by Andrew Birch
“And it found her”, said the young crime analyst David
“Indeed it did”, replied Solomon grimly, “her prints were all over it. And it was in her possession.”
“Then she’s guilty”, said Sasha, Solomon’s other analyst.
“It would appear so”, admitted Solomon, “then there is the gun. Officer David Marks was found shot in the spine close to the scene, the gun had been fired recently, she had GSR on her left hand and he identified her as the shooter. Said he found her in the alley with the money, having just concluded the deal.”
“What are we doing with this”, asked Sasha? Sasha was nearly fifty, a firearms expert who respected Solomon a great deal.
“Investigate the case”, he said softly, “be thorough. David, take a look at the money. Sasha, the gun. Make sure you consider everything.”
“Why are we looking into this…what is it…a four year old case? Sasha asked.”
“Because I made a promise”, said Solomon.
The Money
David hadn’t been working at the lab a great deal of time. He’d been a realtor two years ago, but had impressed Solomon with his intelligence. This Taylor woman been convicted of carrying out a drug deal by this case full of marked money, as well as the testimony of that cop that got shot, the one that had made a career since from public speaking, the local hero. Stuck in a wheelchair now, he was kind of like the icon of the department. They had this Taylor woman banged to rights with this case, privately David didn’t think she’d got a long enough sentence, but if Solomon thought it worth investigating again, then so be it. Good enough for him. So he checked the money out of evidence. Nothing new. Her prints were all over it. A third of the bills were marked by the US treasury, her prints were on plenty of the bills. But David was renowned for his thoroughness. And so, blowing off a date with that hot chick from reception with some reluctance, he began to cross check and reference each bill individually, staring at the oncoming night from out of the window wistfully, watching his colleagues and comrades go home.
The gun
Sasha was in love. The Desert Eagle .50 cal with the custom chrome finish was beautiful. Whatever else the pyscho cop shooter girl was, she had good taste in guns. Here was the evidence. The weapon was the one that had been used to shoot officer David Marks in the spine. Marks, the hero of the department had taken to public speaking after his accident and was running for city mayor. The bullet matched the ones in the rest of the clip, there was no doubt it had come from this weapon. Taylor Laurence had been tested for gunshot residue on her hands. As she was left handed, it had been expected, and found, that she had GSR all over her left hand. She had indeed fired the weapon. Plus her prints were all over it. Marks had identified her both as the shooter and the one carrying out the drug deal. And yet, something nagged Sasha.
Sasha Bastien had been a cop for thirty years. A heavy thick set officer, she was aware of all the “carpet muncher” jokes that surrounded her by the males in the department. But there was one area they didn’t make fun of her. Sasha had been born on a ranch in Texas, and had pretty much had a gun in her hand before a teddy bear. She was considered the weapons expert for the whole PD. If a cop needed advice on a second, personal piece, then he would go see Sasha. She had been surprised when Lt Solomon of the crime lab had asked for her personally to join him and be ballistics expert, but after a year of doing the work, she enjoyed it immensely. She handled Taylor’s Desert Eagle with pleasure, the woman had a taste in weaponry, she’d give her that. There was something else nagging her about the case though.
The Money.
$10 000 in and he was tired already. David had the pattern. At least he thought he had. It was 2.00am, or just after, and his eyes were getting tired.
“Go home David”, said a voice from the door. It was Solomon.
“I’m ok chief”, he said tiredly, “got a rhythm going.”
Solomon nodded,
“Do you have anything”, he asked?
“I think so, I dunno, it’s too early to tell really. Could just be a fluke yet. I’d need to test every bill before I knew for sure.”
“Every single bill?” asked Solomon. He was impressed with the dedication of his new team.
David nodded,
“That’s why I have to stay”, he replied grinning, “I wouldn’t be able to sleep for wondering. If I can get through these tonight, I should know by tomorrow.”
Solomon nodded. This wasn’t much, but the kid was onto something. He wondered how Sasha had been going with the gun.
