LaToya: Episode XVI – LaToya Found, Mystery Deepens

 

 

I picked Bruce up at the Baltimore City Police headquarters at seven-forty.  The evening was warm and the sky was cloudless. I told myself that we were going to have a nice night and that the barrel lifting job will be fun.

“Did you see the  Anaya Walker girl?” Bruce asked as he settled comfortably on the bench seat of the Chevrolet Impala Sedan.

“I did, but she didn’t tell me much.” I told him what I discussed with Anaya Walker. “Do you know if any of your men took Breonna’s fingerprints before she was buried?”

Bruce shook his head.

“I’m not sure,” Bruce replied.  “I would say they did, but I wouldn’t bet on it. Why?”

 “There’s no harm in checking to see if she had a record,” I said. “From personal experience, girls who are always after money often gets into trouble sooner or later.”

Bruce nodded.

“You are correct,” he said. “I’ll see if we have prints when I get back. And if we have, I will get them checked.”

“I’m interested in knowing more about her,” I explained. “She is the only one in this setup who doesn’t make sense so far. Eddie could have been LaToya’s boyfriend. Devon and Lamar kidnapped her. Dajon killed her. Do you think Eddie paid those three to do the job? Is Eddie the guy behind the killing, then?”

“I have no idea,” Bruce said. “Now, let’s stop making wild guesses. It would be better to wait until the facts fall into line. We will better off that way. We are not even sure the girl’s dead.”

“Oh yeah?” I said. “Are you then willing to bet she’s not at the bottom of the water in Inner Harbor?”

Bruce shook his head.

“Nope,” he said. “I’m keeping an open mind on this case, at least until we find her.”

“Did you notice something?” I asked, looking at a Volvo sedan that just passed us.

 “What?” Bruce said.

 “You mean you haven’t noticed that a lot of traffic is heading this way?” I said, slowing down as I came upon a long line of cars moving slowly towards Inner Harbor.

 Bruce swore under his breath.

 “Perhaps someone has talked? My God! The old man will blow his top! Just look at this mob!”

 I tried to overtake the procession of cars ahead of us, but I wasn’t successful. We had no choice than to follow along behind them. About a quarter of a mile from Inner Harbor, the cars slowed to a crawl.

We could see three police officers ahead in the road, holding up the traffic.

“Let me get over there and see what is going on,” Bruce said.

 Stopping the car, I waited while he went to where the three police officers are standing  spoke to one of them. Then he came back, scowling.

 “There are more than two thousand people in Inner Harbor and more are coming every minute,” he said, “We’ve had to force some of our officers to work overtime so we can handle them. There’s no doubt that someone had talked about our discovery. We can go through. Be careful how you go.”

 I edged out of the stream of traffic and drove on until we reached Inner Harbor.

 Six police cars and a couple of trucks were parked near the waterfront of the harbor. The harbor pavilion and the ground around the water’s edge swarmed with journalists and cameramen. A group of police officers was working on three powerful searchlights in the harbor. They eventually succeeded in directing their white, glaring beams on the still surface of the harbor’s water.

Christian was climbing into his big frogman outfit when Bruce and I joined the group at the water’s edge.

Captain Donald glared at me.

 “Are you responsible for this?” he demanded in a harsh voice.

 “Search me, captain,” I said. “I didn’t say a word to anybody.”

 “That’s what everyone is saying,” he said. “Well, I do hope we find this LaToya girl here. Otherwise, this will be a big embarrassment for the department.”

 He turned to Christian who was shivering in the still night air and snarled at him to hurry up. Christian got into the boat; two police officers shoved it off, scrambled aboard and began to row to the center of  Inner Harbor.

 Nearby was a powerful winch, anchored on a metal pole. And, at the end of the steel cable was a set of clamps. There were three policemen who were busy loading the clamps into another rowboat. When they finished, the entered into the boat and as they rowed after the first boat, the remaining two police officers paid out the cable.

 Bruce and I kept away from  Captain Donald. We stood under one of the few trees at the waterfront watching the two boats as they slowly neared the center of Inner Harbor.

 A couple of newspaper reporters and cameramen tried to put out their own boat, probably with the goal of getting photographs of Christian as he entered the water. Captain Donald figured out what they planned to do and signaled to a squad of police officers,  and they immediately blocked them off. One of the reporters went over to Captain Donald to protest, but he didn’t get anywhere.  Captain Donald vented his venom on him, and the reporter retreated immediately, shaken.

 “If that barrel  contains only cement,” Bruce whispered to me, “it will be a complete disaster. I am wiling to bet that Christian has been running his mouth about this and that’s how this investigation leaked to the press. Nobody likes publicity better than Christian.”

 Christian had gone into the water and the waiting crowd watched, silent and tense. About fifteen minutes passed before he reappeared and waved to the boat that carried the tackle. The boatmen rowed over to him and lowered the clamps over the side.

 “We will be hearing something soon,” Bruce said restlessly. He lit a cigarette, took an impatient drag, then tossed the cigarette into the Inner Harbor water.

After what seemed an age, Christian’s head again appeared above the water and he waved.

Captain Donald turned to the two policemen on the winch.

 “Aright, alright, start winding,” he snapped.

