Web of Justice

by J J Miller

  Warren walked as though everywhere he was among family. Every few steps he either greeted someone or someone called out to him. It was like being with a boxing champion who’d returned to his hometown to walk the hood.

  “I helped that guy get off crack,” Warren said, pointing at a man who’d just called out. “But unfortunately, he’s back on it.”

  He said hi as we passed a young black woman with a lovely smile.

  “She came to Skid Row a week ago,” Warren said once we were beyond earshot. “Now they got her turning tricks.”

  Warren pointed to an old man standing outside a tent across the street.

  “Joe over there. He’s a vet. Suffers PTSD and just fell through the cracks.”

  “It’s brutal, that’s for sure,” I said. “But how did Demarco end up here?”

  “Same reason as all these other people are here. The shelter. People gotta eat. They gotta try and find somewhere off the street to sleep. And that’s where we come in. I met Demarco the day he arrived at Skid Row. But we’d met before.”

  “Where?”

  “Pomona. I help run a gang intervention team, and we helped Demarco break away from the Sintown Crips.”

  I stopped.

  “He came to you to get out of the gang?”

  “That’s right. It was a ballsy step for such a young kid. He was only just fifteen, if I remember rightly. But he was smart enough to realize where he was headed if he didn’t break free.”

  “How hard is it to extract yourself from a criminal gang?”

  “Most people assume the big hurdle is the fear of violent reprisal or being seen as a traitor. Now they can be factors, don’t get me wrong, but the biggest issue is how that individual can cope with going it alone. He has to give up the only community he has, the only place he feels safe, the only people who ever gave him respect, and the only friends who had his back when shit got real. It’s too much for most—the bulk go back.”

  “But Demarco was determined to get out?”

  “That’s right. At about thirteen years of age he’d had enough of walking five blocks out of his way home to avoid getting jumped by some gang members. So he joined the Sintown Crips. Suddenly, he was part of a tribe and had some elders to look up to.”

  “So what changed? What made him decide to leave?”

  “I think it was a few things he saw. He got busted a few times and was put away in juvie. But that wasn’t it. He saw friends being shot dead right next to him. He saw women getting raped. He saw the ugly side of humanity.”

  “And you helped him?”

  “Yeah, me and the team did. We kept in regular contact with him. He came to meetings. We had ex-gang members and ex-cons come in and try to talk sense into these kids. We organized activities in the community to try and get the kids engaged in a different way. It’s not always successful, but Demarco showed promise. But then I didn’t see him for quite a few months and then he turns up at the shelter.”

  “How long had Demarco been living in Skid Row?”

  Warren smiled.

  “Two days. Just in time.”

  “Just in time for what?”

  “To be saved. If you spend more than three days here, you’re here for life.”

  “How so?”

  “It becomes apparent very quickly how hard it’s going to be for you to find a way out. So you take drugs to escape but that just seals your fate. Because then you’ll do whatever you can to get your drug money. You’ll turn tricks, rob, steal, beg, hustle for your drug money. Then you lose your purpose, you lose your hope, you lose your mind. You’re never getting out.”

  “Did Demarco have a chance of saving himself?”

  “You bet he did. He was more committed than ever. We found him some accommodation and he was coming here every day to pray and help out.”

  “He became a volunteer?”

  “Sure did. And he’d just gotten a job as a dishwasher at a diner over on Grand Avenue. But he had plans.”

  “To follow his dad.”

  “That’s right. I talked to him about other opportunities but enlisting seemed to be what he had his mind set on. He just wanted to get his head straight, get some money together and graduate from school.”

  By this time our walk had brought us back to the mission.

  “Thanks for your time, Warren.”

  “No problem. Say, have you spoke to Fran?”

  “Fran? She’s the one who offered him spiritual guidance, right?”

  “Yes. She’s one of the benefactors of the mission. Can seem a bit uptight, but she’s got a heart of gold. She spent a lot of time with Demarco. You know, supporting him in his quest to get closer to God.”

  “What, is she a preacher?”

  “No, but she knows the Good Book better than most preachers I know. But she’s a bit, how should I say, unconventional?”

  “In what way?”

  “She’s extremely devout. Hers is a more old-school take on the scriptures. And that can make her seem a little out of touch with how most people like their religion nowadays.”

  “But she’s allowed to provide spiritual guidance here?”

  Warren shrugged. “Well, she pays a lot of our bills and, you know, she’s not actually doing anyone any harm. And besides, Demarco seemed to like her.”

  “How so? Seems to me they’d make a very odd couple.”

  “I don’t know. Sometimes strictness has an appealing kind of clarity to it.”

  He had a point.

  “Well, yes. I would like to speak with her. Where can I find her?”

  “She’s right over there.”

  I looked to where Warren was pointing. There, standing in the doorway of the mission, was none other than Francine Holmes, the woman I’d met at the shooting.

  “Fran,” called Warren. “Fran, there’s someone here who’d like to speak with you about Demarco.”

  The trace of a smile on Francine Holmes’s face disappeared the moment she saw me.

