by Noel Obiora
“Okay,” Amy said. “There’s another senior attorney here I can ask. I’ll let you know if she says I can.”
“Thank you,” Gonzalez said and started to get up from his chair. Amy got up as well and walked Gonzalez out. “Kate said you don’t think we’ve got enough to pick him up?”
“These ATM pictures didn’t really change anything; we already had the receipt that said he was at the bank at that time.”
“It supports the testimony of that woman who said she saw them arguing that afternoon. The clothes he was wearing match what she described him wearing when they were arguing.”
Amy had not thought of this fact.
“Still, none of that puts him at her apartment when she died.”
“There were two beer bottles in the guest bedroom with his fingerprints, and we will have his DNA at trial to back it up.”
“Do we know that the beer bottles weren’t there when he was seen with her in the afternoon?” Amy asked.
“No, but he doesn’t know that we don’t,” Gonzalez said. “We know that lady, Rachel, bought beer after he left that afternoon, but we don’t have the other bottles in her batch to match them.”
Amy and Gonzalez parted ways at the receptionist’s desk, where Amy picked up a phone slip about a missed call from Neda, the colleague she was closest to at her old branch office.
Melissa suggested they wait for Kate’s trial to recess for lunch and give her a call. Then she told Amy that Kenneth had called her twice today already.
“He left a message before I got to the office wanting to know if I gave you his message yesterday. Then he called back to ask if you worked out of the downtown office, because the DA’s public records appeared to show that you were still in the West Covina office.”
“I am really sorry. I honestly have not seen or heard from him since college.”
“I can see why you don’t want to call him, because you’re seeing someone now.”
“That’s not really it…I mean, I want to call him, but we’ve all changed a lot since college. I know I have.”
“I told him that if you wanted to call him, you would have. And he apologized.”
Amy raised her eyebrows and took a deep breath.
“Too harsh?”
“No, sounds just about right. I…suppose.”
With Kate’s blessing, Amy called Helen Silberberg to say Officer Gonzalez had asked her to pick up some documents from her. Helen said she was staying with a family friend in the Canyons and gave Amy the address.
After one o’clock Amy steered her car on to Third Street from Broadway, headed for the perennial freeway congestion around downtown Los Angeles. She knew these streets and the canyons well.
She arrived at the address Helen had given her just as Helen was getting out of her car in the driveway. When the two women met, the older woman’s eyes were red and searching to see if the two had met before, Amy thought. No sooner had Helen’s eyes studied Amy than she forced a smile and pulled down her sunglasses from her forehead to cover her eyes. Amy could see the resemblance to Goldie immediately. Helen had her daughter’s features, gracefully aged, and the kind of smile that separates the star actress from her double. When she put her glasses back on and smiled at Amy, though only briefly, that image of her with dark round glasses and a youthful, transformative smile became her enduring image in Amy’s mind.
“Ms. Silberberg, I’m with the District Attorney’s Office. We spoke over the phone,” Amy said. “I’m so sorry for your loss.”
The words came to Amy without a moment’s reflection, as easily as though she were talking to Alana. Helen smiled, and said thank you.
The residence in the hills between Beverly Hills and Studio City had its back to the canyons. There were two other couples visiting and they were sitting in the living room. Helen and Amy sat down with them. The living room was bare, like it had been stripped to receive mourners. Beverages, snacks, and sandwiches were on the dining table. Liza, the woman who opened the door for them, lived at the house with her husband and two young children, she told Amy. She and Goldie were close friends in high school, but they rarely saw each other in Los Angeles. After a while, Liza urged Helen to go and lie down a bit, and later told Amy that Helen wanted to see her.
Helen was sitting on a chaise chair by a vanity fireplace in a large bedroom, when Amy joined her.
“You are the DA who will try the case?” Helen asked.
“I’m one of the deputy DAs,” Amy said.
“The police said they arrested the man who dated her,” Helen said.