 The two policemen bent to their task. It was a difficult task and Captain Donald shouted to two other policemen to help them. The drum begin to turn slowly, winding in the cable. About ten minutes later, Captain Donald changed the four policemen who stood back, sweating and panting.

 “Let’s get back a little, Emeka,” Bruce said under his breath. “If old man Captain Donald sees us, he will get us to do some of that, it looks like a lot of work to me.”

 We moved further back into the shadows.

 The barrel finally broke the surface after about an hour of slow winding. As the four policemen slopped into the water and manhandled the barrel ashore, a wild, frenzied cheer broke out from the crowd. A beam from one of the searchlights was directed on the barrel. The reporters and cameramen in the area 

Scrambled to photograph it.

 They wanted Captain Donald to pose beside it, but he wouldn’t do it. I knew he wanted to, but he was scared that LaToya wasn’t in the barrel. Naturally he will not like to take  the risk of making a fool of himself.

A black, closed Chevy, just like an ambulance, edged to where the barrel lay.

“That’s the funeral director’s truck,” Bruce said. “Captain Donald is not taking the risk of opening the barrel here. Come on, Emeka, let’s get out of here. We’ll go to the mortuary at Park Avenue. That’s where they’ll open it.”

We pushed our way through the excited crowd, and once clear of them, we ran for the Chevrolet Impala Sedan. By now the road have become so congested that I had trouble in turning the car. Eventually, I was able to turn the car and drove fast to Park Avenue.

The mortuary at Park Avenue was behind Baltimore City Police  headquarters. I parked the Chevrolet Impala Sedan in the police parking lot, and we walked over to the mortuary building.

A Hispanic guy, wearing a rubber apron and rubber gloves came out of the room as we entered the tiled passage.

“Evening, sergeant,” he said to Bruce, his face lighting up. “What’s going on? Have they got it up yet?”

“Hello, Santos,” Bruce said. “They got it up all right. They should be here in  a few minutes.”

“Anything in it?”

 “Yes,” Bruce replied. “There’s cement in it. That’s all I know for now.  Old man Captain Donald is opening it here.”

Santos scowled.

“The last cement job I did was horrible,” he said. “The guy had been in the water for five months. I wouldn’t wish this kind of thing to happen to even my enemy.”

“This one has been in for fourteen months,” Bruce said. “Do you think there will be anything left to see?”

 “It depends on how much of the cement has covered her,” Santos said, shrugging. “She might be alright if she’s right inside the cement shell. But she won’t last long though. In short, she will just last long enough to identify her.”

I felt a little sick listening to their conversations. I told myself that I shouldn’t be present when they opened the barrel.

“Come into the office,” Santos said. “I have got a bottle of Vodka there and I’m sure it’ll put you in the right mood. I always have a shot of Vodka before I handle a job like this one.”

We went into a small office and stood around while Santos got three glasses and a bottle of Vodka from a cupboard.

“This is Emeka Okeke, the guy who writes for the Baltimore Star,” Bruce said. “He is working on the case.”

Santos nodded at me.

“I’ve read some of your articles, Emeka,” he said. “I hope I pronounced your name correctly?”

“You did a good job,” I replied.

“You should have a good story with this case,” he said. “You are going to take some photographs, I believe?”

 “I will, if necessary.”

He beamed and moved over to the light.

 “You will need a picture of me.”

“I’m sure his camera will love your image,” Bruce said, grinning.

 I took a couple of shots of Santos. I don’t expect to get good pictures of him because the light was poor. But as I was going to make a hole in his Vodka, I thought it only fair to do something in return.

We had several drinks, taking the Vodka straight without mixing it with, say, a Pepsi drink to make it sweet. I was feeling a very tipsy when the truck come into the yard. Santos hastily put the Vodka bottle away, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and went to open the double doors leading to the mortuary.

“Come on, Emeka,” Bruce said. “This will be a good test of your mental strength.”

Captain Donald came in scowling, followed by the medical examiner.

“You here already?” Captain Donald said, looking at me.

 “Sure, why not?” I said. “I know you’ve found her.”

 “We sure did,” he snorted and turned to bark orders at the squad of officers who were moving the barrel on to a four-wheel cart. “It was hard enough for me to shake off those crazy reporters,” he went on. “If I found out who talked, I would make him very sorry.”

“But you should be a able to find out,” I replied tapping at his shoulder. “You are a cop, aren’t you?”

Bruce nudged me, shaking his head warningly.

We all walked into the mortuary behind the truck. Santos and two of his assistants, all of whom were in rubber aprons and gloves, stood waiting.

“Common guys,” Captain Donald said. “Let’s see what’s in the barrel.”

He waved the three police officers who had wheeled in the truck, out of the room.

Moving back against the wall, I fitted a flashlight bulb into the flash socket. My hands were not steadier than a hibiscus leaf and I nearly dropped the bulb.

Santos and his assistants didn’t had much difficulty stripping off the outer casing of the barrel. While they were working on it, Captain Donald said to me, “It’s the barrel Nicholas sold to Dajon. Do you see the tomatoes and pepper plants holes? Ms. LaToya must be in it!”

Santos and his assistants forced the last of the sodden lathes out of the iron hoop that bound them together. We all looked at the block of cement, which was shaped like the barrel. It really looked

scary in the hard light.

