Gumbo Justice

by Holli H. Castillo

  “Honestly, I was kind of freaked out by that. No one’s ever tried to escape on me before.” She was conscious of Shep walking next to her, their elbows almost touching.

  “I didn’t think you were scared of anything.” Gilbert’s smiled appeared.

  “See what you get for thinking?” She waved at Edie down the hall. Edie gave her a thumbs up. Ryan ignored her, hoping Shep hadn’t noticed. “So, any leads on the homicide from last night?”

  Shep cut her off, opening the door at the end of the hall. “Sorry, babe, I got strict instructions not to let you in on anything with this investigation.”

  She walked through the door in front of Shep. They went down four steps to a second door that led to a full flight of stairs. The full flight descended into a fenced-in courtyard with a locked gate, where the inmates would be brought if the building caught fire, a security measure to ensure nobody escaped if somebody got cute and pulled the fire alarm. The deputies responsible for transporting the inmates through the courthouse each had a key to the gate.

  “What brought this on all of a sudden?” Ryan frowned, thinking of Sean’s comment to the same effect the day before.

  “I think Sean told the captain about your role in assisting him with Jimbo.”

  “And I think Sean’s an ingrate. But you’ll still let me know what’s going on, won’t you?” The stairway was hot and sticky, even more stagnant than the inside of the building. Ryan took off her suit jacket and put it over the railing at the top of the landing. She climbed on the rail and sat on her jacket, and then finally lit the cigarette.

  He shook his head. “Captain’s orders.” He paused for a second, and then said, “And I can kind of see up that short skirt with you sitting like that.”

  Ryan took a drag on the cigarette and exhaled before she spoke. “Daddy’s out of town. What if I talk to Sean and he says it’s okay? I did help you, after all. And while I know you’re not accustomed to women who wear underwear, if my panties are offending you, you don’t have to look at them.”

  “I wasn’t complaining,” he said quickly, not bothering to avert his eyes. “Let me talk to Sean. But I really don’t want to go against the captain, especially where you’re concerned.” He stood facing her in silence for a few seconds while she waited expectantly. “I said I’d talk to Sean.”

  Ryan decided to try to soften him up. “I’m sorry for being such a bitch last night,” she said, flicking an ash behind her. “Look, I know we don’t always get along, but I realize you think you were helping.”

  “If that’s your idea of an apology, I guess I accept. But don’t think I’m going to change my mind. I’m not that easy.”

  She tried again. “See, I wasn’t thinking that I could have been Jasmine. It was more like I was wondering why Jasmine couldn’t have been me. Why do things work out for one kid and not another? You know what I mean? What did that little girl ever do to deserve a mother like Charmaine?”

  “I do know what you mean. Exactly.” He leaned against the rail next to her.

  “I’m not really comfortable talking about my biological mother.” She watched an ash slowly dancing its way to the ground beneath them.

  His eyes followed the ash as well. “I can relate to not wanting to talk about your mother.” He glanced up at her suddenly. “I don’t like talking about mine either. People with crappy moms don’t.”

  Good segue. She was going to have to suck this one up eventually. She might as well apologize now.

  “While we’re on that subject, I’m also sorry about that comment I made the other night about you worrying about your own family. I didn’t realize your family was so screwed up.” Seeing the look on his face she quickly added, “No offense.”

  “None taken,” he said, but shifted away from her slightly.

  “This isn’t working, is it? Apologizing is one of the few things I’m not good at. Let me try again.” She pushed several loose strands of hair away from her face.

  He smiled then, but not Gilbert’s. “Don’t strain yourself, babe, I know what you mean.”

  “So, you never worked things out with your mom?” Ryan threw the cigarette to the ground, watching it float to join the wasteland of butts in the courtyard below.

  He shook his head. “I never spoke to her again. I heard she died a while back. Some kind of cancer. I wasn’t even invited to the funeral. So now that you know my life story, you want to tell me about your mother? And if you don’t, that’s cool.”

