Land of Shadows

by Rachel Howzell Hall

  “Which home is this?”

  “73881 Don Tomaso Drive in Baldwin Hills.”

  The same address found in Monique’s diary.

  “And what time did you leave for Chicago?” I asked.

  He pulled a handkerchief from his chest pocket, then said, “Car service picked me up sometime that evening and drove me to LAX. And my plane left around ten or so, on United Airlines.”

  “How did you find out about Monique Darson’s murder?”

  He paused, then said, “I believe that my project manager Hank La Garza called.”

  “At what time?”

  He reached for the bottled water. “I don’t recall.”

  I opened my folder and selected the autopsy picture of Monique Darson. I slipped it before him. “Do you recognize this young woman?”

  He nodded as he poured water into his cup. “That’s the young woman you all found at my condominiums. I’ve started a scholarship fund in her honor.”

  “That’s nice. Had you ever met her before?”

  He shook his head. “No.”

  “You sure?”

  “I’m not a liar, Detective, and I resent the accusation.”

  I let my arms relax and took slow, easy breaths. “Mr. Crase, I’m not accusing you of anything. People forget. Misremember. Is there any reason why Monique Darson would have your phone number in her cell phone’s telephone book?”

  His eyes widened. “No.”

  “What about your address?”

  “Absolutely not.”

  “Has she ever been to your home?”

  “No.”

  “Is there any reason why your DNA would be found—?”

  “She was found on my development,” he interrupted. “I walk through those units all the time, checking on the progress, meeting the workers … I’ve sneezed a few times from the dust.” He gave me a knowing grin. “I don’t have to tell you, Detective, that we’re both shedding skin and spit as we sit here. So yes: there may be some of my DNA on Miss Darson.”

  I nodded and gave a lopsided smile. “Let’s change gears, then.” I took a sip from my own cup of water.

  Napoleon Crase did the same.

  I opened the folder and selected the only photo left: the high school picture of Tori, circa 1988. Feathered hair, fuchsia lipstick, and blue eyeliner. I slid it before him “What about this girl? You recognize her?”

  He glanced at the picture and his body jerked. After catching his breath, he said, “I have a meeting downtown in an hour. Will this take much longer?”

  “You mentioned that you had a meeting,” I said. “Thank you for your time.”

  Crase swallowed. “I do not know her, Detective.” His shirt collar was darkening with perspiration.

  I pulled out the ancient witness statement from the folder and read aloud Napoleon Crase’s words.

  As I read, his eyes never left that photo of Tori. “Care to revise your answer?” I asked.

  He dabbed at his forehead with the hankie. “I remember her now.”

  I waited for more but he didn’t elaborate. “There’s a connection between these two girls, sir. Maybe you can tell me what that is.”

  His nostrils flared. “My land.”

  “What happened after you caught Victoria Starr for stealing candy?”

  “I let her go,” he said, firmly. “But then she came back to vandalize my car, and I scared her away. Where she went after that and who she ran into was not my problem. And I was cleared—I had proof that I had nothing to do with her disappearance. I’m completely innocent.”

  “Completely innocent?” I asked, eyes narrowed. “In the past, you’ve been arrested for domestic abuse.”

  He flicked his hand. “Misinterpretations.”

  “Says you or the court?”

  He didn’t answer.

  I didn’t speak.

  We sat in silence.

  Twenty seconds passed … thirty seconds …

  “Victoria Starr,” he said, shaking his head. “If she had been a good girl—”

  “Are you saying that girls who boost junk food are justifiably murdered?” I asked. “Are you saying that she deserved to die for stealing thirty cents’ worth of candy?”

  Crase didn’t speak, but the vein in his forehead throbbed.

  “Did you create a scholarship fund in light of Victoria’s abduction?” I asked. “Did you put up any ‘Have you seen her?’ flyers? Did you publicly express any remorse? Do anything for the girl’s family?”

  He smirked as he drank from his cup of water.

  “The watch found beneath your car,” I said. “Any idea how that got there?”