“This barrel job is perfect,” he said, stepping back to wipe his forehead. “Whoever did it must be an expert. Give me a couple of wedges, Captain.”

As Captain Donald fetched the wedges, I used the opportunity to take a flashlight photograph of the cement block.

“Let’s take it easy,” Santos said, as the two of them began to drive the wedges into the cement.

 Santos peered into the crack. Captain Donald shoved him aside, looked into the opening, frowned his face and stepped back.

“It’s LaToya,” he said. “I have no doubt it’s her. Alright, Santos, get it open.”

After a few more blows from Santos using the hammers caused the cement to suddenly fall apart. I took one look, felt sick in my stomach, and turned away.

I heard Captain Donald say, “She’s all yours Doc. No charge!”

I was on my way out by then. I used to think I was very strong. However, what had seen is something I wasn’t prepared for, and it turned me sick. I went into the office, took out the bottle of Vodka and gave myself a big shot.

 “I will need that too,” Bruce said, coming in. Taking the Vodka bottle, he filled his glass. “My God! I wouldn’t be a doctor for all the money in America! Anyway, that settles it. It’s LaToya aa right.”

After a few minutes, Captain Donald came in.

I poured him a drink and he took it gratefully and went to sit on the desk by the window. His eyes were alight with excitement and satisfaction as he drank the liquor.

“Well,” he said. “We have a big break at last. I want two of you to stick around. I am going to talk to the press. Again, there’s no doubt she is LaToya Young. LaToya had  crooked little finger and so does the body in there.” He finished his drink. “Now, our next job will be to find out why she was killed.”

He went out to where an army of reporters and cameramen were waiting impatiently in the yard.

Bruce lit a cigarette.

“We have a big challenge ahead of us,” he said, gloomily. “And it will involve a lot of hard work. We’ve got to find this guy Eddie Peterson.”

 I reached for the telephone and put through a personal call to Medgar in Middle River. After a few minutes delay, I got Medgar on the line. I was surprised to catch him in because the time was now twenty-five minutes past midnight.

“Sorry, Emeka, but I can’t stay long,” he said. “Anna’s throwing a birthday party, and I have to keep feeding these gluttons with my best foods and Vodka. What’s going on?”

 “Get your notebook,” I said. “I have a hot news for you so hurry up.”

 “Are you sure?” he said. “Won’t it wait until tomorrow morning? Anna doesn’t like me to leave our guests. Did I say ‘guests’? They are more like jackals.”

“You have no choice in this one, Medgar,” I said. “Get your notebook and put on your listening ears!”

“What do you mean…?”

 “Medgar!” I said, cutting him off. “We’ve found LaToya Young!”

That got his attention.

“Really?” he said. “Astonishing! How is she doing?”

“She is wet, cold, and as dead as a dodo,” I said. “Have you got your notebook yet?”

“Just give me a minute,” he said.

After a brief and infuriating delay, he came back on the line again.

 “Anna’s very mad at me, Emeka.” he said. “Please hurry.”

 “You seem to forgot that I am just an intern, Medgar,” I said angrily. “I am doing your work and you should be grateful. You are the one that is supposed to be leading this investigation.”

“You are right, Emeka,” he replied. “I’m sorry.”

“Now, shut up about Anna and listen to what I’m going to tell you.”

“You got it,” he replied.

 I began to dictate the story. I must confess that one of Medgar’s major skills was being able to take down dictation at an incredible speed using his own unique shorthand. I gave him the facts and told him I will send more photos to him by FedEx. “Be at home to receive the  parcel that will be delivered by FedEx. The contents are going to be sensational,” I concluded.

“Consider it done,” he said. “You really did an excellent job, Emeka.”

“I’m glad you think so,” I said. “Oh, don’t forget to keep close to the telephone. I may have more hot news for you in a little while.  We are still waiting for the full report from the doctor.”

“Don’t call me up again tonight,” Medgar said. “Anna…”

“I know: Anna won’t like it. But, like I said, you have no choice in this one,” I snarled and hung up.

Captain Donald came into the room, looking very pleased with himself.

“The reporters basically ate up the story,” he said, sitting down. “We are going to grab all the headlines. Is the doctor here yet?”

Bruce shook his head.

We waited for almost ten minutes before the medical examiner came in. His name is Benjamin, and he looked completely unperturbed as he began to light up his cigar. He shook his head when I offered him a drink.

“Miss LaToya Young was killed by a blow on the back of her head,” he said. “I am convinced she was struck by the butt  of a revolver. At least that’s what I can tell you at this time. Unfortunately, she has been in that water too long to tell us much. But she was already dead when the cement was put in. Alright, I’ve said enough.”

Captain Donald got to his feet.

“Thanks, Dr. Benjamin.” He looked over at Bruce. “Come on. We’ve got lots of work waiting for us.”

They went out.

 As Dr. Benjamin followed them, I reached for the telephone and called Medgar again.

END OF EPISODE 16

P.S. Stay tuned for Episode 17, which  will be published here next Sunday.

 

LaToya: Episode XV – Mystery at No. 39 Monroe

Monroe Street is a quiet street in Baltimore City. The street is lined with row houses and a few single homes. The row houses and the few single homes in the area might have been attractive when they were first built, but now they were past their prime. They had the dejected look of a man facing divorce, bankruptcy, and homelessness at the same time, but who is trying to keep up appearances even though he knew he won’t be able to hold on much longer.

