Blue Justice Page 7

  “Now we have to be watchful and vigilant at all times. Somebody out there has killed three of our brothers and we can’t let that stand. So I talked it over with the chief and we informed the mayor already. We need answers and we think it’s time you all go and get us some. Make your arrests and let’s get these people off the street. And if we are lucky, we may find this bastard, or somebody that knows him.” He turned his head and looked down as he wiped a tear. “That is all, ladies and gentlemen. Be safe out there.”

  He and the chief went back into the chief’s office and closed the door behind them. Jas sat down at her desk staring at the blank computer screen and resting her chin on the back of her hands, with her elbows on the desk. “Who was killing cops? And why?”

  Chapter 2

  I decided I would go outside and trim the hedges and decorate the yard for football season. It was finally here. Tuscaloosa was football country when it came to the Alabama Crimson Tide. This is what most people today know about Tuscaloosa, and of course the time when Governor George C. Wallace stood in the admission doors of the University of Alabama when the first black student wanted to enroll.

  They are right on both counts, but there is a lot more to Alabama than that.

  I looked at my buzzing phone. Chief Davis was calling. I was about to hit the ignore button. Then I thought about it. It just could be important.

  “Detective Jackson here.” I answered.

  “Hello Jared,” he said. I hope you are not busy but I really need you to come in today. It is urgent.”

  A small knot of anxiety formed in my gut.

  “Sure, Chief--I will be there in half an hour.”

  “Okay Jared, say hello to Charlotte for me, and tell her Margaret is planning a baby shower for her. See you later.” He hung up.

  Margaret Davis, the Chief’s wife, was instrumental in building a support group for police wives. She thought it her duty to make sure wives of police officers had someone they could talk to or rely on when life-changing moments happen.

  “What could be so important on my day off,” I thought.

  My wife Charlotte came up to me with a glass of lemonade. She looked sexy in her sundress even though she was five months pregnant. With her hair going down her back in one braid, she could pass for an Egyptian queen.

  “Ahh, that’s good,” I said, after a healthy swallow of the drink. “Thanks, honey.”

  She smiled. “You are welcome, baby.” She wiped the forming sweat off my forehead with a paper towel.

  “I have to go in to work for a few minutes. Chief Davis just called. He said it was urgent.”

  “Well, there go the hedges,” she replied.

  “I’ll try not to be long. Also, he said Margaret is preparing a baby shower for you.”

  “Okay, sounds great! She is always thinking of something.”

  I gave her a big hug and a peck on the cheek. I reached in my pocket for my car keys and walked to my car. It was about a ten minute drive to the city and I was going to take it a little slow today.

  When I got to the station, Chief Davis was waiting for me. He ushered me into his office.

  “Have a seat, Jared,” he said, pointing at the chair in front of his desk. A few months ago, I was sitting in that same chair in front of a former chief who got caught up in a scandal and lost his job.

  I sat down.

  “Jared, I got something for you that is long overdue.” He reached in his middle desk drawer and took out a gold sergeant shield.

  “I wanted to make it formal and give it to you on Friday but there are some other pressing matters. Congratulations.” He passed me the shield.

  “Thanks?” I assumed this was a sweetener for what I was really here for. “I had been aware this was coming for some time.”

  “Jared, I don’t know if you have been keeping up with the news around the world but there is a lot of violence happening out there, especially to police officers.”

  “Like Ferguson and Baltimore?”

  “Yes, among other things. But I was talking about New Orleans.” He said.

  “Oh?” My curiosity set in. “What about New Orleans?”

  “Three police Officers—white police officers--have been killed in cold blood within the last week. Nobody has seen anything. The Police Commissioner of Louisiana is a good friend and an old army buddy of mine. ”

  I placed my left elbow on the arm of the chair and rested my chin. I wanted to hear everything.

  “He and I talked about this crime and I recommended he get some outside agency assistance. I recommended you.”