  She climbed down from the rail, picking up her jacket. “There’s really nothing to tell,” she said after a moment. Shep took her jacket and held it out for her. “Mama’s sister, Patti, was my biological mother. She was caught buying heroin when she was pregnant with me.” She thought for a second. “I was born while she was still in jail, so she gave me up to mama and daddy. Then when I was four, she showed up at the house and stole me. I don’t really remember it.”

  “Do you want to?” he asked, holding the first door open for her. They walked up the four steps to the second door that led back into the courthouse.

  “Sort of. I mean, I’ve always sort of been curious about Patti and why she came for me. Seeing Jasmine last night reminded me of how much I don’t know.”

  “Have you tried asking your parents? Or one of your brothers?” He paused at the second door.

  “They refuse to discuss the whole thing. It makes me wonder what really happened.”

  “Don’t you think the captain or your mom would have told you if anything bad had happened to you?” He finally opened the door leading into the hallway.

  “Not if they were trying to protect me.” She focused on the exit sign at the opposite end of the hall as they walked back in the direction of the courtroom.

  Shep stopped and took out a small notepad from his pocket. “What was your biological mother’s name?”

  “Patricia Ryan. Why?”

  He scribbled the name down. “Do you know her date of birth?”

  Ryan shook her head.

  He put the notebook and pen back in his pocket. “I’ll see if I can find out anything for you.”

  “Thanks,” Ryan said, surprised that Shep was helping her with something the captain would obviously disapprove of. “That’s actually kind of sweet.”

  “Good. Sweet is exactly what I was going for. Just do me a favor and don’t mention this to anyone. God only knows what would happen if the news got out that I did something nice for a woman I haven’t even slept with yet.”

  “Yet?” she asked, raising her eyebrows. “You have some mighty high aspirations.”

  “Slip of the tongue,” Shep answered, Gilbert’s smile reappearing. “And that’s an expression, not an offer, so don’t get your hopes up.”

  She tried to come up with an indignant response, but an attorney called to Shep before Ryan could think of anything.

  “I’ll be back before the verdict,” Shep said and walked away quickly.

  Ryan started back to the courtroom, feeling a little overheated. She glanced back over her shoulder and caught Shep looking back at her, and smiled to herself.

  In the courtroom, the staff was discussing Tyrone Cleeves.

  “I can’t believe that jackass tried to escape,” Donna said. “Where did he think he was going?”

  “He ain’t here because he’s a Rhodes scholar,” Monte pointed out. “What can you expect from a dude who stands on the street corner trying to sell a machine gun?”

  They shook their heads in unison. Monte walked over to the state’s table and sat next to Ryan.

  “So what’s going on?” His tone was casual, but the look he gave her made her blood race.

  She tried to sound nonchalant. “Same old.”

  “You into Chapetti now?” He looked over her head, in the direction of the doors.

  “I’m not into anybody,” she answered, feeling her face turn red.

  “I kind of got the impression you were into me the other night.”

  She was sa
ved from responding by Donna’s voice calling, “Jury’s back.”

  Ryan looked at her watch. Nice. The jury had only been out for twenty minutes. She was about to call Shep when he walked in.

  The jury filed down the stairs from the jury room, and back into the jury box. The attorneys stood.

  “Madame Foreperson, what is your verdict?” the judge called from the bench.

  The foreperson stood up, looking down as she unfolded the verdict slip. “On the sole count of possession of a firearm by a convicted felon, we find the defendant not guilty.”

  The courtroom was eerily silent.

  “The state requests a polling of the jurors,” Ryan announced too loudly, not believing she had heard right. She needed to know which jurors voted guilty, if any. The rest would not be chosen by any of the state attorneys for the rest of the jury month.

  Jurors served two days a week for a month in Orleans Parish. Each prosecutor had a list of all the jurors, and would jot down notes next to the jurors’ names, in particular the way they voted during the trials. The lists would be disseminated to the rest of the prosecutors by the trial secretary, so the assistants would know which jurors to strike from their own juries.

  “Members of the jury,” Judge Jackson said, “when I call your name, please stand and tell me if this is your verdict.”

