by Gayle Tiller
"I was trying to find out information about Melvin Grady."
"That evil sonabitch. He's one who turned my boy onto drugs."
"So you know about him."
"Do I know about him? That evil motherfucker-excuse my language-used to come here to East Oakland and parade his whores and shit in front everybody. That motherfucker controlled everything. He used work for the San Jose Police Department until they fired his ass. But instead of throwing his ass in jail like they should have, they let him join the fire department. And now he is the Fire Chief. Shit, there ain't no justice for black folks."
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"Do you know Phillip Meeks?"
"Shit, Phillip Meeks that crack head attorney. Hell, yeah, I know him.
My boy used to be his paralegal. In between getting high, Mr. Meeks would defend criminals."
"Do you know anything about Melvin Grady's grandfather?"
"His granddaddy. Oh yeah, I know about him too."
"He died back in '83, right?"
"Is that the lie that Melvin told you?"
"Is his grandfather alive?"
"I don't know if he is."
"Well, the grandfather left him over fifteen million dollars."
"His grandfather and his family ain't got no money. I remember all of that mess. Terrence told me they needed to cover up the money from Melvin's drugs deals. So they came up with phony death certificate, will, bank accounts and had all of that entered in the court so that the FBI would leave him alone."
Goddamn. So the probate had been fabricated. You would have thought that the FBI would have done more through checking unless somebody got paid off.
"How come this never came out?"
"I don't know what planet you're from, but there was no way they were going to believe some drug addict like my son. Hell, no."
"But Phillip Meeks got caught."
"Meeks was one stupid nigga who got too damn greedy. Do you know how much the man had laundered? Over a hundred million dollars.
Two brothers who were FBI agents went in and entrapped his ass good. Made him say how he had all these different bank accounts and how laundering a million dollars was no problem, because he had it down to a science. The brothers got that on tape, tracked down the bank accounts, and that fool Meeks got ten years."
"How come they didn't do the same thing to Grady?"
"'Cause Grady's a white boy and he knows who to pay and what to say. Grady ain't no fool. He knows the system inside and out."
"How come Meeks never turned in Grady?"
"Because if he did, Meeks would be dead. Meeks ain't that stupid."
"Has Grady killed before?"
"Grady ain't into killing. Not because, he was afraid of doing it. He just doesn't have to do it. Folks are too afraid of him."
"Do you know about the three firefighters who were killed in San Jose?"
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"Yeah, I heard about that. The wife and her boyfriend did it. It's a damn shame when we have sisters killing over money and white men."
"I believe she is innocent and that Grady is somehow connected to the killings."
"If Grady had a problem with them, he would have made their lives miserable. Exposed their secrets or done whatever. But kill them, he's not the one. Now, if you wanna ask me about children, women and others that he has killed by addicting them to crack, he is guilty as sin."
"Didn't you just say that if Grady had exposed Meeks, he would be dead."
"Now, I didn't tell you that Grady was no killer. He would have exposed Meeks' secrets and forced him to kill hisself."
"Secrets like he was a crack head?"
"That wasn't no secret. Something a lot worse. Something where folks would lose all respect for him."
"What?"
"Meeks is a closet homosexual and he don't want nobody to know."
"How do you know that?"
"'Cause my son and him used to be lovers. That's how I know."
"He is in prison now. So why would that matter?"
"You don't understand how they treat homosexuals. Sure in prison, men have sex with men. That's real common. But if you let it be known that you're a homosexual in prison, you gonna get a bad ass whippin'
and in some cases they might kill you. That's why they separate the homosexuals from the others."
"It seems to me that he would just admit it, so he wouldn't have any problems."
"Admit it. Is you crazy? That man got three kids. There ain't no way a family man gonna admit that."
"They're grown. Aren't they?"
"Girl, I don't care if they're as old as dirt. That don't matter. Meeks is a family man and there was no way he would let his secret be known."
"How come your son told you?"
"He didn't tell me nothing. I walked on him and Meeks one day and they were doing things that as a God fearing woman I can't repeat in good company."
"So what you are saying is that if Meeks were over his fear of being outed that he would tell the truth about Grady."
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"Girl, he ain't gonna get over that. So stop wastin' your time. Grady's killed a lot of other folks through crack, but as for those boys, he ain't done nothin'."
"Is Grady still dealing?"
"Once a dope fiend, always a dope fiend."
"You know anybody who will testify to that?"
"Not anyone who values their life. You a cop or something."
"No, a private investigator."
"Well, I suggest you stop investigating. 'Cause unless your nose is clean and ain't nothing in your past, it will come out and you will be hurt."
"I'm not afraid of that. I got nothing to hide."
"Yeah, that is what they all say until things start being exposed. You know what I mean?"
"I hear you."
* * *
I had been waiting in traffic for an hour. It was bumper to bumper traffic on the 680 and I was beginning to feel tired. It was already 6:00 and my stomach was beginning to ache. It would probably be another 45 minutes before I would reach the Federal prison in Pleasanton.
