One Dead Lawyer (David Price Mysteries)

by Tony Lindsay

  He spins me around and slams me into the wall behind the plastic bench. The cuffs are back on, and I am being pushed through the door leading to the holding cells. All the cells are empty. The one in the center has open bars. Lee shoves me in and slams the bars behind me.

  Stumbling to keep my balance, I keep my mouth shut. What I want to say will get me locked up for sure. To my back I hear, “all right Mr. Security Escort, where you been all morning and afternoon?

  “Now, this is what I want you to tell me; I want to hear that you hung out in the garage and waited for the lawyer. Okay? Then I want you to tell me when Attorney Peal came down to the garage you kidnapped him and whipped his ass. You understand what I want to hear?”

  Turning around to face them I say, “I hadn’t seen Attorney Peal until I got to Regina’s house.”

  Quickly walking up to the bars, Lee yells, “Stop lying! You were in his office this morning!”

  “Yeah, I was with him this morning, but not this afternoon.” For a brief second panic tries to set in, then I remember my alibi: Eleanor. Hopefully I was with her at the time Peal was shot. No need in offering this information now. Listening to what they have is best.

  “Bullshit. You saw him this afternoon and shot him in the head, but what I don’t understand is why you took him to your ex-wife’s house. What was that all about?”

  “I didn’t shoot that man.”

  “Yes, you did.”

  “No, I didn’t.”

  Calmer, Lee says, “You did it, but I’m certain it was an accident, wasn’t it? Admit it now and it will go better for you later.”

  It’s time for me to act irate. I yell, “Man, ain’t no sign on my head that say Booboo the Fool! I want my phone call now. Not now, but right now! I know my damn rights!”

  Dixon and Lee are not in their precinct—the chance of them beating me outside of their domain is slight, so I’m barking a bit.

  “The only rights you got is the right to the ass kicking Dixon is about to give you! Can we interrogate this witness alone?” Lee asks the cop in the white shirt.

  “Not a problem.” Leaving, the white shirt says to me, “See you later, tough guy.”

  I’m not scared, but I am backing away from the bars as Lee unlocks them. Dixon enters, smiling.

  “My lawyer will sue you until I’m spending your greatgrandkids’ money if you put a hand on me.”

  “I’m sterile, douche bag. Won’t be having no greatgrandkids.”

  I’m lowering my knees, attempting to get a good center of gravity, I can’t punch, but I can kick. I ain’t just taking a beating. He is going to have to bring some to get some.

  Seeing me get into position he asks, “What, you gonna fight me back? Oh, I like that.”

  I’m on my toes, shuffling a little, hoping to find a good solid stance that will allow front snap kicks.

  “Look at him, Lee. He’s ready to go at it. Dancing on his toes. You think he knows something? Got me kinda scared. Stop your prancing before you give yourself a heart attack, Mr. Security Escort. I’m coming to take off the cuffs. Your partner and fat buddy are here to pick you up.”

  I don’t stop moving.

  “If you kick me, I’ll shoot you. I swear to God I will.” He draws his revolver. “Now turn around and face the wall.”

  Trusting this cop is not on my to-do list, especially with the sneaky smile on Lee’s face.

  “Man I’m not turning my back to you. Have my partner come in here, then I’ll turn around.”

  It’s Dixon who takes a couple steps back, “Detective Lee, you have sparked distrust in this man’s heart. Go get his partner.”

  Lee leaves the holding area. Dixon, shaking his head in disbelief, says, “After all we been through, you don’t trust me.”

  “All we been through? Our relationship consists of you and the red Bob Marley arresting me. How is that going through something?”

  “‘The Red Bob Marley.’ That’s a good one. I might use that one on him myself.” Putting his pistol back in his holster, he says, “We’ve done a little more than arrest you, Price. A couple of months ago we did visit you at the hospital.”

  “Visit? Man, y’all interrogated me on my deathbed. That wasn’t a visit.”

  Saying that brings a smile to both our faces. I turn my back to him and he releases the handcuffs.

  “We don’t think you did this one, Price, but everything is pointing in your direction. Help us and yourself. Stay out of it until we get a handle on what’s going on. I am going to say this again: Keep away from this case. It’s in your best interest to not be involved.”

