“No.”
Johnny returned to his car, took a seat behind the wheel, and turned on the dashboard computer. He turned off the body cam for a moment, then he reactivated it as he began walking toward Jones’s car again.
As he reached the trunk of the Honda, he looked at Murphy, who asked, “Anything?”
“The car belongs to his mother. It isn’t stolen.”
“And the kid?”
“Valid driver’s license.”
“Rap sheet?”
“One conviction for auto theft. A couple of hits for shoplifting.”
“Probation violations?”
“He missed a check-in meeting last week. There’s an outstanding warrant.”
Murphy glanced at his watch. “You know what to do.”
“You sure?”
“Tell him that you need to search the car.”
“It’s late, Murph.”
“Do it by the book.”
Johnny walked to the driver-side window. “Mr. Jones, your driver’s license and ownership records checked out.”
Jones smiled. “Thank you, Officer.”
“However, it seems that you missed a meeting with your probation officer last week.”
The smile disappeared. “That was last week?”
“Yes. You are on probation, right?”
Jones remained silent.
“You’re required to answer my question, Mr. Jones.”
“Yes, I’m on probation.”
“I need to ask you to step outside of your vehicle for a moment.”
“Why?”
“We’re required to search your car.”
Jones gripped the wheel tightly. “You stopped me for a broken tail light. You said that you were going to give me a fix-it ticket.”
“That’s still the plan. However, since you have a probation violation, I’m required to search your car. If you would step outside, I’ll give it a look, and we can wrap this up.”
Jones’s eyes flashed anger. “This is harassment.”
“Please, Mr. Jones. I’m just following procedure.”
“This wouldn’t be happening if I was white.”
“This has nothing to do with race.”
“Sure it does. It always does. You pulled me over for DWB—driving while black.”
Murphy’s voice was heard off-camera. “Is there a problem?”
Johnny answered him. “No. I asked Mr. Jones to get out of his vehicle.”
“Is he refusing?”
“He’s thinking about it.”
Murphy came into camera view on the passenger side. He tapped on the window, which Jones lowered. “Mr. Jones, I need you to get out of this vehicle.”
“It’s raining, man.”
“Let’s not make this harder than it needs to be. Please get out of your vehicle.”
“There’s nothing here. It’s my mother’s car. I was just driving home from work.”
“Then this will only take a minute. Please, Mr. Jones.”
“I’m unarmed, man.”
“I didn’t suggest otherwise.”
A few seconds passed. The only sound was the rain hitting the roof of Jones’s car.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Pete, who was focused intently on the screen.
And then everything happened fast.
Jones banged the driver-side door into Johnny, who shouted an expletive. His body cam gyrated wildly for an instant, then it pointed straight up.
Pete pointed at the screen. “He landed on his back.”
Jones was now off-camera, but we could hear his footsteps as he ran away. Murphy ordered him to stop. So did Johnny. Jones ignored them.
Johnny pulled himself to his feet. His body cam focused on the open door to Jones’s car. Then he looked at Murphy, whose expression was a combination of anger and concern.
“You okay, kid?”
“Yeah. Which way did he go?”
Murphy pointed at the plaza. “Toward Fillmore.”
“I got this. Call for backup. Jones has a gun.”
“Go get him. I’ll be right behind you. And be careful, kid.”
Johnny’s body cam vibrated as he sprinted across the plaza. It was difficult to see much because of the rain. I made out the shadow of a tall man—presumably Jones—as he ran past the Subway and turned north onto Fillmore, where he disappeared from view.
Johnny was breathing heavily as shouted into the microphone on his shoulder. “Suspect is Juwon Jones. Eighteen. African-American. Six-six. One-eighty. Black windbreaker and jeans. Heading north on Fillmore at O’Farrell. Armed and dangerous. Repeat: armed and dangerous.”
