Tales from Stool 17; Dark Days of Judgment: The Nigel Logan Stories (3)

by Kirk Jockell

  Grace sat in amazement as she looked at a blown-up picture of herself. It was fuzzy in the details, but it was her, no doubt. She looked at the next picture. It was the one they used to zoom in on her face; only a few feet away from her was Terrance “T-Daddy” Lundsford. She was looking right at him.

  “Do you know when these were taken?” asked the detective.

  She said nothing as she looked at several other photos of herself in the night club. Many of them also had Lundsford in the frame.

  “They were taken just a few hours before he was killed. The night of his murder.” He let that rest in her mind before asking, “So, what were you doing there that night, Miss Matthews?”

  The door of the interviewing room swung opened and a well-groomed man stepped in and said, “Don’t say another word, Grace.” He walked around the table and took up a spot next to Grace. He placed his briefcase on the table, handed Anderson his card, and said, “Tim Johnson. Attorney for the Matthews family.” He looked at Grace and asked, “How are you, dear?”

  She smiled and said, “I feel better now. Did Daddy send you?”

  He smiled back then looked at the detective. “So, why is Grace here? Are you bringing charges against her?”

  “There is reason to believe Miss Matthews hasn’t been exactly forthcoming with her whereabouts the night Terrance Lundsford was murdered. She failed to disclose originally that she was with him the night he was murdered.”

  “I was not with him!” Grace replied.

  “That’s enough,” replied the attorney as he looked at his client. “Please, not another word. Okay, Grace?”

  She nodded her head and the detective continued, “We also have reason to believe she may be involved somehow.”

  The attorney said, “That’s nonsense. Her presence at the nightclub bears no weight on any involvement. Look at the pictures, detective. There are a lot of people in the club. Based on your rationale, any one of those people could be involved.”

  “Yeah, but there is only one problem. Miss Matthews is the only one in the club with an actual motive.”

  “Preposterous!”

  “Oh, is it?” asked the detective.

  Anderson took the folder and shuffled through a few shots until he found the one he was looking for. It was of Grace, outside the nightclub. She was in the street looking back over her shoulder. He placed the picture on the table and slid it in front of her. She looked at it and began to shake. Her breathing became short and shallow. Both the detective and the attorney could see that she found the picture disturbing. She focused on her face and the expression she held.

  “So ... Miss Matthews. Is there anything you would like to share regarding this photo? What are you looking at? Or better still, who are you looking at?”

  She said nothing and slid the photo to her attorney. Anderson lit another cigarette and placed it in the ashtray. “The attorney slid the photo back toward the detective and said, “This means nothing.”

  “By itself, maybe not,” said Anderson. He walked over to the mirrored one-way window and tapped on the glass with his knuckles. Moments later someone came in and handed him an iPad. When they were alone again, the detective said, “You see that picture was taken from a surveillance video feed from the bank across the street. Have a look.”

  Grace and her attorney watched as the detective began his narration as the video began. “There you are leaving the club. You seem in a hurry. As you are crossing the street something gets your attention.” The video continued to run and the detective said, “Right there! Did you see that, counselor?” And he stopped the video. “It looks like someone flashed a light at her. Headlamps, maybe. Did you see that? Let’s watch it again.”

  Sure enough, as the video showed Grace crossing the street, there is a light that flashes and gets her attention. She stopped in the middle of the street to take a look. “Now ... watch and see what happens next,” said the detective.

  By now, Grace is no longer viewing the video. The detective takes notice as she began to stare off into the distance. He asked, “Don’t you want to watch, Miss Matthews?”

  She didn’t have to watch. She knew what the video would show. It showed her stopping in the street, then turning to walk in the direction of the flashing light. The video ran until she walked out of the frame.

  Detective Anderson stopped the footage and asked, “Help me out here. What did you see? Where are you going?”

  She said nothing.

  “That’s okay,” he said and grabbed the folder and shuffled through a few more photos. “Ah, here it is.” Again, he slid the photo in front of her.

