Testify

by Ms. Michel Moore

  Lynn Banks did think back to that very day in question, and also the days that led up to it. She got a chill as she thought about the reverend threatening to inform the school board about her drug use. Truly addicted, she knew they would’ve listened to a man of his standing and had her tested—most certainly ending her career. Ms. Banks was far from a fool. The multiple-having-degree educator wanted no part of any police investigation, let alone a murder case. With a straight face, she decided it would be in her best interest to keep her mouth shut. She’d just pretend she was trying to locate the home of one of her students. Not to mention, Clay had asked her on more than one occasion why was she lowering her standards smoking crack. Through all her multiple times on the block copping, she felt some sort of way that a dope dealer saw more good in her that she had in herself over the past few years. That made her see Clay in a much different light and hold him in a higher regard. Taking all of that into consideration, she spoke out again. “I’m so very sorry I can’t help you gentlemen. I saw the news report, and I think it’s horrible—just terrible. But like I said, it’s true, indeed, that I was in that general vicinity. But I was preoccupied on my cell trying to locate an address.”

  “And what address was that again?” the man quizzed, trying to trip her up.

  “I already told you earlier I wrote the name of the street down wrong and was confused and lost. That’s why I was on my cell trying to call the school office.”

  “Oh yeah, you did say that. Well, thank you for coming in. And once again, our apologies we had to send an officer to your house, and then classroom, but we only had your license plate number to go off of, and this is an extremely serious case. We may need to ask you a few more questions, but for now, that’s it.”

  After escorting her to the elevator, the detectives sat down at their desks. Going over the notes they separately took as Lynn Banks explained being in that crime-ridden neighborhood, each felt there was something off about her story, yet they couldn’t quite put their finger on it. Hopefully, one of the others slated to come in could shed more light on Reverend Richards’s death.

  With fingers crossed this next interview would go better than the first, they could only wait. The next people to be questioned pertaining to what they may have witnessed arrived a few minutes before they were due. The detectives took that as a positive sign—that was . . . until the elevator door opened. There stood two children who were accompanied by their stern-faced Muslim father. With one foot barely outside of the elevator, he started on a verbal tirade. He was not only offended by having to be there, but the means it took to do so.

  “Look, I don’t know why you are harassing my children. Going to their school and arousing unwarranted suspicion as if they are some sort of criminals! Why is it that you sent the police to my front door? I don’t appreciate it one bit. Why are we being targeted? Why are my children being disrespected? Is it because we are Muslim? Is that why?” His long beard and green leather-covered Quran seemed to take over the small room. He stood proud as his rant grew more militant in defense of his and his children’s civil liberties being tested. “We have civil rights, and they won’t be violated. We are all American citizens. I was born here. They were born here. It’s bad enough my kids get bullied almost every day at school, but do you supposed officers of the law do anything to prevent that? Do something about that travesty, then I can support you.”

  Charged with the duty to serve and protect, the detectives were dumbfounded. They certainly did not expect this type of reaction when told the witnesses had arrived. Thrown off, each had to quickly readjust to how they handled the children as well as their dad.

  “Hello. I’m sorry about that, and no, sir, it’s not like that at all. To me personally, I don’t care what religion you are; we are all the same.” The detective was careful of the words he was using, knowing he wanted to avoid any allegations of racial profiling. “It’s just that a reliable source puts both your children on the scene of the murder of Reverend Richards. And seeing how they are potential witnesses, we have no choice but to investigate, religion and citizenship aside. The only thing we want to know is what the two of them may have seen that day.”

  “I understand that; however, for you to send several police cars to show up at my front door—sirens and lights flashing—that I have a problem with; a very serious problem. You treated my children as if they were the murderer of that man instead of innocent witnesses.”

  The other detective knew the father was correct. He knew they were being overzealous in an attempt to bring this high-profile case to a close. He had ordered all the assumed witnesses notified of the circumstances and put on notice to come in as soon as possible or risk being arrested.

