Guilt by Association

by Kelvin L. Reed

CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Two days after his meeting with Leslie, Jayson chatted with Connie as he maneuvered through congested downtown traffic en route to the Suffolk County Jail. Only a few clouds coasted alongside them, like secret service agents riding alongside the president’s motorcade. The noonday sun, stationed directly overhead, could be felt but not directly seen. Its rays beat down on Jayson’s car less severely than it had in past days. The humidity had also subsided significantly.

  Just the same, Jayson kept the windows up, the air conditioner on, and soft jazz music playing in the background. The latter helped him endure Connie’s nonstop chatter. He rolled his eyes when she flipped the mirror on her sun visor and inspected her hair and make-up for the second time. Renee would do the same thing at least once whenever they rode together.

  “It’s nice today,” Connie observed for the third time. “I hated all that heat and humidity, you know?”

  “Yeah, and it’s still only June,” Jason answered. “Did you find out anything about the two cops who stopped Stone?”

  “Yeah. I talked to a friend,” Connie said, “a detective, who works at their precinct. I met her at a party a while back and we hit it off. She told me the woman, Washington, had the reputation of being an affirmative action hire. This detective says Washington did just well enough on the exam and cadet training and all to get her badge, but she scored at the bottom half on everything.”

  Jason shrugged. “So did half her class, not including those who washed out. There’s always that kind of talk for people of color with the fire or police. What about Scott?”

  “She told me Gary Scott’s a fascist. Used to be military police in the army. He believes the law allows people too much freedom.”

  “So do a couple of hundred other officers on the force,” Jayson droned. “So what?”

  “Well, there’s a rumor that he and some other cops are in some kind of secret society.”

  Jayson glanced at Connie. “What kind of secret society?”

  Connie shrugged. “I don’t know. She didn’t say.”

  “What does this ‘society’ do?”

  “She didn’t say that either,” Connie replied. “This detective and I are gonna go out on the town tomorrow night; you know, hit the clubs. I’ll gather more intelligence then.” Clearly overcome with self-satisfaction, she made drumming motions on her legs, covered with sheer, black pantyhose. “Not too shabby for my first reconnaissance mission, huh?”

  Jayson smiled. “You did okay. Stay on it and see what else you can find out.”

  “We oughta get rid of those private dicks you use and just have me do the investigations from now on—for some extra dinero, of course.” Connie rubbed her fingers together.

  Jayson chuckled. “Well, I won’t be expecting to catch ‘Connie Gonzalez, P.I.’ on TV anytime soon.” He changed the subject. “I wanted you to come with me to see Stone because I’ve met with the guy three times and I don’t seem to be moving forward with him.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “He’s not the easiest man in the world to talk to. He’s the passive-aggressive type: makes snide remarks meant to irritate you.”

  Connie winced. “Yee-uck. Don’t you just hate them?”

  Jayson nodded. “He can’t be more than five-foot-five, but he’s got a chip on his shoulder ten feet long.”

  Connie laughed. “Well, what’d you expect? You saw that stuff in his apartment. The man’s a racist. He hates blacks, Jews, Asians—and he ain’t too fond of my people either.”

  “Yeah,” Jayson said. “All true, but I’m hoping he might be more willing to talk to a woman.” He slowed down and stopped behind a large truck to wait for the light to change. The smell of burning diesel fuel blowing out of the truck’s exhaust pipes caused him to wince. “We can’t put Stone on the stand. Samira would tear him apart.”

  “That’s for sure,” Connie agreed.

  The light turned green and Jayson stepped on the accelerator. “Since we’ve got no defense we can actually put on, the only thing left to do is put the prosecution’s case on trial as weak and circumstantial. I’ve been trying to portray Stone to the media as a confused, damaged little boy who followed the wrong path.”

  Connie snickered. “From those pictures I saw of all those smutty magazines and movies in his apartment, I’d say our little boy’s all grown up.”

  “Let’s see if we—you—can get him to tell us more about himself,” Jayson said. “It’d help if we could get someone to sit near him in court—maybe a long-lost aunt or something.”

  “Maybe we can subpoena his dominatrix,” Connie joked. “She can come to the court in her five-inch stiletto heels and testify that little Brian takes an ass-whipping better than any pervert she knows.”

  Jayson laughed out loud but stopped when he saw the jail come into view. He scrutinized Connie’s appearance. She had applied too much make-up, as usual. Her black skirt hung too short, as usual, and she wore a red jacket over a white, low-cut blouse showing too much cleavage. She had recently painted her fingernails ruby red. “I thought I told you to dress conservatively today,” Jayson politely scolded. He decided not to mention her jasmine-scented perfume.

