Blind Delusion

by Dorothy Phaire

  He stuffed his business card and some bills in her hands. “Go get yourself a decent meal. When I get back to the station, I’ll make some calls to find out about permanent shelter and other services for you and your baby once it’s born. You haven’t been drinking or doing drugs, have you?”

  Billi assured Deek she wasn’t. She said when she discovered she was pregnant she stopped drinking and smoking crack. No family, homeless, and approaching her ninth month in the pregnancy, all she had in the world was her unborn baby.

  “Let’s get back to the reason we’re here,” Bradford piped in, “Don’t keep us in suspense, lady, tell us about the driver in the black SUV. We think this is the person responsible for that fire Monday afternoon on 6th Street in SE that resulted in the death of a 28 year old man.”

  “No, I don’t know nothing, man. I’m not getting mixed up in this.” Billi shook her head vehemently. She refused to get involved in a murder investigation.

  “Maybe we’ll just take you down to police headquarters and charge you with trespassing on private property,” Bradford threatened, “Unless you’re ready to make a formal statement.”

  “I ain’t goin’ nowhere and I ain’t talkin’ to no cops,” said Billi.

  Deek took his partner aside and spoke in a whispered tone so the witness could not hear. “Mel, can’t you see this woman is afraid and needs help?” said Deek, “Your scare tactics are a misuse of authority here.”

  Bradford sighed and shrugged his shoulders, “You can play Santa Clause on your own time Young Blood. But I’m getting the hell outta here. This is a waste of my goddamn time.”

  Detective Bradford turned and walked away. He plopped his heavy frame behind the wheel and slammed the door. Deek talked to Billi for a few more minutes before leaving. He asked her to call if she changed her mind about cooperating or if she needed anything.

  “All right, let’s head back to the precinct,” said Deek, wearily then climbed in the passenger’s side, “Maybe something’s come in from the lab.”

  Chapter 31

  After the interment at the cemetery, Renee made a brief appearance at Mrs. Adams’s house, but still didn’t get a chance to speak to Brenda privately. Renee wasn’t thrilled with the idea of Brenda moving back home with her manipulating mother. But having Brenda safe at her own home did free up her time to work on the case with Deek as the investigative team’s criminal profile expert. In just four days, the media’s portrayal of Brenda had degraded from innocent widow to vilified murderess. The press painted a conniving, greedy woman who launched a scheme to collect on her husband’s $50,000-dollar life insurance policy by burning down an elderly lady’s house and all her memories. They projected a heartless criminal capable of killing her husband who she knew was home at the time of the arson, kidnapping her baby and leaving it to be found by authorities. In an attempt to show a rising trend in killer mothers, the press dug up past cases where mothers had willfully harmed or murdered their children.

  Renee did not know this woman they depicted in the newspapers and on television. As far as she was concerned, that woman did not exist. There had to be other suspects to consider. Hopefully she could convince Lt. Melvin Bradford, the lead investigator for Jerome’s case, to explore different possibilities. When she volunteered her services as a civilian, Chief Frye and Detective Bradford agreed to accept her help. She headed for D.C. Police headquarters at 300 Indiana Avenue, NW and hoped Deek would be there instead of at the FBI building. Deek had been working double time, dividing his responsibilities between the Save Our Streets (SOS) FBI joint task force, designed to reduce drug-related crime in the city and his regular MPD homicide caseload.

  When Renee arrived at headquarters, the desk sergeant told her that Detectives Bradford and Hamilton were on their way back to the station after questioning witnesses. Renee rode the elevator to the homicide division on the third floor to wait for them. She sat down on a bench amid the processing room’s somber decor of drab pea green walls, black metal desks, hard chairs, and metallic gray filing cabinets. A tower of boxed paperwork sat in a corner waiting to be filed. Now she understood why Deek kept his notes and paperwork electronically organized on a PDA and his laptop computer. In seconds he could access law enforcement databases and computerized systems to manage his cases and analyze evidence. All around the room, she heard the constant noise of phones ringing, conversations, and witnesses being questioned. Investigators huddled in their spaces, poured over stacks of case files, and charted their evidence on a large white board.

