No Stone Unturned

by C. J. Johnson

  “What are the chances this is the right address?” Mia asked.

  “I’d say fifty-fifty. Cheyenne said Tre’s mom moved, but it’s worth a shot. Maybe we’ll get lucky.”

  “It doesn’t look like anyone’s living there.”

  There were no blinds or curtains on the front picture window, allowing them to see through to the kitchen. There didn’t appear to be any furniture in the house and the mailbox was full. Frankie picked up mail that had fallen onto the small front porch. It appeared to be junk mail but was addressed to “Georgia Stockton or current resident.”

  “Looks like they have moved but didn’t put a forward in at the post office.”

  Walking back to the car, Mia asked, “You think his momma knows about his warrants?”

  “Maybe.”

  They had just gotten into the car when the unit phone started to ring.

  “Sex Crimes Detective Boden. Slow down. Did you see where he went?” Mia scribbled on her notepad. “Okay. We’ll be there in about 10 minutes…. I’m going to get a patrol car to check the area.”

  Frankie asked, “What’s up?”

  “Cheyenne, the girl from the gas station? She said Tre was just in the store and he was pissed. He told her he was going to kill her.”

  Frankie grabbed her phone and dialed while asking, “Is he on foot or in a car?”

  “Foot,” replied Mia.

  “Hey Mac. Are you working? Where are you now?” Frankie gave him a description of Tre and his last location. “We’re on our way there now.”

  Mia pulled the car away from the curb just as Frankie’s phone rang, “Thomas.”

  “Hey Frankie I think we have him. Want us to stop him?”

  “Where are you?”

  “73rd and Woodland, heading east.”

  “Okay, just keep an eye on him for a minute. We’re getting close.”

  Mia drove faster, “Want me to turn on the lights and sirens?”

  “No. Mac’s got eyes on him.”

  The drive seemed endless, even though it was only a few blocks. Frankie tapped the door repeatedly with her fingers. She didn’t want the man Mac was following to run. But was he the man they were looking for?

  Frankie grabbed the car radio about three blocks out, “1061 to 242 on private.”

  “Go ahead 1061.”

  “Do you still have eyes on the suspect?”

  “Affirmative. You ready for us to stop him?”

  “Yea. We’re almost there.”

  Frankie returned the police radio to the hook just in time to hear, “242 copy a ped check.”

  “Go ahead 242.”

  “Gregory and Paseo. Black Male. Red t-shirt and blue jeans.”

  “242 on a ped check 1833.”

  Jumping out of the car, Frankie walked up just as Mac pulled the wallet from the man’s pocket.

  “What are you stopping me for man? I was just walking. Didn’t do a fuckin’ thing wrong.”

  “Someone said a man matching your description was threatening to harm them. Where’ve you been today?”

  “Just walkin’ man. Waitin’ for my momma to get home.”

  “Where does your momma live?”

  “Just up there,” nodding his head northward. “Like, three or four houses up on the other side of the street.”

  Mac handed Frankie the wallet as she approached. From it she retrieved a Missouri Identification card. Trayvon T. Stockton. He towered over her small frame.

  “Who’s she?”

  “Detective Thomas,” turning towards Mac she asked, “Have you ran him in the computer yet?”

  “Nope,” answered Mac.

  Frankie looked at Mac and tapped her wrist. Mac recognized the signal they used when they were partners.

  “Put your hands behind your back,” Mac said as he put his hand on Tre’s arm.

  Once he was handcuffed, Frankie said, “Stockton has a failure to appear for Jackson County and a bench warrant out of Kansas City.”

  Mac keyed up his microphone, “242 to dispatch. Start me a wagon.”

  The patrol wagon driver piped in, “249’s en route.”

  “Thanks 249. 1840 hours,” answered dispatch.

  “Trayvon it looks like you’ll be heading downtown,” stated Mac.

  “Whatever,” Stockton’s light eyes bored through Mac. “Can I call my momma? She’s expecting me to be there when she gets home.”

  “You can call her when we get downtown.”