  “No idea,” he said.

  “She’d stolen from you before this final time.”

  “Yes.”

  “Could you have taken the watch as payment for her prior thefts?”

  He laughed. “I don’t need some teenager’s cheap watch.”

  I bristled at the insult to my father’s gift, then took a deep breath. “Let’s return to Monique Darson. Why would someone strangle her, and then leave her there at your condo site?”

  “I don’t know,” he mumbled.

  I shifted in my seat. “Would you be willing to help us out today?”

  He held out both hands. “That’s why I’m here.”

  “Then you’ll give us a sample of your DNA? It’s a quick, harmless procedure. Just a swipe of cotton swab on the inside of your cheek.”

  He stared at me, then said, “I’ll have to discuss that with my attorney.”

  “Because?”

  “Because,” he said, arms crossed, “I discuss everything with my attorney.”

  “Fair enough. Back to your flight to Chicago: if we checked the passenger manifest for United Airlines flights between ten and midnight…?”

  “You’ll see that I had a ticket,” he completed.

  “Will we see that not only did you buy a ticket, but that you actually boarded the plane?” I asked.

  “Absolutely.” Then, he drank another cupful of water and wiped his mouth on the handkerchief.

  “Better?” I asked, eyeing that hankie. “Can I get you something else?”

  “I’m fine. Thank you.”

  “What’s your relationship with the Darson family?”

  “I don’t know the Darson family,” he said.

  “Cyrus Darson,” I said. “The man who vehemently opposed your development plans and then suddenly changed his mind. You don’t remember him?”

  Crase laughed and nodded. “Oh, yes. Him. Yes, I do know him. He put up quite a fight.”

  “Until he didn’t,” I said. “Why do you think he surrendered so quickly?”

  Crase frowned. “Quickly? All of that nonsense lasted two years or so. As for surrender: maybe he finally realized that the neighborhood needed it. That property values would increase with the building of Crase Parc and Promenade.”

  “Or maybe because you gave him a job,” I pointed out.

  Crase crossed his legs. “He’s a talented electrician who needed work, Detective Norton. That has been my position this entire time: redevelopment brings jobs to the community.”

  “You do anything else for Cyrus Darson? Give him gifts? Money?”

  “Bribes, you mean?” He waved his hand. “Darson is incorruptible, not that I offered to corrupt him. He’s an honorable man and I am very sorry for his loss. I created a scholar—”

  “Right. You mentioned that. Brenna Benevides is your companion, yes?”

  He gave me a hard smile and waited.

  I didn’t respond and just let my comment hang.

  “Are you wondering what a young woman wants with a seventy-year-old man?” He sneered. “I’ll tell you what she wants. Money. A fancy car. A diamond necklace.” He waved his hand, bored now with the conversation. “That’s what all women want. You know how they get it? Sex. And if we were all honest, we would admit that marriage is just a more acceptable form of whoring.”

  I cocked my head.
“You think?”

  “And then, when it comes time to collect, women get scared and wanna change their minds.”

  I squinted at him. “And sometimes, bad things happen.”

  “Yes, Detective. Sometimes, bad things happen.” He placed his index finger on the picture of Tori. “I can tell you from firsthand experience that this one whored for 7-Ups and Cheetos.”

  My chest tightened as I held my breath. My hands shook and the nerves around my right eye jumped. “Is that right?”

  “And I wasn’t the only one, either. She gave head to any man with five dollars in his pocket.”

  My stomach burned and my fists clenched.

  “Guess she learned it from her momma.”

  I pushed away from the chair and stood, seconds away from lunging across the table and punching him in the throat.

  But Crase didn’t move. And that’s what made me freeze.

  He just sat there with that Chiclets-tooth smile. “You think I’m blind? I’m not. You’re taller. Got a badge and a gun, but I remember you, little girl. Except today, you’re not peeing in your pants.”

  I scowled at him, speechless, my nails cutting into my palms.