No. 39 S. Monroe Street was a single house. Although the paint work was at its last gasp, the house still able to make a brave show.

I knocked at the door. There was a brief delay before the door opened and a plump black lady looked inquiringly at me. She was very beautiful and had the standard body contour you would expect from a any lady who earns a living in show business.  She had on a green lace-trim cami complete with a chunky knitted cardigan, and  her feet were in pink suede leather shearling fur scuff slippers.

“Ms. Anaya?” I said.

“Yes,” she replied. “And if you are here to sell something you are wasting your time.”

“I’m not selling anything, ma’am,” I said. “I’m Emeka Okeke from Baltimore Star. Ever read our paper, ma’am?”

“I don’t read Baltimore’s newspapers,” she said. “Their news is very depressing.”

“Fair enough,” I said. “I want to ask you a some questions, ma’am, if you don’t mind? I am trying to get some background information on Breonna Adams.”

She raised her beautiful eyebrows.

“But Breonna is dead,” she replied. “It’s almost a year since her death.”

“You are correct. Will you mind if I come in? I promise I won’t keep you long.”

She stood aside.

“Well,” she said, smiling. “I must warn you that if this is a trick to rob me it’ll be a waste of time. There’s nothing of value in my house.”

I took out my wallet and gave her one of my business cards.

“This should set your mind at rest,” I said. “But if it doesn’t, please feel free to call up Sergeant Bruce at the police headquarters. He will confirm that I’m telling you the truth.”

She laughed.

“Alright, come in,” she said. “I’m sorry I have no drink to offer you.” She led the way into her sitting room. “Do sit down. I hope you’ll keep your word and be brief because I’ve got to go out in a little while.”

“I always keep my word, ma’am,” I said, sitting down in an armchair that looked comfortable, but turned out to be far from it. I wouldn’t have been surprised if she had told me it had been stuffed with rocks. I took from my wallet the photograph of LaToya Young and offered it to her.

“Ever seen this girl before?” I asked.

Taking the photograph from me, she studied it, shook her head, and handed it back to me.

“The face looks familiar,” she said. “But that don’t nothing. A lot of girls in show business look like that, I mean.”

I thought about this, studied LaToya Young’s face and was inclined to agree with her.

“You’re sure she wasn’t one of the girls in your troupe when you went to Hollywood, California?”

“Absolutely,” she replied. “I’m very sure she wasn’t in our group.”

“Breonna Adams went with you?”

“Yes,” she said. “I will appreciate it a lot, Mr. Emeka, if I knew what this was all about.”

“My apologies,” I said. “Let me clear your mind: this girl, LaToya Young, disappeared fourteen months ago under questionable circumstances. Breonna Adams seems to have known her. Long story short, she called at LaToya’s hotel three days after LaToya had disappeared. Ms. Breonna asked the reception clerk to let her know if LaToya showed up. She then returned to her apartment in Calhoun Street, fell downstairs and broke her neck.”

“I know she fell downstairs,” Anaya Walker said, looking curiously at me. “But then, it was an accident, right or wrong?”

“According to the coroner, yes,” I said. “The Baltimore City police think so too, but I highly doubt it. In my view, she could have been pushed.”

“Pushed?” she said, looking questioningly at me. “Why would anybody do that?”

“It’s a long story which I can’t get into now, Ms. Anaya. I may be wrong, but something tells me I’m not. I’m trying to find out if Ms. Breonna was a friend or just an acquaintance of LaToya’s. Would you know?”

She shook her head.

“Breonna never mentioned any LaToya Young to me.”

“Were you and Ms. Breonna friends?”

“Not really,” she said. “Breonna was rather difficult. None of the girls got on well with her.”

“Difficult? How do you mean?”

She hesitated, then shrugged.

“I hate gossiping about people,” she said. “But it doesn’t matter now anyway, since Breonna is dead. She was always broke, and she tried to borrow from us. The problem is that we were all hard up, and we had to manage the little stipend we were paid. Breonna, however, was never careful with her money. She don’t believe in thrift, and she was always in debt, always worrying someone for a loan. And if she didn’t get it, she could  fly into a rage. Her tongue can cut like a razor.”

“What did she normally spend her money on?”

Anaya Walker shrugged.

“She spends it on what girls generally spend their money on: clothes, shoes, perfumes. I remember how I used to envy her because she dressed better than us. She had an amazing talent for making friends with people with deep pockets, and soon she began moving in a better circle. When she was in Hollywood, she got friendly with Mrs. Tara Graves, the millionaire’s wife. Don’t ask me how she did it for I had no idea. But she did it. That’s the bottom line. Twice she went to Mrs. Tara Graves’s hotel and had dinner with her. She borrowed a dress from me for the occasion, and, to put on a front, she also was able to squeeze thirty dollars out of some of the girls. She never paid the money back, and  getting my dress back was a nightmare.”

While I was less interested in what she was saying about  Breonna’s profligate lifestyle, I let her talk in the hope she would say something that would be hot news to me. 

“Did you ever see her with a white guy of about  six foot, lean, with an eyebrow moustache?” I asked hopefully.

