by Joy Copeland
In the end the police didn’t question Zoie that much. Zoie had a story to tell. She took the lead in the discussion, weaving the facts about what had transpired that summer. She explained her relationship with Jahi. She explained how she’d come to suspect fraudulent activities around the Crayton Foundation’s grant process. She told them about her meeting with Sy Rosen and how what he had told her made her even more suspicious. She told them about how she’d confronted Ray Gaddis and how he had wanted to delay bringing her suspicions before the Foundation’s Board. She mentioned that she was outside of Ray’s Potomac house on the night of his death. She told them about the break-in and theft at her apartment and the apparent arson at her grandmother’s house, which was done by the same gang. She described the phone threats. Zoie explained how she’d come to know Simon and Maynard, the homeless duo, and how she’d convinced them to accompany her to the Shelter. She even told them about Simon’s backing out at the last minute. But she left out any mention of prophecies or things that would make them doubt her statement.
“Maynard led me to that house at the back of the Shelter’s property,” she told them. “He’d been there before, and he was very afraid. I found my laptop and Maynard’s binder back there.”
Ross let her talk, only interrupting occasionally with clarifying questions. Zoie gave them her cell phone and password to access the voice messages to back up her story of how she and her family were threatened.
Ross flipped through his notes on a yellow legal pad. “I heard about this binder. Is it true you sent it with Maynard to the hospital?”
“Yes, it’s very important to him.”
“Do you know what’s in the binder?”
“No. What I saw, I couldn’t read,” she answered. “It is cryptic, written in some kind of code. But that’s Maynard for you.”
“And you saved Maynard’s life by calling 911, after you hid him behind the dumpster?” Ross asked.
“Yes,” Zoie answered.
“What phone did you use to make the call?”
“One of the women in my dorm room had a phone. I couldn’t find a phone inside, and I didn’t trust going to the office.”
“Why not?”
“Intuition, I guess. Everyone looked guilty.”
Ross looked down at the papers. “In the report filed by the officer on the scene, there’s a question about how you managed to move Maynard from the utility building. It’s a long way from the back of the property to behind that dumpster. The victim is a big man, and you’re a small person. Can you comment on that?”
“I dragged him on a tarp.”
“Without assistance?”
“Yes, without assistance. God sends help when you need it.” She was matter of fact in her answer. She’d kept her promise to Jazz to not involve her. In truth, it had been difficult for even the two of them to move Maynard’s dead weight. Zoie just hoped that the other women at the Shelter were being as discreet.
“I grant that sometimes there is superhuman strength. I guess your adrenalin really kicked in…and, Ms. Taylor, do you have any knowledge that Jahi Khalfani ordered Tarik or this Asad to beat Maynard?”
“I can’t say for sure. According to his campaign manager, Jahi was supposed to be on some kind of retreat. But I knew he was back in his office at the Shelter.”
“Did you see him?”
“Yes, I saw him through the window of the dorm room in the women’s section. It was late, and the lights were on in his office. I could see him in there. He didn’t see me.”
“And you went to the Shelter in disguise to look for evidence to support your suspicions of financial fraud?”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you go to the police?”
“By that time they’d already set fire to my grandmother’s place and broken into my apartment. They wanted me to stop digging. To keep quiet. They were threatening my family.”
“Okay. What fraud did you suspect?”
Zoie took a deep breath and a sip of water before answering. “I think there might have been some kickback scheme going down between Ray and the Shelter. The Shelter received considerable grants from the Foundation. Ray pushed hard for continuing their grant. Or…”
“Or what?”
“Well…it’s possible they were blackmailing Ray.”
“And who would be the most likely person to be doing this?”
“I know that Jahi, as the director of the Shelter and head of the Shelter’s board, was Ray’s contact on grant matters. But then Tarik seemed to be his second-in-command.”
“What do you think Jahi or Tarik might have on Ray Gaddis?”
