A Past That Breathes

by Noel Obiora

  “A relationship that is blessed by both families.”

  “Like you blessed my relationship with Richard.”

  “You’ll never stop throwing Richard in my face, will you?”

  “If you insist on sounding like the Mafia, I won’t. No.”

  “Sounding like the Mafia?” Alana repeated quizzically.

  “Blessed by the family…” Amy had said.

  “What I meant was simply that I know Thomas, I know his last name, I know his father, his mother, his family history. Tell me what do you know of this Kenneth or his background?” When Amy did not respond, Alana continued. “Whether you are looking for a relationship or not, the next man you fall in love with could possibly be the one you marry, given your age; if you marry him, he would be the one at whose disposal you lay the huge fortune of the Wilson Estate; the one whose genes might dictate the roles your children play in life, the nature and times of their death, possibly. So, do not chose him to fit some college ideal or the political sentiments of your time. Those will fade. And love, honey; it starts off as an all-consuming passion, but it is only a language you develop with someone who is there for you or has been there for you. Marriage is more about what sustains prisoners in San Quentin than it is about love.”

  “What do you know about what sustains prisoners at San Quentin?”

  “I don’t, but I’m certain it isn’t love.”

  “I’m not planning on marrying anyone right now, Alana. I really do respect what you’re saying, and I’m not happy that I’m putting brakes on Thomas. But I am so unsettled right now and I need to find out things for myself.”

  “Then do me one favor,” Alana had said.

  “What?” Amy had asked, eager to bring this conversation to an end.

  “Promise me that you will give Thomas another chance. Every opportunity that you give Kenneth, you will give Thomas as well. And if afterward you decide it is Kenneth, then so be it.” Amy had agreed and said she was keeping an open mind about both men, if they continued to show interest in her.

  This was why she had felt some guilt taking Kenneth’s call, when she was feeling such relief from being free of Thomas. On returning to the office on Monday morning, she turned quickly to the Jackson case to keep her mind off the weekend’s quagmire. The defense’s motion to inspect the crime scene convinced her that they were about to focus attention on Conrad Wetstone, and how he discovered Goldie’s body in the bathroom. Amy was fairly certain that Kenneth and Cassandra were building a case to discredit Conrad. She brought out the case file and began building a timeline for Conrad and Goldie.

  By Tuesday afternoon, the wall opposite her desk was covered with yellow and white Post-it notes with all sorts of notes on them, pages from notepads with arrows and question marks intersected and connected dates on the wall. Amy was sitting back admiring her work on the wall when Kate came to her office.

  “What’s that?” Kate asked.

  “Deconstructing the key defense in the case—the impeachment of apartment manager Conrad Wetstone. I should put that as the title on top of the wall. This was his timeline from the time Goldie returned from London on or about December 28 last year to the day she died.”

  Kate moved closer to the wall. Amy got up to join her and continue her explanation as Kate examined the wall.

  “They start with when Goldie returned from London. The evidence was that she hardly spent time at her apartment, but it does not show what times she was at the apartment—we need that to make sure that Conrad’s story doesn’t have holes the defense could exploit.”

  “Each blank page represents a day from December twenty-eighth to January sixth that we don’t know of Goldie’s whereabouts?” Kate asked.

  “Yes,” Amy said.

  “There are as many blank pages as there are days, except for the day she was discovered,” Kate said, perplexed.

  “Yes, and the same for Conrad. We don’t know what his work schedule was that day, we don’t know what his class schedule was, we don’t know much about his activities. We know he found the body about eleven a.m. and called the police at two p.m., but we only have his perfunctory explanation in the police report for what he was doing between those times. He said he called the apartment management company and thought that they would call the police, but when the police didn’t arrive, he decided to call it in directly.”

  “Sounds plausible,” Kate said.

  “I was wondering if we could look at his phone records,” Amy said.

  “Do all these questions raise doubts in your mind that Paul Jackson killed Goldie?” Kate asked.

