“Pretty much,” Officer Donovan said. “This Nelson guy didn’t see any of this stuff happen. Like we told him, vandalism is a very difficult crime to solve. Without an eyewitness, he’s screwed.”
“Let’s face it,” Gomez added, “as much as his name has been dragged through the mud lately, a lot of people are probably gunning for him. He didn’t do himself any favors by filing that countersuit.”
“You got that right,” Officer Donovan agreed. “Guys like him make me embarrassed to be a black man.”
Special pranced back into the living room carrying another saucer of cheesecake. She bent over to hand it to Officer Gomez, at the same time, treating Officer Donovan to a view of way too much of her tight little tush.
“Here you are, Manny,” Special cooed. “Would you like another piece too, Fred?”
Chapter 51
What do we want? Justice! When do we want it? Now!”
J.C. was a block away from Parker Center, but heard the chants before she even caught sight of the haphazard crowd marching in front of police headquarters in a ragged procession.
“There’s no justice for African-American men in this city!” A middle-aged black man with dreadlocks bellowed into a bullhorn. “Four prominent African-American men are gunned down in a matter of days and the LAPD couldn’t give a damn!”
J.C. rolled down her window and turned off the radio, slowing to a crawl as she passed the protesters.
“Somebody’s killing African-American men—our best and our brightest—and the police don’t even bother to warn the black community that we’re at risk.”
Even before J.C. got a good look, she knew the ringleader was Leon Webber, a community activist who was always Johnny-on-the-spot when any issue arose involving L.A.’s African-American community. A reporter motioned him off to the side for an interview and he readily followed.
J.C. made a U-turn, parked, and jogged across the street. She stayed clear of the TV cameras, not wanting to be mistaken for a protester. She listened as Webber spouted off to not one, but three reporters.
“We have the murders of four African-American men—an engineer, a doctor, a star football player and an investment banker—in less than two weeks and the LAPD is treating them like they were gangbangers. If four white men had been killed under the same circumstances, somebody would’ve called in the F.B.I and the C.I.A. The LAPD simply does not value the life of its African-American citizens. Not the poorest African-American in Watts or the wealthiest one up in View Park.”
“Exactly what would you like the police to do?” one of the reporters asked.
“To care!” Webber fired back. “They haven’t even warned us that there’s a killer on the loose gunning for us. How irresponsible is that? The word I’m hearing is that there’s some white supremacist group who’s vowed to kill every professional African-American man in this city. If I’ve heard that, I know the police have, too. But they’ve chosen to do nothing about it because they want us all dead.”
J.C. couldn’t stomach any more. She returned to her car and drove around back to the lot where employees parked their personal vehicles. She had just removed her knapsack from the backseat when Detective Jessup snuck up behind her. She flinched.
“Wow, you’re a little jumpy there, Detective. That’s not good for a cop.”
She pulled her bag over her shoulder and stepped around him.
“Did you see that excuse for a protest out front?” Detective Jessup followed her into the station. “Those people have too much free time on their hands.”
“They’re absolutely right about our failure to warn the public. That should’ve been done a long time ago.”
“That’s not our call. We don’t know for sure yet that the murders are even connected.”
Yes, we do.
J.C. wasn’t able to shake Jessup until she escaped into the women’s locker room. Two patrol women waved as she walked in. J.C. was one of only three female detectives, and the women patrol officers looked up to her. Whenever they had problems with a sexist male partner or wanted advice about a promotional path, they consulted her.
Katrina, a single mother who’d been on the force for only two years, took a seat on a bench near J.C.’s locker.
“Did you see that story about the shootings in the Sentinel?” Katrina asked.
“No,” J.C. replied. “But I heard Larry Elder’s radio show yesterday.”
“So, what do you think?”
She shrugged. “I don’t buy the theory about white supremacists or gang retribution.”
A female desk sergeant hollered into the locker room. “Detective Sparks, the lieutenant wants to see you.”
More than a week had passed since J.C. stormed out of Lieutenant Wilson’s office. They now spoke to each other only when absolutely necessary. When she reached the lieutenant’s doorway, he was just finishing up a call.
“We’ll get to it right away,” he said into the receiver. “I’m about to assign an officer to the job right now.”
Lieutenant Wilson hung up the telephone. “Have a seat.”
J.C. slowly sat down, wary about what was in store for her.
“I have a job for you,” the lieutenant began. “The mayor’s office is getting a lot of calls about these shootings, and that poor excuse for a protest out front isn’t helping. When there’s heat on the mayor, there’s heat on us. We need to do what we can to diffuse it.”
“And just how do we do that?”
“The mayor’s putting together a team to handle communications between the Department and his office. I’m designating you as our liaison.”
“Why me? Detective Jessup would love this opportunity.”
“You’re a lot smarter,” he said. “And cuter.”
J.C. didn’t smile. The lieutenant wanted to pretend as if their run-in had never occurred. She didn’t.
“Mayor Caranza is also planning to hold a press conference. The chief is trying to talk him out of it. It doesn’t do any good to talk to the press when you don’t have anything concrete to tell ’em. But there’s an election just around the corner and you know how politicians are. Always trying to get their mugs in front of the cameras. Anyway, you’ll need to be there.”