  “Here come Beauty and the Beast,” said a female detective when Deek and Lt. Mel Bradford walked into the homicide area.

  “I must be Beauty, huh?” smiled Mel, carrying a brown lunch bag with grease spots from something obviously fried and fattening. Deek and Mel took off their overcoats and hung them on the rack.

  “Guess again, Asshole,” she said and rolled her eyes at Mel, “Here’s a hint—one of you is fine, wears sharp threads, and drives a two-seater Mercedes. The other one is full of shit, wears cheap ass suits, and drives a Ford Taurus that’s older than my mama.”

  “Easy on the compliments, Galloway,” said Mel, “If you’re trying to ask me out on a date, I’m busy tonight.”

  “Ugh! Don’t make me vomit. And do us all a favor, will ya Bradford? Stop feeding the rats. Your mama don’t work here.”

  Lt. Bradford plopped his 5’9” thickset frame in the chair behind his cluttered desk and with a pudgy hand swept old take-out food wrappers and empty coke cans into the wastebasket. Renee saw that nothing had changed with Lt. Melvin Bradford since her last unpleasant encounter with him over the summer when he wrongly accused Veda Simms, one of her former patients, of murdering her boyfriend. He had the same sarcastic attitude. He was still balding on top, wearing the same rumpled, brown sports jacket over a dingy blue shirt that clinched his sagging belly.

  “You better make your move soon, Galloway, ‘cause I’m outta here after December 21st. That’s your last chance. I’ll be retiring and heading out to my favorite fishing spot in Virginia. Got my gear all set,” said Bradford in between chews of French fries and double cheeseburger.

  “Humph. Good Riddance.”

  “Hey, Mel, you should come out to my new spot on Kent Island,” said Deek, carrying a case file and pulling up a chair, “we can do some fishing out there. They’ve got a huge fishing pier. It’s right after you make that first exit off the Bay Bridge.”

  “What’s bitin’?”

  “A little Rockfish and Perch so the locals tell me.”

  Detective Galloway looked up from her paperwork. “Deek, you still working on that federal task force?” she asked.

  “Yeah, I’m still working with the feds on the SOS Task Force. But the chief asked me to also work the Johnson case with Mel since our department’s short on manpower.”

  “Oh, I almost forgot. Some woman called a little while ago. Said she remembered something about the Johnson arson/murder case but she only wanted to talk to you.”

  “Thanks, Galloway. Did she leave her name and number?”

  “Nah, said she was calling from a phone booth and she’d call you back.”

  Ever since he had arrived, Renee had tried to make eye contact with Deek so she could talk to him alone, but he didn’t see her standing by the window. Finally, she braced herself for a reunion with Bradford and walked over to his desk where he and Deek had begun looking at the Johnson case file. Renee cleared her throat.

  “Excuse me, Deek … uh Detective Hamilton, may I please speak to you privately for a moment in the coffee lounge.”

  Deek stood up, but before they could walk away, Bradford stopped her. “Dr. Hayes, I hear you’re helping out with the suspect profile,” he slid his chair back and swept his hungry eyes over her body, stopping at the crevice of her V-necked Navy-blue, fitted jacket with its tiny, pearl buttons. �
�Whatcha got for us?”

  It was warm in the processing room but Renee would not remove her jacket. She wore a filmy, sheer white blouse over a white lace camisole and did not want Bradford leering at her breasts.

  When Renee didn’t answer him, Bradford pressed on. “If what you wanna say to my partner is about the Johnson case, you can speak freely right here,” said Bradford and pulled up another chair close to his desk. He patted the chair and motioned for her to sit down.

  Renee continued to stand. “Brenda didn’t telephone the insurance company the way it was reported in the News,” she said. “Her mother, Mrs. Irene Adams, admitted to me after the funeral this morning that she placed the call and had pretended to be her daughter. Plus, Mrs. Adams hated her son-in-law. My secretary is not the only person with motive.”

  “Is that right, Inspector Clouseau?” Bradford said with an amused look. “l still say the wife had a more compelling motive—50 K in cash from her husband’s life insurance policy. That’s a lotta dough for somebody like her. Besides, Mrs. Adams could be lying to take the heat off her daughter. She’s probably just being a protective mother,” said Bradford, fixing his sleepy eyes on Renee.

