Cold Flash

by Carrie H. Johnson

  Then the twins raced out the door. Nareece stood in the doorway watching the action for a minute, then moved back inside.

  “And who are these beautiful young ladies?”

  “I’m Rose. She’s Helen.”

  Laughton shook their hands. “The pleasure is mine, I’m sure.” They giggled like high school girls and ran off, back into the house.

  Dulcey started a slow stroll to the door, with Elijah and Travis at her sides, their arms interlocked with hers. “You-all go ahead and do what you gotta do. Me and Reece will cook dinner for you when you get back.”

  Twenty minutes later we were in Pacini’s office.

  “Damn, McNair, I thought you were dead,” Pacini said, gesturing to us to take a seat. He pushed back in his chair, rested his elbows on the arms of the chair, and interlaced his fingers. “Seems like things are out of hand.”

  Parker, Fran, Laughton, and I sat in silence.

  Pacini glanced at each of us in turn. “Somebody is going to tell me what the hell is going on or nobody is getting out of here.”

  Laughton started. “I had just left here a few weeks ago. Then Calvin called me a few days ago, said he needed my help. I arrived this morning. I was on the other side of the world.”

  “He didn’t tell you the trouble?”

  “Said he couldn’t talk about it over the phone.”

  “So he didn’t say why someone would want to kill him?”

  I nudged Fran, who said, “I think Hamp’s testimony has a great deal to do with all this. I think the guy at the park who Hamp can’t identify, Mr. Big, is the key, the boss behind Berg Nation operations. Ward Griffin is a punk. He’s not smart enough to be pulling all this off without a hitch.”

  “I also think Detective Burgan of Mobile Crimes has much more to share,” I said. “I’m not sure how yet, but Sam and Kenyetta—and the Taylor kid, Calvin—they’re all connected.”

  “This isn’t even in our purview,” Pacini said. “So all this speculation doesn’t mean a damn thing unless it is directly connected to you doing your job, matching the weapon used in the shootings to the shooter. From what you said, that is not the case. End of our responsibility.”

  “Lieutenant, I can’t sit around and wait for Street Crimes . . .”

  “Mabley, this is not about what you can or cannot do. Last I checked this is my command and I say you need to leave it be. That goes for you two as well,” he said to Parker and Fran. “Laughton, I don’t care what you do, you’re no longer part of this department.”

  I pushed back. “But Lieutenant, hear me out, please. Zoila thinks that Hamp’s testimony is going to solve everything, but this all isn’t about Ward Griffin. There’s somebody behind him pulling his strings. Somebody who stays in the shadows and is not afraid of being identified or can’t be identified for some reason. I think Calvin found out who that someone is. Someone he trusts got past him. Only someone he trusted could move in close enough to kill him.”

  “Are you saying someone in law enforcement killed him?”

  “Calvin worked with law enforcement, but he didn’t trust the police, the FBI, DEA, none of them.”

  “Where is Dangervil now?” the lieutenant asked.

  I thought he sounded perturbed, maybe because he was not privy to the situation before now.

  “He’s safe.”

  “What? I’m not trusted?”

  “If you were privy to that information and asked about it, you’d be required to tell it or be in violation . . .”

  “Well, I’m also responsible for the people who work in my unit. You go ahead with this little investigation of yours, but I want to be kept informed. No one else outside of this room. What about this kid Elijah, Griffin’s brother?”

  I responded with raised eyebrows, surprised Pacini had knowledge of Elijah.

  “I may spend a lot of time in the basement, but I do keep my head and ears in the world.”

  “He’s been staying with us for a few months. Travis said he was homeless and spending a lot of time at the basketball courts, trying to get away from his brother and the gang. So Travis asked if he could stay with us for a while, until he got his act together. I got a visit from Ward Griffin, who threatened to kill Elijah if he ever showed his face in Blumberg again.”

  “What about revenge for you harboring his brother?” Pacini said.

  “Then why not go after me or Travis?”

  “Or members of your family. An eye for an eye.”