  One at a time, the jurors stood up and said if they agreed with the verdict. There were two guilty verdicts, one middle-aged white woman and the young black man.

  “I find that the verdict is legal and in proper form. Thank you ladies and gentlemen for your service. Please return to the jury lounge downstairs and the clerk will give you further instructions. You will need to report back for service on Monday.” The jurors started filing out.

  Ryan stood with Mike and thanked the jurors for their service, shaking their hands as they walked by, although what she really wanted to do was grab them by their hair and shake their heads unmercifully. Juror number 29, the young black man, mouthed the word sorry as he walked by.

  “Thank you for your service,” she said, and shook the man’s hand.

  “I hope none of them ever need me for anything,” Monte said when the jurors were out of the courtroom.

  “Nothing like a little jury nullification,” the judge commented from the bench, slightly out of character for him. “Mr. Cleeves, because you were out on bond for this charge, you are free to leave. However, you will be getting a subpoena to come back in two weeks for a contempt charge for your behavior during this trial. If you fail to appear, a warrant for your arrest will be issued. I suggest you hire an attorney or the public defender will be appointed, as you are facing a maximum of six months without hard labor in parish prison, and I will tell you right now I am feeling inclined to give you the maximum. Do you understand me?” He stared at Cleeves for a second.

  Cleeves nodded, a toothy grin on his face.

  “Good. Get your subpoena from the minute clerk. Court is adjourned.” The judge pounded the gavel and walked back into chambers.

  “This verdict is just so wrong,” Donna said, filling in the blanks of a subpoena, ignoring the fact that Cleeves was standing right in front of her desk. “At least he’ll get six months for the Houdini attempt.”

  Cleeves took the piece of paper when Donna handed it to him. “Thank you,” he told her. “And six months ain’t nothing. I could do that standing on my head.”

  “Don’t let me catch you out there, bra,” Monte warned, putting his hand on Cleeves’ shoulder. “I didn’t have anything against you before, but I sure do now. I’m gonna be keeping an eye out for you.”

  “It’s all good,” Cleeves told him, and knocked Monte’s hand off his shoulder. He nodded at Ryan and Mike. “You two better than my free lawyer, but the truth will always set you free.”

  “Then you should still be locked up,” Ryan answered. “You’re just lucky there were ten people stupider than you in the jury pool.”

  “Watch what you saying, Miss D.A.. I eat bitches like you for lunch.” He took a step in Ryan’s direction. “I might even see you around later.”

  Shep and Monte quickly stepped in front of Ryan. Shep pushed Cleeves roughly with two hands, causing the other man to stumble backwards into the podium.

  “You can bet on seeing me again,” Ryan said, determined not to let Cleeves get the last word. “I give you a week before you get yourself arrested again.”

  “I’d give you a day if you’re going to be hanging in the St. Thomas,” Shep added, pushing him again. “It’s not nice to call the prosecutor names. You could have an unfortunate accident off of something like that.”

  “I’ll take my chances,” Cleeves said. He looked at Ryan again before stepping away from Shep, and walking out of the courtroom.

  Shep and Monte stalked out after Cleeves without a word.

  Ryan gathered her files and walked out of the courthouse with Mike, wondering if the defective logic of the world’s stupidest jury had just screwed her out of the Strike Force spot.

  Ryan was back at the D.A.’s Office by four, and didn’t plan on staying long. She was tired and aggravated, and the thought of a nice long nap was appealing. She would just check her docket for tomorrow and then call it a day.

  Bo was getting off the elevator at the first floor as Ryan got on.

  “How was your trial?” she asked.

  “Not guilty,” he said, pushing the glasses back up on his nose. “I don’t know what happened. How could I lose a third class crack possession?”

  “I feel you,” Ryan answered, and waited until the elevator doors closed to smile. Losing a crack possession technically wasn’t as bad as losing a 95.1, but a loss was a loss when counting statistics.