The video shook as Johnny ran by the Subway and up Fillmore. The bagel store and a jazz club flashed by. The headlights of Siragusa’s police car blinded the camera as Johnny got closer to Geary. Jones was out of sight—presumably, he had already turned the corner. Johnny stopped in front of the currency exchange. Then he turned left and ran toward the post office. Jones was a half-block ahead. The headlights from Connor’s police unit cast an aura around him.
Jones leapt onto the metal gate in front of the parking lot. As Johnny got closer, Jones pulled himself over and disappeared. Johnny jumped onto the gate and made it over on the second try. The video and audio came to an abrupt halt.
Nady pressed Stop. “That’s it from the body cam.”
“Johnny told me that it came off when he climbed over the fence.” I turned to Gio. “Did you see a gun in Jones’s hand?”
He paused. “It was dark and rainy.”
I asked again. “Did you see a gun?”
“I couldn’t tell.”
I looked around the room at my brother, my ex-wife, Johnny’s uncle, and his uncle’s associate. “Did anybody see a gun?”
Silence.
I pointed at Nady. “Please run it again in super slow-mo.”
33
“DON’T SHOOT”
The second viewing was no more revealing than the first. Neither were the third, fourth and fifth—even in super slow-mo with enhanced video. Obstructed views, darkness, and rain made it almost impossible to see Jones.
“What else did they send over?” I asked.
Nady studied her notes. “Video from a police camera on the plaza. Footage from the security cameras at the Subway and a couple of other businesses on Fillmore. And video from Officer Connor’s body cam.”
“Let’s roll.”
Pete spoke to Nady in his most diplomatic voice. “Would you mind if I run the videos?”
“Uh, sure.”
✽ ✽ ✽
Pete pushed the Play button on Nady’s laptop and narrated as we watched. “This was taken by a police security camera mounted on a street lamp in the plaza.”
The video showed a wide view of the plaza with the Safeway parking lot in the background. Johnny’s unit was visible, lights flashing. Jones’s car was blocked by the building housing the Panda Express. I couldn’t see Dwayne, who was under the overhang in front of Panda Express.
“Here comes Jones.”
We watched Jones run across the empty plaza toward Fillmore. He disappeared from camera view before he reached the Subway. Johnny appeared about fifteen seconds later. A full thirty seconds later, Murphy lumbered across the plaza.
Pete pointed at the screen. “Let me try to enhance it a bit.”
He ran it again in super slow-mo. He paused as Jones ran by the light pole. “This is where Jones was closest to the camera. It’s probably the best view. I don’t see anything in his hands.”
Neither did I.
Gio spoke up. “The gun must be inside his pocket.”
Pete nodded. “Could be.”
Gio’s tone turned testy. “Johnny said that Jones had a gun. Why don’ you believe him?”
“I do. His story would be easier to verify with conclusive video evidence.”
“What do you mean by ‘story’? It’s the truth.”
I invoked my priest-voice. “Pete isn’t sugge
sting that Johnny wasn’t forthcoming, Gio. He’s simply noting—correctly—that it would remove all doubt if we had a photo or video showing a gun in Jones’s hand.”
“And if we can’t?”
“We’ll have testimony from Sergeant Murphy, Officer Siragusa, and Officer Connor.”
“And Johnny.”
“Right.” He isn’t going to testify unless we’re desperate. “Let’s keep going.”
Pete cued the security videos from Subway, the bagel store, Starbucks, the Korean grocery, the upscale Japanese restaurant, and the downscale currency exchange. Each was just a few seconds long. We saw Jones running. Johnny was about a half-block behind him, and Murphy brought up the rear. In super slow-mo, we had reasonably good looks at Jones from multiple cameras at various angles. While some of the shots were clearer than others, no gun was visible in either of Jones’s hands.
Pete started another video. “This is from Charlie Connor’s body cam.”
When the video began, Connor was still in his police unit in front of the post office. The footage was distorted because it was hard to see over the steering wheel and the dashboard and through the windshield. It was raining hard and the windshield wipers were swishing. Jones was running toward Connor’s car, eyes glowing in the headlights. The flashing red police lights reflected off the Fillmore Auditorium, creating a disco effect.