“Yes, did you know him?” Amy asked.
“No, she never mentioned him,” Helen said. “I remember her saying she met someone some time ago. She went to see her friend playing at this African American nightclub, and her friend called her up on stage. She was so nervous, she said, but she was really happy with her performance that night. This man had come down just to watch her when he heard her voice from his office. But she never put a name or face to him for me.”
Amy nodded, unsure how to respond.
“Her father and I wanted her to consider marrying…” Helen thrust her chin up toward the door, “Liza’s brother, a childhood friend who became a Rabbi, he loved her dearly. But she moved to LA instead. ‘We come from different worlds,’ she told us about Eli. So, if she was dating this Black guy, I’m not surprised that she didn’t mention it.”
“I can understand. I would have done the same thing,” Amy said with a shy smile. Helen smiled, too.
“You look younger than I expected from a DA on the case,” Helen said.
“There’s another senior DA on the case, I’ll be assisting her.”
Helen considered Amy for a while, then, reaching into her bag, she brought out a large envelope.
“Goldie invited me to spend Hanukkah in London with her while she was working on her new record. We traveled to Amsterdam and Paris and Brussels together. It was the first time we really spent some time alone together since her father passed, and we bonded. When we came back, she gave me access to her safe deposit,” Helen said, and pointed to a metal box on the table by her sunglasses.
There was a recording contract, a compact disc with “Sample” written across it, and a rental agreement for Goldie’s apartment in the metal safe. Amy flipped through the contracts. In the spaces for signatories on the recording contract, Paul Jackson was listed as manager, but his signature was not on it. Didi Pare signed as agent and Goldie signed as artist. The rental agreement was for a term of one year ending in August 1995 and was fully paid for the entire year. However, it was not Goldie’s name but Didi’s that was on it.
“Thanks,” Amy said. “This is important for the case, ma’am.”
“These are the originals, by the way; we did not have a chance to make copies. That’s why I wanted to make sure that I delivered them to the police myself.”
“Of course, I’ll make copies and send them back to you,” Amy said.
“It’s okay. I don’t need them,” Helen said. “The manager at her apartment building is also keeping her mail for me, until we forward her address to Seattle.” Helen handed Amy the large envelope she had taken from her bag.
“Liza thought I should let the police open the envelopes, too, in case…” Helen stopped. She was about to cry.
“You can open her mail, ma’am, if you want to,” Amy said, offering the envelope back. Helen shook her head.
“Call me Helen, please. That’s what Goldie called me. I don’t want to open it.”
Amy accepted the large envelope and shuffled through the small mail envelopes in it. The return address on one of the letters had “Cool Jo’s Café” monogrammed atop it. Amy held her breath. The letter was postmarked yesterday, January 9, 1995, the day Amy began her job and three days after Goldie was murdered. Amy sat quietly for a while, wondering what
the postmark meant. Liza entered the room and placed a jug of water with two glasses on the table between Amy and Helen, then sat behind them on the bed.
“It is from him isn’t it?” Helen asked.
“From his establishment, yes,” Amy said.
Helen nodded and wrung her hands. Liza poured some water into a glass and gave it to her.
“Do you think he did it?” Liza asked.
“The police are pretty convinced about it,” Amy said.
“How about you? Are you convinced?” Helen asked.
“All the evidence points to that conclusion, but we must also accept that he is innocent until we prove his guilt,” Amy said.
Helen started speaking slowly, as though to herself.
“I don’t understand why anyone who has even met my daughter would want to hurt her, much less someone who was dating her. She’s the sweetest thing,” Helen said and started crying. Amy put the documents down on the table and took Helen’s hands.
“I’m sorry, we will get to the bottom of what his problem is at trial,” Amy said to Helen.
“If you met Goldie, you loved her; if you heard Goldie sing, you pretty much never forgot her. Why would someone she loved kill her?” Helen cried.
“Maybe he was on drugs…” Liza started to say.