  Once the patrol wagon arrived Frankie told Mac she and Mia were going to go follow up with the clerk about the threats.

  “Let me know what you find out.”

  “You got it.”

  “Thanks Mac. Stay safe!” Frankie and Mia yelled in unison.

  In the car Mia asked, “Do you think it’s the same guy that threatened Cheyenne?”

  “Yep. Sarah identified him and he matches the description she gave us.”

  “Still want to go by the Fast Stop to be sure?”

  “Yep. We need the surveillance from the other night anyway and I want to know exactly what he said to her.”

  They parked in front of the building and saw Cheyenne was busy helping customers. They waited until the last person walked out the door before walking inside to take her report.

  “Did you get him?”

  “We stopped a man matching his description. What was he wearing?” asked Mia.

  “Red shirt and jeans.”

  “That fits. What exactly did he say to you today?”

  Frankie pulled out her recorder and laid it onto the counter.

  “He came in pissed off. He said he saw cops here the other day and wanted to know what I told them. I told him the cops were here for something else. I told him somebody did a pump and run. The owner makes us call the police every time and make a report. But I don’t think he believed me. He said I better not tell anyone I saw him here the other night. And if I did tell he was going to come back while I was working and spray the building.”

  “Have you ever known him to carry a gun?” Frankie asked.

  Giving her a look like she was the dumbest woman on the planet Cheyenne said, “I know I’ve seen a bulge in his pants and it sure as hell wasn’t his junk.”

  Mia and Frankie coughed in unison trying to not laugh.

  Frankie pulled Tre’s photo from her bag and showed Cheyenne, “Is this him?”

  “Yeah, that’s Tre. You got him locked up?”

  “He’s in police custody. Turns out he had a couple of warrants so he’s going to spend the night downtown.”

  “His momma’ll just bail him out. Then he’s gonna come here and find me.”

  “Not tonight she won’t. His warrants require a court appearance,” assured Frankie.

  “Will you let me know if he gets out?”

  “Yea. We’ll give you a call,” Mia grabbed her notepad and gathered her contact information.

  As they left Cheyenne called out, “He’s crazy, you know? Seriously crazy.”

  Nodding, the pair left the business.

  Chapter 33

  “Mr. Stockton, I am Detective Thomas and this is Detective Boden. We want to talk to you about some allegations that have been made against you.”

  Tre leaned back in the seat with his legs stretched out in front of him.

  “By who?”

  Evading his question Frankie asked, “Where were you Saturday night?”

  “Out.”

  “Can you be a little more specific? Where were you around midnight?”

  “Probably at my uncle’s. Or maybe my girl’s house.”

  “Did you go anywhere else?”

  “Naw.”

  Pulling a photograph from the file, she laid it on the table and asked, “Do you recognize this woman?”

  Scooting back into the seat and sitting up straight, he leaned over the table and looked down at the photograph. Tre picked it up, stared for a moment, then let it drop from his fingers onto the table.

  “
I don’t know her.”

  “Have you ever seen her before?”

  “I don’t go around with her type.”

  “What do you mean, her type?” Frankie asked curiously.

  “White girls.”

  Mia put her pen down and asked, “Why not?”

  Tre didn’t initially respond. He pulled his lips in, sucked his teeth, then curled his lips in a semi-snarl. Mia and Frankie leaned back in their chairs and waited.

  He twisted in his seat without speaking. Finally, he said, “My people don’t associate with no white chicks.”

  “There has to be a reason,” pushed Mia.

  Leaning back in his chair he put his hands across his flat stomach and looked from Frankie to Mia. He crossed his legs at the ankle then said, “Two fucking white bitches killed my uncle last year. Therefore, I don’t associate with your kind.”

  Frankie thought she saw an opportunity to build rapport and said, “I’m sorry to hear that Tre. What happened?”

  Tre appeared to be sizing her up; deciding if she was being sincere or playing him. Frankie didn’t move. She laid her pen down, put her folded hands onto the table and waited.

  “They robbed him. Shot him.”

