Danny ducked behind two trees as they found a park bench and continued to talk. He wished he had some high-tech listening device, so that he could hear what they were saying. But in the real word, all a cop usually had was his brain, and his knowledge of people involved in crime.
It was possible, Danny thought, that Reese and Eastergoode had killed Olittah and made it look like the Baker murders. That was nice and neat, but it didn’t explain why the Bakers and Dr. Vance were killed.
Danny noticed an old black man stroll out and take a seat near Reese and Eastergoode. Reese immediately shut up, eyeing the old man with suspicion. The old man sat a moment, then got up and left. This gave Danny an idea. He took out a pad and pen and made a note of the old man, what he was wearing and the like. Then he looked around to see what else he could use. There was a kid on a bike wearing a red striped shirt. He zipped by the suspects. A garbage truck stopped nearby and emptied a basket. Danny got it all down.
The two men talked for another twenty minutes then they got into their cars and drove away in different directions.
Which one? Danny thought. Who would his target be? Eastergoode had already exhibited guilt for being in an affair with the deceased. On the other hand, Reese was clean in the eyes of the investigation so far. This made him a more likely person to have something bigger to hide. He was the man to go after.
Danny followed Reese back to his office at DaimlerChrysler. Danny waited until Reese was inside, then he left, hanging around the city, giving himself the rest of the day to make his story plausible.
Danny came back to Reese’s office building at six and waited. Soon Reese emerged from the building, got into his car, and went home. Danny followed closely, practicing what he was going to say, talking to himself like a crazy man.
Reese drove into Sherwood Forest and Danny was not far behind. He was always mindful of the rich folks in the city. The homes were huge and fancy and the cars in the driveways made you wish you earned more money. Danny noticed for the first time that Reese was not driving a fancy car, but a common one, a compact Chrysler.
Reese went inside his house. Danny waited another half hour to let him get comfortable, then he walked up to the door. He rang the doorbell and waited for him to answer it.
“Officer?” said Reese innocently as he looked out a little window in the big wooden door.
“We need to speak with you, Mr. Reese,” said Danny in his most official tone. “It’s about your wife’s murder. We have a suspect.”
“Really, who—?” He stopped himself and opened the door to let Danny in.
Danny moved in quickly, drawing him away from the front door so he wouldn’t see that there was no “we” as he’d just stated. Danny went into Reese’s living room and stood by the sofa.
“Who is it?” he asked urgently. “Who killed my Olittah?”
Danny stood there for a moment, not speaking. He wanted Reese to become anxious.
“You know I’m not here about a suspect, Mr. Reese,” said Danny finally.
“What?” said Reese. “Then I don’t know what you’re talking about. You say you have a suspect—then you say you don’t. What the hell is this all about?”
“It’s about you and Judge Eastergoode and what you talked about today.”
This hit Reese like a dead weight. He even took a step back away from Danny, as if the cop were going to grab him and slam him into jail. This was the reaction Danny was hoping for, but he still didn’t know a thing about where he was going. He had to be cool, or Reese would see through him.
“Right now,” said Danny, “my partner is questioning Judge Eastergoode. Normally, we’d pick one of you up, then squeeze you, but there’s no need for that after what we got today at Palmer Park.”
“You were there?” he asked, his eyes filled with terror.
“We sure were. It was hard to get all of it, so we had to use several operatives. The old man who sat by you was used to distract you, while the kid on the bike put our microphones in position.”
Danny saw Reese’s eyebrows go up, remembering the people in the park. Realization washed across his face, then stark fear.
“The garbage men had video cameras on their truck,” said Danny. “And they left another listening device when they put the trash can down. It was hard, but worth it for what we got. What I don’t know is why you did it.” Danny was going out on a limb, but he felt it was worth a shot.
Reese was floored. His knees wobbled, and he grabbed the mantel for support. He walked over to a black leather chair and sat down heavily. He buried his face in his hands, and started to cry, sobbing like this was his last hour on earth.
“I wasn’t going to do it,” he said. “I was mad, but I wasn’t going to kill Olittah.”
“You wanted to kill your wife,” Danny said forcefully as if he had known this all the time. “And then she turns up dead. Do you see why we’re so interested in you and your buddy? We’re going to close this case, and I don’t care which one of you goes down for it.”
“I didn’t do it!” he yelled suddenly. “She was fucking Charles, and I didn’t like it. I was angry. So I called this guy.”
“Look, man, if you tell me everything, maybe I can help you,” said Danny. “Otherwise, we can just go downtown right now.”
“No, no, no,” said Reese, still crying a little. “I want to tell you. I can’t hold on to this anymore.” He took a breath, then looked at Danny with his red eyes. “I knew Olittah was having an affair. She told me it was Charles Eastergoode. She and I had been fighting a long time about my gambling at the new casinos. I’m in way over my head. Every night I’d be at MGM, Windsor, or the Motor City, losing money hand over fist. It reached the end when Olittah’s car and mine got repossessed and we fell behind on the mortgage. She was going to leave me. I got desperate for money, you know, and I lost my head.”
