I nod and smile. “I was there.”
Merrill and I had gone together, and had a fantastic time.
“Then you know,” she says. “It was a magic night.”
“Really was. Incredible positive energy buzzing through downtown.”
“Exactly. Ms. Angelou’s presentation was so powerful and uplifting, but it’s been forever overshadowed by what happened to Angel and Qwon.”
“Yeah,” Ida says, “he’s as much a victim in this as she is.”
“Maybe far more,” Kathryn says, “if she just ran away or something.”
“I just don’t think she did,” Ida says. “Don’t think she could let him sit there and suffer in prison all this time.”
“Maybe she doesn’t even know,” Kathryn adds. “Maybe she left and never looked back. She could be in another country unaware of what her actions did to Qwon or anyone else. But if she’s not, I agree. She wouldn’t let Qwon . . .”
“That’s the only way I could see her not coming back and making this right for Qwon.”
“Yeah, that part’s hard to believe. Unless . . . he did something so bad she felt he deserved it.”
“What the hell could the boy have done to deserve all this?”
“Well . . .”
She doesn’t say anything else, instead takes a long sip of her tea.
“Well what?” I ask.
Ida says, “You started it, child, might as well finish it.”
Kathryn puts down her glass, wipes her mouth, and says, “Aunt Ida says I can trust y’all . . . I . . . I’ve told her this but I’ve never said it publicly . . . well because . . . it would just muddy the waters, but . . . if Qwon was very popular with all the girls. He didn’t really do anything about it . . . except flirt a little, I guess. He was never unfaithful for anything. He didn’t cheat, but . . . well, Angel was very jealous. Very. If she did just decide to run away, if she was letting him sit in prison for something he didn’t do, she might be letting him because of something she thought he did—like cheating on her, which he didn’t, but . . . I just think if she’s out there and aware of what’s going on with him . . . that could be a possible reason why she’s not helping him.”
“Don’t matter no way,” Ida says, “’cause we know who killed her.”
“You do?” Anna says.
“We’ll get to that,” Kathryn says. “Anyway, Qwon and Angel went to the civic center for the event, then to Panama Java, a little coffee shop on Harrison at the time, then to an art exhibit at the Visual Arts Center. Several of their friends saw them, including me and Darius, my boyfriend at the time. None of us went together, but a big group of us, mostly juniors and seniors from Bay High, sort of fell in together, or at least went to a lot of the same places, so saw each other throughout the night.”
“Darius?” I ask.
“Darius Turner. He was in our class too. Great guy. Haven’t seen him in a long time. Everyone who saw Qwon and Angel that night gave written statements to the police that they were happy, not fighting or upset in any way. I should stop here and say that everything I’m telling you has been verified and is absolutely truthful. Qwon wasn’t the only one to take a polygraph. All of us witnesses did too. Well, not all, but all the important witnesses in our little group. We all passed the polygraph with flying colors. When we say Qwon was with us, he was with us. When we say he didn’t leave and couldn’t have done it, it’s the truth.”
“It’s true,” Ida says. “Defense team had them all take one. Said they were telling the truth. Wasn’t admissible in court any more than Qwon’s was, but . . . it convinced Angel’s folks and a lot of other people that Qwon is innocent.”
“We were all meant to be winding up at a house party in the Cove later that night,” Kathryn continues, “and so were just wondering around from place to place downtown. Everything we did was walking distance—including the house, which was on a little road off Beach Drive just over the Tarpon Dock draw bridge. After the Visual Art Center, we stopped in the Place on Grace. A friend of ours was in a band playing there that night. Until then it was like this perfect, magical night for everyone. So much fun. So many cool experiences within walking distance of each other. It’s not often downtown PC has nights like that.”
I nod. “I went to a lot of the same places. Probably saw y’all. Friend of mine, Merrill, and I went to Panama Java and the VAC after hearing Maya. We didn’t go to the Place on Grace though. After the VAC, we walked over to the Fiesta.”
“We went there after the Place and I wish to God we never had.”
“Why’s that?” Anna asks.
“Not because of the Fiesta or what happened there. It was like everything else that night—so much fun and like this almost mystical experience. But when we went there . . . Angel went missing. Like I said, the group that wound up sort of moving from place to place together was made up of mostly juniors and seniors, mostly seventeen- and eighteen-year-olds. But only the eighteen-year-olds could go in Fiesta. Eighteen to enter, twenty-one to drink. The seventeen-year-olds in the group decided to do different things.”
“That’s where they lost the poor child,” Ida says, “and Qwon lost his life.”
Kathryn nods. “Some stayed at the Place. Some went over to Mackenzie Park to smoke or make out. Angel, who was seventeen, decided she would go on over to the house where the party was going to be and see if she could help get things ready. She insisted that Qwon go to the Fiesta without her. He had a friend who was going to be in the drag show for the very first time that night and had promised to support him. She knew how important it was, so she wasn’t about to stop him from going in.”
“He wishes to God he never did, though,” Ida adds. “If he could take back one decision in his entire life, it’s this one.”