  “Then you haven’t met Mrs. Adams. Protective is not a word I’d use to describe her unless it’s towards her own self-interest.”

  “Ouch! Remind me not to get on your shit list, Doc.” Lt. Bradford ran his finger down the case file, then pushed the open page in front of her. “Take a look at this, Dr. Hayes,” said Bradford.

  Renee silently read the entry that he pointed out.

  At 8:35 am on Tuesday October 7, the morning after her husband’s death, Mrs. Brenda Johnson called MegaLife.com Insurance Company to notify the claims rep that her husband had been killed in a tragic house fire. The victim’s wife requested that they start processing her husband’s claim as soon as possible. The claims rep immediately called the police to alert them that insurance fraud could be involved and put a hold on the claim.

  “Not only that, but Mrs. Johnson found out a week before the murder that her husband had been cheating on her with a Miss Leenae Lewis,” said Bradford, “So let’s add another motive on top of greed—revenge.”

  “When Deek and I questioned Mrs. Johnson about her whereabouts on Monday, the 6th from 11:00 AM to 1:00 PM, she claimed she was at your office, working. Unfortunately, no one was there to corroborate her story, so she doesn’t have an alibi. That gives her opportunity, especially if she used an accomplice. Greed and betrayal caused Brenda Johnson to kill her husband,” said Bradford, wearing a satisfied smile.

  Renee slid the extra chair next to Deek and sat down. Fatigue and anxiety swept across her face.

  “Can I grab you a cup of coffee while I’m in the lounge?” Bradford asked her. “I’m about due for a re-fill.”

  “Yes, thank you, Lt. Bradford, coffee would be nice. Cream and sugar, please,” she said, realizing that at least she’d have five minutes without him around.

  Bradford got up and headed for the coffee lounge. “Can I get you something too, Partner?” he hollered back at Deek.

  “No thanks. I’m good.”

  Before Renee and Deek could get into a conversation, an attractive young woman burst through the door. “There you are, Hamilton,” she said. Renee and Deek looked up at the same time when the petite, honey-toned woman with striking black eyes strutted in and honed in on Deek, ignoring Renee completely.

  “Hey, Santos, what’s up, Partner?” said Deek.

  “Todo esta bien, Pápi,” said the woman, smiling seductively.

  Her long, dark hair was pulled back in a ponytail and flounced as she walked. She wore a tailored, burgundy suit, high-heeled shoes, and carried a portfolio under her arm. Renee recognized Agent Ana Santos, Deek’s partner, from the FBI SOS Task Force that she had met weeks ago at the Boys and Girls Club fundraiser dinner. The Johnson case belonged in MPD homicide territory however the FBI helped the local police force when resources were low and they requested help. Because of all the unsolved murders, Chief Frye authorized new strategies to centralize the homicide unit, utilize FBI resources more, and increase police presence on the streets. When Agent Santos offered to share information with the MPD homicide investigators working the Johnson case, the chief welcomed her input. Lieutenant Bradford, on the other hand, wasn’t so grateful. At this point, neither was Renee, but for personal reasons.

  “Ana, what do you have?” said Deek, pulling up another chair for her to sit down, “By the way, you remember, Dr. Renee Hayes. Dr. Hayes is working with us on the Johnson case as a criminal profile consultant.”

  Agent Ana Santos nodded at Renee then pulled out a cassette player and tape, along with a thick manila file from her portfolio.

  “What happened to you last night, Partner?” Agent Santos asked Deek with a flirty smile.

  “Working on this case,” said Deek, “I haven’t had a good night’s rest or eaten a decent meal in over 48 hours.”

  “Well, you missed a feast at my Tia Rosa’s, man. We had arroz y habichuelas con pollo and her sancocho melted in the mouth. And, her ceviche! Unbelievable! Mi Tia makes her ceviche with huge shrimp instead of the chunks of fish. I’ll get the recipe from her and make it for you. Would you believe I ate three bowls of it?”

  “You don’t look like it,” Deek smiled, “Not everybody can eat whatever they want and still look fantastic.”