  Turning around, I face him. I’m expecting him to extend his hand to shake. He doesn’t. I follow him out to the front of the station. Amid the crowd at the front desk I spot Ricky and Carol. She looks relieved to see me. Ricky is laughing at me.

  At the desk, Carol hands me a plastic bag full of the belongings the police stripped me of.

  “After Ricky called this morning and told me about you going to Randolph’s office, I took the liberty of contacting Eleanor myself. She told me you met with her. That was probably the smartest thing you’ve done all day.”

  The insult is accompanied with a slight smile, very slight. The three of us walk from the desk to the plastic bench against the wall.

  “I think whatever you said to her along with the news of Daphne and Stanley’s deaths sparked her to want to meet with us.”

  Ricky let out a loud grunt and says, “Man, who cares? I mean da lawyer is dead, there is no threat of him adopting Chester. It’s time to go home, man. Don’t get all caught up in dis. Let dem cops do they job.”

  “Daphne and Stanley were killed on my porch, Ricky. I got to find out what I can.”

  “What’s to find out? We know da lawyer killed dem!”

  “Yeah, but who killed the lawyer!”

  “Why you care who killed him? Just get ya own alibi straight—fuck dat white boy!”

  Clipping the cell phone on my belt, I ask Carol, “Did they leave my car at Regina’s?” I place my foot up on the bench and begin inserting my gym-shoe laces.

  “No, the cop with the dreadlocks had it towed downtown. These police are serious, David. I disagree with Ricky. You need to keep working on this case. You are their prime suspect.”

  “No, not any more. Detective Dixon assured me of that.” I toss the plastic bag in a tall silver trash receptacle and walk towards the door.

  Carol’s not following me to the door. I stop. “What?” I ask her.

  “If you’re not a suspect, then perhaps you can explain why they impounded your car and got a search warrant for your home and office.”

  She has a point. I tell her and Ricky, “Dixon gave the impression that I was off the hook.”

  “Mmh, well his actions show otherwise.” She folds her arms across her small chest. Across the busy room I spot Dixon and Lee. Dixon nods his head and waves good-bye. Lee flips me the bird.

  “Bastards. Let’s get out of here.”

  Outside in the parking lot, dark clouds have moved across the sky. Thunder sounds and a light drizzle starts. Yet none of us hurry to Ricky’s Expedition. He asks me, “Do you remember when we ran out of gas in your brother’s Chevy and ended up here?”

  “Yeah man, I remember.”

  “That was your fault too.”

  “How you figure? . . . Never mind, dude.”

  The cool, misty rain feels too good to run from; we stroll across the lot. I should call Daphne’s parents; I imagine they have questions they want answered. “Carol, could you find a phone number for Daphne’s parents out in Harvey? I need to call them.”

  “No problem, boss. Are you coming to the office?”

  “No. Ricky and I are going to see a man about a dog. Call me with the number.”

  Carol stopped walking, gave me a hug and a strange look, “You watch yourself, Mr. Price. Somebody involved in this is not afraid to kill. I don’t want you to be next.” She walks over to her car w
hich was parked across from Ricky’s truck.

  He yells to her, “Hey, what about me? Ain’t ya gonna tell me to be careful?”

  She doesn’t answer, only waves and gets into her jazzy little Benz.

  “She knows she wants me. She needs to stop playin’ hard to get.”

  “She don’t want you, man, and you the one who needs to stop. I thought you were putting an end to all that flirting and carrying on anyway.”

  “Who told ya dat?”

  “You did, and your actions. You’re not hanging out, you staying around the house and your speeches about the streets not having nothing for you. I just figured you had settled down.”

  “All dat is true, my brother. I am finished with street life and my clubbin’ and gamblin’ days are limited, but partner let’s not get beside ourselves. Chasin’ tail is inbred. I cain’t do a thang about dat. Yeah, I slowed down on it, but if I see a slimmie dat’s gonna let me, I’m on it.”

  “Well that slimmie is not going to let you.”

