top of his glasses. A young guy looking down at her. He probably couldn’t even see Jean, looking at her that way. “And to reiterate, the arresting officer asked Mr. Adams if he could search his bag, and Mr. Adams consented. That’s not in contention.”

  “Alright.” The Judge waved them quiet and made a note. “Probable cause is established on the basis of the gist. I’ll hear your bond arguments.”

  “Hold up, hold up.” Craig Adams was standing in front of the jury box. He pushed back his braids and scowled at Jean. “He didn’t have no warrant .”

  “Order,” the Judge sipped from her mug.

  “I want to represent myself.”

  “No,” that was Jean and the Judge at the same time. They looked at one another.

  Jean sighed. She said, “Your honor, can we handle Mr. Adams out of order? I’ll talk to him at the end.”

  “That’s fine.”

  “But he didn’t have no warrant ,” Adams said again. Tempting fate.

  “Sit down, Mr. Adams.” The Judge gestured for the bailiff to deal with Mr. Adams and he did, escorting the muttering man back to his seat.

  Jean set his arrest report aside. This wasn’t the way she wanted to start court, but at least it got her right to the meat of her caseload. Most everything else was possession, intent, a domestic case involving battery. There was only one she was worried about.

  The Judge looked down at Sofia Adelfi. “I’m going to appoint the Public Defenders Office to represent you while your case is in magistrate court, and for the duration of your case. Do you understand?”

  Sofia nodded.

  “I need you to say so.”

  “I understand this.”

  Jean took a deep breath. For a tall woman, Sofia looked very small back there near the jury box, standing with her shoulders slumped.

  “Give me a synopsis.”

  The ADA rattled off the gist that Jean had already read. Report of gunshots, police entering the domicile. Finding Sofia inebriated, finding her husband Ernesto dead. Jean ran over her argument internally.

  One thing never crossed her mind: whether or not Sofia Adelfi actually shot her husband. It wasn’t important here. Besides, there just wasn’t enough time.

  “Therefore the state is asking for first-degree murder,” The ADA finished.

  That snapped Jean’s head up. The ADA adjusted his glasses and looked lazily over the Public Defender’s table. First-degree murder presupposed premeditation and malice aforethought. A planned killing. Jean had assumed the ADA would bring forward second degree or even voluntary manslaughter, a crime of passion. A crime committed after the discovery of infidelity on the part of Mr. Adelfi. What was in the report that suggested premeditation?

  Jean flipped through the arrest report again.

  “Alright. Ms. Perez?” The Judge looked expectantly at Jean.

  “Uh. Your honor, this was a tragic accident. Both parties were inebriated, there’s no indication of any intent to harm Mr. Adelfi.”

  “Mrs. Adelfi had discussed killing her husband three days before the event.” The ADA adjusted his glasses again. Just an affectation, Jean thought. A snide punctuation.

  “What? With who?” Jean caught herself and held an apologetic hand up the judge. “Sorry, your honor. I don’t have that information.”

  The judge gestured to the ADA and the hipster lawyer stood. He rifled through his things, an unprepared kid, and brought her a sheet of paper. The judge grunted her thanks and looked it over.

  “I find probable cause is established on the basis of the gist. I’ll hear arguments for bail.”

  The ADA walked over to Jean and handed her the sheet of paper. It was a sworn statement, and what it said made the Judge accept one of the most serious charges in the state, first-degree murder. Premeditated murder. If convicted, that meant life imprisonment at the least. But the DA could always push for the death penalty.

  Jean barely had time to look the statement over. A statement by Detective Joseph Hanks, NOPD. Okay. But he wasn’t an arresting officer and he wasn’t working the case. He was in Property Crimes. Why was this detective sticking his nose into a case barely two days old?

  “Ms. Perez?”

  “Yes, Your Honor.” Jean was still trying to read the statement. Hanks was informed about Sofia Adelfi…

  “Your bail argument?”

  “Yes.” Jean looked up from the sworn statement and looked at the Judge, who was glaring down at her. For just a moment, she was back in tenth grade, a fat softball flying towards her. “Mrs. Adelfi is an upstanding member of the community. She’s never been arrested before.” Jean took a breath, mouth suddenly dry. Because all that wouldn’t matter for a first-degree case. That was out the window. All she could hope for was a low bond amount.

  The judge said, “Bond is set at five-hundred thousand dollars.”

  Jean sat back in her chair. She could almost feel the ball whooshing past her. That felt like a strike to her. She held up the statement. Detective Joseph Hanks was informed by a former NOPD detective of Mrs. Adelfi’s mental state. While meeting with the former detective, Mrs. Adelfi has threatened to kill Mr. Adelfi.

  There it was.

  Jean frowned at the name on the sworn statement. Signed by Joseph Hanks, but stating that there was a witness who had spoken with Sofia about her husband days before the murder. A former detective. She didn’t recognize the name.

  Who was Tom Connelly, anyway?

  CHAPTER FIVE

  A t half-past two in the morning Tom slung his gold sport coat over the back of a metal folding chair and sat. He arranged the plastic chess pieces, poured himself a cup of coffee, half decaf, and waited for Ray to appear.