  “Mr. Madison. We meet again.”

  I put out my hand, and hers met mine somewhat reluctantly, if not for anything other than that a handshake seemed too familiar a greeting.

  “You two know each other?” quizzed Warren.

  “We’ve met once before. Just recently,” I said.

  “And fate has brought us together once more,” said Francine. “How is that sweet daughter of yours doing, Mr. Madison?”

  “She’s doing very well, thank you.”

  “Quite the Instagram star, I understand,” she said joylessly.

  “How do you know that?”

  “Cicily told me. She said she began following your little fashionista, and the two of them have become quite chummy.”

  Francine looked down and ran her palms along her coat front, as if it needed grooming. She then looked me square in the eye.

  “I’m not sure how it is appropriate for such a young girl to be posting photos of herself for all and sundry to see, but then I’m not her parents. Perhaps I’m too old-fashioned.”

  “I’m not here to discuss my daughter, Ms. Holmes. Or whatever views you might have about my parenting. I’m defending Demarco Torrell, and Warren here tells me you had quite a lot to do with him here at the mission.”

  “Yes, that’s true. I tried my best with that boy. I really thought he was making headway.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, Mr. Madison, that he didn’t stay the course. He strayed from the path I tried so hard to keep him on.”

  “Tell me about your relationship with Demarco. Please.”

  “For the past six months or so I saw him three or four times a week. I would teach him the Gospel and urge him to reflect on the behavior that had led him down such a ruinous path.”

  “So you would talk about the Bible?”

  “Of course. We would talk about God’s word, about God’s plans for us and how we would appear before the Almighty when it came time for our final judgment.”

  �
��Forgive me, Francine but I can’t help but think the two of you would make a very unlikely couple. I don’t say that to be rude. Would you say you had a connection with Demarco?”

  “No offense taken. And, yes. I did have a good rapport with Demarco. Perhaps I was at last someone who impressed upon him that his actions had consequences and that he would have to answer for every sin he’d committed in the life God had the grace to give him. I think he, like many young men, craved discipline, even while it seemed to be something he had avoided at all cost. And the most important discipline is self-discipline. With God’s help Demarco was beginning to understand that. But he was confused about how to apply it.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “Well, he was intent on following his father into the armed services. We clashed on that issue, as I am very opposed to war.”

  “Do you mind me asking why?”

  “I lost someone very dear to me in the Gulf War, if you must know. That was what drew me to the Halo Council: the fact that I could apply my faith to repairing some of the damage inflicted by conflict. I do not find war a glorious pursuit, Mr. Madison, and I expressed my disapproval of Demarco’s senseless plan to enlist in no uncertain terms.”

  It seemed clear to me that Francine was speaking honestly. And that was good news, because with her on the stand the jury would see Demarco was genuinely leaving gang life behind. I hadn’t warmed to Francine, but I wanted her on the stand.

  “Francine, would you be willing to...”

  “No, Mr. Madison. I wouldn’t. And besides, you’re too late.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I have agreed to serve as a witness for the prosecution.”

  I was stunned.

  “Why on earth would you do that? Demarco did not commit these murders. Surely you don’t believe he did. How could you turn your back on him when he needs you most?”

  “I must correct you, Mr. Madison. Demarco was the one who turned his back on me.”

  “Are you telling me you think he’s guilty?”

  “Not entirely, but it’s not out of the question.”

  My head was spinning.

  “Francine, when did you last see Demarco?”

  “It was the very day of the shooting.”

  “Did you have a Bible study meeting with him?”

  “No, we only spoke briefly. A week earlier he had told me he did not want to continue our sessions. This was after I’d once again challenged his plan to enlist.”

  “When you spoke that day: were things amicable?”

  “Yes. I wanted to be sure he understood there were no hard feelings. I told him to do as his own heart advised. I said what I had said to him many times before: ‘Keep your heart open to God and He will guide you and reward you, close it and He will punish you.’ And perhaps that describes what happened next—perhaps he had already closed his heart to God.”

  After Francine stopped talking, she held her head very still and looked at me with a kind of serene defiance. I shuddered at the damage she could cause Demarco by delivering a such a damning assessment of him from the stand.

  I held my tongue for now. Because, from that moment on, I was looking forward to seeing her in court, where I could unpick that smug righteousness stitch by stitch.

  “Is there anything else I can do for you, Mr. Madison?”

  “No thank you, Francine. That’s quite enough for now.”

  16

  Jessica Pope watched me enter her office like a cat with the cream. She’d tucked the end of her pen lightly into the corner of her mouth, as if to punctuate her self-assured smile as she leaned back in her chair.

  “Careful, Jessica. You might get a hernia trying to appear so confident.”

  “Very funny, Brad. Good to see you again.”

  Over the last few weeks I’d been in touch with Jessica as we worked through various pretrial matters. Today was the last of our discovery sessions, when we exchanged the evidence each of our cases was built on. Clearly Jessica had some good news—and that meant bad news for Demarco.