  “I’m flattered, Chief, but what can I do that they haven’t already done?”

  “Well, for starters, you could move around better being an outsider. Jared, the officers that were killed were white and they allegedly had some bad dealing with the minority public. Commissioner Flanagan believes that these killings are vendettas.”

  “You mean like the CDPK?”

  “What are they?” he asked.

  “Well chief, these are some thugs in Chicago who call themselves the “Chicago Police Department Killers.” CDPK. And they got started some years back when a friend or relative of theirs was busted by a police officer and sent to prison. They claim that the Officers planted evidence on them. So they see it as a life for a life and started killing Chicago Officers in the broad daylight. Just come up to them and kill them in cold blood.”

  “I had no idea.” said the chief. “I thought I was up on things but you got one over me there.” I could tell he felt a little awkward and out of touch all of the sudden.

  It felt good being on top of things and to know stuff the chief didn’t.

  “Jared, I need you to go to New Orleans tomorrow, Tuesday, and be back here Friday. Your role is to assist in the investigation and you will be partnered up with someone who will show you around.”

  “I hope Charlotte will understand.” I said thinking out loud.

  “Don’t worry, Margaret and I will be there for anything and everything.”

  “Okay Chief, I have to get home and break the news to her.”

  “Okay, and also tell her if there is anything and I do mean anything she needs; tell her to call any time.”

  “Even for the pickled ice cream cone?”

  He laughed. “Even for the pickled ice cream cone.”

  When I got home and told Charlotte everything. I was surprised that she was okay with me leaving.

  “It’s who you are, Jared. I know you want to be in on that case because that’s who you are.” She barely got her arms around my neck because of her belly. And I’m proud you’re so good at what you do.” I just had to kiss her for that.

  The next morning, I woke up with the aroma of bacon flowing in the house. My stomach was growling at me. I went into the bathroom to brush my teeth and wash my face.

  When I walked into the kitchen, I saw a whole spread of bacon, eggs, grits and Miss Ruthie’s Pancakes. I was in heaven. Charlotte was helping her mom bring the food to the table. Jimmy Earl was already sitting down. Ruthie was looking great. She had her gray streaked black hair braided in a ponytail.

  “Good morning everybody,” I said before sitting down.

  Charlotte placed my plate down in front of me and kissed me. Breakfast was good already. Ruthie placed Jimmy Earl’s plate in front of him.

  “Jared, you say grace,” said Ruthie.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  After the ladies sat down, we all bowed our heads. I held Charlotte’s hand. I said grace and everybody said Amen.

  “We hear you going to New Orleans,” said Jimmy Earl, sopping his biscuit in syrup.

  “Yep, but only until Friday. I don’t know how much help I can be, but the case does intrigue me.”

  “Son, I want you to be careful now, you hear? That Baltimore thing has gotten out of hand and I ain’t ever thought I would see our people acting that way. It is shameful.”

  “It sure is,” said Ruthie.

  “I wi
ll be fine. This time it’s a little different. Everybody is looking for the killer of three white officers who were supposedly bad toward minorities. So I think I will be pretty safe.” I said, trying to ease everyone’s minds, especially Charlotte who was looking at me and touching her belly.

  After breakfast, Charlotte walked me to my car.

  “Please be careful. Okay?”

  “Okay, I will.”

  She kissed me. I could tell there was some worry she wanted to express but she didn’t.

  “We will be waiting.” She smiled. She now referred to herself in the plural all the time. I loved that. I kissed her again.

  “I love you.”

  I got in the car and backed out the drive. Ruthie and Jimmy Earl waved bye. Charlotte stood, looking serious, with her arms crossed.

  “I will call you when I get there.” I called to Charlotte.

  “Okay.” She yelled, again rubbing her belly. I sensed that Charlotte was uncomfortable with me going to New Orleans but she didn’t let on. However, I saw it in her eyes and felt it in her touch. She was afraid of something.