  An incredibly thin woman in orthopedic shoes pushed a mop around the cafeteria as he waited. The shine on the floor and the disinfectant smell made Tom feel rumpled and worn in comparison. He sat up straighter and combed a hand through his hair, which was short and felt slightly oily. He pulled his hand down his jaw and over rough stubble. Forgot to shave again. He had been awake for too long, unable to sleep through the day. His mind working on Sofia Adelfi and how wrong he had been about her, thinking she needed help. Or maybe she did, maybe the shooting was self-defense. Had he done the right thing in calling Hanks, or the wrong thing in waiting, or both?

  The thought wouldn’t let him sleep. Wouldn’t let him work. He wasn’t concentrating out on the gaming floor and he wasn’t sure he could concentrate on the chessboard even if Ray showed.

  He did, sweating and shaking his head as he pushed his belly into the table and sat.

  “Guy at the roulette wheel would rather die than lose a dollar.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Said he had a whole system worked out, he just needed to play red or black, switch it up, run that way for a little while until he hit it big.”

  “That’s why you’re late for the game? Y
ou were learning roulette?” Tom shook his head.

  “Naw, I know that game. The guy was having a heart attack. Said his arm was hurting him. Dude was sitting there for half an hour, playing his system-which don’t work, by the way-having himself a heart attack. Finally, he told his wife and she called me.”

  “How is he?”

  “He’s fine. I’m the one that has the paperwork,” Ray said, grinning.

  Tom was right about not being able to concentrate. Ray beat him in five minutes flat and then reset the board. After berating him and getting no response beyond a grunt, Ray tried a different tact.

  “You go see about that lady that came by the other day? The one with the scary husband?”

  “No. I called in a cop buddy. He took care of it.”

  “Hey!” Ray clapped his hands together. “See? All taken care of and no skin off your nose.”

  “Not off mine, no.”

  Ray waved a knight over the board, holding the horse’s mane with his index finger and thumb, frowning at Tom. After a moment he snatched the knight back into his palm. “Now, that sounds like you got some shit to say, so, just say some shit. Don’t be all vague with it.”

  “ I been thinking about way back when .”

  “Oh, no. Way back down memory lane?”

  “Yeah. This was when I was still on patrol, okay? Riding the Third District, not my normal partner that week. Who was it..? I can’t remember his name. Getting old, I guess.” Tom waited for Ray to jump on that, when he didn’t, Tom said, “So we’re on patrol and get a disturbance call.”

  “What’s patrol got to do with the lady and her scary husband?”

  “I’m getting to that. Anyway, we got a call out by Bayou Saint John. There’s a naked lady screaming in her front yard.”

  “Oh, shit.” Ray dropped his knight next to the board and leaned forward. Chess forgotten.

  “Yeah. And this lady was three, three hundred and fifty pounds, easy. Big lady waving a butcher knife.”

  “Oh, shit!”

  “And yelling about how she’s going to kill herself because they’re foreclosing on her. Kicking her out of the house.” Tom looked down into the muddy dregs of his coffee. Remembering pulling up on the house, seeing all that flesh. Remembering the rage in the woman’s face. He shrugged. “Anyway. I remember now, Naples, that was the guy’s name. We were riding together. Naples goes up and he’s trying to talk to her. But, a few more cruisers show up and that freaks her out. So, she runs back into the house. We have to call the Desk Sergeant, make sure we can go in. Because she’s a danger to herself, right? Got that knife. He says yes, so we go in. Five of us. She’s back there in a bedroom, with the knife, waving it around. I don’t remember who goes in first, but somebody grabs her hand and gets the knife free and she starts fighting.”

  “This big naked lady,” Ray said, “Fighting five cops?”

  “Just wait. She’s throwing punches so I turn my head, but I still go in and start grabbing. I get ahold of something, so I say hey, I got her in a headlock! Come in and cuff her quick.” Tom grinned. “And Naples starts laughing, laughing his ass off. He says, her head’s up there. I don’t know what the hell he’s talking about, I’m looking away and this lady is still bucking like a rodeo bull. So I look down, and, I shit you not, I’ve got my arm around a big, pale tit.”

  “No.” Ray covered his face with both hands. “You’re lyin’. You had this lady in a titty-lock?”

  “Swear to God.”

  Ray knocked his king over. “Fuck me. Okay. I quit this game. You’re vicious. Titty-locking naked women.”

  “It messed me up,” Tom said. Not smiling anymore. “I let go and jumped back. The four of them wrestled her down and cuffed her, but all I could do was watch. Not like she was upset about me groping her or anything, she was still fighting the other guys. But it messed me up.”

  “ That messed you up?”

  “In the moment, yeah. And then I got over it and it was fine, because it wasn’t that big a mistake. Nobody cared. Nobody got hurt. But the years go on, and mistakes get bigger. You jump in without looking, start grabbing away. Don’t know the full situation. And then you make real mistakes. Then people get hurt.” Tom grabbed his jacket and pulled it into his lap and held it there a moment, wanting to stand but not moving.

