Gumbo Justice

by Holli H. Castillo

  Doug then inspected Charmaine’s body. “Condom in the throat looks like it’s full of DNA. Maybe we can get a match on that with something in the system. Also looks like a condom in the vagina, probably full of DNA as well.”

  “A rapist wouldn’t likely leave DNA if he knows his is on file,” Ryan said. “And why use a condom if he was just going to leave the evidence behind?”

  “See these marks?” Doug pointed to the dark sores on the woman’s body. “Kaposi’s sarcoma. That’s why he used a condom.”

  “AIDS?” Shep walked up to get a closer look. “Kid has the same sores.”

  “Kid could have been born HIV positive, if mama didn’t get any kind of treatment when she was pregnant. Then again, mama might have been tricking the kid out for heroin — see all these track marks?” He pointed to the dead woman’s arms and legs.

  “Where’s the patrol unit that’s supposed to be out here?” Sean asked. Ryan hoped for Sisko and Malette’s sake they hadn’t screwed this one up as well.

  “Right where it’s supposed to be, two blocks away and around the corner, barely out of the line of sight. This guy’s got balls of steel,” the sergeant answered. “Sean, go with Doug, get the details, start the report.” The sergeant walked away.

  Sean nodded and turning to Shep, pointed at Ryan.

  Ryan walked to Shep’s car and sat in the passenger seat, trying to compose herself as she waited for him to finish talking to Sean and the sergeant.

  When Shep got in, he turned to Ryan and lightly squeezed her shoulder. “You okay?”

  She shook her head, not trusting her voice to speak. They drove down Jackson Avenue in silence.

  At the left turn on St. Charles, Shep finally spoke. “I don’t care how long you do this, you never get used to the sight of a dead child.”

  “How can something like this make any kind of sense at all?” Ryan asked, blinking back tears.

  He didn’t respond, but reached over and squeezed her shoulder again. Ryan knew he couldn’t give her an answer, and they didn’t speak the rest of the way to her house. She had wanted to apologize to him for her comment about his family, but since worrying about her own lack of matters seemed petty right now, she kept her mouth shut.

  Shep started to get out at Ryan’s house.

  “I’m good.” She put her hand up to keep him in the car. He obeyed, as if he didn’t want to infringe on her sorrow. But at the front door, Ryan fumbled with her keys, and watched as they dropped to the porch. Instead of picking them up, she pressed her forehead against the front door, as tears started rolling silently down her face.

  “You okay, babe?” Shep’s voice was uncertain from the bottom of the steps.

  She nodded, but didn’t try to reach for her keys. She heard Shep’s steps on the concrete, and then felt his hand on her back, steadying her. He picked up her keys and opened the front door, guiding her to the sofa. He wrapped his arms around her, and pulled her head into his chest, letting her cry on his SID shirt.

  Ryan instinctively held onto him, inhaling his woodsy scent, trying to control her sobs.

  “Just let it go,” he spoke soothingly, caressing her hair. “It’s okay.”

  After several minutes, she finally got to the point where no more tears would come. She took a deep breath, embarrassed by her breakdown, but not entirely ready to lose physical contact with another body. She wiped her nose on his shirt, and finally sat back. “Sorry about your shirt.”

  “It’ll wash.” He wiped a tear from her face with his knuckle. “Maybe you should call your dad.”

  Of the many times she didn’t want her father around, the one time she needed him, he wasn’t there. “No. Daddy’s got enough of his own problems right now. I’m okay. Really.” She stood up and stepped away from the sofa. “I’m fine. That scene back there was just — difficult.”

  Shep nodded sympathetically. “That scene would have been tough for anybody to take, but especially for you.”

  She could tell his words held no deprecation, but she didn’t like what she suspected they did hold.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” She put her hands on her hips to avoid the temptation to bite her thumbnail.

  “Ryan, I know about your mother. I’ve been friends with Sean too long not to.”

  Her thumb went into her mouth as she nervously began nibbling the hangnail anyway. “My mother has got nothing to do with it.”

  “Ryan, there’s no way you weren’t thinking that little girl could have been you.”