“What did you do?!” Danny demanded. He was no longer acting, he could tell where it was going and he was angry about it. “You wanted to kill her for the insurance?”
“No,” said Reese. “Olittah didn’t have any. She dropped her policy when my gambling got out of control. I wanted the money she and John Baker stole.”
“John Baker and Olittah stole money from the New Nubia investors.”
“Yes, a lot of money. Two million or so. I heard her talking with him about it. She did it with him, but then she didn’t want any part of it. John Baker offered her a half million to keep her mouth shut. But she said no. So, I hired a guy, this guy I met at a casino, to do it for me. His name was Clint, although I think it was a phony name. Anyway, Clint was going to kidnap Olittah and get the information out of her, only he took the thousand I gave him and disappeared. Then Olittah turned up dead.”
“This Clint killed her?”
“No. Olittah came home the night he was supposed to grab her. Clint got picked up on an old arrest warrant and went to jail, so I know it wasn’t him.”
“Who then?” asked Danny. “Who did it?”
“I don’t know,” said Reese.
“Don’t give me that bullshit,” said Danny. “You wanted your wife dead. I know you’re tied into this thing.”
“No,” said Reese. “I swear. I didn’t want to kill her. I just needed the money.”
“So, since you didn’t get the money,” said Danny, “you were blackmailing Eastergoode, threatening to tell his wife about the affair.”
“Charles gave me a measly five thousand. Today, he cut me off, said it was over, that he was going to tell his wife everything.” Reese shook his head and looked down. He was pitiful in his addiction to gambling and too crazy from it to see that he’d moved beyond rational thought. “I knew I picked the wrong person,” Reese said calmly. “Olittah was really a decent person when you got right down to it. I should have gone after the prostitute.”
“What prostitute?” Danny asked. And before Reese answered, Danny knew he had made a mistake long ago in this case.
“Some whore John w
as seeing. I remember Olittah yelling at him because John told this ho about what he was doing. And he was planning to skip town with her. I assumed John Baker told the prostitute where the money was.”
Danny’s eyes grew wider. Bellva. She was the one all along, he thought. She’d played him and Erik good when they had her. She was the stupid drugged-out whore who knew nothing, a poor unfortunate girl in over her head. But she knew all along. She was waiting to get to that money. And now he had to get to her.
“The prostitute, do you remember her name?” Danny was making sure he was on the right track.
“It was Xena or something like that,” said Reese. “What a damned fool John Baker was.”
“Don’t talk to anyone about this,” said Danny. “Someone from the police will contact you.”
“You mean I’m not under arrest?” asked Reese.
“Just keep your mouth shut,” said Danny. He ran out of Reese’s house hoping that Bellva, who was certainly a lot smarter than she had let on, was not smart enough to have already gotten the money and skipped town.
Danny sat next to Desandias Locke in his hospital bed. He’d gone looking for information on Bellva. He’d checked the drug houses and her old haunts, but no one had seen her. Then Danny went to ask the man who knew everything and found the Locke’s home had been turned into a crime scene.
The Locke had been shot up pretty good and left for dead, but he was still alive. He had sustained damage to his liver and spleen and had lost one of kidneys. Part of his spine had been shattered, and he had only partial movement on the right side of his body. If he lived, he’d most certainly need specialized medical attention forever.
Danny looked at the man with tubes running out of his body. One of the many monitors attached to him beeped softly. Danny managed some sympathy for the beaten man. He was a criminal but no one deserved this. It would have been better if he’d died.
“I need to talk to you,” said Danny. “Can you manage?”
The Locke drew in a breath then let it go. It was a strained, frightening thing to see. He nodded his head.
“I’m looking for Bellva,” said Danny. “I need to know where she is.”
The Locke looked over at Danny and shook his head.
“She’s dead?” asked Danny.
The Locke hunched his shoulders to say he didn’t know. Then raised one hand and gestured to himself.
“The same people who did this got her?” asked Danny.
The Locke nodded.
“So, they got her, then they shot you up?”
The Locke shook his head then pointed to a pad and pen by his bed. Danny held the pad and gave the pen to the Locke, who scribbled as best he could:
bady brothers killers crazy mfs
“Bady brothers, killers, crazy muthafuckas,” Danny said out loud. He took this to mean that the Locke was racked up by the Bady brothers.
“Where can I find them?” asked Danny.
He gave Danny a pissed-off look, as if to say, if he knew that, he would not be where he was.
Danny said his good-byes to the Locke and was about to go when he made a loud grunt. For a second, Danny thought he was having a seizure or something. But when he turned to him, he was pointing to the pad and Danny held it out for him. The Locke wrote something on it:
kill them
Danny drove back to his home, thinking that he should call his old boss and tell him what he knew. It would be the smart and sensible thing to do. But he also knew that by the time the cops got out a task force to look for the Bady brothers, they’d get wind of it on the street, kill the girl, and skip town. He couldn’t risk that, and he didn’t have much time to get to them. Men like the Badys, men who would challenge a man like Locke, were not to be trifled with.
Danny stopped at his house and took out his other gun, the S&W .45 ACP. He stared at the gleam of the steel body against the darkness of the black handgrip. Contrast, he thought. All of a sudden it was everywhere in life.