  “Sir, once again, the department as a whole, and I, myself, personally, do apologize. We just want to ask your children a few questions about the day Reverend Richards was murdered, if we may; then we will let you leave.”

  “Excuse me. Let us leave? We did nothing wrong for you to let us do anything! Should I get a lawyer? If so, be advised we will say nothing more until our legal representative arrives.”

  “No, no—sorry. I didn’t mean it like that. I just meant we didn’t want to inconvenience you more than we already had.”

  “Oh, okay, then. Well, what do you want to ask them about that day?” He continued to stand proud with a strong willed tone.

  “We want to know about that day, when the preacher was shot in the middle of the street you reside on. What did they see? Who did they see?”

  “Well, I can cut straight to the chase with that. I already asked them about that day, but if you like, I will do it again. Abdul and Fatima, did you see anyone kill anyone?” The father looked his children dead in the eye. “Be honest. Do not lie to this man. Allah is watching you and sees all. Do not be punished in paradise for lying.”

  Remembering the various times the mean-spirited, ulterior-motive preacher threatened to tell their father on them, the brother and sister made a pact. They had jointly agreed to keep their mouths shut, knowing Allah would forgive them for the lie in the long run. “No, sir, not at all,” the older one spoke for them both, also remembering Clay saving them from being bullied. “We were still at the store. When we came back, the man from the church was lying there, in the middle of the street. Dad, we didn’t stop, I swear. We just kept coming straight home and in the house like you tell us to always do. The only time I looked out the window was when the news cameras were there and the ambulance.”

  “Do both of you swear on this Holy Quran,” he asked, holding the sacred book outward for his children to see.

  “Yes, Dad, I swear,” Abdul swiftly replied as the detectives looked on.

  “Yes, Daddy,” Fatima chimed in, following her big brother’s lead.

  “Okay, well, there you have it. They have sworn on Allah, and there is no greater judge than that!” The father held his head high. He was a man of strong faith and believed in his children. Waiting for any opposition to his statement or that of his offspring, he asked once more, “Now, is that all you need to ask of them, or do I have to get a lawyer? We have evening prayers to attend at the mosque.”

  The detective lowered his head in defeat. He knew it was useless to push this any further—that was, unless he wanted to start a mini jihad at the station. “No, sir, that’s all at this time. Once again, sorry for the inconvenience, but keep in mind, we may still be in touch at a later day.”

  After that explosive exchange, the man and his children stepped back on the elevator. There was no more conversation or questioning to take place. The man and his children were all stone-faced mean mugging until the door slid shut.

  “Son of a bitch! This shit is crazy. We keep running into a brick wall with what should be an open-and-shut case. I don’t know what to say or think. Maybe the information we received is wrong. It seems like these people don’t know anything, or all of them are putting on a good act. But why would they protect an animal like that fool we got lo
cked up? It’s baffling. They may just have the crazy misfortune of living on the block the reverend was killed on . . . nothing more, nothing less.”

  The other detective smirked. “Yeah, maybe in a perfect world, but this is freaking Detroit. Life ain’t that simple here. Everybody watching your black ass even when you think they ain’t. Now somebody saw something. We just gotta keep digging. One of these people on the list gonna flip on that asshole we got locked up. It’s only a matter of time. Besides, even if we don’t get an open charge of murder now, he’s got a hellava lot of other bullshit we can dig up on him and make stick.”

  “Yeah, dude, that sounds good and all, but time is what we don’t have. The clock is ticking before we charge up or cut loose. You know the reporters, the chief, and the mayor is on our asses like white on rice. We gotta shit or get off the pot on this one.”

  As if on cue, the other set of detectives on the team working the case emerged from the second interview room. Like their counterparts, they appeared to look disappointed as well. Going into the main office, they all sat down to compare notes. “Okay, so how did your interviews go with the teacher Lynn Banks and the two Arab kids?”