  He glanced at his watch again. “You’ve been very polite and very impartial, but we should end this now. If you have any more questions, you can talk to my lawyer. You have a pleasant afternoon, Elouise Starr.” He stood from his chair, nodded a final farewell, and strode out of the room.

  41

  Napoleon Crase had recognized me.

  Back in the squad room, I threw my pen and it flew through the air like a javelin and hit the whiteboard.

  “Easy, Lou,” Colin said, as I stomped past him and to my desk.

  I whirled around and shouted, “I should’ve strangled that old bastard. Let him see how it feels.”

  “He just wanted to piss you off,” Pepe said, his eyes filled with concern.

  “And if you had touched him,” Colin said, “he would’ve pressed charges and gotten you thrown off the case.”

  “I’ve already put in a request for the passenger manifest,” Pepe said, trying to calm me down.

  “And I left a message for Hank La Garza,” Colin added. “He never mentioned during your interview that he called Crase to tell him about Monique Darson.”

  “And Crase left that cup behind,” Pepe said. “There’s DNA all over that.”

  “We’ll see who’s smiling next year this time,” Colin said.

  I grabbed my purse from the desk drawer.

  “Where you goin’?” Colin asked.

  I hadn’t stopped moving. “Out.”

  He said something else and Pepe said something else, too, but I was already out the door. Cool air washed across my face as I stormed to the parking garage and to my car.

  I sat in the dark, stuffy Porsche and stared at the concrete wall before me. My muscles tightened again and my eyes filled with tears, and then …

  Boom.

  A sob, and then another, escaped from my chest until I freely wept. I rested my head upon the steering wheel and tears, spit, and snot dripped down my neck, wetting my shirt. My eyes only opened to let more tears fall. And for ten minutes, I cried.

  Minute eleven, I found napkins in the glove compartment and dried my face. Then I glanced at my reflection in the rearview mirror and startled at the defiant smile on my lips. Relief: that’s what I saw. Crying had served a purpose. Like a controlled burn in a forest. Like a release valve on a pressure pump.

  After driving around the block three times, then pulling into the drive-thru at Krispy Kreme, after inhaling three glazed donuts and guzzling a cup of coffee, I settled down and returned to the station, ready to take the next step toward solving the Darson case.

  As soon as I stepped into the squad room, Joey hustled over to me with a folder in his hands. “Macie Darson’s in number two with a possible wit named Bernice Frater. And I gave Miss Frater a slice of pizza and a Coke—looked like she needed it.”

  I thanked Joey, and said, “And who says the LAPD doesn’t serve?”

  “You okay?” Colin asked.

  I tapped a fist against his heart, then opened the file folder: a six-pack that included Von Neeley’s DMV photograph as well as five pages of priors relating to one Bernice Frater, Macie’s newly discovered witness. Back at my desk, I reviewed Ms. Frater’s record. Solicitation. Trespassing. Possession of heroin. Possession of drug paraphernalia … A regular at Seventy-seventh Street Division’s women’s jail, Bernice would most likely celebrate her twenty-fifth birthday behind bars.

  Ten minutes later, I stood before the closed door of interview room 2. I shifted Monique Darson’s file to my other arm and opened the door. The smell immediately slapped me in the face, and my eyes watered from the cloying stink of body odor and alcohol fumes.

  Macie Darson and a chickenhead who hadn’t bathed since President Clinton’s inauguration sat at the table. Macie had changed into a tight black T-shirt (Gucci logo this time), a fuchsia miniskirt, and black-and-pink platform heels. She held in her arms a bichon frise with matted yellow hair.

  The unfortunate woman seated next to Macie was Bernice Frater. That was her government name. On the streets she was known as Sunshine. Today she wore a ratty sundress, although “sundress” was too positive a word to describe the material covering her breasts and thighs. Her hair was also coming out in patches, and her skin was dry and scabby.

  “Macie,” I said, sitting across from them. “Twice in one day?”

  “I guess I’m just eager,” Macie said. “I hate sitting around and not doing anything. And with everything happening with Renata now…” She clamped a hand over her mouth and her eyes glistened. “Do you think…? Am I next? I don’t wanna die, Detective. We have to find this man.”