He put on the second gun, trying not to think of what Gordon had said about them. He also remembered what the department said about carrying both weapons, the danger involved. But everything about what he was going to do was dangerous.
An unofficial investigation could lead to casualties and because of that, he didn’t have a lot of time. If Bellva was still alive she wouldn’t be for long. So he had to get on the street and get answers to a lot of questions about her abductors. The only thing he did know was that he didn’t want to do this alone.
31
JOHN R
The big house on John R Street stretched up into the sky. It was one of those pre–World War II places, three stories high. Even in its current state of dilapidation, it towered above the other homes around it, like an ancient titan weary from battle.
Danny didn’t know much about architecture, but he’d seen this kind of house, with its stone columns and pointy corners, before. They’d called them spooky houses when he was a kid. As Danny got out of the car, he could see that this house had kept the reputation.
Danny left his car a block from the place. He’d gone to several sources and found that the Bady brothers were all the Locke had said and more. They’d come from the South and had left a path of murder and destruction in their wake. Danny was concerned about this fact. The only thing more dangerous than a man willing to kill was one who was not afraid to die.
“That’s a big house,” said Marshall as he got out and stepped next to Danny.
Danny had called on his best friend to assist him in this endeavor. He had almost called it off when he saw Marshall’s kids playing in the living room, then witnessed him take the child lock off the gun in his office. Marshall was a capable man and certainly he didn’t trust anyone on earth more, but he was now a father and the thought of him dying was more terrible than what was in the big house down the street.
Danny hadn’t told Marshall what he’d learned about his mother’s death. Lucy Cavanaugh’s letter blamed Danny for her depression and death and he didn’t want those who cared about him to look at him differently. Even between friends, there had to be secrets.
“My people say one of them always watches for intruders. They sleep in shifts and they are all deadly.”
“Then there’s no room for mistakes,” said Marshall.
Danny wanted to ask him if he was sure about this but Marshall would take that as an insult. Marshall was tough, and together with Danny had taken down a man who was a professional killer. Danny was feeling as if he’d lost so much lately. If he lost his friend he’d never forgive himself.
“You go in behind me and remember they’ll be ready for us.” Danny went into his trunk and pulled out a wooden box. He handled it carefully.
“Thank God you defend lowlifes,” said Danny. “I don’t know where else I coulda got something like this.”
“Believe me, he wanted to do it,” said Marshall. “I walked him on arson for hire and that ain’t easy.”
Danny reached inside the box and flipped a switch, then he and Marshall took off running toward the Bady brothers’ house.
Muhammad hit his father again. Bolt’s head snapped back from the impact. He was on his knees kneeling before the brothers. Bolt’s hands were tied in front of him and his feet were similarly bound. Muhammad had been beating him for a half hour. Letting each blow sink in before inflicting the next.
Rimba watched, listening to a rap tune and holding a machete he’d been sharpening. Akema stood next to a window with Bellva tied up on her side. Rimba had ripped her blouse and fondled her breasts until Muhammad stopped him. There would plenty of time for that he’d told Rimba. Their priority was dealing with Bolt, making sure their goal was achieved.
Akema Bady was angry. She’d wanted to kill the woman they’d found at the home of their enemy. They’d gotten their father, so they didn’t need that woman. She knew her brothers occasionally liked to have sex with women. She refrained from the act herself, so she couldn’t understand why they couldn
’t, too.
Whenever her brothers had some woman around, they never paid attention to her. She was supposed to be first in their lives, not second to some sick, loathsome act. They were going to kill their father then have sex with the filthy woman. She only looked forward to the first thing on that list.
“Why…why are you doing this?” asked Bolt through his swollen lips.
“Don’t you recognize us?” demanded Muhammad. “Look at us!” he yelled. “Can’t you see the faces you spit on so long ago?”
Muhammad had already seen the recognition in his father’s eyes. Bolt was trying to save his life by denying who he was. And it was a game that was going to be played out to the end.
“I’m a reverend,” said Bolt. “Don’t you kids have any respect for the Lord?”
“Fuck the Lord!” yelled Muhammad as he kicked Bolt in the ribs.
Bolt coughed up blood as he lurched over. Rimba put the machete under Bolt’s chin and forced his head back up.
“We can be here all night,” said Muhammad. “You say you believe in God. This is what I believe in.” Muhammad pulled out a gun. “This is our god. This is what you left us when you killed our mother and left us to rot in foster homes and jail. Black men run out on their kids all the time and never think about what happens after they leave. We are what you planted, Daddy. This is the tree of your sin. So if you believe in God then you gotta know he brought you here to pay for what you did. But don’t you lie to us anymore.”
Bolt hung his head and cried. Blood dripped from his mouth and nose. His big frame shook as he heaved in his pain and grief. On the other side of the room Bellva cried also and was hit by Akema and told to shut up.
“I am your father,” said Bolt. “But I’m not that man who left you. I’m a better man. I’ve dedicated myself to—”
Bolt was cut off by a kick to his face. Muhammad smashed his foot into his jaw and Bolt fell over on his side.
Color of Justice Page 24