“No,” she replied. “Breonna didn’t have any young boyfriends. She prefer matured men and all her male clients were old: dentists, business owners, and sugar daddies.”

For a girl who didn’t like gossiping about people, she was certainly doing a good job, I thought.

“Have you ever met any man who fit that description? His name might be Eddie Peterson, and he owns a grey colored BMW convertible.”

“I wish I had,” she replied. “He sounds fun. My boyfriend don’t even have a car.”

I concluded in my mind that I wasn’t making any progress with her.

“Did Breonna have any enemies, do you know?” I asked as a final question.

“She had a lot of enemies,” she said. “But none of them would want to kill her, if that’s what you mean. They just avoided her.”

“Well, Ms. Anaya,” I said getting up. “It’s been nice to meet you. Thanks for your time.” I was glad to be out of the armchair.

I looked around her room, which looked cheap by the way, and then at her.

“I am going to embarrass you, Ms. Anaya,” I said. “My boss wanted me to pay for any worthy information I got from somebody.” I brought out a twenty-dollars note and placed it on her table. “That’s a token of my appreciation for your time.”

If Mr. Sessoms could have heard me he would have blown his top. But I wouldn’t care if he does because I like this girl and it was pretty obvious she was having a rough time.

She blushed prettily.

“Oh my God!,” she shouted. “I wasn’t expecting anything from you. I haven’t told you anything. But thanks a lot.”

“No worries,” I said. “I might be back for more information.”

“Be my guest anytime,” she said, smiling.

I left her apartment and entered my car.

 

 

END OF EPISODE 15

P.S. Stay tuned for Episode 16, which  will be published here next Sunday.

 

LaToya: Episode XIV – A Chilling Discovery

 

 

It was a cold morning, but I was able to wake up on time and it was exactly 6 o’clock as I drove Medgar’s blue Chevrolet Impala Sedan up to the two cars parked near the stretch of water, known as Inner Harbor. It was a pretty spot, with the still water reflecting the images of a few historic ships of Baltimore moored on the side of the harbor.

I got out of the car and joined Bruce who was leaning against a tree, smoking a cigarette.

“I love to come here only in the evenings or during the weekends, to eat and have fun,” he said. “Coming here this early is not my thing, and I bet you hated getting up at this time in the morning, right or wrong?”

“Right,” I replied. “But it’s worth it. I never know this place could be as quiet as it is now.” I looked over to where Captain Donald, two police officers, and a guy who was putting on a frogman’s outfit were standing.

“I would leave them alone if I were you,” Bruce said. “The Captain is never at his best in the mornings, and he went to bed late last night – at about three o’clock.”

I learned on my car, nursing a miniature Kodak camera I had brought along.

“Thanks for the tip,” I said. “I will wait until they come back.”

We watched Captain Donald, the two cops and the frogman embark in a small rowing boat.  They rowed out to the middle of the water, then the frogman lowered himself into the water and disappeared.

“I’m sure it’s freezing down there,” Bruce said., huddling further into his overcoat. “I’m glad I didn’t tell Captain Donald what I did when I was in the army. He’s got a photographic memory. Christian thought he would get a promotion if he told the Captain what a hero he had been when he was in the navy, but all he’s getting is a cold bath. Ughhh!”

Reaching down, I dipped my fingers into the water.

“Oh, it’s not that bad,” I said. “It’s probably only  about 10 degrees below freezing.”

Bruce laughed heartlessly.

“I hope he enjoys it then.”

Bruce and I sat side by side, smoking and watching the little boat for about thirty minutes, and then suddenly Christian’s head appeared above the surface. He swarmed up to the boat where Captain Donald and the two police officers hauled him in. He and Captain Donald talked for a moment or so, then the two police officers began to row towards the shore.

“I think they found something,” I said, getting to my feet.

“It seems so,” Bruce said, joining me. “Captain Donald would have send him down again if he hadn’t.”

We walked along the waterfront promenade - the paved walkway that hugs nearly seven miles of the waterline  of the Inner Harbor from Fort McHenry to the Canton Waterfront Park – and waited for the boat to reach shore.

“There is a barrel down there,” Captain Donald said, his hard face excited. “I have no doubt in my mind that it’s full of cement.”

I took a photograph of Christian who was trying to stop his teeth from chattering. I have already taking some photographs of that part of Inner Harbor.

“Are you guys going to get the barrel up right away?” I asked.

“We’ll get it later tonight,” Captain Donald said. “I don’t want everyone in Baltimore City here. Keep your mouths shut about this. I think LaToya’s down there, but I don’t want any publicity until we know for certain.”

With that said, he got in his car and drove off.

“I told you he is very sour this morning, didn’t I?” Bruce said, grinning. He looked over to Christian. “What’s up, homeboy? Like your swim?”

Christian grimaced.

“Fuck you, Bruce,” he said.

I drove Bruce back to the city.

“Even if we bring Ms. LaToya up,” I said, as we drove along, “we still have to find her killer. That’ll be a very challenging work. Okay, Dajon did the actual job, but I am beginning to think that someone paid him to do it. I mean, everything we have so far is pointing in that direction, don’t they?”