“Thing about Angel is . . . when she said something you knew it was true. If she hadn’t been happy for Qwon to go into Fiesta and her to walk on down to the party early, she would have let him know it. And as far as her walking to the house alone, just remember we’re talking a very short walk in safe Panama City back in 1999, and everyone, including Qwon, thought she wasn’t walking alone, that some of the other seventeen-year-olds were going to.”
“Problem is who was in that group,” Ida says. “Been safer if she’d been alone.”
“Do you just mean her killer or are you talking about someone in particular?” I ask.
“Her ex was seen lurkin’ around down there,” she says. “So was the boy who railroaded Qwon.”
“Who?” Anna asks.
“Eric Pulsifer and Justice Witney,” I say. “Eric was Angel’s ex who was still obsessed with her and Justice was the prosecution’s star witness who claimed he helped Qwon destroy the body.”
“Several of us saw Qwon kiss Angel and her walk away,” Kathryn says. “It’s the last time we ever saw her. But we saw him the rest of the night. No way he could have killed her. No way. He was in the Fiesta, visible to all of us at one time or another. You know how the place is—Fiesta on one side, courtyard in the middle, and the Royale Lounge on the other, so everyone was going back and forth between the three, but someone saw him at all times. He went outside one time to get some more cash out of his car and grab my jacket out of mine, but only for a few minutes—and on the Harrison side, so the opposite direction of where Angel had gone. I’m telling you he didn’t do it, and not just because I know him and know he couldn’t, but because he didn’t even have an opportunity to do it. I’ll tell you something else too. We were drinking. One of the guys snuck in some booze. We weren’t used to drinking. We got wasted pretty quick. Qwon, like the rest of us, was basically incapacitated. He was in no shape to do anything to anybody. He had a hard time walking and dancing. Not that it stopped us from dancing to every song. No way he killed the strong, tough, athletic Angel. Absolutely no way.”
I think about that. The fact that Qwon was in an altered state cuts both ways. The vast majority of homicides are perpetrated by the inebriated or st
oned.
“Were drugs involved or just alcohol?” I ask.
She nods. “Some pills were passed around. Ecstasy, I believe.”
“Do you know if Qwon took any?”
“I believe he did. I’m telling you he was in no shape to do anything but love everybody.”
I nod. “Okay. What happened next?”
“Later, after we left Fiesta, we all walked down Beach Drive, over Tarpon Dock bridge, and to the house for the party. When we got there and didn’t see Angel, we began looking around for her. Ken and Kim, the couple throwing the party, said Angel had come and helped for a little while, but left, saying she would be back shortly. They said she may have said what she was going to do or where she was going, but . . . couldn’t remember exactly. They were already pretty high. They and the few people helping set up were the last to see her alive.”
Anna eases out of her chair and begins to quietly clear the table.
“Save it,” I say. “I’ll do it later.”
She shakes her head. “I’m listening. Just gonna start on them. Y’all keep talking. I want to hear.”
“One girl there said she saw a guy hanging around out on the street,” Ida says. “Said she thought Angel was creeped out by him and went out to tell him to leave.”
“Based on her description it could only be Eric,” Kathryn says. “He was way too small to be Justice or Qwon.”
“Police never really even looked at Eric in no kind of serious way,” Ida says.
Kathryn starts scraping the scraps from the plates around her onto one plate, but keeps talking as she does.
“We start looking for her, not thinking anything is wrong, just trying to find her. Qwon was never by himself, not at any point during the night—none of us where. Darius and I and a few other friends helped him look for her, but stopped when we saw that her car was gone. You’ve got to understand something about Angel. She was the type of person who, when she got tired or ready to go, she was done. She would party like a rock star, have more energy than anyone, but when she hit the wall, she hit the wall hard. I’ve seen her lay down and go to sleep at a loud concert or in a booth in a busy restaurant. But most often she’d just disappear. You’d look around and she’d be gone and you knew she went home. She didn’t say goodbye, didn’t make a big exit or anything, just left. And that’s what we thought she’d done.”
She pauses and I empty the scrap plate into the trash next to the refrigerator.
It’ll be easy enough to verify everything she’s saying—including Angel’s quirks and habits.
“It wasn’t until the next morning when the police showed up at our house to question Qwon that we even knew she hadn’t gone home. Her car wasn’t found for like a month and she never was.”
She doesn’t say anything else and it’s obvious she’s finished telling her story.
From the sink, Anna says, “Ida, you said you knew who killed her.”
“Only one that could have,” she says. “One who knew so much about it and took the police to her car. The one who lied and said Qwon did it to cover up the fact that he had—Justice Witney.”
163
The moon is low and directly above Lake Julia behind our house, its pale beam shimmering on the dark surface of the water like sunshine on the Gulf in late afternoon.
The February night is clear and cold, and Anna and I are in our hot tub on the back porch of our home beneath a billion brilliant stars.
Steam rises up from the bubbling water and from our mouths as we talk. I am leaning back on the side of the tub, Anna sitting between my legs is leaning back on me. All but our heads and the tops of our shoulders are submerged in the warm water.
A nearby chair holds two towels, her robe, and both baby monitors—one for Taylor and one for Sam.
“How’d it go today?” she asks.