“Can we turn the recorder off?” Zoie asked, looking at each of the three men.
“Okay, shut it off,” Ross told Erkhard.
“Look, this is speculation. But I did find out something about Ray when I started digging around earlier this summer.”
“What was that?” Ross asked.
“Ray Gaddis is, or should I say was, a closeted gay.”
“Hmm,” Ross said, sitting back from the table. He drummed his fingers silently on the oval table. The whole room was quiet. “Ms. Taylor, if Gaddis was a closeted gay, how did you come by this knowledge?”
“From a trusted source…a person who wishes to remain anonymous.” In the explanation of her own investigation, Zoie hadn’t mentioned her trip to Florida or Carmen Silva. Zoie had no intention of implicating the woman who had explicitly requested to be left alone.
“Ms. Taylor…”
“My source witnessed Gaddis and a male coworker in a sexual encounter,” Zoie said, looking around for some reaction. All she got was blank stares. “It happened a couple of years ago,” she continued. “All I can tell you is that the encounter took place at the office, after-hours.”
Zoie couldn’t tell whether Ross or Erkard believed her. The information was taking a while to sink in. “Look, I know what I’m telling you qualifies as hearsay. This isn’t anything the US attorney can bring up in court. It’s my speculation. Gaddis has a wife and two sons. I’m guessing he wanted his sexual preferences to remain hush hush. And I’m guessing Tarik and company found out about his secret life. They could have used the information to blackmail him. Maybe they have pictures or something. And their payoff had to come from the grants to the Shelter.”
“If Ray Gaddis was paying them, why would they turn around and murder him?”
Zoie shrugged. “Perhaps they thought he was going to spill his guts to me and the Foundation. When I confronted Ray with my suspicions about the Shelter’s mishandling of the grant funds, he got very nervous. Essentially, I wanted to go to the Board with my suspicions, and he was trying to stop me.”
“Murray,” Ross said, turning to his partner. “We’ve got to get Montgomery County in on this. Ms. Taylor, can we get you to speak to them?”
“Sure. Have you talked with Maynard yet?”
“We’ve tried,” said Detective Erkhard, looking tentatively at his partner for guidance. “He’s disoriented.”
Zoie figured that they had gotten the full dose of Maynard. Disorientation wasn’t the right word to explain his condition.
When they wrapped up, Charles came over to Zoie. “Zoie Taylor, you’re full of surprises. You never cease to amaze me.”
“So now what, Detective?” Zoie said, her tone sarcastic as she gathered her things. “Do I get my laptop and briefcase back?”
He watched her with a smirk. “I doubt it. Not right away, anyway. They’re probably still gathering information from them. But on another note…Lena asked me to mention something about the ‘exclusive’ you owe her.”
“Oh, that.” Zoie grimaced.
“Look, she’s on your side. She was counting on your story to get her some needed ‘street cred’ at work. Things are rough for her these days. She’s worried about a layoff.”
“Sorry to hear that, but life-and-death stuff trumps job loss,” Zoie blurted. Then she thought for a moment. “Charles, I
’m sorry—you’re right,” she said, shaking her head. “Lena was there when I needed help. I’m a little on edge. Telling them what happened that night at the Shelter was like reliving it. Now I’m angry all over again. I didn’t want to expose Ray’s little secret.”
“But Ray Gaddis is dead.”
“Believe me, Ray was no great friend or boss. I didn’t care for the man. He was an obnoxious creep. With that said, I didn’t want to expose stuff that would cause further pain to his family.” She sighed. “You know his funeral is in a few days.”
“Will you go?”
“Don’t think so. I’m not ready to face the Foundation folks en masse. I need to tell the Board most of what I told you guys here. As a Board officer, it’s my duty to warn them that the Foundation is about to be hit with big-time bad press.”
“Your statement and accusations about Gaddis’s misdealings won’t be made public until they’ve had a chance to investigate. And then a police spokesperson will release the information. For now Tarik and his posse are being held for the drugs and Maynard’s beating. Those things are already public and seemingly have no connection to Ray Gaddis or the Foundation.”