Sasha had a most puzzling time with the handgun. She’d had her assistant Tyler fire the weapon into the block to test the graining of the bullet, and it matched. The trajectory matched, everything. There had been a multitude of prints on the gun, the only clearly identifiable ones being those of Taylor Laurence. The only thing she noticed was when she had been firing it herself at the range. The thing had a hell of a kick back. Big heavy handguns tended to do that. Damn, there was something she was missing. And it was the young man in evidence as she checked the weapon back in that broke the case. With his one thoughtless comment and jibe at Sasha.
“Nice weapon”, he paused looking at the Desert Eagle, “that’s a big gun for a sexy little girl like Taylor Laurence. Guess you’ll be fine with it though.”
At first her face reddened as he smirked, checking the weapon back in. But then she thought. He was right. The .50 cal desert Eagle was a big handgun for a girl like Taylor. Chances are it hadn’t always been hers. But either way, even the thickset and larger framed Sasha had felt a kick when she fired it. She remembered something form the lab and Solomon was waiting for her when she dashed in,
“You have something?” he asked puzzled.
“I think so”, she said, “I’ll have to look at the hospital scans for the bullet path, but I think I have something.”
“What are you thinking” asked Solomon, sitting.
She stopped form her rifling through x rays and photographs of various wounds, and stared at him,
“I don’t think Officer Marks was shot by Taylor”, Sasha said.
That was it. The buzz, the excitement that’s he always felt when she’d discovered something. The feeling of butterflies deep in her gut when she’d found something out that nobody knew before. Course, the horrible thing was, that this woman had spent four years in jail for something she hadn’t done.
“Explain”, said Solomon, his curiosity peaked.
Sasha found the x ray of the bullets path. As she looked at it, it confirmed her idea.
“See the pathway”, she pointed, “in through the front of the body and straight to the spine”
“Clean shot”, he replied, “clinical”
Sasha nodded,
“Trouble is, Taylor Laurence didn’t fire that shot.”
“What have you found, Sasha?” asked Solomon.
“When I fired her gun”, she explained, “there was a huge kick from it. Taking into account that Taylor is probably smaller and lighter than me, there’s no way a woman of her light frame fired this particular shot so straight and true. Entry point would have been higher, taking into account the recoil. The line would have been more curved. Probably killed the victim. I’ll have to test fire it myself into the gelatine to make sure, but the shot that killed the vic wasn’t fired by her.”
“Maybe she used both hands?” probed Solomon.
Sasha shook her head,
“GSR was only found on her left hand. When she fired the weapon, she fired with one hand. This shot was either two handed, or shot by a man.”
“And”, said Solomon exhaling deeply, “Taylor Laurence is certainly not a man.”
Sasha shook her head,
“I think it’s time to go speak to the hero of our department, and see if Mr Marks can shed any light.”
Just then there came a knock at Sasha’s door. It was David.
“I think I have it chief”, said David, obviously tired, “I don’t think
she’s guilty”
David didn’t get the look of euphoria he’d expected from his chief. Instead Solomon nodded,
“Way ahead of you David”, he said, “come on, you can tell me on the way”
“Where we going?” he asked.
“We’re going to test fire a Dester Eagle handgun. And then we’re going to request another interview with our only witness”, said Solomon grimly, “so what’d you find with the money?”
“The bills aren’t in the same sequential order”, he explained, “some of them are, but there’s whole blocks of the order missing, or moved around. And Taylor’s prints don’t appear on any of the marked sequential bills. Only on the bills that are out of order, or unmarked.”
“So the case had been tampered with” confirmed Solomon.
David nodded,
“Probably not enough to get her off though, unless Sasha found something with the weapon.”
“She did”, said Solomon, his brow furrowed.
Some time later, the local hero Mr David Marks was not pleased to be asked to attend an interview with the head of the crime lab. Not one bit. He was on the campaign trail to become mayor of the city when he wheeled himself in in his wheelchair. And what was worse, it was an interview room, with common criminals.
“I apologise for the inconvenience”, said Solomon, keeping his voice flat.
“This better be good, Officer”, he said irritated, “I’m a busy man”
“I’m sure you are sir”, replied Solomon”, “I’m sure you are. I wanted to ask about your accident.
“I should have brought you a copy of my book”, Marks laughed”
“I’ve read the book”, Solomon deadpanned, placing a file of photographs on the desk.