“Yes,” Bruce said. “Dajon had no reason to kill her as far as we know. You know the good news though? It’s not my cup of tea – it’s Captain Donald’s job to figure that out. Tell you the truth? I wouldn’t want the Captain’s job right now. We have to find out more about LaToya. We need to know if anyone had a reason for getting rid of her. She doesn’t sound like the type of girl that causes trouble – at least from what we knew so far. But then, one never know. You never know with women they say.”

“I didn’t know you have a literary side,” I said, smiling. “If you can talk like that, you can be a good writer.”

I pulled up outside the Baltimore City Police headquarters.

“I will see you tonight?” I asked.

“I will be there at nine o’clock,” Bruce said, getting out of the car. “I hope you won’t mind coming by that time too. It will be a tough job to get that barrel up and we might need your help. See you then.”

I decided to go back to the hotel and get some sleep since I had nothing better to do. Besides, the night ahead is going to be a long one. I told myself that I am learning a lot from this LaToya investigation. I also promise myself that I must document everything about this investigation and use it as the final thesis I will write before graduating from Morgan State University. I am very sure that if I use it as my thesis, I will graduate with special honors.

I slept until three in the afternoon. I woke up with a start because I was having series of dreams in my sleep. In one of my dreams, I was being chased down an alley by  Dajon Price and he had the Thompson submachine gun pointing at my back. I was thinking about it as I drove down to the Baltimore City Police headquarters.

I found Bruce in his rabbit-hole of an office – some type of cubicle with a table, a chair and some files. He was going through LaToya’s dossier. Besides him is an ash-tray that is crammed with cigarette butts, which is the evidence that he had been working on it most of the morning.

“Did you find anything useful?” I said, sitting down.

“No,” he replied. “Not a thing. And I hope we don’t find LaToya too. Now, don’t get me wrong. I said that because it will be a very tough job to complete the investigation if we do find her. I have been through everything in her dossier and there’s no link I can see that makes sense as to why Dajon was hired to kill her.”

“Don’t you think he killed Breonna Adams and Lamar Hooke as well?”

Bruce nodded.

“That might be possible,” he said. “But then, we’ve got no evidence to prove that he did.”

“I can understand Lamar getting iced,” I said. “He had something to do with LaToya’s kidnapping; Devon Weaver too, but I can’t see why Breonna Adams died.”

“Breonna Adams’s death was an accident, according to the coroner,” Bruce said patiently.

“I doubt it,” I said. “She inquired about LaToya Young, then she went home and broke her neck. Something doesn’t sound right. I hope you guys are working on her case?”

“Well, there’s no better way of saying this: we haven’t anything to work on. Captain Donald is putting her on hold until we can hook her into the case if we ever can,” he replied.

“What about the other seven girls who went to Hollywood, California? Are they local girls ? I mean,  are they all from Baltimore?”

“One of them is.” Bruce flicked over the pages of the dossier. “Her name is Anaya Walker. She lives at 39, S. Monroe Street.”

“Have you checked her out yet?”

“No, I haven’t,” he said.  “We have more important leads to cover. We will get to her later.”

“I think Breonna Adams may be important. I have some time to spare, and I will go and talk to this Walker girl. Any objection?”

“Nope,” Bruce said, grinning. “But don’t quote me. You go and see her if you want to. I have to take care of all the junks in this dossier. Old man Captain Donald is still sour tempered. He will be mad at me if he knew I was spending all my time talking to you.”

I  got to my feet.

“Tell him he has my sympathy for his troubles,” I said. “And I’ll let you know pronto if I turn up anything.”

“You are adorable,” Bruce said sarcastically and settled down once more to brood over LaToya’s dossier.

 

END OF EPISODE 14

P.S. Stay tuned for Episode 15, which  will be published here next Sunday.

 

LaToya: Episode XIII – Waiting Game

 

During the next few days, nothing  really happened. I wasn’t surprised because I knew there was bound to be a time lag before any results of Captain Donald’s investigation bore fruit. He had given various police officers assignments related to the case to cover. Hence, we had no choice than to wait for them to turn up something of interest. He had police officers hunting for Eddie Peterson, and his grey-colored BMW convertible; other police officers digging into LaToya Young’s background; and a squad hunting for the gold  bracelet with a miniature triangle object, and yet another group of officers digging into the crazy gunman’s past.

Naturally, we were not expecting to learn anything immediately, and while we waited I suggested to Medgar to go down to Baltimore Star’s office in Middle River to report in full to Mr. Sessoms and to begin the first instalment of our story. I also told him to visit Tosha my girlfriend and assure her that I was fine, and that I will call her as soon as it becomes possible.

He went off without any argument. And, since he will not be going with his car, he insisted on having a bodyguard escort him to the nearby bus-stop.

I took the Baltimore Star’s photographer, a guy named Demonte, around and got him to take pictures of David, Henry’s bar, Breonna Adams’s apartment house, the bracelet’s miniature triangle object I got from Captain Donald and pictures of the various police officers working on the case.

All these took time, but when I was through I was satisfied I had a good collection of photographs to help Medgar’s article.

Demonte drove back to Middle River on the evening of the third day after the shooting. After he left, I drove over to police headquarters where Captain Donald’s office is located to see if any information had come in.

Bruce was in the charge room when I entered.

“I’m glad you are here, Emeka,” he said. “I was going to call you: Captain Donald wants you.”

“Is that so?” I said. “Here I am. Has he got anything yet?”