  “You don’t know anything about what I’m thinking,” she said, avoiding his eyes.

  “Well, why don’t you tell me then?” He took a step toward her.

  She quickly strode to the front door and opened it. “I really don’t feel like talking about this. You can go now.”

  “Ryan, I’m only trying to help.”

  She gestured to the door. “I don’t need your help. And I certainly don’t need your pity.”

  He stared at her for what seemed like forever, a look on his face she couldn’t read. “Pity? Babe, you really don’t have a clue, do you?”

  And then he crossed the threshold and walked out.

  Ryan watched him get in the car, and finally shut the front door when she realized he wasn’t going to drive off as long as she was in the doorway. She poured herself the last glass of wine from the bottle, and fell asleep sitting up on the sofa, only halfway through drinking it.

  JACOB

  Jacob was not pleased. The cop had screwed up. He was supposed to kill the hooker and wrap a bow around her head. Instead, he killed the child, raped the hooker, and forgot the bow. The only thing he did right was kill the hooker. But without the bow, killing the hooker was pointless. The bow was the key. Everyone was supposed to think the dead hooker was a gift for Ryan, and no one would even be able to guess that without the bow.

  He shook his head in disgust. Jacob wasn’t bothered by the rape of the hooker, or in theory by the murder of her AIDS-infested child. But while the gift-wrapped hooker would have sent the proper message, the dead child might cause Ryan to start thinking about her own past, and that was something Jacob didn’t want Ryan to delve into quite yet. Not that he really thought she was smart enough to figure out his plan.

  The extraneous crimes also wasted time. Time the cop should have used to put the fucking bow around the hooker’s head.

  As much as he wanted to, he couldn’t get rid of the cop yet. A few more people had to be killed before he could move on to phase two of his plan. And at this point, he couldn’t take the risk of doing the murders himself. When everything was ready, when it was time, Jacob would kill the cop himself.

  Jacob had watched when Ryan first got out of the car, waiting for her to recognize the hooker. Any normal woman with feelings would have been devastated at such a scene, a dead child, her mother raped and murdered. He wasn’t surprised to see Ryan’s lack of emotion for a common whore and her bastard child. As if her own mother had been any better. She had to know where she came from, and yet she still couldn’t empathize, further proof to Jacob that he had made the right decision. Past inequities had to be resolved. Soon he would make Ryan realize that.

  9:45 A.M.

  Ryan tapped her ink pen on the table nervously. She had chosen the jury for the trial of Tyrone Cleeves, and was waiting for Shep and Monte. Mike was doing a motion hearing, and as soon as he finished, the trial would begin. Ryan never relaxed until her cops were in the courtroom. Not that she thought Shep or Monte would skip out, but the judge wouldn’t be happy if the state’s witnesses were late. And after the way last night had ended, Ryan wasn’t exactly sure what to expect from Shep when he did show up.

  Voir dire had taken less time that Ryan had anticipated. She thought she had chosen her jury well, but she wouldn’t know for certain until the verdict came back. She felt comfortable with her choices, with the exception of a young black guy she couldn’t strike. She was out of challenges, and a vote of ten of the twelve
was all that was needed for a conviction, so she felt she could take the chance.

  Ryan heard the back door open, and looked up to see Shep and Monte together in the doorway. She went to the back of the courtroom and led the two men into the hallway.

  Monte smiled at her. “We ready to hook this gangsta up?”

  Ryan pointed over her shoulder to the courtroom door. “As soon as Mike finishes his hearing. Maybe five minutes.”

  “I’m going to let section K know I’m over here,” Monte said. “I’ll be back by the time the jury’s up.”

  “Do you need the police report?”

  Monte took the report and walked down the hall.

  Ryan turned to Shep. “What about you?”

  He held his hands up. “Before we start talking police reports, I want to make sure we’re still friends.”

  She looked at him dubiously. “I didn’t realize we were ever friends.” Shep’s apology was the last thing she expected, not that she was complaining.