  “Yeah dat’s what you say, but I got her comin’ around. She be trying’ to hold back the smiles. I make her laugh, but she just don’t want to show it.”

  Opening the door-locks with his alarm clicker, he asks, “Look-a-here man, where we goin’?”

  “I need to get with that lawyer Martin. We’re headed downtown to the law offices. Then, if you don’t mind, out to Daphne’s folks’.” The rain is getting a little heavier.

  “Okay, I’m wit’cha, bro. A brotha was gettin’ bored anyway. I might as well stop somebody from puttin’ a slug in my ace.” Inside the truck he pulls a Howlin’ Wolf CD from the compartment holder. “Slide dat in tha changer, wouldcha?”

  Howlin’ Wolf’s rusty voice fills the truck as we head to the loop.

  “Three hundred pounds of heavenly joy,” Ricky is sharing the lead with Wolf; he sounds a lot like him. We are parked on LaSalle Street in front of the high-rise that houses Peal’s office.

  “So why are you goin’ to see dis lawyer?” he asks over the music.

  “He is one of the few people left to question. All I got is him and Eleanor, one of them has to know something.” I cut the music off to stop from screaming. Ricky plays the blues as loud as kids play rap.

  “I understand talkin’ to Eleanor, Peal was involved with her mother dyin’. But what’s da deal with dis Martin guy, how did Peal hurt him?”

  “I don’t know. Right now I’m hoping Martin will be a point of reference. I’ve got to gather information. I’m close to working blind on this.”

  “You want me to go up with you, in case he tries to throw you out?”

  “No, I can handle it.”

  As soon as I walk into the law office, the receptionist jumps from the desk and backs up against the wall as if I was pointing a gun at her. I actually see her legs trembling under her gray pleated skirt.

  “What, what, what . . . what is it that you want!” She is on the brink of hysterics. She grabs the phone, “I’m calling the police!”

  I turn around to see if it is me who has her wigging out, and it is; she and I are the only occupants of the reception area. “Miss, I’m here to see Martin.”

  “Attorney MacNard is not here!”

  “What did you say?”

  “I said Attorney MacNard is not here! I’m calling the police!”

  Hearing Martin’s last name stops me in my tracks. MacNard. That was the family name from the trucking company. I turn around to leave and push the call button for the elevator. The door opens immediately: Martin is on the elevator dressed in a dark brown suit that swallows him up. A tiny dark brother in a dark suit, he barely has a presence. We pass each other, staring. He keeps those pigeon-egg eyes on me as we pass each other. He doesn’t say a thing, and neither do I. The doors close and I ride down. The library is my destination.

  Snatching Ricky’s truck door open, I jump in and demand, “Get me to a library, man. Didn’t you say that the man who ran Aspire trucking, which was the trucking company involved in the church bus accident, was named MacNard?”

  “Yeah.” Starting the truck, he pulls directly into traffic.

  “Martin—the lawyer upstairs—his last name is MacNard.”

  “No shit, the lawyer’s last name is MacNard? Did you ask him about it?”

  “No, I want to check it out first. It can’t be that many black MacNards in one city.”

  “You right ’bout dat.”

  Ricky pulls up to the Harold Washington Library on the Van Buren Street side. He cuts on his flashers and gets out with me. I’m surprised, but I don’t object, being that I understand how it is when one is on the trail of a clue. The case is picking up and Ricky wants to be on point with the discoveries.

  He insists on finding the information online. Personally, I want to go to the microfilm room, but Ricky’s idea proves better. Sitting at one of many terminals in the reference section of the library, Ricky not only finds the information, but he finds it in less than five minutes. The death notice of Matthew MacNard provides us with needed information: he was survived by his wife, Mildred, and two sons, Martin and Michael.

  “Good job, bro. I would still be looking through film.”

  “You better get with this here digital age; all kind of info is online, partner. Now look-a-here, if I’m understandin’ this right, it looks like Martin is Matthew MacNard’s son.

  And we know that Matthew MacNard ran Aspire Trucking.”

  “Right.”

  “But this means Martin is working for the people that sued his daddy.”

  “It looks that way.”