  “No, but I think they may in the jurors’ minds if we don’t have answers for them. The idea that Paul’s motivation alone was because he was scorned by his white girlfriend just will not sit well with many jurors. They will be looking for holes in it…” Kate had a skeptical expression as she looked at Amy. “I keep looking for holes in it, that’s why I think they would, too.” Kate continued to look at Amy a little longer after Amy finished speaking, then turned again to the wall.

  “What are the arrows?” Kate asked.

  “People who could impeach particular times or portions of Conrad’s testimony, either because they had contact with him or they would have known that information as well, independent of him,” Amy said. Kate observed the wall a little longer, then pulled up a chair and seemed contemplative for a moment. Amy went around her desk and sat down, as though she had been instructed to do so.

  “Do you know that he changed attorneys, the defendant in the Jackson case?” Kate asked.

  Amy was glad the substitution of counsel papers were sent to both her and Kate’s offices.

  “Yes,” she said, raising her copy.

  “Melissa said he’s someone you know from college.”

  Amy felt her heart jump several beats.

  “Yes, I went to UT with one of their attorneys but we lost contact after college, and I only learned that he was even a lawyer the day I started this job.”

  “Are you seeing him socially?”

  “I’m sorry?”

  “I understand you two were close in college.”

  “I wouldn’t characterize that as seeing him now—”

  “You haven’t seen him since this case began?”

  “We had lunch.”

  “That’s it?”

  Amy kept quiet.

  “Melissa said he called her incessantly, trying to reach you. So obviously he has designs on you,” Kate said.

  “I can step down from the case if you feel it will be a problem.”

  “No, it is not. I would just like to know if this becomes more than an acquaintance.”

  “I’ll let you know,” Amy said after a long pause.

  “That would be best,” Kate said. “Let’s keep this discussion between us. I wanted to be sure in case you have to take over the entire litigation,” Kate added and walked out.

  The conversation left Amy livid. She wanted to go and ask Melissa exactly what she had discussed with Kate concerning Kenneth.

  Never before had Amy wanted a drink so much after work, but Neda could never make it to happy hour without planning ahead, and Amy would not go alone. She called Kenneth, against her better judgment—she thought, but Nancy answered the phone. Kenneth was not back in the office and she did not know when to expect him.

  •••

  Four tall African American men banging loudly on his door and intermittently pressing the doorbell woke Kenneth up at 6:00 a.m. on Wednesday morning. Their banging started gradually, then progressively got louder and more rapid until it sounded like a riot. Kenneth thought it was either a neighbor alerting him to a life-threatening emergency or the authorities coming to question him on an investigation in the neighborhood. He jumped out of bed, irritable and anxious but unsure of what to expect, his face crinkled with ma
rks from the pillowcase and his pajamas twisted. He walked unsteadily to the door. This must be Big, he thought and got angry. He dragged the chain on the door back and yanked on the doorknob to find himself looking at the unfriendly faces of Mallam Jackson’s foot soldiers each man wearing a narrow black tie over a white shirt and in a dark suit, their hair cut low and neatly trimmed at the hairlines, smirks on their faces.

  Kenneth had first learned that Paul’s father wanted to see him when he got home the night before from Cassandra’s house. He found Nancy sitting in the living room with the television turned off. She looked like she had been denied sleep for days, and her eyes seemed focused intently on the floor. She said that she was waiting for him to return before she went to sleep, then asked him again if it was true that he was having an affair with the DA in Paul’s case. Kenneth could see she had already answered the question herself. He was not having an affair, he told her, but there was some attraction. He explained that he went to college with Amy and they had met before Paul’s family retained his services.

  “Why didn’t you tell me when I was pushing you to take the case?” she had asked. He only found out after Big and Jo came to the office to tell him she was on the case, he told her. Only after this explanation did Nancy tell Kenneth that Mallam Jackson had sent for him at the office. She wanted to go with Kenneth to see the Mallam at lunchtime the following day, but he insisted on going alone.