  “And we will find him.”

  “But Renata—”

  “May not be related to this case,” I said, the words hollow in my ears. “We can’t jump to conclusions, all right?”

  Macie hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah. Okay.”

  I held out my hand for the dog to sniff. “And is this Butter?”

  “Sure is!” Macie closed her eyes and snuggled the animal as though she had wished upon a star for her very own pooch. “I wanted you to meet her. The pound called the house this afternoon. Someone saw her on Stocker Boulevard and brought her in.”

  On cue, Butter barked, squirmed, and whined in Macie’s hold.

  I scratched the dog’s head. “I’m so glad she’s okay.”

  “Yeah,” Macie whispered, “but she just makes me miss Monique more.”

  I took a deep breath and smiled at Sunshine. “Hello.”

  The woman kept her gaze on the table.

  “And who do we have here?” I asked, leaning forward to catch the woman’s eye.

  “This is Sunshine,” Macie said, touching the woman’s hand. “She … works near the condo site.”

  “Hi, Sunshine. I’m Detective Norton.”

  No response.

  “Bernice?” I said louder.

  The woman flinched and immediately started to pick the scab above her left elbow.

  “Since all this started,” Macie said, “I’ve been driving up and down Santa Rosalia, asking people if they saw anything strange on Tuesday night and…” She gasped and her eyes bugged with worry. “Oh no! I hope you don’t mind. It’s not like I don’t think you’re doing your job. It’s just … I have to do something.”

  “I understand.” And I did understand Macie’s need to do something. I had hated waiting for the cops to find my sister. Well, to not find my sister. And even though I had joined their ranks and understood the hurdles that every investigation presented, I still resented the LAPD for not trying hard enough to bring Tori back. Because that’s all I had wanted: bring back my sister, dead or alive.

  “Anyway,” Macie continued, “Sunshine saw something and I asked her to come tell you.”

  I cocked an eyebrow. “She did? Wow.” I turned to the witnes
s and said, “Well, thank you, Bernice. I need as much information as possible. So what did you see?”

  Sunshine stopped with the nitpicking and bit her lower lip.

  “Sunshine,” Macie said, “please tell Detective Norton what you told me.”

  The woman said nothing, and now her entire lip had been stuffed inside her mouth.

  Macie turned to me, desperation in her eyes. “She said—”

  I held up my hand. “You can’t tell me, Macie. She has to.”

  Macie’s mouth moved, but no words came. The hope that she had possessed just a minute ago dimmed with the realization that she had entrusted that hope to a heroin addict. “She was scared to come here. She thought you’d arrest her because she … you know.”

  I pushed a smile to my face. “No, no, no. Don’t you worry about any of that, Bernice. You are not in custody. You’re a possible witness. You are free to go at any time. But before you go, I hope you’ll help us out.”

  Sunshine hugged herself and started to rock in the seat.

  “Want some more pizza?” I asked her. “Another soda? You can have as much as you want. Or if you don’t want pizza, I could give you a couple of dollars so that you could get whatever you want.”

  Like another eight ball of heroin.

  Solving murders by any means necessary.

  Sunshine’s eyes brightened. “I want the money.” Her voice was raspy from years of inhaling toxic chemicals.

  “Then, I’ll give you money,” I said.

  “I saw this guy,” she said. “At the condo. He was with a girl.”

  “When? Around what time?”

  “On Tuesday,” she said. “I ain’t got no watch but it was late. All the stores was closed.”

  “Where were you?”

  “Taking a nap near that trailer.”

  “Were you alone?”

  She nodded and picked at a scab on her cheek. “The guy was talking to that girl.”

  “What did he say?”

  Sunshine took a deep breath, then pushed out: “That he would buy her one of the condos when he got his contract to play basketball.”

  I glanced at Macie. “Yeah?”

  Macie, her face bright again, nodded.

  “What did he look like?” I asked Sunshine.