Using his microphone, Connor ordered Jones to halt. Jones stopped for an instant, considered his options, then leapt onto the metal gate in front of the parking lot and pulled himself over. A moment later, Johnny came into view and climbed over the gate. The video was shaky as Connor got out of his car and jogged over to the front of the lot as Murphy arrived. Siragusa showed up a few seconds later.
Pete stopped the video and looked at Gio. “Did you see a gun in Jones’s hand?”
Gio’s voice was barely audible. “No.”
“Neither did I.” Pete hit Play.
The next thing we heard was Murphy’s voice. “Where did they go?”
Connor answered. “Inside the parking lot.” Through the metal bars, I could see a postal van. I couldn’t see Johnny, but I heard his voice.
“Put your hands up and don’t move.”
Jones’s voice filled with desperation. “Don’t shoot! I’m unarmed!”
“Put your hands over your head—now.”
“Don’t shoot! I’m unarmed! Unarmed!”
“Do exactly as I say, or I will shoot you. Understood?”
“Yes. Don’t shoot! I’m unarmed!”
Pete’s eyes were locked onto the screen. He stopped the video and walked up to the TV. He used his index finger to draw a circle above the roof of the postal van. “You can see Jones’s hands.”
I moved closer to the TV. I could make out two hands above the van. Jones was tall—at least six-six. There was no gun in either hand.
Pete continued the video. We still couldn’t see Johnny, but we could hear him.
“I am ordering you to lie down on your stomach with your hands above your head and your legs spread.”
“Don’t shoot. I’m unarmed.”
“Don’t lie to me.”
“I’m not lying.”
“Yes, you are. Do as I say.”
“Don’t shoot.”
“If you don’t do as I say, I will shoot.”
“Please, man.”
“Lie down on your stomach with your hands above your head and your legs spread.”
“Okay. Okay. I’m doing it. Don’t shoot. I’m unarmed.”
“Now!”
“I’m doing it! Don’t shoot!”
It happened in a heartbeat. Jones’s hands disappeared from view just before I heard four shots in rapid succession.
There was a tense silence. Murphy uttered a string of expletives. Then he added, “The kid shot him.”
34
“YOU CAN SEE IT IN THE VIDEO”
Gio stared at the dark TV screen. “It was self-defense,” he insisted, desperately wanting to believe his son.
“Yes, it was.” I’m not so sure.
“Jones was reaching for a gun. You can see it in the video.”
No, you can’t. You’re seeing what you want to see.
After watching the final seconds of Jones’s life a dozen times in super slow-mo, it was clear that Johnny had fired the first shot immediately after Jones’s hands had disappeared from view. It was impossible to see what was happening behind the postal van, and we couldn’t see facial expressions from Johnny or Jones.
Was Jones obeying Johnny’s order to lie down? Was he reaching for a gun?
I kept my tone measured. “Johnny said that Jones was reaching for the gun when he shot him. That’s good enough for me.” For now.
“Will it be good enough to convince a jury?”
I don’t know. “It will have to be.”
✽ ✽ ✽
Pete sipped a Coke as he sat on the windowsill in my office. “You got a big problem, Mick. The prosecution is going to play that video and say that Jones was unarmed when Johnny shot him.”
“We’ll argue that he was reaching for a gun.”
“You can’t see it in the videos.”
“Johnny and three other cops said he had a gun.”
“Right.”
“You going home?” I asked.
“I’m heading back to the Fillmore. I want to talk to some people.”
I glanced at my watch. Ten-thirty p.m. “Maybe you should take the rest of the night off. It’s dangerous out there.”
“The protesters went home. Nobody’s going to stay out all night in the rain.”
“Except you.”
“I’m working.” He zipped his jacket. “We need a witness to testify that Jones had a gun.”