  Mallam Jackson’s men introduced themselves with distinctive names Kenneth forgot as soon as he heard them, knowing he could default to calling everyone “Brother” like they did in introducing themselves. One of them said they had come “to give him a ride.” Kenneth looked at them again, this time one man at a time, each taller than his six feet one inch height.

  “A ride to where?” he asked.

  “Torrance,” said the Brother who did most of the talking.

  “Mallam Jackson?” Kenneth asked, and they all answered with a chorus of “Yes, sir” and several other phrases. “Now you’re talking,” and “Ain’t you the smart one.” They were quickly quiet again. Kenneth suggested they should go ahead of him and he would join them after he had showered. They again responded with a chorus, this time “No, sir,” each shaking his head. In the way two of them looked at each other, Kenneth could tell these two shook their heads not just to disagree with his suggestion but in astonishment that Kenneth would even think it.

  “Look, I’ve got court this morning. I’m not going anywhere with you all, period; but if I did, I would take my car so I can go to court from there.” He opened his door for them. “You’re welcome to come in and sit down if you want. But the cops will be here in a minute,” he said.

  The glare of anger in the men’s eyes was unmistakable.

  “We’ll take you to court and wait,” their leader said.

  “That won’t be necessary,” Kenneth said and walked away.

  At Nancy’s door, which was otherwise his guest room, he knocked lightly, but hearing no response, he put his head around the door and saw her kneeling down with her head and her lips moving faster than the English language required.

  The Brothers were gone by the time he got out of the shower and came back into the living room. Nancy was sitting there waiting for him.

  “What happened?” she asked him.

  “Mallam Jackson’s boys came here saying they’d come to take me to Mallam Jackson.”

  “What did you tell them?”

  “I told them I have court this morning, and I’ll go and see him later.”

  “But you don’t have court.”

  “Right, I was trying not to be rude to them. Can you believe they said they would drive me to court, then take me to the Mallam? What the hell am I supposed to be? Their lawyer or their slave? They were completely bent on letting me know they didn’t care what I thought or wanted, only to do what Mallam Jackson had asked them to do.”

  Nancy was quiet, as though trying to control her emotions.

  “Mom, please forget them and go on with your day,” Kenneth said and started walking back to his room.

  “I’ll wait for you so we can go to work together,” Nancy said, making him turn around and walk back to her. Her right hand was covering her nose and mouth, like she was trying to keep from crying. He put his arm around her shoulders.

  “Mom, everything is gonna be alright. Stop worrying about these thugs and this case.” Nancy was shaking her head before he finished.

  “No, it’s not just them,” she said, shaking her head more in part to collect herself. “You don’t have a car to take you to work. Someone broke into your car and did a lot of damage to it.” She grabbed Kenneth’s hand as she finished speaking and Kenneth tried to pull away. “Don’t…don’t…just listen to me,” she pleaded. Kenneth pulled away and ran downstairs to the parking lot. All the windows on the car were damaged, the driver’s side was bashed in so far that the door jammed. He could only get in through the passenger side of the front seat. The fuel tank was open, and the cover was hanging loose from it. He was sure they had put something in it. As he stood there with his hands akimbo, his mind fantasizing about a thousand different ways to avenge this, Nancy joined him again.

  “I am so sorry about this, son,” she said. He turned to her and held her.

  “It’s alright, Ma,” he said, “But they have made my decision for me.”

  “What about?” she asked.

  “I am not gonna see him,” he said sternly without looking at Nancy, taking his hands away as he spoke, but she held on to him.

  “Kenneth, it’s not him. He doesn’t know they did this to you. These boys make their own rules out of fanatical loyalty that then ties his hands. You’re in unstable territory here, son. I know because I have seen this so many times,” she pleaded.

  “Yes, but he sent them,” he said calmly. “Go on to work, I’ll take care of this.”

  “Son, think what they might do next.”

  “They’ve done their worst, Ma. I’m getting off this damn case if I have to.”