  Connie pulled down the sun visor’s mirror and checked her lipstick and earrings, simple gold twisted hoops. She looked over her outfit and lifted her arms. “I did!”

  •

  “You look well, Brian,” Jayson opened. He shook hands with his client in the same attorney consultation room where they had met three times before.

  “Thank you,” Stone replied, and slowly observed Connie from head to toe. “I–I see we have company.”

  “This is Connie Gonzalez, my legal assistant,” Jayson said. “She’ll be assisting me during your trial.”

  Connie held out her hand. “Mr. Stone.”

  Without making eye contact, Stone took only a second to shake her hand. “Um, call me Brian, please.” He gestured. “I’m sorry I can’t offer you some refreshments but since I didn’t know you were coming, I gave the maid the day off.” He stared at the numerous scuff marks on the floor, apparently embarrassed by his attempt at levity.

  Connie smiled. “I’m fine. Thank you.”

  Stone dashed to the table and held out a chair for her. “Please make yourself comfortable.” His thick southern drawl sounded even heavier than usual.

  Jayson sat next to Connie. He watched Stone pull out a chair on the other side of the table and sit facing Connie. Jayson opened with his usual line. “Is there anything we can get for you? Anyone we should contact for you?”

  Stone continued to stare at Connie. “Nothing, thank you.”

  “Well, I want to let you know what happened so far,” Jayson said, “and I have a few questions.”

  “How long have you lived in our country, Miss?” Stone asked.

  Connie glanced at Jayson, then faced Stone. “Brian, we don’t have a lot of time. It’s best we use it to discuss your case.”

  Good girl, Jayson thought.

  “And I’m a United States citizen, just like you.”

  “But you have an accent.”

  “So do you.”

  Bad girl, Jayson thought. He interrupted. “Brian, like Connie said, we’re limited on time. We should use it to discuss your case.”

  “I’m sorry,” Stone said. “Please forgive me. It’s just that it’s not every day I get such a pretty visitor.”

  Jayson pointed at himself. “Not true. I’ve come to see you three times.”

  All three of them laughed. Jayson’s joke seemed to put everyone at ease.

  Connie glanced at Jayson. “It’s okay, Brian. This must be very difficult for you.”

  Jayson opened his briefcase and dropped several folders on the table, then reached into the breast pocket of his suit jacket and produced a gold pen. He waited as Connie took out a legal pad, a pen and several folders from her own briefcase. “Brian,” Jayson said, “I reviewed the witness list the prosecution gave me.” He opened
a folder, grabbed a sheet of paper and handed it to Stone. “Most of the people on the list are expected: police officers, the forensic pathologist, that kind of thing. But there’re a couple of names on the list I don’t recognize. I want you to look at the names I’ve circled and tell me if you recognize these people and tell me what they could possibly say that would help the prosecution.”

  Stone held the list for a few seconds then dropped it on the table. “I don’t know any of these people.”

  Jayson sighed. “Brian, please take another look.”

  Stone snatched the paper, examined it again and shook his head. “Nope. Nobody.”

  “Look at their first names and then their last names,” Jayson instructed. “Are they people who lived in your apartment building? Someone you worked with? Someone—”

  “Damn it, I said I don’t know them!” Stone shouted, tossing the paper back to Jayson. “How many times do I have to say it? I don’t know anybody. I haven’t made any friends here.” He sat back in his chair and folded his arms across his chest. “I don’t know how to make it any clearer.”

  Jayson put the paper in the folder and closed it. “I don’t understand you, Brian. Every damn time I come here it’s like pulling teeth to get you to cooperate.”

  Stone ignored Jayson and turned his attention to his female visitor. “Where were you born, Connie?”

  “Um, my family came here from the Dominican Republic.”

  “I see. Were they legal?”

  Jayson slammed his open hand on the table. “Brian, I’ll let you make your stupid remarks to entertain yourself at my expense, but I’m not going to sit here and let you insult a woman who I asked here to help you.”

  Connie grabbed Jayson’s forearm and squeezed hard. “It’s okay. It’s his quarter. Let him spend it.” She made eye contact with Stone. “Yes, they were legal,” she informed him softly. “But I understand you didn’t know your real parents. That’s a shame.”

  Stone scoffed. “Just as well. They were no good.”

  “What about the people who brought you up. What were they like?”

  “Which ones?” Stone asked. “There were so many of them.”

  Jayson arched his right eyebrow. Stone’s self-disclosing reply surprised him.

  Connie folded her hands. “Were any of them nice?”

  “Who?”

  “The people who helped bring you up,” Connie replied. “Were any of them nice?”

  Stone shrugged. “Some were okay. Most just provided a roof over my head and a place to eat. I was in nine different foster homes growing up.”