  He tilted his head, looking down at her, his gray-blue eyes questioning through his lashes. “You’re not still mad, are you? I’m sorry if I crossed some boundary last night.”

  “It’s fine. I’m not mad. Do you need a police report?”

  He held up his copy to show her.

  “Good.” She turned to go back into the courtroom, when he grabbed her arm.

  “Is something up with you and Carlson?” His eyes locked hers, making her heart race slightly.

  “What’s it to you?” Her response was a force of habit, fast and defensive, without any thought given before she said it. She immediately regretted it.

  “Nothing. Sorry. I didn’t mean to get into your personal life again. Never mind.” He looked away and walked into the courtroom ahead of her.

  Shep’s words stayed in Ryan’s mind while the public defender questioned Tyrone Cleeves. She tried to stay focused on the trial, but she didn’t need her full attention on a case this easy anyway.

  The state’s case had lasted less than an hour, and Ryan thought it was a lock. Shep and Monte had both done well on the stand, not that she hadn’t expected them to. They both knew how to testify, looking directly at the jurors as they recalled the events of Tyrone Cleeves’ arrest in almost identical detail.

  Monte had received a tip that a reluctant witness on one of Shep’s open homicides was hiding out in the St. Thomas. The detectives were looking for him when they saw Tyrone Cleeves on the corner of Felicity and St. Thomas, showing off an AK-47 to a group of black men. Monte and Shep had jumped out of the car and identified themselves as police officers. The group scrambled, Tyrone Cleeves throwing down the AK in the melee that ensued. Shep retrieved the gun while Monte chased Cleeves, catching him just past the first building in the project. The testimony was consistent and entirely believable. Ryan didn’t see how the jury couldn’t be convinced.

  After she introduced her evidence, a dangerous looking AK-47 machine gun, the state had rested and Pablo Martinez, Cleeves’ attorney, had called him to the stand. Naturally, Cleeves told a completely different version of events than Shep and Monte. According to Cleeves, another man had the gun. The detectives were putting charges on him for some reason he couldn’t explain. His story was completely ludicrous, and it didn’t appear that the jury was buying it. Ryan could hardly wait to cross-examine him.

  Pablo smiled at the jury, and then his client. “Mr. Cleeves, please answer the state’s questions.”

  Ryan stood up. “Mr. Cleeves, how many felony convictions do you have?”

  The best part about a 95.1 was that the defendant usually testified. In cases where the accused didn’t testify, the state couldn’t bring up his prior convictions without causing a mistrial. Thus, in most cases, if the defendant had a prior conviction, he simply didn’t take the stand and the jury would never know how bad a guy he really was. But with the felon in possession of a firearm charge, the jury automatically got to hear about the priors, being that a prior conviction was one of the elements the state was required to prove. Consequently, since the jury would learn about the prior convictions anyway, the defendant almost always testified. And he almost always tripped himself up.

  “Six or seven,” Cleeves answered. “But I just pled guilty to those so I could get out of jail.”

  Ryan nodded. “I see. So you lied so you could go home faster?”

  “Yes ma’am, I did.”

  Ryan walked in front of the jurors. “Like you’re lying to this jury right now, isn’t that right?” She pointed to the jury box.

  “No, miss, I is not lying right now. Them cops is lying. I never had that gun. You just want to put me in jail for fifteen years. I got a brand new baby girl that’s going to be growed by the time I get out. Fifteen years, that’s almost her whole life.”

  “You should have thought about that before you tried to sell an AK-47 machine gun on the street,” Ryan said.

  “Objection,” Pablo said, standing up. “That’s not a question.”

  “Withdrawn,” Ryan said quickly. It was a trick she had picked up from watching Law and Order, completely improper and generally frowned upon in real life, but the judge let it slide with a warning look. “So, Mr. Cleeves, exactly what were you doing on that corner then?”

  Cleeves smiled. “I was just hanging out.”

  “So you’re saying another man had this gun, and not you?”

  “I never even touched a real gun in my life.”

  “Well, Mr. Cleeves, what’s that on your forehead?” She pointed for emphasis.

  He shrugged. “It’s just a tattoo.”