  He didn’t notice the color draining out of Renee’s face and her eyes narrowing into fiery slits.

  “After a few bottles of Corona and the music got pumped up, I worked off those calories dancing the Merengue and Bachata. You should have been there, man.”

  At that moment, Bradford waddled in carrying two mugs of coffee and a Hostess Twinkie cupcake from the vending machine. “Too bad I missed the fiesta, Santos,” he grinned, after catching the last part of her conversation.

  “Disculpe!” Agent Santos glared at Lt. Bradford. “Who says you were invited, man?”

  At least she and Agent Santos shared a common contempt for Melvin Bradford, thought Renee. And, it seemed obvious to Renee that they shared a common affection for Deek.

  “Look, I don’t plan on being here all night again,” said Bradford, “So let’s cut to the chase. Right now, we’re looking at a bunch of rumors, gossip, and speculative information so we better start sifting through this crap. We already got too many damn cooks in the kitchen as it is.” He looked at Renee.

  “You’re right Mel, let’s look at the facts to see what we got so far,” said Deek, “I don’t know why it’s taking forensics and the crime scene lab so long to get back to us with their results from the physical evidence I sent them.”

  “Like I said, so far my money’s on the wife as the prime suspect unless somebody can show me different,” said Bradford, “I could arrest her now on suspicion of murder but then I’d have to charge her within 48 hours. I gotta bring the DA hard evidence before I do that.”

  “You got anything substantial on the Torch yet?” asked Santos, replacing her playful smile with a serious demeanor.

  “Not exactly. Mel and I tried to talk to a witness who was seen arguing with the suspect in front of Galludet University. But she refused to cooperate with us,” said Deek, “the woman was homeless and looked like she could give birth any minute. Under the circumstances, I think she had other priorities. Plus, Mel pissed her off.”

  “I need another Twinkie,” said Bradford, looking bored as he got up to return to the vending machine.

  Deek told Renee and Agent Santos everything the guard at Galludet University had said and what the homeless woman had said, which wasn’t much of anything. “They did both confirm that they saw someone in a black SUV near the time of the arson/murder and not far from the crime scene. Mel and I finally tracked the witness down at one of those abandoned houses.”

  “Wi
ll she testify?” Agent Santos asked.

  “I doubt it. Says she won’t get involved in our murder investigation now that she has her baby to think of. I gave her my business card in case she changes her mind. But I don’t expect to hear from her. Bradford’s lousy attitude throughout the questioning didn’t help,” said Deek, “She could have been a possible eyewitness. The only chance we had so far of finding one.”

  “That’s too bad Deek,” said Agent Santos, handing Deek her cassette tape. “Here, I don’t know if this’ll shed any light or just add to the confusion. I’ve been clocking this Jett Set crew and their leader going on six months.”

  Deek went to get Bradford from the coffee room to come listen to the tape Agent Santos brought in. Santos explained that the FBI did a tape and tap on the phone lines at Lucia Delgado’s apartment. Lucia was the Dominican girlfriend of a Jett Set crewmember named Bombillo. Coincidentally, this was the same crew that Jerome Johnson owed $2,000 to and that the FBI had under surveillance. Based on the FBI’s voice print analysis, Agent Santos said the tape contained a phone conversation between two men who agents identified as Delroy McShore—alias DL, right-hand man of suspected drug lord, James Ian Mathias, and another crewmember named Bruno Morales—aka Bombillo. Santos believed Ian Mathias ordered DL to kill Jerome Johnson for not paying his drug debt. Deek re-winded the tape and pressed the button to play back the conversation as they all listened.

  “Sounds like the honeymoon’s over,” said Bradford, after listening to the two alleged drug runners on the tape argue about how to deal with Jerome’s reluctance to payback his debt.

  “I got a plan to bait and catch this maricon DL then maybe he’ll give up the main Man to save his own skin,” said Agent Santos.

  “Sounds like you’re only worried about solving your own case against Mathias, Santos,” Detective Bradford said. “Besides, your case sounds speculative. What else you got on these Jett Setters? All I see is a tape implicating DL in a murder and conspiracy to commit murder. DL’s hotshot lawyer will have him out before you finish all your goddamn paperwork.”