Crescent City Detective

by Vito Zuppardo

  “Zack Nelson. Retired NOPD detective,” Zack said.

  The officer, much younger, said, “I believe you know my father. I’m John Guidry, Jr.”

  “Your dad is Johnny?”

  “So what happened here? How did you stop this attack?” the young officer said.

  Howard intervened. “It’s best I tell the story—I first discovered the problem.”

  Zack stayed silent—it was best for Howard to lay out the story they would all use as an explanation. Having the police find the guns Zack and Dave used, even though not fired, could put them in serious trouble. The firearms Johnny Guidry Sr. sent Zack were never returned to the evidence room of the New Orleans Police Department. And there was no telling what the history of Howard’s AK-40 might have or where it originated.

  Howard looked at Dave and Zack as if to say pay attention.

  “Detective Mario asked if we would watch the house. We saw that guy,” he said, pointing to the man that took Kate, “grab her, and by the time we got here, Kate was in the back of the van.” He then pointed to the driver. “He drove the van. The other two were in that Crown Vic.”

  Howard pulled Dave by the shoulders and said, “This brave man stood in front of the truck, shouting, ‘You will have to run over me to take Kate.’”

  Howard stood behind Zack. “This ex-detective talked all of them out of their cars and got them to lay flat on the ground until all of you arrived. This guy is a hell of a hostage negotiator,” he said, shaking Zack by the shoulders.

  Zack looked at Dave, and they both paused for a second. “Yep, that is just about how it went down,” they both said, nodding.

  An ambulance made it through the congested traffic of rubberneckers and thrill seekers, pulling up to an area the police had blocked off in the middle of Saint Charles Avenue. After checking out Kate, they determined there was no need to bring her to the hospital, and released her.

  Amelia was comforting Kate. There was no harm done, but she was frazzled and needed to get away from the scene of the crime. Mario walked the two of them to the front door where her parents met them. The look on their face was more than concern for their daughter. It was more like resentment Mario ever came into their lives. Her parents went from disliking him to hating to look at him.

  Mario gave Kate a kiss on the cheek. She pulled away, and for the first time, he felt she was siding with her parents—and he couldn’t much blame her. She never signed up for this, and their relationship for the first time was in question. An attack at the hospital and now an attempted kidnapping started to wear on her, and it showed.

  Back at the scene, a police detective put a small rag into a plastic bag. “Not sure what was on this rag, but it has a sweet smell,” he told Mario. “We’ll check it out.”

  Mario opened the bag and took a sniff. “One hundred percent sure it’s chloroform.”

  More than ever this troubled Mario. An attempt on Kate’s life again was something she didn’t count on when they talked marriage.

  Someone wanted Kate dead first. It was an old-school tactic, killing a loved one to cause pain and suffering then execute the real target.

  CHAPTER 31

  The crime scene was investigated for hours before traffic was allowed again down Saint Charles Avenue. The four suspects were taken to police headquarters and booked on kidnapping charges. Even a botched attempt like this would carry the same twenty-years-to-life sentence. Once Kate was in the truck, it was kidnapping, and the prosecutor would push for the maximum sentence.

  Mario started his car just as he saw the New Orleans Forensic logo on the side of a black SUV pull up. They would go over the truck carefully before towing it to the police evidence yard. To his liking, he saw Olivia Johansson step out the SUV and walk to his car.

  “I heard about the terrible incident. I called the captain and asked for this case,” Olivia said, patting Mario’s arm resting on the car door. “We’re going to nail these assholes.”

  “I appreciate your help. You’re the best,” Mario said.

  Olivia walked away, stepping under the yellow crime tape fencing off the area.

  Mario hit the siren button in short beeps so the officer at the corner would open the barricade, letting him turn onto the avenue.

  Arriving at police headquarters, Mario went straight to Chief Gretchen Parks’s office. The elevator door opened to the floor she occupied, and the not so pleasant receptionist greeted him.