  Ray sat back in his chair. He nudged the base of the wayward knight with a finger, watching it spin on the plastic table. He said, “And you thought of this because of the lady the other day.”

  “Because I thought I knew what I was grabbing at. Back then, I thought I had her in a headlock, but I was wrong.” Tom furrowed his brow, deep creases forming. “But this time, with this lady? I don’t know. I thought she was scared. Thought she needed help. So I sent her away and gave her some cards, sent her by a shelter. But I didn’t know what I had. She shot her husband.” Ray’s face fell. Tom let that hang between them a moment. He rubbed a hand across the stubble of his chin again. “It was self-defense, right? Probably. She wanted a drink, maybe she got loaded somewhere and then went home and took him out. But maybe it was self-defense. Maybe it wasn’t. I don’t know.”

  Tom wanted to say more, but he wasn’t sure how. He wanted to say how he should have called the cops, not for Sofia Adelfi, but on her. Because Sofia had talked about killing her husband, had even tried to hire Tom to do it.

  Ray flicked the knight again and it spun, clattering on the table. He jabbed it with his index finger, stopping the piece.

  “They don’t know why she did it?”

  “She just got picked up a few days ago. Everything will come out in the trial. If there is one.”

  “Then you’re better off staying out of it.”

  Tom nodded. He remembered Ray telling him that just because people had problems, and maybe they told him about those problems, that didn’t have to make them Tom Connelly problems. Maybe if he abided by that simple philosophy, his life would be a whole lot easier.

  After his shift at the casino, Tom drove back to his apartment with the sun coming up behind him. He collapsed into bed without showering and for three hours managed a dreamless sleep surrounded by the cigarette and alcohol haze that he brought home from the casino. Even if he wasn’t partaking, the casino had its ownatmosphere, and it clung to a person like velcro for hours after they left the place. Around lunchtime he woke and showered, cranking the water up to scalding to burn the funk away. Emerging pink and steaming from the shower, he made coffee and then spent the early afternoon pulling boxes out of closets one-handed, careful not to spill any cafe au lait.

  The boxes were old, still taped shut, unopened tombs interring the artifacts from a short, turbulent marriage. When he cut the tape free with a butter knife he found they were filled with photo albums and silverware, clothes, and mementos of his past life as both married man and police officer. He dumped clothes onto the hardwood floor of the living room and promised himself he would either donate or wash them. The rest of the junk he combined into a few boxes, especially any photos or scraps that mentioned Dennis, and stacked the empty cardboard on his ratty couch.

  Tom stopped the work when his phone dinged. His son had made a move on the chess app and signed the move with, Hi Dad. We’re making slime in art class today. I’ll make you some. Tom wasn’t sure that meant, slime. But accepted the gift all the same. He worried over his chess move for 10 full minutes, standing in his living room and squinting at the black and white squares on his phone. He wasn't sure what to do about Dennis’s last move. He sent a message instead, Thanks buddy, I love you. He turned off his phone and promised himself he would make a move later.

  More dry tape popped under the butter knife as Tom broke down the empty boxes, flattening them and then bringing them outside and stacking them in the trunk of his Taurus. He bought a greasy breakfast sandwich from the bakery down the street and ate it on the way to his office. He didn’t know what to do about the chess game, but he had given another move some thought.

  He had
been a cop. Then he had been a detective. Why did he have to be either of those things anymore? Now, he could try and be something else.

  CHAPTER SIX

  T he tape gun creaked like some exotic bird as Tom taped the bottoms of the boxes and gave them form again. He cleaned out Sarah's old desk first, tossing paper clips and rolls of tape and capless pens into a cardboard box. He repeated the process in his office, pulling the drawers from their tracks and shaking them to free any loose coins or business cards. The coins he kept. The cards he did not. He thought about saving some of the files but he couldn't think of a good reason why he should. There would be no revisitation of these files, no cold case unit to rework the case of the runaway son or cheating wife. Everything in the filing cabinet went into a black trash bag which went down into the dumpster behind the building.

  He didn’t need all those boxes after all.

  He made the decision almost three weeks ago, but Mardi Gras was the busy season for the casino and it had been all-hands-on-deck. He didn’t have a chance to get away. Only now, after the tourists were gone and the city-wide hangover had set in, could he get around to closing down his office.

  This was all for the best. Tom wouldn't have to deal with strange people showing up, asking strange things of him. He would no longer be dragged into the tormented and tumultuous lives of whatever poor souls happened to wander through that door.

  His cell phone buzzed and Tom cursed. He figured he had forgotten to make a move on the chess app. He picked up the phone. It turned out it was not the chess game, but a call.

  When he answered, a young man's voice asked, “Is this Tom Connelly? The detective?”

  Tom hung up the phone.

  He took his framed certificate from the Board of Private Investigator Examiners off the wall and threw it into a half-empty box. He began loading the rest of his junk into the trunk of the Taurus. When the phone rang again, he ignored it.