“Charles, tell me…how did you know that I was at the Shelter?”
“Got to have eyes and ears all over the city.”
“Muwakkil.”
“Well, yeah. He’s a good pair of eyes. We’ve been trying to locate the distribution point for some of the drugs for months now. When Lena tipped me off that you had headed to the Shelter and the 911 call came in, well, it all just fit together.”
“Uh-huh. Anyway, thanks for being here. It was nice to see a familiar face in that room, even if it was only a face I’ve known for a few days,” Zoie said.
Charles bowed his head in a “you’re welcome” gesture. Then in a quiet voice, he said, “I wish we could’ve met under different circumstances.”
Whoa! Zoie felt his eyes waiting for some response, some encouragement for this advance. But she was having none of it. The reasons this relationship could go nowhere abounded: First, he wasn’t her type. Second, there was a little nit—he was already with Lena. Third, he was supposed to be with whoever had the wedding band that matched his. This brother has some nerve.
“Charles, just do me a favor,” Zoie said. Her tone was flat and discouraging. “Tell Lena I’ll call her tonight.”
She walked away.
Chapter 51
What’s Done Is Done
The irritating smell of industrial-strength disinfectant permeated the visitors’ room at DC’s central detention facility, otherwise known as DC Jail. Having been patted down, Jahi waited in the small visiting booth. In the world of the DC Jail, he was a fortunate visitor. He’d been processed through the jail’s administrative hoops in record time. But then he had connections inside the jail. His main connection, one Nathan Cole, was a supervising guard. Gung Ho Nate, as he was called, just happened to be an old Marine Corps buddy. Nate greased the skids, meeting him at the entrance and escorting him past a line of desperate visitors, who might end up waiting hours for a turn to see their loved ones. Yes, the brotherhood of marines was in full operation. Despite Jahi’s recent woes, there were still friends he could depend on.
Jahi was somewhat accustomed to the jail, having visited it in the past, but the place still served up a chill. He surveyed the booth’s Plexiglas arrangement. There were the usual telephone receiver and several cameras hanging from the tall ceiling. At least he’d be able to see the boy even if he couldn’t embrace him. He could discern whether the boy had been roughed up. Jahi wanted a frank discussion with Tarik. Nate guaranteed that their conversation wouldn’t be recorded. He trusted Nate.
If the DC government had its way, the pseudo-intimate prisoner visit, with its Plexiglas barrier, would be a thing of the past. A bill pending in the DC Council aimed to transform in-person visits, except with attorneys, into video chats. The inmate and the visitor would be physically separated and get to talk to each other from special videoconference rooms located in separate buildings. Touted as cheaper and safer, the newly proposed visit process was the wave of the future—a win for the taxpayer and of little concern to anyone else, except the inmate’s family. The council would probably pass the bill, and the Mayor would probably sign it. The bill would come up for a vote in the new session scheduled for next year, after the November general elections. If Jahi were going to be on the council, he’d vote against it. Jahi smiled to himself with a humph. But that council scenario was no longer in the cards. Like so many things of late, his run for the DC Council seemed to be part of the pipe dream extinguished that night when the police arrived at the Shelter. It all had fallen apart so fast. But had it really? Or was that night just the final scene in a drama that had been playing out for a very long time or something he’d been blind to? He had to find out.
Yes, Gung Ho Nate Cole had come through for him. Along with expediting his admittance to the visitors’ center, Nate had promised to keep an eye out for Tarik’s safety. But there was only so much his friend could do for Tarik, even from the inside. After all, jail was jail. Tarik had a ways to go. He prayed the boy would survive it.