  “May I help you?”

  “Is the chief in?”

  “Do you have an appointment, Detective Mario?”

  “No—let’s cut the bullshit. If the chief is available, I need to speak to her.”

  The receptionist picked up the phone as the chief’s door opened, and a lady walked out. He could see the chief at her desk and made eye contact. She waved Mario in, and he winked at the receptionist as he walked around her desk.

  “Thanks for nothing.”

  Mario closed the chief’s door behind him and sat on a chair near her desk.

  “I was expecting you. Not in person. Maybe just a phone call,” she said.

  “You were?”

  “Let me guess. You want to be lead detective on Kate’s kidnapping attempt?”

  “You’re way ahead of me.”

  “The answer is no.”

  “Madam Chief, with all due respect, I’m the best person to spearhead this case.”

  “I know, but I’m putting Truman as lead detective.”

  “But—he’s my partner,” Mario said with confusion in his voice.

  “Correct,” she said. “The other detective teams are overloaded right now. Truman is in charge. If I put you in charge, the mayor would raise holy hell—that it’s too personal for you to handle. But I put Truman in charge. Do you understand?” she said with a wink of her eye.

  “Loud and clear, Madam. Truman is in charge,” Mario said with a slight grin. “Thank you,” he said as he opened the door to leave.

  “And don’t ever barge in my office again,” the chief shouted, making sure the people in the outer office heard her outburst.

  “Mario,” she whispered before he closed the door. “Get the bastards.”

  “You can count on it, Chief.”

  Putting Truman in charge was nothing more than paperwork to appease the higher-ups. Chief Gretchen Parks was smart and knew how to work the system.

  Mario’s first stop was his office, where Truman was waiting and going through a background check on each of the suspects in the New Orleans database.

  “Find anything?” Mario said, sitting at his desk.

  Truman leaned back in his chair, rubbing the top of his head. “It’s weird we have two white guys and two young black males. The driver of the car is Charlie Russo, and the other white guy is Sammy Bruno. They both have records extending from here all the way to Canal Street. Extortion, producing fake IDs, bookmaking, and a lot of small stuff going back fifteen years. For which they spent zero time in jail. The two black men are clean. The one that grabbed Kate is Rodney Day, and the driver of the blue Crown Vic is—”

  “Let me guess, Darrell Jefferson,” Mario said.

  “Correct,” Truman said. “How did you know?”

  “I had a run-in with his mother a few days ago. Her name is Ora Mae Jefferson, and she works for Judge Bernard. She’s some nurse that sits with his wife.”

  “Is that going to be a problem?” Truman asked.

  “Problem! Her son is involved in a kidnapping. Let’s interview them both at the same time to start,” Mario said. “Then we’ll switch up and drill them separately.”

  Mario alerted the sergeant on duty who sat at a desk in the middle of the room that they

  were going to Central Lockup to interviewing the kidnappers. The sergeant made a note on the log sheet that the two detectives were leaving the building.

  Mario and Truman prepared themselves for the silent treatment most suspects tried to pull off but usually not successfully. These two were young
with reasonably clean records and not experienced in being pressured—Mario was sure one if not both would break down. They typically split the two suspects up, but Mario proposed a different idea and Truman agreed.

  They both got a cup of coffee while officers brought Darrell and Rodney from the holding cell down to the interview room. There were five rooms to conduct interviews in, and they would use number three. It was Mario’s favorite because the others had transom windows at the top and allowed sunlight in during the day. Number three was dark with a big light hanging over the table, much like what you saw in the movies.

  “When did they change from ‘interrogation rooms’ to ‘interview’?” Mario said as he put another scoop of sugar in his coffee.

  “Are we going to have this conversation again? Why do the little things bother you?” Truman said as they walked to room three.

  “Little things don’t bother me. Anything that is dumb does, and changing the name to ‘interview rooms’ is just stupid. I’ll tell you one thing this will not be—an interview. I will interrogate this son of a bitch, and he will talk.”