“What’s that?”
“Resigning.”
“Funny thing happened on the way to turn in my resignation,” I say with a smile she can’t see, but can probably hear.
“You didn’t do it.”
“I talked to Ida, Kathryn, and Acqwon instead.”
She nods. “But it’s not like you really wanted to resign anyway.”
“True. But I can’t keep this up.”
Though the truth is I’m not sure how we’ll be able to afford everything—including child support for Johanna and Sam’s care—if I have only one job.
“I know,” she says. “It’s too much on you. And I want to see you more.”
“That’s the main reason I’m doing it.”
“But you’re going to look into Qwon’s case for Ida first.”
“Is that okay?” I ask.
“Of course. I think he may well be innocent.”
“Good possibility. Fascinating case. Can’t wait to dig down deeper into it.”
“I’d like to help.”
“Planned on asking you to. Merrill, too, if he can.”
“If what Kathryn says is true, and I have no reason to believe that it’s not, he couldn’t’ve done it, and he certainly didn’t get a fair trial.”
I nod.
Anna’s head is leaning back on my shoulder so we feel, rather than see, each other’s nods.
As usual, as we talk in the hot tub, my hands are all over her body, caressing, touching, exploring—both on and under her bathing suit. And as usual, she doesn’t rebuff my wandering hands, something I’m extremely grateful for. There’s no way I can be this close to her in this situation with this level of relative nudity and not touch her in the way that, out of the seven-and-a-half-billion people on the planet, only I can.
“You still feel like you owe Miss Ida, don’t you?” she says.
I think about it before responding, eventually nodding slowly. “Yeah, I guess I do.”
“You found her son’s killer,” she says. “Did what no one else could or would. How can you blame yourself for who it was and what happened?”
“I don’t. Not for who did it. But . . . I . . . the way it all . . . I could’ve . . . people died because I didn’t figure things out fast enough, didn’t act fast enough once I did.”
She turns around to face me.
“I wish you didn’t walk around with that,” she says.
“I don’t. But when I think of it or am reminded about it . . .”
We are quiet a long moment, beneath the silent stars and within the gurgling water.
“She was your first love, wasn’t she?”
I shake my head. “Not even close.”
“I really thought she was. Thought that’s what made it that much more . . .”
“I was in love with you when you put the green ribbon on for the children of Atlanta,” I say. “When you came in and sat on my bed beside me, asked about my encounter with Wayne Williams, and hugged me. That was at least five years before I even met Jordan. I’m one of those few, rare people who wound up with his first love.”
“You’re rare all right,” she says, and closes the short distance between us and kisses me in a way that is both tender and passionate.
164
The text from Merrill comes a little after midnight.
I’m lying in bed next to Anna, listening to her breathing beside me and Taylor through the monitor, while thinking about the Angel Diaz case.
When my phone lights ups and buzzes on the bedside table next to me, I turn quickly to grab it so it won’t wake Anna, but when I read the message I realize I’m going to have to wake her anyway.
Rolling over to face her and touching her arm, I whisper. “Baby, sorry to wake you.”
“What is it?”
“Just wanted to let you know I’m about to take a little ride with Merrill.”
“Why? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. He thinks he may have a lead on Daniel. Be back as soon as I can.”
“Be careful.”
“Always.”
“I know you have to do this, but I’m worried about you. You’re no
t getting enough sleep.”
“We’ll take a long nap once we find him,” I say.
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
After nearly two decades with the department of corrections, Merrill Monroe, my closest friend since childhood, crossed the aisle, changed sides, switched teams. He’s now a licensed private investigator who works mostly for defense attorneys and organizations like the Innocence Project. He specializes in investigating wrongful convictions—particularly those of young black men, which, as niches go, isn’t exactly a narrow one.
He also does a good bit of mentoring and volunteer work and has a relatively new girlfriend, a doctor at Sacred Heart in Port St. Joe named Zaire Bell.
He’s not what you’d call a man with a lot of time on his hands, but what extra time he has he spends looking for Daniel Davis. Like me, he feels responsible for Daniel’s disappearance and is anxious to get him back.
Ten minutes after his text, he pulls into my driveway to pick me up in his black BMW M4.
I climb in and we take off.
The night is cold. The car is warm. Drake is on the sound system. I sink into the leather seat as if it had been designed especially to my specifications.
Left at the light. Down Highway 71. Left on 73 toward Marianna, where not too long ago Dad and I had worked a cold case that had haunted him for years.
“Couple staying in a farmhouse other side of Marianna in Campbellton,” he says. “Guy matches Daniel’s description. Woman could’ve altered her appearance. Probably did. New in town. Keep to themselves. Figured we’d ride up, knock on they door, welcome them to North Florida.”
Campbellton is about as North Florida as you can get. A small farming community just a few short miles from the Alabama state line, it’s the kind of micro town where newcomers would be both conspicuous and viewed suspiciously.
“Sounds good,” I say, stifling a yawn.
“Take us an hour to get there,” he says. “Why don’t you lay back and catch a little sleep. Drake’ll keep me company. Wake you when we get close.”
True Crime Fiction Page 64