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.