  “Somethin’ is goin’ on here, D.” We both stand from the terminal. Ricky doesn’t close the screen as we both walk away. A kid hops right on the terminal and Matthew MacNard’s death notice is gone. Looking around I notice the reference section is now flooded with young students with backpacks. We must have only been steps ahead of them because now there is not one available terminal.

  Riding the escalator down, Ricky turns his head to me and asks “Are you thinkin’ about this man? Two people who had they lives ruined by the church bus accident are right next to Peal: his wife and one of his partners in business. Now that’s a strong coincidence.”

  I hear Ricky, but while exiting the library I can’t help but think about the great man it was named after, Chicago’s first African American Mayor, Harold Washington.

  April 12, 1983 was a day of celebration for African American Chicago. Well, most of Chicago partied, but us blacks really partied. We danced in the streets, at our jobs, in churches and all around and through City Hall. We finally had representation. We were finally a recognized force within the city. We, the collective force of black citizens called “The Sleeping Giant,” had made our presence known and picked who we wanted to run the city. Damn, that felt good!

  I was swollen with pride that day. You could not have paid me to stop grinning. It was a black man running the city. Not a puppet or a figurehead, but our elected official. For the first time in my life I more than just lived in Chicago; for once I was part of it. I watched city council meetings on TV, read all the political articles in the newspapers and even got involved in my ward. I was a concerned citizen. Then they killed him.

  A brother like me is one of those Chicagoans who will go to our grave believing that Harold Washington was murdered. The man meant too much for me to just accept his death. And being mayor meant too much to him to die. In my heart, I will always feel as though he was murdered.

  Standing on Van Buren under the El tracks, Ricky hacks a glob of mucus into the street, “You know what, D? In my opinion both of them, Eleanor and Martin, shoulda killed his ass. You got some real suspects now.”

  He opens the locks with his alarm pad and we climb into the truck, “Maybe they hooked dis up together? You need to find out if they know each other. I hope they ain’t hooked up fo’ yo sake. Ain’t no tellin’ what type of payback shit they could be comin’ up with. I’m tellin’ you, bro, you bett
er leave this here case alone. These folks is lookin’ for retribution.”

  I seriously doubt that Eleanor and Martin are cohorts, but it is time to talk to Martin. This time I want Ricky to go upstairs with me; there is safety in numbers.

  “Ricky, I need to go back to the law office.”

  “Naw, man, you need to rest. You been through enough in one day. I know I have. We will pick up da trail in da morning; just goin’ and goin’ ain’t gonna undo what happened. It’s time to rest, bro. I’m taking you home. Besides, my kids is finished with all they programs and stuff and Martha is home alone with them, and she is too strict on them by herself. I got to get home to keep the peace.”

  I offer no protest. He is right; merely hearing the word “rest” makes me tired. But I don’t want to stop. If I keep going I won’t have to think about Daphne or Stanley. I lean back in the seat and listen to Howlin’ Wolf the entire trip home.

  When I wake, Ricky is in front of my house, parked behind a cleaning van. The lady from the cleaning service is walking down my porch stairs; this isn’t her day to clean. I get out of the truck and go to her.

  “Hello, Mr. Price.”

  “Madelyn, how are you?”

  The blood that had run down the steps is gone.

  “I am well, sir. I hope you don’t mind, but we cleaned your steps. We were scheduled for the Harrises across the street, and once we finished, we did your steps. There will be no extra charge, sir. And we are sorry for your loss. And, Mr. Price, I want to thank for the business you have sent our way; you were our first customer in Englewood. Because you trusted us, a lot of others folks use our service now. Thanks, sir.”

  She turns and gets into her van. When she pulls off, so does Ricky. I am left alone, so I go into the house.

  This is the emptiest the house has felt in a while. If not for Yin and Yang’s warm, stubby-tail-wagging greetings, I would have gone out to a bar and got drunk but I have my dogs. I go into the back yard with them. If it wasn’t getting dark I would go work in my garden.

  Sitting on the steps, I watch them pee on different parts of the fence and trees that line my yard. They both find spots to squat for a dump. It’s like they are rushing to see who will finish their business first. The phone is ringing in the kitchen, so I rise to go answer it.