I turned on the radio to listen to the news. The newscaster said, "Just two and half hours ago, the body of Phillips Meeks was found in Pleasanton Men's Federal Prison. Apparently, Meeks hung himself with a towel in his cell. Meeks is a former criminal defense attorney who was later convicted of laundering millions of dollars of drug cartel money in 2001. He was serving a ten year sentence. Officials say he had been depressed over the last few days. However, his suicide was a surprise to the few who knew him and he left no note. He is survived by his three children."
Damn, they had gotten to him. But how? Was I still being tapped?
What was going on?
I turned off at the next exit and headed back to San Jose.
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18
Chapter
New Chapter
I called Keith from my cell phone. I said, "Keith, I need to see you as soon as possible."
"Jazz, it's not a good time."
"I know something about Meeks' death. We need to talk now. It's important."
"Where?"
"Meet me at Third and San Carlos in 45 minutes."
"Okay, I will be there."
I hung up the phone. Had they heard that conversation? They could have bugged my clothes. This paranoia was really getting to me.
I went to the department story on Keyes and bought a pair of sweats, bra, underwear, socks, tennis shoes, a pen, a note pad, and a purse.
I took all my newly purchased items and changed in a gas station's bathroom. I then placed everything in a bag and dumped it in a trashcan.
To my surprise, Keith was on time.
I said, "I am sorry about her father."
Keith replied, "I can't stay long."
"They killed him."
"What do you mean they killed him?"
"Two days ago, I went to see Loretta's father about a probate that he did on Melvin Grady's grandfather's estate. He refused t
o talk about it."
"Probably attorney-client privilege."
"No, I think he laundered money from Melvin Grady's drug dealing and used the probate as a cover."
"Jazz, I heard the rumors before about the drug dealing. But I don't think they're true. Do you have any evidence?"
"This afternoon, I met with the mother of Terrence Clayton who was a former paralegal for Loretta's father. Apparently, he told her about the probate being a cover up for the drug money."
"So where is he now?"
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"He's dead."
"Do you have any other witnesses?"
"No, but I believe that his mother is credible."
"What did her son die of?"
"Crack cocaine."
"And you believe the mother of a dead drug addict. Come on Jazz, let's get real."
"She knew about other stuff that was true. So she is probably telling the truth."
"Like what?"
"Like things I don't know whether I should tell you about."
"Jazz, I am going to leave unless you give me something concrete."
"Remember how you tried looking for your parents. Well, I know who your mother is. And who your father is."
"You know who my mother and father are. How?"
"I'm a detective and she verified it."
"You are discussing my personal business with a stranger. What is wrong with you?"
"I didn't bring it up, she did. She just verified information that I found out."
"Where did you find the information about my biological parents?"
"At City Hall."
"What the hell is information about me doing down there? That doesn't make sense. So you are telling me that you went to the City Clerk's office and they gave you this information about me."
"No one gave it to me. I just found it."
"Where did you find it in City Hall?"
"In the Mayor's office."
"The Mayor had this information about my parents laying on her desk."
"No it wasn't laying on her desk. It was locked in a file in an envelope."
"So she let you look through her personal files."
"No, I went to her office when she wasn't there."
"You broke and entered into the Mayor's office? Jazz, that's a serious crime. For Christ's sake, you are the daughter of a cop!"
"I didn't break in. A janitor let me in."
"Knowing you, you told her some bullshit story."
"I don't want go into the details."
"So who is my mother? A movie star? Or is it someone bigger than that? Or she is homeless? Who is she?"
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"No, she's not a movie star and she's not homeless."
"Jazz, you are really getting on my nerves. Just stop playing games and say it."
"The Mayor is your mother."
"That bitch is not my mother! Jazz, have you lost your mind? My mother is not white!"
"Look at your hair and look at your skin. You look like the product of an interracial relationship."
"I could also be the result of two light-skinned parents or any other combination for that matter."
"Keith, I saw your birth certificate. You were born on May 21, 1968 and your birth name was Keith Sayers. Now how likely is it that there was another Keith born on your birthday?"
"Jazz, that's a coincidence."
"It was in your file in an envelope. There was a picture of you, the Mayor, and your father. You look just like him."
"So who is my Dad? Is he somebody of equal status?"
"Afraid not. He was Terrence Clayton."
"The drug addict. This is utter bullshit."
"Your father was also the paralegal for Phillip Meeks."
"Great, my father was the paralegal for Loretta's father where they laundered drug money together."
"We can't pick our parents."
"Is there anything else that I should know?"
"There is something else. But it's not really important."
"What? Grandma was an axe murderer. Just say it."
"Your father and Loretta's father were lovers."
"Lovers. That's just dandy. That certainly explains the attraction between Loretta and me. We are just following in our parents' footsteps.
But the only difference is we are heterosexual."