  Softly Frankie said, “Damn. That’s awful. Where’d it happen?”

  “Westport. Fucking bitches left him there to die in the street like he was some kind of animal.” Shoving the photograph back across the table he said, “Like I said, I don’t know the bitch.”

  “Were you in Westport Saturday night?”

  “I told you I was with my uncle or at my girl’s house.”

  “Where does your uncle live?”

  “In those apartments off of 63rd out by Blue Parkway.”

  “Your girl?”

  “53rd and Michigan.”

  Frankie asked Tre to give her the names and addresses for his uncle and his girlfriend. When she had what she needed she asked him, “Is there any reason your DNA would show up in that girl’s rape kit?”

  His eyes bored into hers; his gaze unwavering. Frankie didn’t flinch. Tre’s foot began to tap the floor and his hands brushed at invisible lint on his pants.

  With a crack in his voice Tre answered, “No.”

  “Any reason you might be on surveillance video in Westport? Maybe near Kelly’s.”

  Sitting up Tre brushed the invisible lint again then said, “Maybe. I mean, I might have gone down to see who was hanging out. I might be on there.”

  “Okay, so earlier you said you didn’t go to Westport. You were at your uncle’s and your girl’s house. Now you’re saying you went to Westport to see who was hanging out?”

  “Yeah, I mean after I left my girl’s I went by there on my way to my uncle’s.”

  “Got it.” Westport wasn’t on the way from 53rd and Michigan to the apartments on 63rd Street, but Frankie wasn’t ready to confront Tre yet. He was putting himself at the scene so she was going to let it go. For now. “Did you talk to anyone while you were there?”

  Tre hesitated before answering, “I may have talked to some girls but it wasn’t that girl. I mean, she’s lookin’ rough.”

  Frankie looked over her notes and waited.

  “Even if I talked to her kind, that chick doesn’t look like anyone I’d talk to. Her hair’s a mess and what’s up with her clothes?”

  “After what…” Mia started

  “She had a rough night,” interrupted Frankie. “Tre do you ever go to a gas station at 75th and Holmes?”

  “I used to. My momma used to live by there and she’d send me there for milk sometimes. Why?”

  “Any reason you’d be on video there Saturday?”

  “Naw, I mean, I don’t know. Maybe. My momma still lives near there. I might have gone there to get her some milk or something.”

  “No other reason?”

  “Naw. Not that I remember.”

  Frankie and Mia continued the line of questioning and when they were satisfied they had locked him into his lies they ended the interrogation.

  “How long am I gonna be in here?”

  “It’s up to the judge Tre. Both of your warrants require a court appearance. You’ll probably be able to see a city judge tomorrow for the bench warrant. I don’t know about the Jackson County failure to appear warrant.”

  “A’ight.”

  Chapter 34

  “You think the prosecutor will charge him?” asked Mia.

  “They should, but who knows. She had a forensic exam which will hopefully give us his DNA. Plus, he denied knowing her. He said he was never with her but we have surveillance video that contradicts that. At the very least we’ve established he’s a liar. Of course, we’ll go out and talk to his uncle and his girlfriend and see what they say, but I doubt they’ll be of any help to him.”

  “You want to go tonight?”

  The clock on the wall read 730pm – still early enough to make a few house calls. “Let’s do it.”

  Mia drove to the address Stockton had given for his girlfriend first. “Are you sure this is the right address,” she asked Frankie. The windows of the house were covered in plywood. Shingles were missing from the roof and the ones remaining were broken and scorched. Soot fanned out from behind the plywood covering the doors and windows and blanketed the siding.

  Reviewing her notepad Frankie said, “It’s the address he gave. He said her name is Mona Andrews.” She typed the address into the car’s computer. “Looks like a Mona Andrews did live at this address at one time. When I run her name no other addresses come up. I’d say it’s pretty safe to say she doesn’t live here now – and Tre wasn’t here visiting her on Saturday.”

  “Did the computer say when the fire was?”

  Mia typed in a new search and said, “Fire was dispatched three weeks ago. Notes say they called the Bomb and Arson Unit out. I’ll pull the report when we get back to the unit.”