  “Lieutenant, five people are dead, and the FBI, the DEA, the Mobile Street Crimes Unit, it seems like their hands are tied. The only person they have hooks into is Ward Griffin, and there is no way he could pull off five murders without a trace of evidence or witnesses willing to testify.”

  The lieutenant’s phone rang. He listened for a few seconds, then hung up.

  “Mabley and Riley, your presence is requested at FBI headquarters for questioning.”

  A receptionist escorted Fran and me into Zoila’s office.

  “Are there developments in the investigation into Calvin’s death?” I asked as we took our seats around a small conference table at the far end of her office.

  Zoila did not answer. Instead she took a seat at the head of the conference table. Her partner, Santiago, and Holstrom, the FBI agent who was at Hamp’s deposition, and another man I wasn’t acquainted with, came in and sat around the table.

  “Muriel and Fran, you’ve met Santiago and Holstrom.”

  I nodded.

  “This is DEA agent, Dalton McKay,” Zoila said. “Officers Muriel Mabley and Fran Riley of Firearms Identification.”

  Fran and I exchanged looks.

  “So we’re clear, neither of you are being charged with any crime. This is an information-gathering session.”

  Zoila opened her mouth to go on, but McKay jumped in and cut her off.

  McKay gave a wide smile, revealing yellow teeth behind the thin cracked lines that were his lips. His reddish-brown hair covered his forehead and his sideburns extended below his ears. The hairdo emphasized his big ears.

  “Officer Mabley, were you romantically involved with Calvin Bernard?” His pleasant facial expression did not match his grim, no-nonsense tone.

  “My private life is nobody’s business.”

  “Muriel, if you answer the questions, we can move past all this,” Zoila said.

  “Move past all what? We don’t even know why we’re here. Why don’t you fill us in? Then I’ll be more than happy to answer your questions.”

  “Muriel, could you trust me, please? Answer the questions.”

  No way I trusted Zoila. “Yes, I was involved with Calvin Bernard.”

  “How long have you been in a relationship with Mr. Bernard?”

  “About a year.”

  “Did you know he was married?”

  “What is this about? What difference does it make whether or not I was involved with Calvin or whether or not I knew he was married?”

  “Officer Mabley, answer the question.”

  Fran had gotten up and was standing behind my chair. I felt his finger poke into my right shoulder blade.

  “I learned of Calvin’s married status a few days ago.”

  “Mr. Bernard being married really pissed you off. He lied to you.”

  “Is there a question?”

  “Where were you the night before Calvin was killed?”

  “Are you suggesting that I killed Calvin because the news that he was married pissed me off?” I shrieked.

  “Are you aware that Calvin’s center is a neutral ground for gang members, and your son and Elijah Griffin, brother of Ward Griffin, who is the head of the Berg Nation, are seen at the center on a regular basis, talking and socializing? Ward Griffin is a drug dealer and murderer. He is a suspect in at least twelve murders in the last three months.”

  “My son plays basketball and works at the center.”

  “Is it true that Elijah Griffin lives with you?”

  “Yes.”


  “That’s all, yes?”

  “Yes.”

  “Officer Riley, are you aware that your partner harbors a felon?”

  “I am aware that Elijah Griffin lives with her. I’m not aware he’s a felon.”

  “He isn’t,” I said.

  “We have been watching Calvin Bernard and his whole operation—the center, his connection with gang members. We believe he was working with Ward Griffin to receive and distribute heroin from a cartel in Mexico.”

  “Calvin worked with the FBI, the DEA, the gang unit, the police, for over thirty years, helping catch bad guys, make the neighborhoods safer, keep drugs off the streets. I . . . I . . . I can’t believe . . . You know what, this doesn’t even make any sense. Why would Calvin be involved in any of this except if he was working to shut it down?”

  “Money, Officer Mabley. Ten million dollars’ worth.”

  “Not enough. I don’t know an amount large enough that would sway Calvin.”

  “How about the threat of death to his loved ones?”