  “Well, the teacher was a no-go. What she told us seemed to make good sense. She didn’t appear to be rattled as if she was holding something back, but you never know in these cases, although she was annoyed we came to her job. But in truth, who wouldn’t be pissed off if the damn police come snooping around your damn job?”

  “Yeah, man, you right about that. I, for one, wouldn’t want your ugly ass popping up asking my damn boss no shit about me,” one detective tried his best to lighten the otherwise grim mood in the room.

  “Yeah, very funny, dude. You a regular Bernie Mac. But yeah, and as for the kids, first of all, they are black not Arab.”

  “Damn, my bad,” the detective looked down at his notes which had a list of the potential witnesses. “I just assumed when I saw the names . . .”

  “Yeah, well, guy, they are black. And their father is black too—all the way fucking black. Shit, as black as a nigga can get and militant as hell.” He laughed looking at his partner to back him up, who did by laughing as well. “Straight off the Million Man March black! But the kids were solid. Neither one blinked an eye; even the little girl was a soldier. I mean, if they did see something that damn day, their father got them so terrified of his wrath they’d tell us who killed King, JFK, and where Jimmy Hoffa was buried at. He’s one of them fathers that have zero tolerance about going against what he says.”

  Sharing a laugh, the other team revealed their updates with the two persons or interest they had spoken to. “Well, I just got finished talking to the old woman, a Mrs. Thelma Gale.” He searched through the papers in his hand so he could give his colleagues an accurate account of what was said. “Mrs. Gale was picked up by one of the officers downstairs. She doesn’t drive so, of course, we took care of that. So to get down to the real business, I asked her did she know Reverend Richards well.”

  “And what was her response, because the three folk we spoke to act as if they didn’t even know the man’s name for sure?” the lead from the first team interjected.

  “She said of course she knew him. Matter of fact, she said she’d known him for some years. He’d been in her house, and she’d been at his church ever since he first took over.”

  Anxiousness filled the room in anticipation that they finally had caught a real true break in the case. On pins and needles, the two initial detectives waited. All four of their jobs were on the line, so Mrs. Gale’s statement had the prospective to be gold. Hopefully, her statement would be the nail in Clay’s coffin.

  “Okay, guy, go ahead, bring it home for us all! We’re waiting for the slam dunk! We need this break, so come on and be the hero.”

  “Hold up now. Pump your damn breaks. Don’t start the celebration yet. Well, as she knows him or rather knew him, she claim ain’t see nothing. She said it was pretty much a wrap for the preacher by the time she got to her front window.”

  “Aww, damn, her front window? The tip said she, like all the rest of the supposed witnesses, were there, shoulder to shoulder with our victim and perp when the shit popped off. Now here’s another one that wasn’t really there. What in the hell was going on that day on that damn block? Was everyone temporary blind or some shit like that? Or was that tip some straight up bullshit?”

  “Listen, she told me she was taking her high blood pressure medicine. And then when she was testing her sugar level she heard a few gunshots. She said hearing them had become normal around there, so she didn’t bother to think twice about it. However, she claims when she finally did get to her front window, she looked out. She said she wasn’t 100 percent sure, but she thought she’d seen what appeared to be someone lying in the street. The old woman said she had to go back and get her glasses off the dining room table where she had been sitting to make out who it was. And if you would’ve seen the way she moves, that took another damn ten minutes to get back over to that damn window.”

  “Wow, okay, then what?” one detective asked the other, wishing he would speed the statement up.

  “Well, she said she saw her longtime friend Reverend Richards. She said he was sprawled out on the curb and heard the sounds of police sirens coming. That’s why she claims she didn’t call 911. She said she just stood there in the window and prayed he was all right. She said she was much too scared to open her front door, let alone go outside. She just stood there and looked.”

  “Well, okay. Please tell us, did she see anyone else out there? Please tell me she said yes,” the elder of all the four detectives eagerly questioned. “I’m too old to be demoted to a school crossing guard if we don’t solve this case. Hell, I’ma need to take my damn blood pressure meds too just like the old woman.”