“Goldie would never date someone who does drugs,” Helen said.
Amy recalled the report had mentioned that there were traces of cocaine in the bedroom but kept quiet.
“Liza’s brother was willing to move to Los Angeles for her, while she pursued her music career,” Helen said.
“The Rabbi?” Amy asked.
“Yes, she was really happy when she was dating him. He thought it was their choice of careers that drove her away, but then he offered to support and never judge her, and she declined.”
“Maybe she couldn’t stand the kind of prejudice and probably ridicule he would face because of her in the music industry,” Amy said.
Helen’s eyes opened wide.
“Why do you say that?” Liza asked.
“Well…Helen said Goldie told her they were from two different worlds,” Amy said.
“The manager at her apartment said the police searched her house very well; did they find a diary?” Helen said.
“No,” Amy said.
Helen observed Amy for some time. “That was Goldie’s explanation, when she finally talked to me about it in London.”
Amy smiled shyly.
“From everything I read about her and what you have told me, she reminds me a little bit of myself.”
“In what ways?” Liza asked.
“Her free spirit, a big heart that can get caught between two worlds…her rather large sense of who she is and what it means, by being close to her mother.”
“You got all that from the police report?” Liza asked.
Amy shook her head slowly, smiling. “Mostly from being here with you and guessing…I am so sorry for your loss, Helen. I can actually feel the bond the two of you had just sitting here with you.”
Helen wiped her eyes.
“I should leave,” Amy said, getting up. “I’ll send copies of the documents back to you by Friday.”
“Don’t bother. It’s difficult for me to look at them.”
Amy nodded and said she understood.
She thanked Helen and left the room. Liza followed Amy to the living room and walked out to the driveway with her. Driving home, Amy recalled Kenneth and reminded herself to call him after the arraignment.
6
The Man They Called Big
Big John Stone was at Kenneth’s office first thing on Tuesday morning, but Kenneth was in court. He asked if he could wait for Kenneth anyway. Big was about three hundred pounds and six feet three. He wore jogging pants, a sweatshirt, and sneakers, which Nancy guessed were the only types of clothing he could find easily in his size.
Kenneth had anticipated Big’s visit and that Big might wait for him as well. He called the office at about 9:30 a.m. and asked Big to join him at a coffee shop near the Long Beach Courthouse.
“We’re having a meeting at the Mallam’s house this evening. Can you come?” Big asked as soon as he settled into the booth where Kenneth was waiting for him. Paul’s father was referred to as Mallam Jackson since his return from Africa on his way back from his pilgrimage in Mecca.
“About Paul’s arrest?” Kenneth asked.
“Me and Jo, think you can take this case? We want the Mallam to meet you.”
“Who does the Mallam want?”
“Kenny, this shit is gonna be big—give you some serious Dream Team lawyers’ publicity. It’ll make you famous.” Big chuckled and playfully reached across the table to pat Kenneth’s shoulder.
“Big, you think I can convince the Mallam to give me the case by saying I won’t charge much for it. But if I take this case, it will be the only thing I do for the next six months, and that’s assuming the trial only goes that long. I can’t afford that; who’s gonna do the cases I have now?”
“You telling me you never gonna take a big case, because you can’t manage the small fish you used to if you do?”
“If the big case is gonna pay enough for me to hire the people to win it and manage my small cases, then, yeah, I can. But I can’t afford to just take it for the publicity. Who is gonna pay my bills?”
“Who said we ain’t planning to pay you?” Big was suddenly breathing heavily.
“My mom’s been on the phone with Paul’s mother nonstop since this happened. Big, there is no shame in it. How many people you think have fifty to a hundred thousand dollars waiting to pay lawyers?”
“Where you motherfuckers come up with this figure anyway? Every fucking lawyer quotes the same amount.”
“It’s the going rate.”
“The going-where rate?”
Kenneth laughed.