  “No way Calvin would let anyone come anywhere even close to his family. He would protect them with his life.”

  “And so it may be done.”

  CHAPTER 24

  After suffering through questioning at FBI headquarters, Fran and I drove to the Rittenhouse Hotel, where Laughton was staying. I called Laughton. It went right to voicemail. I swear the man never answers his phone. I left a message for him to call. I went to his room and knocked anyway. On my way out, the front desk clerk said I had missed him by minutes. He left in a Freedom Taxi.

  Fran said he wasn’t feeling well. He took me to the lab and went home. It was six o’clock, after work hours. Pacini’s car was still in the lot. I wasn’t feeling rehashing the FBI interrogation with him, so I went home too. I tried Laughton again on the way. He still did not pick up, so I left another message. Normal circumstances warranted irritation rather than the concern rippling through my gut now.

  Crying while driving is dangerous. The tears cause blurred vision and can sometimes block your view completely, depending on how hard you’re bawling. I wiped at my eyes and went for a tissue in my bag. I looked up to see a man crossing in front of the car. I slammed on the brakes, nicking his toes, no doubt. My purse fell, dumping its contents on the floor. I pulled over to regain my composure. The first thing I picked up was the envelope Calvin’s sister had given me with the flash drive and a key in it. With everything going on, I had not thought about the envelope since the funeral. My tears dried. I finished picking up the contents of my pocketbook and headed for home.

  Dulcey and Nareece had dinner ready and ushered everyone to the table. I told them to go ahead without me and went upstairs to my bedroom. Dulcey knocked and came in behind me.

  “The flash drive, Dulcey,” I said, powering up my laptop. “With everything going on I forgot all about it.”

  “What flash drive? What are you talking about?”

  “Calvin’s sister Shea gave me an envelope at the funeral. She said Calvin told her to give it to me if anything happened to him. A flash drive was inside.”

  Technology is a wonderful thing, most of the time. Except when it doesn’t work, the screen goes blue when you’ve been hacked, or it takes more than two seconds for it to power up. My laptop was older than my nieces. Slow was its first name. I plugged the flash drive in and waited for the files to load.

  There were three files: Routes, Berg Nation, and Schedules. I clicked on the Routes file. A map popped up on the screen with a route from Mexico to Philly outlined in red. Along the route, black marks noted exchange points. The final destination in Philly was Blumberg.

  The Berg Nation file contained an organizational chart with Ward Griffin’s name second to the top. The top two positions indicated by boxes, side-by-side, were blank. Lines drawn out like tentacles connected to names of Berg Nation members and their positions and responsibilities within the gang.

  The Schedules file listed Dates, Weights, Dollars, and Destinations as headings of four columns. Destinations listed Philly, Brooklyn, Jersey City.

  “This is the kind of information can get you killed,” Dulcey said.

  “Somewhere in Blumberg is a stash house, receiving and distributing heroin not only to street-level heroin operations here, but in New York and Jersey too. Check this, Dulce.” I traced the red line up the map from the Mexican border to Philly. “This is Mexican cartel stuff, a direct pipeline to the Berg.” I disengaged the flash drive. “It still doesn’t say who killed Calvin or why.”

  “Maybe he was working undercover and making a buy or something.”

  “He wouldn’t conduct an undercover op at his place. Whoever knew he knew about the stuff on this drive could be who killed him.” I tried Laughton again, then BJ. BJ answered on the first ring.

  “Hi, BJ. Muriel.”

  “Miss Mabley. We need to meet and talk.”

  I was taken aback by his curt directness. “BJ, is there something you want to tell me? Something I need to do?” There was silence on the other end. “Why do we need to meet?”

  “Calvin didn’t talk to you before . . . well, before he was killed.”

  “He didn’t have a chance. I was on my way to see him when it happened. We were almost at the door.”

  More silence.

  “I’m going to find who did this and kill them. I’ll have the other guys keep an eye on you and your family.”

  “Thanks, BJ. I was calling because . . .” He clicked off.