  “It’s been a very interesting week, my friend,” she said. “With every passing day it becomes clearer that we’ve got it right—that your client killed two innocent men and he’s going to face the full force of the law.”

  “He wants to go to trial. And so do I.”

  “That makes three of us. This is shaping up to be worth every cent the public purse can spare to get justice for the families of these two young men.”

  “You mean to get good press for the DA with an election coming up.”

  “You may like to spin it that way, but take a look at what landed on my desk yesterday.”

  She leaned forward, tapped out a few keystrokes, and then twisted the monitor around for me to see.

  I was expecting to see the video of Ramon X pulling a gun on Toby Connors. I figured the cops would have gotten that off Connors’ phone by now. But I was wrong.

  “This is your client, Demarco Torrell, using the phone at Juvenile Hall,” she said.

  My blood dropped a few degrees colder. This was not going to be good. Even before anything happened on the screen, I was already cursing out Demarco for disobeying me. I’d told him to stay off the phone to everyone but his mother. I’d told him the phone room was monitored with cameras and that the phones were tapped. I’d told him it was all fair game and that the prosecution would be sniffing around for anything they could turn against him. I’d told him the case against him was strong and that the last thing we needed was for him to give them more ammo. It now seemed all my pleas had fallen on deaf ears.

  Jessica turned up the volume loud and clear. It started with Demarco chatting away to a friend. He looked relaxed. He was laughing like the person at the other end of the line was cracking jokes. Then the tone got serious, and Demarco was nodding his head.

  “’Preciate that, bro,” he said.

  “I’d do anything for Ramon, you know that...

  “I know he’ll take care of me in the house...

  “Makes me proud...

  “I ain’t got no chance of walking, I know that much...

  “But I’m counting on his support, you know that...

  “True. Well, I still loyal, dude. Can’t make it any clearer than that, know what I’m sayin’?”

  My head lowered. I knew what Demarco was doing. This was not a confession; it was Demarco taking out insurance. It was a pragmatic move, and one that I knew he would consider making. As much as I understood his reasoning, I was annoyed to think he might have given up on me. I reminded myself about his faith, that he would believe the outcome of the trial was in accord with the will of God. To him, perhaps, it was not giving up; it was surrendering to the flow of a divine tide.

  I sat back in my chair.

  “That’s not a confession, Jessica and you know it,” I said, knowing I’d be in the minority of people who’d believe that.

  “Well, that’s what you say. From this side of the desk it looks like what you’d expect from a callous murderer—laughing off his crimes and looking out for himself.”

  I didn’t want to argue.

  “What else you got?”

  Jessica reached for a folder to her right and flipped it open.

  “There’s some interesting information we extracted from Toby Connors’ phone.”

  “What’s that?” I had to pretend I knew nothing about the Ramon X video, but now I was sure they had it.

  “Oh, a few things that damn your client even more, but I’ll let you unpack those little presents on your own.”

  “Anything else?”

  “We’ve been through most of the rest of it.”

  “Give me a look.”

  She handed the folder over to me with a slight reluctance that made me think she’d keep it from me if she could. So it wasn’t all going her way after all.

  I scanned through the contents and then I saw what she’d been wanting to hide. A new DNA result from Toby Connors’ car. What I rea
d snapped me out of my pessimistic mood immediately.

  “Well, well, well. Isn’t this interesting? There’s a positive match for a second DNA sample from the car.”

  The match was Evan Harrington.

  “You’re following this up, aren’t you, Jessica?” I asked.

  Jessica was not so bold now. “Of course we are, Brad.”

  I knew she was bullshitting me.

  “Jessica, this places Evan Harrington at both murder scenes, you know that, right? He’s a suspect. He has motive!”

  “Harrington says he was in Connors’s car, but not the day he was murdered.”

  “So you’ve asked him that?”

  “You bet.”

  She was either lying or telling a half truth. Jessica and the DA’s Office had no intention of deviating from their mission to nail Demarco for these crimes. They were locked and loaded. That made me angry and all the more determined to give them the fight of their lives. They were not going to railroad my client into jail. I was going to blow their case wide open for everyone to see.

  Demarco may have been willing to put his fate in the hands of God, but he wasn’t out of my hands yet.

  ✽✽✽

  Back in the office I got a call from Jack. He’d been looking into the Cassinelli file, and by the tone of his voice, I knew he still thought Cassinelli was a crackpot. I told him to humor me with what he’d found.

  “Okay, first thing is the Florida and Mexico deaths do not appear to be linked in any way, let alone to our case.”

  “How so?”

  “Well, as you know, the one in Puerto Escondido was arson. Some deadbeat freak with a history of breaking-and-enters took what he wanted while the victim was in bed and then decided to torch the place.”

  “Why would he do that?”

  “He had a reputation for being not right upstairs, and he had at least one arson charge under his belt already.”

  “And the other case?”

  “The Miami case was, so the records tell me, a drug deal gone wrong. The victim was after a few grams of coke, and he just picked the wrong street dealer to invite to his place to do the deal.”