  She gave the picture a glance, then looked away. Her attorney studied the photo close, then turned to his client and asked, “Grace?”

  “It was taken from another video feed from down the street,” added the detective. “I can’t believe we missed this during the original investigation.”

  It was a picture of Grace outside a white unmarked van. She was bent over talking with someone through the driver’s side window. Based on her closeness to the window, it was apparent she was comfortable and familiar with whoever she was speaking with.

  Anderson tried to get Grace’s attention, but she wouldn’t look at him. He pointed to the license plate on the back of the van. He spoke to her attorney. “See that. That tag isn’t registered to this van. It actually belongs to a Toyota Corolla over in Portsmouth. Very suspicious, wouldn’t you say?”

  Detective Anderson looked at Grace, who was looking at the wall, and asked, “Who are you talking to, Grace? It’s Nigel Logan, isn’t it?”

  She wasn’t going to reply, but it didn’t matter. The question was interrupted by the same guy that brought in the iPad. He stuck his head inside the door and said, “Detective Anderson. There is someone else here claiming to represent Ms. Matthews.”

  Before Anderson could ask who, the door swung wide open and in entered someone familiar only to Detective Anderson. He walked across the floor and stuck his hand out toward the detective. “Detective Anderson. It has been a long, long time.”

  Anderson refused to take his hand. “Ah hell. You’re still not sore, are you? Are you going to introduce me?”

  Anderson said nothing.

  “I’ll do it myself, then.” He turned to Grace and gave an honest, soft smile. “Hello, Grace. We’ve never met, but it’s like I’ve known you for years. I’m here to represent you.”

  Attorney Johnson piped up and said, “Ms. Matthews already has representation. Who are you?”

  The guy looked down at the table and saw the ashtray with what was left of a smoldering cigarette. “Oh!” he said. He turned to Detective Anderson who was looking frustrated and said, “Larry. You must have fucking known I was coming.” In less than a second, a cigarette was lit and burning hot between his fingers. With his other hand, he reached toward the other attorney and said, “Hawkins. Jacob Hawkins.”

  Johnson took his hand and they shook. Detective Anderson looked at Johnson and said, “You’re going to want to wash your hands, counselor.”

  Jacob Hawkins ... Johnson knew the name, but they had never met. To his own pleasure, Hawkins wasn’t part of the normal social circles frequented by other attorneys. He was considered a mystery to many, but, in a matter of seconds, Hawkins was living up to all the rumors of his being an unconventional criminal lawyer. He was loud, abrasive, unkempt, and unprofessional with a foul mouth. It was also known that he was quite successful and good at what he does.

  Then a light came on in Johnson’s head. He snapped his fingers and pointed at Hawkins. “You represented Logan. I remember you now.”

  Hawkins pulled hard on his cigarette, then spread his palms out, tilted his head, and as he exhaled, said, “The one and only.” He looked around and spoke to everyone in the room when he said, “You know. I never even got a thank-you card from that son of a bitch. I called him up in that hotel room and gave him the news about the Grand Jury decision...” He stopped, looked at Anders
on, and said, “Sorry, Larry. Didn’t mean to bring that up. Water under the bridge, right? We’re still pals, aren’t we?”

  Anderson said, “Go to hell.”

  “Anyway,” Hawkins continued, “I call him up. Give him the good news and the bastard doesn’t say anything: No thank you, go to hell, or nothing. He just hangs up on me. Can you believe that? He pays his bills, though. Cash money. I guess that’s one way of saying thanks.”

  He took another pull from his cigarette and exhaled up in the air. He gave Grace a sincere look, and with a wink said, “Everything is going to be alright, pumpkin.”

  And, for the first time all day long, she believed it. She knew it was a message from her Uncle Nigel. She smiled back.

  “Very good!” said Hawkins. He opened his briefcase, looked at Johnson, and said, “Thank you so very much for being here. Your services are no longer required. How much do we owe you for your time, counselor?”

  Johnson said, “I think I need to speak with Captain Matthews first.”