  “Something about that man doesn’t sit right with me,” Dulcey said as soon as I hung up. “I don’t trust him. I know he was Calvin’s ace and he kept Hamp and me safe, but there is something about him with his big burly self.”

  “Calvin trusted BJ. He never said anything bad about him. I can’t believe BJ would even think about killing Calvin. That sounds crazy to me.”

  Nareece called up the stairs like Old Mother Hubbard, for us to come to dinner before the food got cold. “That’s why they made microwaves,” I mumbled.

  “Don’t be so hard on her. She’s trying to find herself and care for you-all too.”

  “I guess. I love her no matter what.”

  Travis and the twins were back in the den watching television. Nareece fixed us both plates of sausage and spaghetti, then sat at the counter across from us, her face stuffed into the crease of Philadelphia Style magazine, as usual.

  “Reecy has something to tell you, don’t you, Reecy?” Dulcey pushed.

  Nareece kept her head down in the magazine. I kept eating. Dulcey coughed and scratched her throat.

  Nareece sucked her teeth and said, “I think I found a place.”

  “What do you mean, you found a place? Travis goes back to school in September, remember?”

  “I can’t wait until September because I need to enroll the girls in school. I know you had the house fixed so we could all stay here. But I think things will be better if we move out on our own. We can sell this house and you can move back into your other place, or you can stay here. You’ll be glad not to have to deal with me and the twins.”

  “Tell me that is not what this is about.”

  “I’m just saying. And you don’t have to worry about paying for this place. I mean, you know John left me and the girls pretty well off with his investments and all.”

  “I’m not going to argue with you, Nareece. You want to move into your own place, fine, I’ll support you in that effort.”

  “Good, because I signed the paperwork and our move-in date is August first.”

  I stopped chewing.

  “What? You said you would support my decision, and my decision is to move.” She closed the magazine and looked at me. “The girls don’t know yet, but I’m sure they’ll be fine.”

  “If they aren’t?”

  “They’re my children, Muriel. They’ll be happy with the place. I found a luxurious single-family in Chestnut Hill.”

  She put the magazine back up to her face. End
of that story.

  I arrived at the courthouse early the next day, hoping to have a cup of tea with Fran before going into the courtroom. He did not answer his phone before I left the house or after I arrived. I called the lab. Parker said no Fran.

  Fran still had not arrived when I took the stand in a case dealing with a shooting death at Dirty Harry’s Bar in South Philly.

  Melrose, the prosecuting attorney, approached the witness box. “Officer Mabley, please tell the court your findings in this case.”

  “Exhibit one is a Smith and Wesson thirty-eight special, double action revolver.” I flipped the gun so I could read the number. “Serial number 895742. This is the gun found at the defendant’s home. Exhibit two is a fired, plain lead bullet. Exhibit three is the bullet taken from the victim’s body, and exhibit four is a spent, centerfire cartridge case found at the scene.

  “In this case, from our analysis, we determined that the bullet taken from the victim’s body came from exhibit one, the weapon found at the defendant’s place of residence.”

  “Officer Mabley, please tell the court how you arrived at those findings?”

  “We analyze bullet casings by comparing a casing’s grooves and scratches to match those on test bullets fired by a gun of the same make and model or in this case, the alleged murder weapon. When a weapon is fired, individual markings are transferred from the hard surface of a weapon to the softer surface of the bullet or cartridge case. Each barrel has its own identifiable markings unique to that gun. We use the ballistic comparison microscope to compare the markings to a particular weapon. ”

  I finished testifying and made a beeline for my car. I called Fran again. No answer. Parker said Fran had not been at the lab or called in. I decided to swing by Fran’s house before going to the lab.

  Fran lived in a duplex on Forty-Eighth Street across from the Calvary United Methodist Church.

  I pulled curbside and perused the neighborhood before I got out. Fran’s car was not in front of his house or in the driveway. The duplex was a white and redbrick-faced tri-level dwelling with high Victorian windows and a curved tower. A wide cement stairway led up to a large porch decorated with a farmhouse-style oak bench.