  “Okay. Let’s check out the uncle’s place. Maybe he can tell us something.”

  After the short drive Frankie led the way to the apartment where Tre said his uncle lived. Her raps on the door were met with a gruff, “Just a minute.”

  Both women stepped to the side as they waited for the door to open. The frail man who answered the door was sitting in a wheelchair.

  “Are you Kenneth Stockton?”

  “Who wants to know?”

  “I’m Detective Thomas and this is Detective Boden. We are looking for Kenneth Stockton.”

  “That’s me. What do you want?”

  “Is Trayvon Stockton your nephew?”

  “Harrumph,” Kenneth broke into a fit of coughing.

  Frankie waited until he stopped coughing then asked, “Was that a yes?”

  “TT is my sister Aurelia’s boy. What do you want with him?”

  “Did he come over here Saturday night?”

  “He comes over ‘bout every day. Brings me food and stuff I need.”

  “What time was he here on Saturday?”

  “Same time as he always is. Why you asking me these questions?”

  Sensing Kenneth’s impatience she said, “He’s been accused of some stuff and when we asked him about it he said he was here. We’re just following up. What time does he normally come by?”

  “Right ‘round dinner time. 7, I think. He didn’t come by today though. Georgia brought me some food on her way from work. Who’s accusing him?”

  “A woman he encountered in Westport.” Frankie gave Kenneth little information before asking, “How long was he here?”

  “He was here about thirty minutes.”

  “What kind of car does he drive?”

  Kenneth rubbed his chin before saying, “It’s an old beater. A Buick, I think.

  Damn thing barely ran. One of the doors wouldn’t even open from the inside.”

  Frankie jotted the information onto her notepad.

  “Who’s the girl? And what’s she accusing him of? He ain’t got no girlfriend.”

  “A white female about his age.
She’s accusing him of rape.”

  “Hmpf, it wasn’t TT. He wouldn’t be with no white girl.”

  Frankie and Mia looked at one another. They had heard this before.

  “No kidding?” asked Mia. “Why is that?”

  “We don’t associate with those types.”

  “Hmm, you mean white women?” Frankie innocently asked. “Why?”

  “Two white girls killed my little brother so me and my people don’t associate with those types.”

  “I’m sorry for your loss. What was your brother’s name?”

  “Terrence. Stockton. He was killed ‘bout a year ago in Westport,” tears welled in Kenneth’s eyes. “They left him lying in the street like he was nothin’ but a piece of trash.”

  “Did they find the girls who did it?”

  “Mmhmm. They’re in jail.”

  “That’s good. Thank you, Mr. Stockton. We appreciate your time,” said Frankie.

  Walking back to the car Mia asked, “You think there’s more to that story?”

  “Definitely. I’ll check and see what I can find in the computer.”

  Chapter 35

  Frankie had just pulled up the file on Terrence Stockton’s murder on the in-car computer when her phone began to ring.

  “Hi Brooklyn, what’s up?”

  “Hey Miss Frankie. My momma stopped by the house today. She said that guy that attacked her has been grabbing other girls. She said she’s ready to talk to you now.”

  “Where’s she at Brooklyn?”

  Mia pulled into an empty parking lot and waited. She suspected they were going to go hunt for Brooklyn’s mother, Asia.

  “Thanks Brook. I’ll message you when I’m done.” Frankie disconnected the phone and turned to Mia, “Asia is at the laundromat on Independence Avenue. She said she’d give us a statement.”

  Mia drove while Frankie created a photo line-up of Sawyer on the in-car computer. As she worked she updated Mia on the Stockton murder.

  “Trayvon and his uncle made it sound like Terrence was murdered for no good reason by two crazy white women. According to the reports I found, he was found dead in the street near the Pub. The women were identified and arrested pretty quickly – in his car. Police found a baggie with a couple of rocks and a 9mm handgun on his body. When they searched his car, they found two eight balls of crack, two more handguns, a pound of weed, and a baggie of sheetrock crumbs.”