  “Naw, man, she didn’t see anything I can gather that would be considered a home run. Just a couple of kids she thinks, like off toward the far end of the block. Like maybe they were coming from the store or something like that. Now she might be lying, but I wasn’t gonna push her. She had a damn Bible with her in one hand and could hardly talk without quoting scriptures. Plus had two canes with her, for God’s sake.” He shrugged his shoulders in disappointment of letting the team down. “I think she’s a definite no all across the board in being concrete as far as witnesses go.”

  “Damn! Well, truth be told, that matches with what I have here after talking to them Muslim kids and their radical-power-to-the-people-ass father. So I guess the old lady was being truthful.” He shook his head feeling like they were running into a dead end in the high-profile case. “And that schoolteacher wasn’t even on the damn block—or at least so she says.”

  “Fuck! This is way beyond crazy! A man dies, gunned down, murdered in broad daylight—and no one sees any-damn-thing. I mean, we both know Clay Jennings had every reason to kill the man, but thinking it and proving it is far, few, and in between. We need some hard-core facts and some eyewitnesses putting him at the scene. I mean, damn, we don’t even have a murder weapon. This is adding up to be some real Class-A bullshit in the making.”

  “Well, according to that anonymous tip that initially came in fingering Clay Jennings as the shooter, we should have a slam dunk with Mr. and Mrs. Jessie when they come in tomorrow. From what we know from Reverend Richards’s brother, he is the Block Club president and was a close confidant of the preacher. He has to know something. Hell, he may be our final shot.”

  “Okay, good—good. Let’s hope so, because the young girl Trinity Walker that was also supposed to be there when the crime took place is, nine outta ten times, a definite no-go as well. Just by talking to her on her front stairs of her house this morning, she made it perfectly clear she was, as she put it . . . ‘to busy sucking her man’s dick’ to be concerned with whatever went on way down the street from her bedroom.”

  “Say what now? Are you for real?” The other cops jointly laughed at what they’d just heard.

  �
�Come on now. You can’t really be serious,” another said.

  “Yeah, the hell I am. I stood there trying to question her about this and that, and either she is a great actress or just dumb as a bag of rocks. Just like the rest of these young females out here, she got a one-track mind on sex, drugs, and more damn sex. And by the way, she was making sure I saw she didn’t have any panties on underneath her criminally short skirt. I believe the little hood rat was ready to go right there on her front stairs. If she wasn’t busy sucking some fool off that day our victim was killed, she should’ve been. So, yeah, like I said, we must have been ill advised with her. She’s a definite no-go as an eyewitness. Hell, she needs to be at someone’s charm school. The girl is out of control, like most of these young folk in Detroit.”

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Lynn Banks

  Lynn’s throat was bone dry. She had one of the most severe headaches ever. Lord, help me! Pressing the palm of her left hand to her forehead and her right to her heart, her eyes grew watery. Not being able to function regularly without her morning blast, the distraught teacher leaned against the wall of a building. Hoping she had dodged the bullet of suspicion, her mind was all over the place. Her eyes darted from side to side. The once-teacher-of-the-year was paranoid, thinking she was being followed and the entire world was focused on watching her every move. Emotionally drained from what she had seen take place on the block, she was at her breaking point. Oh my God. I hope they believe me. Oh my God. I can’t breathe. I think I’m gonna pass out right here in the middle of the street. Jesus, help me.

  Ms. Banks endured what seemed like hours of grueling, brow-beating questioning pertaining to the day Reverend Richards was murdered. Although she had stood mute as the cold-blooded killing took place, there was no way in the name of sweet baby Jesus that she would admit to that feat. It wasn’t that the educator didn’t have any remorseful feelings about seeing a man take his last breath; it was the fact she couldn’t risk losing her job. If the detectives found out the true reason for her being on the block, her life would be over. She’d lose everything.