  25

  Steps

  At a bar called Steps in the bank building on 330 South Hope Street, Amy nursed a cocktail as she waited for Kenneth. He had returned her call the following day and asked if they could meet on Friday evening, and she had picked the early hours of the evening to meet him near her office. Young professionals, most from Los Angeles’s financial district, gather often at Steps for a period of discounted libation between 5:00 p.m. and 7:00 p.m., or for the latest rumors from the law offices that ringed the building. Sometimes they just come to wait out the rush hour traffic before heading home.

  Amy’s favorite part of the neighborhood was the postmodern-style stairs from which the bar probably got its name. The landmark, Bunker Hill Steps, snaked down five stories from a corner of South Hope Street down to Fifth Street in a concrete undulant design. In the past, she would leave the bar with friends and walk down the Bunker Hill Steps to find a place to eat or pick up taxis on Fifth Street or Flower Street or Grand Avenue. She anticipated Kenneth’s entrance. Otherwise, she avoided making eye contact with others and would look out for him. After nine years in which fewer than a handful of men had occupied her thoughts the way he had, she still knew very little about him as Alana had pointed out.

  She looked again toward the entrance, and Kenneth was almost upon her, making his way through the crowded bar. Apparently not having seen her, he was looking around.

  Amy stood on her tippy toes to wave to Kenneth, who caught sight of her immediately and walked toward her. They embraced.

  “It took you long enough,” Amy said.

  “I have never been to this place” he said. “It’s not easy to find.”

  “I’m buying the drinks tonight, but I have an ulterior motive for that…” Amy said, sitting down again on her stool.

  “What’s that?” Kenneth asked, squeezing
himself into the space between her and the next bar stool.

  “You have a one drink maximum for alcoholic drinks, because I can’t let you drive drunk.”

  “I’m afraid I have to tell you something,” he said.

  “Not about one of your cases,” she said.

  “Yes, about one of my cases,” he said.

  “No, we will not discuss that,” she said with finality. Their glasses almost empty, he asked her if she would like to get something to eat, but she declined and wanted to turn in early instead. Could they go for a walk then, he suggested, the noise at Steps was distracting. She agreed and placed her glass on the counter next to his. He reached for her hand, and she let him take it.

  Outside, she led him toward the Bunker Hill Steps.

  “You know, in all the time I’ve known you, everything I know about your personal life I learned from someone else,” he said.

  “Who?”

  “Mostly Elaine, but she was just filling in the blanks from all the stories that was told about your family.”

  “Want me to fill in her blanks now?”

  “No, I want you to tell me about yourself,” he said.

  “Hmmm…why don‘t you start. Tell me about yourself first,” she said, putting her hands in her pockets.

  “What would you like to know?” he asked.

  She thought about it for a while as they walked, and when he looked at her expectantly, she seemed in no hurry and looked back with a smile.

  “You said your mother is staying with you, and I can tell you’re fond of your mom because you mention her a lot. But I’ve never heard you mention your dad. Tell me about him,” Amy said.

  “Sure,” Kenneth said, but paused as though to contemplate how to begin. “I don’t really know my dad that well. I didn’t meet him until I was nine or ten years old. At first, my mom told everyone, including me, that he died during the Vietnam War. She said that to spare me the circumstances of my birth…as she put it. Also, I suppose she was mad at my dad. You see, Reverend Brown was a dashing young deacon at a promising church in Georgia, with a doctorate in theology and philosophy. He was a civil rights scholar as well—notice I didn’t say activist, and eventually a war hero. But even before he went to war, all the women wanted a future with him, and my mom was no exception. He, on the other hand, wanted a future with the church, and that meant the chief pastor’s or rather the bishop’s daughter. When suggestions were made by all camps that my mother consider abortion so she would not ruin her promising potential, my mom took off and got out of there. She landed in Philadelphia. You have to understand, no one thought it was the young reverend’s fault. The women were becoming too much for him, and it was impressive that he was only involved in one scandal.”