  She put Cleeves’ file face down on her desk so she wouldn’t have to look at it, and pulled her files for the next day. She tried to imagine how she would react if Bo, or worse yet, Kellie, got the promotion instead of her. Fortunately, the phone rang, snapping her back to reality. No way. That Strike Force spot was hers, Tyrone Cleeves or no Tyrone Cleeves.

  “Ryan Murphy, Trials.”

  “Ryan Murphy, this is Chance Halley, from WDSU News. How are you today?”

  She was more than a little intrigued about the purpose of his call, but she gave Chance the standard press response. “I’m fine, thank you. But all requests for statements have to go through Miss Vera, the D.A.’s secretary. I’ll transfer you.”

  “Wait, I don’t want a statement. I just wanted to say I was sorry. I’m sure you heard about my gross error in judgment.” He was too slick, but at least he was apologizing.

  “Oh that’s right. You called me a hooker. Oh, and accused me of murder.”

  “I never accused you of murder. I just said you had a connection to both victims, which is true, isn’t it?”

  Ryan ignored his question. “But you did call me a hooker. And I thought you were supposed to be apologizing. It sounds to me like you’re still after a statement.”

  “I’m a reporter. I can’t help myself. But I do truly regret the hooker remark.”

  Ryan was sure he did. Especially after Sean’s warning. “Is that because you’re sorry you said it, or because you don’t want to get your legs broken?”

  “A little of both. I thought one of those cops was going to hurt me.” Chance Halley’s tone was suddenly serious. “When I asked about you, the tall one told me to suck his dick. And the redhead told me I’d better not even look at you or I’d find myself underneath Orleans Parish Prison.”

  “The redhead is my brother,” Ryan told him.

  “Ouch. No wonder he was so mad. But I can’t help asking questions. I learned a long time ago that the only way to find out anything is to ask. You would understand if you had any reporter in you.”

  “Well, Mr. Halley, I can’t relate. I’m an attorney. I don’t happen to have any reporter in me.”

  “Would you like to?” His lascivious response was fast enough that Ryan realized it was a set up, and o
ne he probably used frequently. “And by all means, call me Chance.”

  “Do you ever get lucky with that one?” she asked, wondering where Chance got his nerve. She figured it was probably from looking in the mirror every morning.

  “You’d be surprised. But now that you’ve accepted my apology, would you like to go out with me some time?”

  “I didn’t say I accepted your apology. And why would I go out with you? So I can give you information on the cases I’m working on?” She drummed her fingers on the desk, slightly irritated. He was cute, but she wasn’t stupid enough to go out with him when he was clearly only after a story.

  “Well, not just that. I was thinking we could have sex, too.”

  His answer didn’t brighten her mood. “Why don’t you call me after the homicides are solved. I wouldn’t want anyone thinking you were consorting with a murderer.”

  “I will call you back. I felt a spark when you looked at me. I swear, I’m not just about getting information.”

  “I know. You’re also about getting laid.” She hung up the phone and decided she’d had enough for the day. Now she would go home, hoping she could forget about lost cases, hidden agendas and dead defendants long enough to catch up on some much needed sleep.

  Ryan couldn’t keep her thoughts from drifting back to the homicides on the short drive home. L’Roid Smith had been killed in a way common among gang members–beaten, shot in the head execution style, and left naked. It was the ultimate humiliation, and the same way he had committed his own gang murders, including the one Ryan had tried to prosecute. And Jeremiah had been beaten, the same way he had beaten his wife on the case Ryan had handled. She thought about Charmaine Reynolds, but couldn’t remember how Charmaine had killed her pimp.

  As soon as she got home, Ryan pulled out the file where she kept her copy of the nolle prosequi forms, the paperwork that had to be completed and approved by the supervisors to dismiss a case.

  Charmaine had waited until her pimp, Marco Bouvier, had passed out from taking too many Soma tablets, and then choked him in his sleep with her scarf, tying it around his neck and pulling until he quit breathing. There was no doubt that Bouvier had taken the Soma himself, and Charmaine had just waited until he lost consciousness to kill him.