  Truman walked into the room first, and Mario followed. Two officers stood over Darrell and Rodney, who were handcuffed to the center of the table—the prisoners looked uncomfortable.

  Truman thanked the officers, and they took their position in the hallway. Mario slammed the door shut. The sound of the massive steel door slamming started the interrogation, just as Mario had planned. Darrell looked scared, but Rodney sat with a smug look on his face and his ball cap tilted to the side. Mario stood against the wall and let Truman take the lead.

  “You might wonder why you're both in here,” Truman said very politely.

  Mario picked up on both of them looking at each other from the corner of their eyes. “It’s okay, you can look at each other. We know you both made a pact not to talk,” Mario said, standing with his arms folded.

  Truman leaned forward, letting them know it didn’t matter. The two professionals they worked with, Charlie and Sammy, had already flipped to save themselves.

  The expression on Darrell and Rodney’s faces was priceless and exactly where the detectives wanted their mind focused. They had never been in a police station before, much less sitting handcuffed with two cops questioning them.

  Rodney finally broke the silence. “So you brought us down here just to say Charlie and Sammy screwed us over?”

  Truman looked at Mario. “Yeah, just to make it official.”

  Mario stepped forward. “Before we bring you back to your cell, so you can get to know your fellow inmates, I want to check something,” he said, taking the ball cap off Rodney’s head. “This has been bugging me since the first time I saw you.”

  Mario pulled the Falcon’s logo. He watched Rodney’s eyes. They opened wide and showed panic. Mario pulled hard on one edge, and the emblem released off the cap. A big white C was under the logo with a quarter inch of yellow thread at the top. As suspected, Rodney was a member of the Cornerview Gang. He had one yellow stripe, which meant he needed to perform another gang duty before he was officially a Cornerview member.

  They were both frightened, and Mario knew he could take advantage of their anxiety.

  “You see what we figure. You know us ‘dumb ass cops,’ as your leader likes to refer to us. When around your family the Falcon logo is on, and when you’re with your gang buddies, you take it off. You know, you cover the C when you bring your mother to Judge Bernard’s house,” Mario said, getting in Darrell’s face.

  A knock at the door halted the conversation. Mario knew it had to be essential for someone to interrupt an interrogation.

  Mario opened the door and found Gretchen Parks’s assistant standing with a somber look on her face. She had a folder in her hand and extended to him to review. He opened the file and looked it over for a few seconds. Then he slammed it shut and did his usual meaningless walk back and forth in the hallway.

  “Are you joking?” Mario said, handing the folder back to her.

  “No sir,” she replied.

  “Truman, could I see you out here?” Mario said, leaning into the room.

  Being a seasoned detective, Truman exited the room on a positive note for the investigation and said, “You guys sit tight—it looks like we have some information that just might put you away for a very long time.”

  The officers went back to the room to guard the prisoners while Truman came out to meet with Mario.

  “What going on?” Truman asked.

  “Bail was set for all four guys at two hundred thousand dollars each.”

  “So? That’s a good thing,” Truman said.

  “Darrell Jefferson’s bond was reduced to fifty thousand dollars by Judge Bernard. And Ora Mae Jefferson posted the bail in cash and hired an attorney. Darrell is free to go, and we can’t talk to him without his attorney present,” Mario said.

  “We are in the middle of a kidnapping investigation, and the fucking judge signs off on a bail reduction?” Truman said, pacing the floor. “This is messed up. How do we go forward?”

  “I don’t know. I’ve never had a judge interfere in a case,” Mario said, resting his head against the wall. “Maybe we can use it to our advantage. Let's go back in—follow my lead.”

  Mario and Truman went back into the room smiling. The two officers switched out with them and went back to their post in the hallway.

  Mario paced, clapping his hands. “One of you is lucky. One not so much.”

  “What does that mean?” Rodney asked.