“Murphy will do it. So will Siragusa and Connor. If all else fails, Johnny will.”
“We need somebody who isn’t a cop.”
He was right. “You want company?”
“No.”
✽ ✽ ✽
Luca was sitting behind his mahogany desk, jacket off, tie loosened. At eleven p.m., the only illumination came from a brass lamp. He was sipping single-malt Scotch. His melancholy mood matched the drizzle outside. “What’s your take on the video, Mike?”
“Inconclusive. We’ll argue that Jones was reaching for a gun.”
“You can’t see a gun in Jones’s hands.”
“It must have been inside his pocket.”
“Jones said that he didn’t have a gun. He repeated it several times.”
“Johnny said that he did. So did Murphy. And Siragusa. And Connor.”
“They’ll say that they were lying. They’ll say that the gun was planted.”
“We have four witnesses who will say that it wasn’t.”
“They’re all cops. They’ll argue they’re covering for each other.”
Yes, they will. “We’ll argue that they weren’t. Either way, it’s still an uphill climb for the D.A. to get twelve people convinced beyond reasonable doubt on a murder charge.”
“Depends on the jury and the lawyers.”
True. “We’re just getting started, Luca.”
“Johnny can’t stay in jail. And he absolutely can’t be convicted. It will kill him. And it will kill Gio and Maria.”
“We’re a long way from a conviction.”
“I sure as hell hope so. You still planning to do a full prelim?”
“Yes. It will let us see the evidence and give us an idea of the D.A.’s strategy.”
“Can you get the charges dropped?”
Unlikely. “Depends on what we find between now and Monday.”
35
“LET ME DO MY JOB”
“Any trouble?” I asked.
“Not in the last couple of hours.” Pete was less than enthusiastic to see me at twelve-thirty on Friday morning. “There’s a police unit on every corner. The protesters went home.”
“That’s good.”
“They’ll b
e back.”
His Crown Vic was parked in the Safeway lot not far from the spot where Johnny had pulled over Jones two nights earlier. The plaza was empty. The rain was pounding.
He took a sip of coffee from a canteen bearing the logo of his alma mater, San Francisco State. “I’m trying to find people who were on the street on Wednesday morning. Everybody disappears when it rains.”
“It’ll stop sooner or later. Heard anything from Dwayne?”
“No.” His lips turned down. “Why are you here, Mick?”
“Luca is worried.” So am I.
“Let me do my job.” He finally looked at me. “Give me a little space. If Jones had a gun, somebody must have seen it. If they did, I’ll find them.”
He would. “I’ll let you get back to work.”
“Thanks. I heard about the window in your car. How you planning to get home?”
“Same way I got here: Lyft.”
“Since when does a luddite like you know how to call Lyft?”
“Tommy set me up. When I need tech support, I go to my twelve-year-old.”
“Keeps you young, Mick.”
✽ ✽ ✽
Roosevelt’s baritone was tired. “Where are you, Mike?”
“The Golden Gate Bridge. You?”
“Home.”
I was surprised. “All quiet in the Fillmore?”
“For now. Jones’s funeral is tomorrow. We’re expecting trouble. Why did you call?”
“Checking in.” He was the only homicide inspector that I would have considered calling at this hour. “Got anything that you didn’t already send over?”
“This is where I’m supposed to tell you to read my report.”
“I did. Did any of your witnesses mention that Jones had a gun?”
“Just your client, Sergeant Murphy, Officer Siragusa, and Officer Connor. We couldn’t verify their stories or see it in the video.”
“You think they’re lying?”
“I’m just summarizing information in my report. Your client and Sergeant Murphy also told us that they found a weapon under Jones’s body. We have not been able to confirm how it got there.”
“Are you suggesting that it was planted?”
“I’m not suggesting anything. Did you watch the videos?”
“Yes.”
“Did you see a gun?”
Serve and Protect (Mike Daley/Rosie Fernandez Legal Thriller Book 9) Page 14