  Jayson watched the exchange between the two. He had seen Connie successfully solicit information from clients before; big brawny men sometimes accused of committing brutal murders with their bare hands. Beneath her veneer of Latina party girl lay a compassionate woman who could reach the coldest heart.

  Connie smiled. “That must’ve been tough. But there must’ve been a couple of families that took you in were better than the others, yes?”

  Keep going, girl, Jayson thought.

  Stone offered no reply for a few seconds, then a slight smile etched on his face. “There was this one family; black too. The state put me there because the home of the people I was staying with caught fire. I was supposed to stay with them for a week or two but I stayed there for about a year when I was twelve or so.”

  Connie nodded. “You liked them?”

  Stone nodded. “The old woman there was nice. Religious, you know? Read the Bible every day. There were ten other kids there—I was the only white kid—and she made sure the other kids treated me okay. We had to call each other ‘Brother Franklin’ or ‘Sister Marilyn’ or me, I was ‘Brother Brian.’”

  “That sounded like a good place,” Connie remarked. “What happened?”

  Stone balled his hands into fists. “The nig—I mean, black kids at school hated the sight of me. Used to beat me up and call me names like ‘cracker’ and ‘ghost’ and stuff. So they took me out of there and put me with a white family where I belonged.”

  Jayson pulled out a legal pad and began to take notes.

  Connie shook her head. “That wasn’t right, the way those kids treated you. Did you make any friends later on, like in high school? Maybe a girl? I bet you had a few crushes.”

  Stone shook his head again. “I just never learned how to talk to girls. I didn’t have a real mama to teach me those things. Girls used to laugh at me and make fun. The way I talked. The old clothes I wore.” He pulled on his blue jail shirt. “Them that didn’t laugh, they felt sorry for me. I could see it in their eyes. That was worse.”

  Connie reached for the paper in Jayson’s folder and gave it to Stone. “Brian, who are the people we don’t know on this list? Are they people you worked with at the hospital?”

  Stone nodded. “I–I guess that’s probably who they are.”

  “And what do you think they’re gonna say in court?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “I think you do,” Connie gently suggested. “We’re only trying to help.”

  Jayson opened his mouth to affirm Connie’s statement but closed it. He sat back in his chair and continued taking notes.

  Stone closed his eyes, then opened them and sighed. “Well, they might say I was kinda anti-social and wasn’t well liked at work, and the supervisor had to give me a little cubby hole all to myself so I could work in peace.”

  “What do you mean, work in peace?”

  “They were always picking on me, playing practical jokes—hiding the mouse of my computer, loosening the bolt in my chair so it collapsed when I sat down; that kinda stuff.”

  “That wasn’t right either,” Connie said, shaking her head. “Brian, is there anybody, a friend, acquaintance, maybe a distant relative here or back home who we could talk to about you?”

  Stone said nothing for a few seconds, then shook his head. “No, nobody.”

  “Did you ever find out what happened to your brother and two sisters?”

  “No.”

  “We have an investigator. Maybe we could—”

  “No!” Stone snapped. “I wouldn’t want any of them to see how I turned out.”

  Jayson listened as Connie and Stone continued their conversation as if they were the only two occupying the room. They chatted mostly about his case, then digressed to Stone’s first reaction to the New England winter and how strangers react to their accents. Eventually Jayson announced their time was up. He could see the hurt expression on Stone’s face. All three arose from their chairs as a husky female officer with dark skin and very short hair pushed the door open. “Time to go,” she announced.

  “W–will you come back again sometime soon, Connie?” Stone asked.

  She shrugged. “If Jayson wants me to.”

  Stone shook each visitor’s hand and walked to the door, but abruptly spun around and whispered something to Connie before the officer took him by the arm and led him out the door.

  Jayson and Connie took the familiar walk through the jail without saying a word. He didn’t like to discuss privileged information until they exited the building. Eventually they stepped outside and engaged in small talk about the weather. The temperature had risen slightly but the air remained comfortably dry. They entered a huge multi-storied parking garage two blocks from the jail and took the stairs to the third floor. Not until they approached the car did Jayson finally ask Connie about Stone’s departing words.

  “Not good,” she answered. “I know how you always say you’d rather not know.”

  Jayson nodded. “True. It’s always the huge white elephant in the middle of the room. Ignoring it keeps me sane.” He pressed the button on his remote, opening the trunk of the car. He and Connie placed their briefcases inside and switched to speaking in Spanish, as they always did when returning to the office from an appointment. Jayson pushed the trunk closed. “So what did he say?”

  Connie took a step closer to Jayson and whispered. “He said: ‘No
one was supposed to get hurt.’”

  * * * * *