  “That’s actually a tattoo of a gun, isn’t it?” She didn’t wait for him to answer. “Do you think the automatic machine gun tattooed on your forehead looks like the automatic machine gun I gave to the minute clerk? The gun the police officers retrieved from you? The AK-47 you claim you never touched?”

  Cleeves shrugged again.

  “The state requests the defendant stand in front of the jury box so the jurors may view his tattoo and decide for themselves.”

  Pablo stood up. “Objection. The jurors are not qualified to identify tattoos.”

  Thank you, Ryan thought, but aloud said, “Your Honor, I think the jurors are intelligent enough to decide for themselves if the gun I’m holding is similar to the gun tattooed on the defendant’s forehead, despite defense counsel’s opinion to the contrary.”

  The judge glared at her. “Ms. Murphy, that was out of line. Do it again and you’ll find yourself in contempt of court. Mr. Martinez, your objection is overruled. Get up and stand in front of the jury, Mr. Cleeves.”

  Ryan walked to Donna, who held the evidence that had been admitted, and picked up the AK-47. Cleeves stood up and slowly walked in front of the jurors, giving them a view of the tattoo on his forehead. Ryan walked behind him with the weapon, stopping at the state’s table.

  She held the AK-47 out in front of her, so the jury could compare. The gun bore a striking resemblance to Cleeves’ tattoo.

  Cleeves took a single step toward Ryan. “This tattoo don’t make that gun mine.”

  “Sit down now, Mr. Cleeves.” The judge stood up behind the bench.

  Cleeves ignored the judge. “I never had that gun and I ain’t going to jail and never see my baby again.” And then Cleeves did something Ryan had never seen before in her four years at Orleans Parish Criminal Court. He made a run for it.

  Cleeves ran past Ryan, who jumped behind the table, and moved the gun out of Cleeves’ reach. But Cleeves wasn’t going for the gun. He was going for the door. At the first row of benches, Monte and Shep were waiting for him. The two men took him down in half a second and passed him back to Mike, who passed him to the bailiff, who brought him into the holding cell in the back. Nero quickly led the jury back to the jury room.

  Cleeves was searched, and when the court deputy determined he didn’t have any weapons hidden in any of his body parts, was brought before the judge.

  “I do not toler
ate that type of behavior in my courtroom,” Judge Jackson said, looking down sternly at Cleeves from the bench. “I’ll decide how to penalize you after this jury returns a verdict. But make no mistake, you pull something like that again, and you’ll be sitting in Orleans Parish Prison for the rest of your trial. Nero, cuff his hand to the defense table.”

  The jury was brought back in.

  “No further questions from the state,” Ryan said, giving the jury a smile.

  “The defense rests,” Pablo said uncertainly, then sat next to his client.

  As far as Ryan was concerned, between the tattoo and the escape attempt, she should have been able to stand there with one finger in her nose and her other hand scratching her ass and still get a conviction without even opening her mouth. And put herself one step closer to Strike Force in the process.

  Shep and Monte stayed in the courtroom during the brief closing arguments, as well as for the jury instructions. Some of the prosecutors didn’t care if the police officers left as soon as their testimony was over. Ryan always tried to make her officers wait, keeping them in front of the jury as long as possible. She also always requested they at least stayed on beeper so she could call them back for the jury verdict. She wanted the jury to have to look the police in the eye if they were going to return a not guilty verdict, in effect saying the cops were lying. Not that she was worried about that on this case.

  When the jury left to deliberate, Ryan grabbed a cigarette and lighter from her purse. “Shep, would you mind walking me down the hall?” She thought the time was finally right to apologize to him for the comment about his family. And maybe to find out exactly what sparked his question about Monte.

  “Uh, sure.” He seemed surprised as he followed her out.

  Smoking was not allowed in the courthouse, even in the hallways. At the opposite end of the second floor, an unlocked door led to a set of outside stairs, and to what the regulars in the building considered an unofficial smoking area.

  As they walked down the hall, Shep spoke first. “So what do you really want? I know you’re not scared to walk the halls of criminal court.”