“I believe he’s got something,” he replied. “I guess that’s why he is looking for you. Come on up.”

Captain Donald was sitting at his desk, smoking a cigarette when I entered his office. His  strong, hard face looking as tired as an ox after a full day’s work in the fields.

“Come on in, Emeka,” he said, fighting a yawn. “We are at least getting somewhere. Have a seat, please.”

I sat down and Bruce leaned against the wall.

“The gunman’s name  is Dajon Price.  He lives in Roland Park. He had a bad record, including more than six killings. He is a freelance criminal, and have hired himself out for shootings and beatings-up. For just sixty bucks he would have shot his own mother. My guess is that someone hired him to kill you. He is a junky, and the medical examiner says he was full of cocaine when he staged the shooting the other night. You should be counting your blessings for coming out of it alive.”

“So our job now is to find the guy who hired him?” I asked.

“You are damn right,” Captain Donald said, tapping ash off his cigarette. “And it won’t be easy. We do have a pointer that might do us some good though. Dajon had a return railroad ticket to Alexandra, VA, in his pocket. He left Roland Park five days ago for Alexandra, then came back again. It could be he got his orders from someone in Alexandra.”

“Do the Alexandra police know anything about him?”

Captain Donald scowled.

“For a journalism intern, you do ask cute questions,” he said. “Anyway, the Alexandra police say they don’t. However, from past experience I’ve learned not to take notice of what they say. They are the most inefficient, un-cooperative police force in Virginia. Their police Commissioner, Jeremiah Lawson, is hand in glove with the racketeers, and believe me, Alexandra is crawling with them. Not only that,  I suspect they have white supremacist officers in their department and Baltimore police have more black officers than white officers. See what I mean? I really doubt if they are going to help us in any way possible.”

“Did you get a line on Eddie Peterson?”

Captain Donald shook his head.

“Not yet,” he said. “The BMW dealerships in Baltimore City and Baltimore County tell me they have sold more than 500  grey color convertibles in the past three years. I have a list of the buyers, but tracing them will be a hell of a job. In any case, Eddie Peterson’s name doesn’t appear on the list, but then that doesn’t surprise me at all. The name is probably a fake name. I have my officers working on it, but it will take them a long time to check everyone on it.” He fought back another yawn. “We found something interesting about the gold  bracelet with a miniature triangle object. It was pawned three days after LaToya Young disappeared. Bonaventure’s Cash Pawn, a pawn shop in Baltimore City, handled it. Devon sold it to them. The clerk recognized Devon’s picture. The bracelet was sold again to an actress who is in California now. We are contacting her. I have no doubt that Devon sold it.”

“Nothing on LaToya Young yet?”

“A little,” he replied. “It could be something useful though. I’m sure you saw the photos we had printed in the national newspapers. We got a heap of responses and letters about LaToya and they are still coming in. A lot of people claimed that they know her, but my guess is that most of them will turn out to be false leads. One guy says he thinks he recognizes her, because she did a job for him once. I’m hoping it is not a false lead. Guess where she did the job?”

“Alexandra?” I said.

“That’s right,” he said. “How did you know?”

“I have been busy too,” I replied. “Well, what you guys did so far is not bad for three days’ work. What are you going to do? Will Alexandra Police dig further for you?”

“I doubt it,” Captain Donald said, scowling. “Like I said before, there are definitely plenty of white supremacist in the Alexandra’s Police Force and because we have lots of black police officers in the Baltimore City Police, they tend to look down on us, even though I am white. I’ve never known the Alexandra’s Police yet to work with me. Now don’t get me wrong: they’ll promise the world, but nothing ever gets done.”

“Suppose I go to Alexandra and see what I can dig up?”

Captain Donald nodded.

“I was going to suggest that,” he said. “But you must watch your step. Commissioner Lawson hates journalists and private investigators worse than he hates poison, especially if they are black. They have a tough bunch of crazy officers there too, and they might discourage you if they suspect what you were up to.”

“I will be careful,” I said. “Do you know anyone there who could be friendly and helpful?”

“You might contact Joseph Fletcher,” he said. “He used to be chief of police in Alexandra before he retired. He is a white man, but he is a good guy – one of the best police officers in America. He doesn’t believe in this white supremacist shit, and he is incorruptible. Because of that, he was retired two years before his time. He had trouble with Commissioner Lawson about some murder case. I never did hear the details, but Joseph is the guy you need to see first when you get there. I will give you a letter to him.”

“Excellent,” I said. “I will get off today.”

“There may be nothing in this, Emeka. My guess is that this guy who’s written us has probably made a mistake. If it wasn’t that Dajon had a return ticket to Alexandra I would have said he had made a mistake.”

“Who is he?”

“His name’s Quentin Powell. He lives at 230 Mt. Vernon Avenue,  Old Town, Alexandra.”

I wrote down the name and the address.

“I will talk to him,” I said.

A tap sounded at the door and Bruce opened it. A policeman said something to him; Bruce nodded and turned to Captain Donald.

“There’s a guy outside, captain,” he said. “And he says he knows something about Dajon. Do you want to see him?”

“Sure,” Captain Donald said, pushing back his chair. “Send him in.”

A short, fat black man came in after a minute or so later. The man was uneasily twirling his fedora hat between his black and roughened fingers. He was wearing a Jeans trousers and an old, stained t-shirt.