“The top photograph is a shot of your wound, which I’m sure you’ve seen before. The next is a picture of the same weapon being fired into a block of gelatine by a female officer. The final shot is fired by me.”
“And?” asked Marks exasperated, “what the hell is this about?”
“The .50 calibre Desert Eagle handgun is extremely heavy”, Solomon explained, “when it’s fired by someone with a smaller upper frame, such as a female, it gives a kick which is reflected in the trajectory. There’s no kick evident in the picture that shows your wound.”
David Marks blanched,
“How do you explain that?” asked Solomon.
“I dunno”, he stammered, “maybe she fired two handed.”
Solomon shook his head,
“Evidence says otherwise. She fired the weapon single handed. But whatever she fired at, my friend, it was not you. Someone else shot at you. And for some reason, you decided to put a woman in prison for twenty seven years for something she didn’t do”
“But the money” stammered Marks,
“Tampered with”, shot back Solomon.
He loved this bit. When the perp had nowhere left to back off to. Back against the wall, time for the truth.
“Be careful”, said Solomon, “what you say next. This a very bad situation. It’s time for the truth”
Chapter 22. Later
Taylor smiled her sweetest smile as she saw him, leaned on the trunk of his car waiting.
“I guess we’re even”, she said smiling at the Lieutenant.
“Not even close”, he said with a kind look in his eyes, “You saved my life, at the risk of your own. But there is one thing.”
“Name it baby”, she said, “I’m free cos of you.”
“Stay away from Jack Mason”, he said his voice serious, “whatever Jack has going on, it needn’t concern you.”
Taylor was silent. She should have realised he would know what she was going to do.
“And to that end”, he continued, “I have a new quest for you”
He gave her an envelope,
“I remember you said you were an orphan, never knew your parents. So I ran your dna through our database.”
The bottom dropped out of Taylor’s world at that moment. In this envelope was…..
Was what? All thoughts of reprisals and of Jack Mason were gone…
“We got a hit. A female DNA match so close it looks likely to be your mother.”
“My…mother”
The mystery would have an end, the mystery of her life, her life which so far had been an aberration, something to be endured without any purpose, after all how can any creature that doesn’t know its origins have a purpose beyond staying alive. Not for the first time, thoughts of Groucho came to mind
“It’s easy for humans to turn into animals”, he’d said, “but harder for animals to turn human”
She had been an animal for a long time. Now, clutching her envelope, this animal had a past. Maybe not too much of a future still but certainly it had roots, a family of some kind. A quest, as Solomon had said.
But, whether Solomon had advised her or not, she couldn’t just leave. Not yet. Hiring a car from where Solomon had dropped her, she drove straight to the old bus depot. Sure enough, in the shed, everything was gone, all her precious things, her stash and money had all been taken. He’d taken the lot. Then she drove to the city courtrooms and waited. She arrived at about two in the afternoon, but it was gone six when the lawyer Maddisen Payne came out of a side door. She looked like a librarian, with her hair all pulled back from her face in a stark fashion, and her face was framed by huge thick framed glasses. She wore a conservative suit and sensible flat shoes. Jesus, was this the woman Jack had married? According to what she’d heard, apparently it was.
She followed Maddisen’s car along the freeway to the well to do suburbs in the south of the district, where the lawyer eventually pulled into a little driveway at the side of a smart little house. As she watched, a man met Maddisen at the car door. He was grey haired, and looked retired at first. Old. Then she realised it was Jack. Hate flowed through her, but she remembered Solomon’s words and the new adventure waiting for her in California. Shame her bank account was empty again, and with her stash gone she was penniless. All she had was an airline ticket, this rental car with half a tank of gas and forty bucks in her pocket which Solomon had given her.
But this was needed. She waited for Maddisen to go in the house, and then drew the car up. Jack looked up, his eyes worried. He looked haunted by something.
She got out of the car,
“Hey baby”, she said airily, “long time no see”
“You”, he said matter of factly, “I was expecting a call from you. Heard you got out. Marks finally cracked.”
“Damn”, and there I was hoping to surprise y’all. I’ll keep it sweet and short. All I want is my things from the stash. The locket and the book.”
