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.