“This shit ain’t funny Kenny. Brothers going to jail like sardines and you folks wanna bankrupt their families to get them there.”
“You do the math on how much time the lawyer’s gonna put in the case, and how many experts he has to hire, apply the experts’ rates to their time and the lawyer’s rates to his time and you’d be in that ballpark.”
“So, charge a smaller rate.”
“That would be the fifty-thousand-dollar figure, and you can’t get too far with that amount.”
“Shit, Kenny! Paul is innocent,” Big said exasperatedly.
They sat quietly for a few minutes, Kenneth watching Big and Big watching his interlocked fingers and twisting them slowly.
“Big, it’s a good thing you’re doing for Paul.”
Big looked up and considered Kenneth for a while.
“We don’t have that kinda money. We did the math and barely come close to forty grand. Even with Jo hoping to get twenty grand from her condo, that still won’t get us to fifty.”
“Then how about the public defender. Their guys that do murder trials have a lot of experience. Heck, I’d be working there if they didn’t lay me off three years ago.”
This explanation appeared to calm Big down. He looked around for the waiter and did not say another word until he had ordered coffee and two plates of huevos rancheros.
“I’m going to Jones and Jones’s office after I leave you. Mallam wants Mr. Jones at the meeting tonight,” Big said after the waiter left their table.
“Omar Jones?” Kenneth asked.
“Yep, Mallam got him a lot of cases with the Muslim brothers who got caught up in the LA riots, and made sure those boys all paid Mr. Jones like they were paying credit cards. A lot of them still paying on installments. The Mallam made that nigger a lot of money.”
“Don’t assume that’s gonna sway Mr. Jones.”
“You don’t think attorneys gonna be lining up to take thi
s case, just to get their faces on TV like Johnny?” Big asked.
“Not unless you’re going to pay them.”
“If we come up with the money for the experts, you gonna take the case?”
“Big, I haven’t ever tried a murder case before. If I take the case, I’m bringing another attorney in, a friend of mine who is a professor at UCLA, and she’s gonna have to be paid. If you guys can afford Mr. Jones, you can afford me and my friend.”
“Can you come to the meeting anyway? Just help explain this thing to calm shit down for the family. Everybody is worried sick.”
“No disrespect, Big. But I am not going to the Mallam’s house for anything to do with this case unless I’m the attorney on it.”
“Jo thinks you should be part of the case. Just work with whoever we can find.”
“It doesn’t work that way. You don’t choose your attorney’s team for your attorney. Tell Jo I appreciate her belief in me, but I can’t do what she’s asking right now.”
Big’s food arrived. He adjusted his sitting and bowed over his plates with hands on the table as though to ensure no one else reached for them.
“I’m gonna go pay for the food and head to my next hearing, Big,” Kenneth said, gathering his things to leave the booth. Big looked up at Kenneth with a smile.
“You got this?”
“Yeah, I got this,” Kenneth smiled back.
“Can you call Jo?” Big asked.
“I will,” Kenneth said.
“No, now, Kenny. Just go over to that pay phone and call her, before you get busy and forget,” Big said. “Show the family some heart for what they going through. I bet you haven’t called Paul’s mother either.”
Kenneth considered Big silently, before going to the pay phone. After Nancy met Paul’s mother, Sister Ramatu, in Los Angeles, Nancy insisted that Kenneth and Jo meet. Both being obedient to their mothers, they met at Universal Studios for a movie, late dinner, and a very late night, chatting. Jo was two years older than Kenneth, and they became instant friends. “I’ll tell your mother that I have lots of friends I can introduce you to,” Jo had said when the evening was over. “And that would be your way of saying, I’m gonna get out of the way of this train-wreck-player.” Kenneth replied. They both had laughed so hard about that comment. “You wish, Kenny, but you’re no player. You know exactly what you want and you don’t need anyone’s meddling to get her.” They hardly saw each other alone again, but whenever they met at gatherings, there never seemed to be enough time for them to reacquaint.