"Keith, I hope this information doesn't hurt you."
"Hurt me. The Mayor is my mother and she is a woman whom I can't stand. My father is a dead drug addict who was Loretta's father's lover.
On top of this, they held hands in the closet and laundered drug money together. I would have been better off not knowing anything. I never asked you to look for them."
"I didn't go looking for them. It was an accident."
"It was an accident. How?"
"Kristal's mother told me that she had a vision that there was a file in the Mayor's office related to the case. So I followed it up."
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"You searched for evidence based on Kristal's mother who is in the psych ward. Your standards are at an all time low."
"The bottom line is that I believe that Melvin Grady was involved in drug dealing and if Loretta's father confessed, Melvin would lose everything. So he had him killed just like the others."
"I don't know about that. According to the reports, Loretta's father hung himself and everything points to a suicide. I think he did it on his own."
"And what about the firefighters?"
"I don't know. Maybe he did it. But there is no motive. All I can tell you is to keep digging. You might find something.
But Jazz, do me a favor. If you find anything else about my family, don't tell me. I don't want to know. I am over that biological parent kick.
I really am."
"Okay."
"Anyway, I have to leave. I promised Loretta that I would meet her in Pleasanton and I'm running late."
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Chapter
New Chapter
I got a call from the court in San Francisco that the file was ready for me.
I had been reading the file for two hours and everything appeared to be in order.
I looked over the death certificate. It indicated Russell Grady had died on February 9, 1983 in Huntington Beach.
I made a copy of the certificate and then drove to the San Jose airport.
Four hours later, I was in Orange County, the capitol of conservatism and the Moral Majority's values. And yet, it had elected liberal Demo-cratic Latinas It was a place of dichotomies and shifting demographics.
I looked in the phone book for Newman Cemetery and there was no listing. However, I noticed that there was a listing for a hospital. on Newman Avenue.
I drove to the hospital. A young, anorexic looking woman was at the receptionist's desk. She was about 5'8" and she couldn't have weighed more than 95 pounds. Her skin was as pale as milk and her lips were drawn.
I introduced myself and said, "Hi, I am trying to find out where Newman Cemetery is located."
She looked at me with a puzzled expression and said, "Newman Cemetery? There is no such place. There's a Newman Nursing Home, which is right up the street and Huntington Beach Cemetery, which is a couple miles down. You should check with the nursing home. They might be able to help you."
"Thanks." I left.
When I walked into the nursing home, it reeked of urine and ammonia.
At the nurse's station, there were three seriously overweight women in nurse's uniforms. Between the three of them, they must have weighed over a ton. I approached the heaviest of the three whose black hair was 144
streaked blond. Her skin was the color of leather and her teeth were a dull yellow.
I smiled and said, "Hi, I'm trying to get information about Newman Cemetery."
She looked at me like I had slapped her in the face. She replied wryly,
"That wasn't funny ma'am."
"What are you talking about?"
"A lot people make fun us and c
all us a cemetery. But we are not a cemetery, we take care of living people."
"I didn't mean to offend you. I was told that there was a place called Newman Cemetery. But what I am really looking for is information about someone who may have been a patient here years ago. He died in 1983 and his name is Russell Grady."
"Russell Grady. He isn't dead. Who told you that lie? He's been here for nearly twenty-five years. The man is almost a hundred years old.
He's a little forgetful. But other than that, he is alert and very much alive.
He is just down the hall if you want to see him."
Damn, Russell Grady was alive. This was the last thing that I expected.
It was like the whole case was coming together.
I walked into Russell Grady's room. He was lying in the second bed.
He barely weighed over 125 pounds. His body was shriveled and his face was etched with deep wrinkles.
I introduced myself and said, "Hi, I would like to talk to you about your grandson."
"My grandson?"
"Melvin Grady."
"He's a bad boy. He hangs out with those colored folks who done him wrong."
I could feel my blood pressure rising when he referred to us as colored folks. My anger showed in my face.
"Miss, I mean no offense. But sometimes your people do things that just ain't right."
I nodded, because there was no point in correcting the old man.
"Anyway, Mel was always hangin' with the coloreds in Oakland and that's where he got too greedy. Then he done turn bad."
"Do you know that your grandson Melvin and his lawyer pretended that you were dead?"
"He done what? Said I was dead? I ain't never heard nuthin' like that. I know that he and that colored lawyer was up no good. Shoot, I guess you can't trust those coloreds."
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Although I was tempted to cuss him out for his racist comments, I po-litely asked, "Mr. Grady, were you ever a millionaire?"
"Girlie, me a millionaire. That is funny. I ain't never had a cent to my name. But although I had nuthin', I done raised me a family of three boys. It's too bad all of 'em is dead."
"Will you sign a statement that your grandson is Melvin Grady?"
"Sign. I can't sign nuthin'. I got me a bad case arthritis."
"Can I tape record you?"