J.C. moved to the edge of her seat. “Why do I need to be there?”
“The mayor feels safer when he’s surrounded by cops.”
J.C. wanted no part of this. Lieutenant Wilson was intentionally withholding information that could lead to catching the killer solely because of his homophobia and fear of stigmatizing black men.
“And before you say anything about that homosexual crap,” he said, “we’re looking into it. I still don’t believe it, but that angle is being quietly investigated. But we can’t go public with it until we have solid, irrefutable evidence to support it.”
J.C. welcomed the news and her face showed it. “Why aren’t you taking advantage of this photo op yourself, Lieutenant?”
He chuckled and swiveled in his chair. “I thought it would be a great opportunity for you, Detective. Give you some visibility. I’ll let you know the date and time once everything’s scheduled.”
J.C. almost laughed in his face. The lieutenant wasn’t doing her any favors. He was protecting himself. When any controversial issue had even the slightest potential of hitting the fan, Wilson stayed far enough away so that not even a speck of crap landed on him. That was the primary reason he had survived three mayors.
“Is that it?” J.C. asked.
There was an awkward moment of silence.
“I … uh … I was out of line during our last conversation.” Lieutenant Wilson gazed at his candy dish, not her.
J.C. nodded, surprised, but pleased by his attempt at an apology. She wouldn’t push the issue. “I hope I’m not expected to say anything at this press conference.”
“You’ll get some talking points from Medi
a Affairs telling you what to say.” He reached for a Snickers from his hand grenade candy dish, but did not offer her one. “What’s most important is that you know what not to say.”
Chapter 52
On the morning Judge Fuller was set to announce his decision on the gag order, the crowd outside the courthouse had ballooned at least threefold. Pro and anti-gay groups hurled insults at each other through bullhorns, while TV cameramen stood at the ready, hoping that a full-fledged melee broke out. Vernetta and Special had to practically fight their way to the courtroom.
Just as Vernetta was about to step inside, she noticed Eugene and Eagleman at the opposite end of the corridor being interviewed by a reporter from the L.A. Times. She hurriedly nudged Special inside, fearing that if she spotted Eugene’s impromptu press conference, she might pop a blood vessel.
“I’m so hot I don’t know what to do,” Special said, as they took seats near the back of the courtroom. “This case needs to be publicized.”
Vernetta agreed with her, but if the judge did ban cameras from the courtroom, it wouldn’t be the end of the world. “Even if the trial isn’t televised, reporters will still be in the courtroom covering the case.”
“That’s not good enough. I want cameras in here broadcasting every word.”
J.C. joined them just before Sam and Nichelle walked down the center aisle and into the well of the courtroom. They handed business cards to the court clerk and took seats at the plaintiff’s table. Nichelle turned around and smiled back at them. Special flashed her two thumbs-up.
Eugene, Eagleman, and three other men entered the courtroom to murmurs of recognition.
“That don’t make no sense.” Special’s voice was both louder and nastier than it needed to be. “So now his ass has four attorneys?”
“Shhhhh,” Vernetta said.
But Special ignored her. “Every time I see that asshole he looks healthier than he did the last time.”
“You better cool it,” J.C. warned. “If you go off in here, I guarantee you’ll be spending the night in jail.”
Special smacked her lips and clutched her purse to her chest.
The bailiff called the court to order and everyone rose as Judge Fuller took the bench. Instead of focusing on the judge, Special was glaring at a petite woman sitting directly behind Eugene and his attorneys.
“That’s Church Girl over there.” Special rudely pointed in the woman’s direction.
Vernetta grabbed her hand and forced it back into her lap. “Didn’t your mama teach you not to point?”
Belynda, or Church Girl, as Special liked to call her, appeared to be in her early thirties. She was an attractive woman despite her somber expression. Eugene turned around and winked at her. Special was about to say something when J.C. gave her a silencing look.
“When addressing the issue of a protective order,” Judge Fuller began, “it’s important for the court to balance the rights of the parties against the public’s right to know.”
Vernetta grabbed Special’s hand, ostensibly to comfort her friend, but also to calm her own fractured nerves.
“I find that the weight here lies with the defendant, Mr. Nelson. The plaintiff’s counsel, Ms. Ayers, has made it her business to use every possible opportunity to personally attack him. Her conduct will no doubt make it more difficult for this court to seat an unbiased jury. For that reason, I’m issuing a limited protective order.”
“This ain’t right!” Special seethed. A few people glanced back at her. Thank God the judge was almost deaf.
“Cut it out,” J.C. warned her.
The judge went on to issue an order prohibiting the attorneys from discussing the evidence in the case, the merits of their opponent’s case, or the expected testimony of witnesses. He also ordered the attorneys, as well as the parties, to refrain from disparaging each other in the media. Then he announced that television cameras would be barred from the courtroom.
Special’s knee started bouncing and Vernetta could hear her foot tapping the floor. “This ain’t right. What ever happened to freedom of speech?”