  “That is quite alright. Please do,” said Hawkins. “But I would remind you, Captain Matthews isn’t the one needing representation.” He nodded toward Grace and continued, “And Ms. Matthews here is an intelligent adult, capable of making her own decisions.”

  Grace looked up at Hawkins and said, “But I don’t have any money to pay you.”

  “You don’t have to worry about that, pumpkin.”

  It was another message from Nigel. She said, “I can’t let him do this.”

  “Sweetheart. He already has.”

  She turned toward the family attorney and said, “It’s okay, Mr. Johnson. Thank you, but I’ll be fine now. Really.”

  After putting out his cigarette and peeling off several hundred-dollar bills, which he handed to Johnson, Hawkins said, “Now ... if everyone would be so kind and allow me to confer with my client in private, please.”

  Nigel found a post office and mailed his letter to Red. He spoke to the envelope as it disappeared through the slot. “Take care, my friend.” Then he continued his roll toward town. He was making all this up as he went along. His primary objective was to protect Grace from unnecessary manipulation. He grabbed his phone off the seat next to him and called Sherry Stone.

  “Where are you?” she asked.

  “Just now rolling through Deep Creek. Where are we?”

  “We saw Jacob Hawkins go in a while ago. We asked him for comment and he said, ‘Smoking Camels and an ice-cold Mountain Dew makes the best breakfast.’”

  Nigel chuckled, “That doesn’t surprise me. The guy is a damn loon.”

  “Nigel,” she said, “the other stations are broadcasting that Grace is the newest suspect in the investigation. That she is somehow involved with the murder.”

  “She’s done nothing wrong.”

  “I’ve heard that line before, my friend. It doesn’t exactly instill a lot of confidence.”

  “You know what I mean,” he said. “She had absolutely nothing to do with anything. The only thing she is guilty of is being at the wrong place at the wrong time.”

  “Listen,” she said, “I’m going to have to start broadcasting something to keep up with the competition.”

  “I understand. Just spin it in a different way. Make it sound like she is assisting in the investigation and not being interrogated.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  The phone line got quiet for a few beats as Nigel was thinking. “I don’t know just yet. If you think of something, let me know.” He ended the call and dialed Hawkins’s cell phone.

  “Where are we, Hawk?” asked Nigel.

  Hawkins looked over at Grace, who was still sobbing in the palms of her hands. “She’s upset, but it’s done. She told them everything. It about killed her. She loves you something awful. I don’t know what she sees in you.”

  Detective Anderson demanded, “Who are you talking to?”

  Hawkins continued to listen as he shifted his eyes to the detective, and, with much love and affection, presented his middle finger.

  “Who was that, Hawk? Larry?”

  “Yup.”

  “Are they still looking at her as an accomplice?” asked Nigel.

  “No. They agreed to that up front in exchange for her testimony. Not that it would have done them any good. They never had a case, plus I would have eaten them alive in court.” Hawkins gave Anderson a little wink.

  “Let me talk to her,” said Nigel.

  Hawkins tapped Grace on the shoulder with the phone and said, “Hey, pumpkin. Somebody wants to talk to you.”

  She tried her best to stifle her tears and runny nose, but it didn’t help much. She put the phone to her ear and said, “I’m so sorry. They made me do it.”

  “Now you just stop. You did the right thing. You told the truth. More so, you told the truth when doing so hurt the most. Do you know how much courage that takes?”

  “But what about you?”

  “How many times do I have to tell you? Don’t worry about me.” Nigel laughed and said, “I’ll be fine. It will be a new adventure.”

  In the background, Nigel could hear Anderson speaking to him again. “It’s over, Logan. Turn yourself in.”

  Nigel said, “Grace. Do me a favor?”

  She listened to her crazy Uncle and her tears and sadness were temporarily replaced with laughter. She pulled herself together just a touch and looked up at the detective and said with a chuckle, “Uncle Nigel said, ‘Go screw yourself, Larry.’”

  “That’s my girl. I love you. Now give the phone back to Hawk.”

  Speaking through her overwhelming emotions, she replied with an unintelligible, “Love you, too.” And she gave the phone back to her attorney.