“My name is Nicholas Williams, captain,” he said, nervously. “I saw the picture of the gunman in the Baltimore Star. He came to see me last year. I thought I should come to you and say what I knew, but if I’m wasting your time…”

“Sit down, Mr. Nicholas,” Captain Donald said. “What do you do for a living?”

“My wife and I had a nursery out on Baker Street in Druid Heights,” he said. “We also sell fruit trees and garden equipment.”

“You said Dajon called on you? You are sure it was Dajon?”

“I am sure it was the man I saw in Baltimore Star, captain,” he replied. “As soon as I  saw him I wondered what he wanted from me. I thought then that he was a bad man. I can see now that I was right.”

“What did he want?”

“My wife and I developed a new line: growing tomatoes and peppers in barrels. We’ve been selling the equipment and money was rolling in. We advertised widely. This guy said he had read our advertisement in City Paper and he was interested. We supply the tomato plants, the barrel with the necessary holes in it, and the soil. It’s been a pretty fast selling line, especially in Baltimore City, because it saves space and keeps the slugs off the tomatoes.”

“Sounds good to me,” Captain Donald said a little impatiently. “But Dajon didn’t want the tomato plants, did he?”

“No, he didn’t,” he said. “How do you know?”

“I’m a cop, Mr. Nicholas,” Captain Donald said. “Please go on.”

“Well, he just wanted the barrel,” Nicholas said. “I told him we don’t sell the barrel without the plants and the soil. We argued for a while, and I explained to him that we make our profit on the plants and soil. The barrel we put in at cost.”

The man certainly got the attention of the three of us now.

“What happened then?” Captain Donald asked.

“We argued back and forth,” he replied. “He told me he had tomato and pepper plants, but I didn’t believe him. I was not convinced that a guy like that would have a garden. I have been in this business for a long time, and I can tell a gardener a mile off. Anyway, I told him he will have to pay me for the whole outfit and just take the barrel. He agreed and he collected it in a truck the next day.”

“Do you remember the exact date, Mr. Nicholas?”

“Yes,” he said. “It was on August 17.  As a matter of fact, I looked it up  before coming here.”

Captain Donald looked over at me because that was the date LaToya Young disappeared.

“Did you, by any chance, got the number of the truck?”

“No, I didn’t,” Mr. Nicholas said. “Was it important?”

“Maybe not,” Captain Donald. “What kind of truck was it?”

“BMW convertible with grey color,” he said. “I wasn’t paying much attention to it.”

Captain Donald looked at Bruce.

“Take Mr. Nicholas to the morgue. Let him see Dajon. I want to be sure he identifies him.” He got up and shook hands with Mr. Nicholas. “Thanks for coming. If every resident of Baltimore City acted the way you have done, my work would be a lot easier.”

When Bruce had led Mr. Nicholas, beaming and sweating, from the office, I said, “A barrel? Are you thinking what I am thinking? That doesn’t look too good for LaToya, does it?”

“That was exactly what I was thinking,” Captain Donald said, his eyes thoughtful. “I wonder if anyone in Baltimore City sold him cement.” He picked up the telephone and gave instructions for all cement sellers in Baltimore City to be checked. When he hung up, he said to me, “That’s probably why we never turned up LaToya’s body. She is somewhere in a barrel sealed with a cement.”

I got up and went over to a map on the wall.

“Is there any local river or spring around where he could her dumped her?”

Captain Donald joined me. He tapped the map.

“Here; that’s Inner Harbor,” he said. “The water in Inner Harbor is an inlet from the Patapsco River. The area is a popular spot for tourists and Baltimore residents, with its family-friendly attractions, fantastic restaurants, and unique shops surrounding the water. It is also a favorite spot for parties, picnics, and believe me, I love the area too. But at midnight, it is as quiet as the cemetery. Anyway, it is only about 6 miles from here”

“Anywhere else?”

“Only the Lock Raven reservoir,” he replied. “But he wouldn’t try there because the city is continually dredging it. Besides, it is closely watched by the city’s public safety department. If LaToya is anywhere in water, she’ll be in Inner Harbor.”

 

“So, what do you say?” I asked. “Do we go and look?”

Captain Donald scratched his head as he stared at the map.

“We don’t have a choice, do we now?” he replied. “One of my officers has a frogman outfit. I will make him take a look. Who knows, he might see something interesting and we may have to rig up some kind of hoist. I’m sure that that barrel is going to be heavy – that is, if it is there in the first place.”

“I’ll hand around until he’s had a look, captain,” I said. “It doesn’t make any sense for me to leave town with this coming up. If we find here it will make headlines that will be useful for the Baltimore Star. When will you do it?”

“Not before tomorrow,” he said. “It’s too late to do it today. We don’t want the crowd watching us. We will begin the operation at 6 o’clock tomorrow morning.”

This means that I will have to get up at 5 o’clock in the morning and my instincts recoiled at the thought, for I am not an early riser. I, however, told myself that it is worth it, since this could be the big break I have been waiting for.

“Alright, no worries,” I said to Captain Donald. “I will see you at 6 tomorrow morning.”

 

 

 

END OF EPISODE 13

P.S. Stay tuned for Episode 14, which  will be published here next Sunday.