The judge closed a folder, took off his spectacles, and shuffled off the bench. Reporters pulled out cell phones, BlackBerries and laptops and dashed into the hallway. Eugene, smiling from ear to ear, hugged each of his attorneys, then gave them congratulatory slaps on the back.
Still holding Special’s hand, Vernetta finally looked over at her. “You okay?”
“He probably paid off the judge,” she said quietly.
“Don’t worry about it. Two local television stations said they’d file amicus briefs supporting our appeal if the judge banned the cameras.” That news didn’t appear to cheer her up. Special stared across the courtroom at Eugene.
When he reached over the railing to hug Church Girl, Vernetta felt Special twitch.
Special made a move to rise. “Let’s go.”
J.C. extended her arm across Special’s chest. “Wait. Let Eugene and his attorneys leave first.”
Even after the victorious defense team and their client strolled past them, the three women just sat there, motionless. Vernetta felt like she had just lost a big case.
Nichelle and Sam finally joined them. “Well, we tried,” Nichelle said.
“You’re going to appeal, right?” Special asked anxiously.
“It’s not worth it,” Sam declared. “Fuller will take it personally and I don’t want him taking it out on us at trial. Let’s just move on.”
J.C. stood and Nichelle took the seat next to Special. “You okay, girl?”
“I’m fine,” Special said.
Nichelle took Special’s other hand. “We just have to have faith in the system.”
Special laughed sullenly. “Yeah, right.”
Chapter 53
Vernetta pushed open the courtroom door and was relieved to find the hallway nearly deserted. They trudged in defeated silence toward the bank of elevators.
Special looked totally dejected. She lagged behind, forcing had to slow her pace. Her own emotions were a muddle of anger and confusion. While she didn’t believe Eugene had intentionally infected Maya, his infidelity and deceit put her life at risk and ultimately ended it. The public needed to witness every second of this trial. Vernetta hoped Nichelle and Sam did appeal the judge’s ruling.
J.C. suggested that they exit the courthouse on Grand, opposite the way they had entered. She didn’t say it, but Vernetta knew J.C. wanted to avoid the throng of media camped out at the Hill Street entrance.
When they reached the exit, there wasn’t a reporter in sight. Vernetta figured they had successfully dodged the press until they turned the corner onto First Street and saw a circle of reporters surrounded by a bigger crowd of bystanders. Eugene and his attorneys stood in the middle of the mob.
“No comment,” Vernetta heard Eagleman say. “We’re not permitted to talk to the press.”
“Let’s cross the street.” J.C. was already heading for the crosswalk.
“Good idea,” Nichelle said. “I can’t handle some reporter sticking a microphone in my face.”
“No,” Sam protested. “We can’t talk to the press, but we can at least get our faces in a few camera shots. That’s exactly what Eagleman is doing. This’ll be good publicity for the firm.” He took off in the direction of the reporters.
Vernetta looked over at Special, fearing that she might blow any second. She’d seen her friend go from zero to sixty in a snap. At the moment, Special appeared semi-catatonic.
They watched Sam walk past a line of cameras, ignoring their questions. “That gag order doesn’t apply to me,” Special said. “And since Maya isn’t here to speak for herself, I’m going to do it for her.”
Special was about to head for the horde of reporters, when a reporter from KCBS approached Nichelle.
“What are your thoughts about today’s ruling?” The man aimed his microphone inches from her lips. An accompanying cameraman took a wide shot, then zoomed in on Nichelle.
> “Pursuant to the judge’s gag order, I’m not permitted to talk to the press about this case.” Nichelle tried to move past them.
“Well, I can talk,” Special said. “I—”
Vernetta stepped in front of her, fearing that Special might say something they would all regret. “We were all very close to Maya Washington and we feel the judge’s decision to ban cameras from the courtroom interferes with the public’s right to know,” Vernetta said. “The problem of men on the down low is a crucial issue in the African-American community. This case should be televised not just for Maya, but for every woman out there who’s being deceived by a man engaging in this type of fraud.”
“Do you know if there are any plans to appeal the ruling?”
Vernetta looked at Sam, then Nichelle. “It’s my hope that they will. This case is too important to keep from the public.”
A few of the reporters who’d been trying to get Eugene to talk joined the growing crowd that had gathered around Vernetta. Another reporter asked a question and in no time, dozens of people seemed to appear from nowhere. Vernetta looked to her right to check out Special’s reaction. Special wasn’t there. She turned to her left, then did a half circle to search to the rear. Special had been standing right next to her a second ago. Vernetta frantically scanned the area as panic began to mount. She spotted Nichelle and Sam a few feet away, but didn’t see Special or J.C.
More reporters were firing questions at her now, but Vernetta ignored them. Maybe Special couldn’t stand to hear any more talk about the case and had gone back to the car. Vernetta brushed past the reporters, who continued to call out to her, while shoving microphones in her face. There were pockets of people everywhere, and she had to maneuver around them to continue her search for Special.
When she finally did locate her friend, Special was several yards away, marching toward the spot where Eugene was standing. His back faced Special and he did not see her coming.
Murder on the Down Low Page 18