“Burn in hell”, he said beginning to go inside.
“I’m guessing”, she replied, “that Maddisen doesn’t know about who you really are, or were. Or the stuff between us from my point of view.”
He approached her again,
“You realise what shit you brought down on me”, he said, “with all your stuff about the Maranzanos?”
“Fuck them”, she replied, “I don’t give a shit about them or you. You were mighty lucky to get out of any involvement with the injuring of that cop, Marks”
“My wife’s a defence attorney”, he said smiling weakly.
“Maybe not for long if she knows what you did to me” Tay answered sharply.
“Hang on”, he said disappearing inside. He looked almost bent now, and very pale, either through ill health or worry over his lifestyle and its inevitable consequences. A few moments later, he returned, bearing a tiny locket and a pocket book of poetry.
“This the trash you wanted”, he asked brusquely, “fucking take it. Madd was about to toss it anyway.”
“Baby”, she said with one look back, “you’re the trash. I sure hope Maddisen knows what she’s doin”
With her hands on her precious trinkets, she got back in the car.
Chapter 23. The best dressed coyote in town.
; The place just had to be so goddamed far away from the airport, didn’t it. ‘Western USA Trailer park’. It didn’t exactly fill the heart with images of towering castles, old money and gated driveways somehow. She’d managed to have enough greenbacks left for a taxi from LAX into the hills, clutching her little holdall of stuff. The fare money ran out in a deserted area of the Ventura highway outside the city. Middle of fucking nowheresville. But at least she had an address, and as far as the map in the terminal had said, it was along here. Problem was, it was about ten fucking miles away still. With precious few cars about, and not trusting truck drivers not to rape and murder her ass, she set off walking in the noonday sun.
Man, it was hot. It had been hot in the fucking airport, which was what had prompted her to take a wander round the place’s budget clothing store for something a little cooler. With money that she really didn’t have, she bought the cheapest thing in the store, a flimsy little yellow floral sun dress. A fucking dress. Tay couldn’t remember the time she’d ever been seen in a dress, but if it got too hot, then at least she’d have a change of clothes. And right now, wandering down this dirt road that had led off the Ventura she began to realise this was the right decision. Fuck it was hot. The leather of her worn jacket began to stick to her skin, and she began to look for a place to change. A fucking dress. Not really the kind of gear a baddass gangster bitch would really wear, but it was soon gonna be either that or vest and panties and nothing else. The heavy jeans she wore weighed down her legs. She guessed changing at the side of the road wouldn’t be a problem, the trucks were fairly infrequent and cars non-existent, so it’s not a though there would be an audience. So, still feeling like there was a hundred eyes on her, she sat down in the dirt, threw down her bag and pulled off her leather boots. With some relief she peeled off the burning hot denim jeans and just sat in her panties for a minute, bare legs in the sun. Man it felt good to just sit in the dirt. Reminded her of being a kid again. This was dust though, not dirt. Red, lifeless dust. But she couldn’t stay here all day, and so peeled off the jacket and t shirt as well, throwing them on to the side. Still no traffic. What a fucking place to live. Just worthless red dust. She missed the city, with the people and the challenges, and the shmucks. What the fuck was there here? Dirt and hillbillies? She didn’t like the idea of either? Can’t even play a fucking banjo, she reflected. What else was in the envelope besides the address and map she didn’t know, hadn’t had the courage to look yet. Tearing the dress tag off with her teeth, she wriggled it on over her head. Despite feeling ridiculous wearing a short sleeves summer fucking dress, the cool on her bare arms and legs felt wonderful, and strangely energising. Tay shivered, and she searched in her bag. She knew she’d thrown them in there somewhere. Right at the bottom. Black canvas sneakers. Another purchase she could ill afford from the airport shop, but still better that these old boots with the sole half missing. She balled the jacket up and put it in the holdall, this was precious and it was being kept, but the other shit, she just left behind, the old ratty jeans and the worn boots, let the coyotes have em. And so, clad in her new outfit, she bounced off down the road, in the baking sun. She smiled to herself. Somewhere back there, she thought with a laugh, there was the best dressed fucking coyote in the whole of this godforsaken shithole.