  “It’s me,” said Hawkins.

  “Jacob. There is no way I can let her testify against me. The guilt would destroy her. She’s been through enough.”

  Hawkins said nothing.

  “Hand the phone to Anderson.”

  Shifting to a caring and helpful tone, Anderson said, “Make this easy on yourself. Come on in, Chief. It’s over.”

  “She’s a sweet girl, Larry. She’s done nothing. Promise me you will leave her alone.”

  “That’s already been taken care of, Chief. Where are you? We’ll come pick you up.”

  “That won’t be necessary. I’ll come in on my own. I don’t need a babysitter.”

  “Come on,” said Anderson. “Just tell me...” He pulled the phone away from his ear and looked at the screen. He handed the phone back to Hawkins and said, “He better have his ass in here within the hour.” Hawkins closed his briefcase and looked at Grace. “I think we are done here.” He looked at Anderson and asked, “Detective?”

  Anderson said nothing.

  “Thanks, Larry.” He put his hand on Grace’s back and said, “Come on, sweetheart. It’s time for you to go home.”

  Her mother and father were waiting for her in the lobby of the station. She broke free and ran into her father’s arms. Then she hugged her mom. They all three held each other tight. As they consoled each other, Captain Matthews looked up to see Hawkins walking their way. Hawkins stopped and said, “She has a few things to tell you, but everything is going to be alright. No, worries, sir.”

  “Thank you, Master Chief. I was relieved when Johnson told me you were in there.”

  “There was nothing to it, really. It was easy. Now, Logan’s plea deal ... that’s another matter altogether. Wish me luck, Skip.”

  Hawkins took a fresh Camel out of his pocket and stuck it in his mouth. He winked at the Matthews family, took a deep breath, and turned around. He shrugged his shoulders and walked back into the station. “Hey! Which of you fuckers stole my Zippo? I need a light.” As he walked toward the reception desk, he patted his coat until he found it in his breast pocket. He pulled it out and snapped it between his fingers and the blue flame rose high above the steel case. He lit his cigarette, snapped shut the Zippo, and said, “Hey Larry! Get the DA over h
ere. It’s time to play Let’s Make a Deal.”

  As the Matthews family broke their embrace, they watched Hawkins disrupt the entire police department. Despite the overwhelming admonishment for his smoking and bad language, Hawkins commanded attention and controlled the room. Anderson reached up and snatched the lit cigarette from his lips and escorted him to an office. Before he entered, Hawkins cut a look back at the Matthews family and smiled. Then he made short work of lighting another cigarette as he disappeared behind the door. As the door was being shut, they could hear Hawkins say, “Larry ... this is bullshit now...”

  “Who is he?” asked Grace.

  “That, honey,” answered her daddy, “is retired Master Chief Jacob Hawkins. The nastiest, smelliest, most unkempt and unprofessional attorney in town, probably the world if you want to get right down to it.” He paused a bit and finished, “He’s also the last guy you want to get in an argument with. In my entire life, I’ve never seen anyone twist a conversation or debate around like that guy can. He’ll make your head hurt.” Charlie Matthews looked at his wife Caroline and said, “If I ever get into real trouble. Just remember, that’s the guy.”

  Nigel was hurrying, seven miles over the speed limit. Fast enough to move along at a nice pace, but not so fast as to draw attention. He held the wheel tight. The reality of what he was driving toward began to weigh in. And as his thoughts drifted toward what he was leaving behind in Port St. Joe, he took his foot off the pedal, pulled over to the side of the road, and coasted to a stop. He sat in quiet meditation contemplating his options.

  He was on the very outskirts of downtown Portsmouth on Effingham Street. Ahead of him stood an interchange of no return. Once he made a decision, there would be no going back. He could either take the ramp for I-264 West to work his way out of town and remain a fugitive, or he could take the same and head east toward the downtown tunnel and emerge on the other side of the Elizabeth River a man destined to face a lifetime’s worth of consequences. As he sat there, the thoughts and memories of one person flooded his mind. He picked up his phone and dialed the number.