  Mario stopped and leaned on the table. “That means one of you made bail,” he said. “Let me give you a hint. The one whose mother is screwing the judge. That’s the one that is free to go. The other one, well, you’re going to get fucked differently.”

  Mario pushed Darrell into the hall and one of the officers unlocked his handcuffs and took him away.

  Rodney panicked, and with his eyes open widely he shouted, “Get me out of here, Darrell. I’m not taking this rap by myself.”

  That’s what Mario wanted to hear—pure horror in his voice. Darrell walked out not even looking back. It was apparent Darrell was going to save his ass and throw his friend to the wolves. He would soon be making statements to the police on how he tried to stop Rodney from taking Kate, being convincing enough to save himself. That was how street rules worked—in the end, you did what you had to do to protect yourself.

  When the door closed, it shut the daylight out from the hallway, making the room look even darker until your eyes adjusted. Mario and Truman sat silently looking at Rodney. It was Mario’s usual way to start an interrogation, seeing who was going to speak first. He always felt the first to talk was a sign of weakness—Mario always won that game.

  Rodney tried to stare them down but then looked away. He roamed the room with his eyes but there wasn’t much to see other than botched-up walls that needed painting.

  “What? You’re just going to look at me?” Rodney said, breaking the silence.

  Mario stood and walked around the room. “Let me tell you where we are. I mean where you’re at, because we’re not the ones handcuffed to a chain. Son, you’re fucked. It’s that simple. You teamed up with the wrong guys. The two white guys, they talked and put everything on the black man. That’s what professionals do.”

  “What does all that crap mean?” Rodney said, trying to keep his false confidence alive.

  Mario sat at the table and locked in on Rodney’s eyes. “The two professionals came to the dance first. And you’re the scared bitch in the corner who has no one to dance with.” Mario knew these stupid phrases were bugging the hell out of Rodney. But it often worked.

  “Why don’t you just ask me a question? In plain fucking English!” Rodney shouted.

  Mario jumped up and stood in the corner, freaking Rodney out even more. Looking at Truman, he said, “Explain to this asshole how his so-called friends screwed him over.”

  Truman talked in his good cop voice. Turning his chair a
round and resting his arms on the back, he said, “You’re the last man standing. The two pros came forward early and said two black guys approached them about kidnapping Kate. The two black men are you and Darrell. But it looks like Darrell has a judge in his back pocket—so that just leaves you to take the rap. They all said you approached them about the kidnapping. Now is that clear enough for you?”

  “I approached them? That’s bullshit,” Rodney said, squirming in his seat.

  Mario had Rodney in a panic and leaned on the table. “Are you ready to start from the beginning and tell your side of the story?”

  Truman rocked in his chair. “It better be good and convincing, because we’d just as soon charge you with kidnapping and call it a day. We go home, and you go to jail—and another case is closed.”

  Mario and Truman listened to a long drawn-out story and had to keep Rodney on point several times as he rambled into irrelevant facts to the crime. Rodney started to say the same things over and over when Mario stopped him. Rodney had talked in circles for twenty minutes, and the detectives hadn’t learned anything new. Mario was tired of the bullshit and said he was going to ask the questions, and Rodney would answer in the minimum amount of words as possible. Rodney agreed.

  “Who approached you about the kidnapping?”

  “Man, you’re going to get me killed,” Rodney said with a look of horror on his face.

  “Lock him up,” Mario said, walking to the door.

  “Man, you don’t know this gang. They will kill me,” Rodney begged.

  Mario came back to the table. He assured Rodey he knew what the Cornerview Gang was capable of and either way he was a dead man. In or out of jail, the gang had no more use for him, and his only chance to survive was by coming clean and letting the police protect him.

  “Okay. Can I get some water?”

  Mario nodded to Truman, and he fetched a bottle of water from the kitchen. Handing the bottle to Rodney, he took a mouthful.

  “Darrell got me introduced to the gang. He was already in, but we both had to prove ourselves.”