Yes, Nate had proven to still be a friend. In the last few days, Jahi was finding out just who his real friends were. He’d walked free after the initial incident at the Shelter, but in breathtaking speed he’d fallen from grace. And charges could be pending, but for what he wasn’t sure. Now he had his own attorney. Mahali’s Board had immediately suspended him without pay, taking action in a fashion faster than he’d ever seen them do anything. He was no longer allowed on the Shelter grounds. Hank managed to retrieve some of his personal papers from his office. Now even the continued existence of the Shelter was a question mark. And as for his political career, without pressure, he’d dropped out of the Ward 5 city-council race. On the one hand, giving up the race was a shame. A poll taken just before the police raid gave him an excellent chance of winning the primary. And in DC a democratic primary win was an almost guaranteed general-election win.
“Don’t give up,” urged his campaign manager, though she was thoroughly disgusted with him. “Other candidates have overcome looming felony charges and gone on to victory.”
But Jahi no longer had the stomach to fight. His heart was no longer in politics. He doubted whether it ever really was.
This, too, will pass, Jahi told himself. At some point he’d be vindicated. In the meantime he needed to support Tarik. It might be too late for Te. She’d made her choice.
Jahi punched his right fist into his left palm and shook his head. How could things have gone so wrong? He thought of Tarik as a son. Surely no other child filled that special space. Tarik didn’t take his breakup with Te well. How do you explain to a child that you’re no longer in love with his mother? How do you explain to a child that a lack of love for the mother doesn’t mean a lack of love for the child? Jahi tried to maintain a close relationship with Tarik, but the distance between them grew when they lived apart. A blood bond wasn’t there to secure the fractured connection.
“I’ll be nearby,” he’d told Tarik as he moved out. “Remember that you can always come to me. My leaving changes nothing between us.” Tarik had listened to these assurances with his same sullen demeanor. He’d always been a serious kid. At twelve he was already lanky, impressionable, and quite smart. He’d been eager to be a man, long before he needed to be, long before he needed to burden himself with responsibility. After Tarik finished high school, Te sent him to visit his uncle in Addis Abba. Tarik was excited to go. He wanted to know everything about the land of his birth—the land of the father he never knew. He wanted to nourish his Ethiopian roots. He didn’t want to be one of those immigrants who came to the United States as child and knew little of his homeland. Te panicked because his visit was only supposed to be for a couple of months. Tarik ended up staying nine months before returning to start college.
The Tarik who returned from Ethiopia was a different you
ng man than the one who’d left. Jahi noticed the boy’s new sense of confidence. He’d been to his homeland, the one he’d left as a toddler. He’d met his father’s family and heard the stories about his brave father from them. He told his relatives that he wanted to stay longer. They eyed him with bewilderment, asking, “Why would you want to stay here? We all want to go the US.”
Jahi saw a red light flashing over the door on the other side of the Plexiglas. Tarik entered the room from that door. The guard pointed to the clock on the wall and then to his watch and went to sit at a table by the door. The cardboard sign on the wall inside the booth said, “Visits are limited to thirty minutes.” After all, many others were waiting for their turn to see their loved ones.
Tarik and Jahi picked up their phones. The boy looked thin and nervous, but at least he was in one piece. If he were hurt, he was hiding it well.
Jahi pressed a palm to the glass. Tarik responded in kind with the shield between them. Tarik pulled his hand back quickly.
“How are you, Son?”
“Well enough.”
Jahi forced a smile. “How are the accommodations?”
“We do better at Mahali,” Tarik answered. “The Shelter is cleaner and has better food.”
“No doubt, no doubt. Hank takes care of our stomachs.” There was a long, awkward silence. Then Jahi asked, “Did your mother come? When I spoke to her a couple of days ago, she said she was planning to come.”
Tarik smiled. It was a strange, sad smile that faded. “She told me what the Board did…to you and to her. Jahi, I’m truly sorry. I didn’t mean to drag you down.”
Jahi looked away. He was trying to hide his anger and disappointment with the boy he’d put so much trust in. What use would it be now to rage at the boy? He calmed himself before asking, “Why Tarik? Why?”