  Chapter 3

  My flight was leaving in two hours. I took I-20/59 north to Birmingham. Traffic was light for a Monday afternoon—until I got to malfunction-junction at mile-marker 124. Everybody was slowed to the speed of a mashed bug.

  “I just be—damn!” I hit the steering wheel with my fist. Being in slowed or stopped traffic doesn’t bother me much, but people who constantly change lanes, cut in ahead, and clog already stopped lanes, pisses me off sometimes, especially when I have a plane to catch.

  The traffic finally started moving again at a good speed and I exited off onto the airport exit. I parked my car in parking deck and walked across the street to the terminal with my suitcase in one hand and my overnight bag on my shoulder. The weather was warm but smelled like rain coming. The smell of coffee tinged my nose also and I wanted some.

  I checked in with the clerk at the Delta Airlines desk. She checked my credentials and notified her supervisor that I was checking in also, probably because I was a police officer and that I was carrying my weapon on board. Of course my weapon was in my suitcase, still the Transportation Security Administration and the US Marshalls scrutinized me also, even though I had gotten permission.

  After going through the boarding process of TSA, I gathered my carry-on items and put my shoes back on. The smell of coffee got stronger. I turned right and walked toward the coffee shop. I ordered a large cup, and added 3 creamers and 4 sugars. I paid the cashier and then walked on to the gate.

  I looked at the monitor to see if my flight had arrived. It did. DL 2525 was about to board. A five hour flight wasn’t bad however I didn’t understand why we had to layover in Atlanta, which is east of Tuscaloosa, on a flight to New Orleans, which is west. The layover was for one hour and eighteen minutes. Nevertheless, I was going to use that time to get myself familiar with the case.

  The flight to Atlanta and then to New Orleans was smooth. Most of the passengers were asleep until the captain came over the intercom to tell us we were approaching our destination. We landed in New Orleans. I checked my watch. It was 9:25 at night. During the flight I had caught up on some knowledge about the Vieux Carre, which was French for Old Square, now know as the French Quarter.

  I took the escalator down to baggage claim to get my bags. The airport wasn’t too crowded. The smell of cooked seafood and spices filled the air. However all of the restaurants were closed I was sure. I was hungry but I decided I would wait and get to the hotel and order up something. A black woman in a trench coat was staring at me. She had short black curly hair, smooth olive skin, big brown eyes, and she was beautiful.

  I looked around for the men’s room sign.

  “Detective Jackson?”

  “Yes, I’m Detective Jackson, and I assume you to be my ride to the hotel, correct?”

  “That is correct. I am Detective Jasmine Coffy of the NOPD, 8th precinct. French quarters division.”

  I extended my hand. “Pleased to meet you, “I said. Her touch was soft like her smile. She smelled good. There was a hint of Red Door perfume.

  “Let me help you with your things,” she insisted.

  “Well, if you don’t mind; I was looking for the men’s room. Could you watch my bags till I return?”

  “No problem.” She pointed to her left, my right, down the corridor leading to the exit. “The rest rooms are over there near the exit. You could put your service weapon on in there. Meantime, I’ll bring my car around.”

  I was amazed at how she knew I was about to put my weapon on, or did she? Still I didn’t let on.

  “Thank you,” I said and walked toward the restrooms.

  I decided I would call Charlotte and let her know I made it and that everything so far was ok. She picked up on the first ring as if she had been watching the phone.

  “Hey Baby,” she said softly.

  “Hey Love,” I responded. “I just wanted to let you know that I made it and I’m okay.

  She breathed a sigh of relief. “Good, I can go to sleep now.”

  “So I kept you up?” I asked, smiling into the phone.

  “Yes you did. Usually around here folks go to bed with the chickens.”

  “Well I must be special.”

  “You are very special, Jared.” She yawned afterward. “It’s raining here and it is making me sleepy.”

  “I’m getting a ride to the hotel; I will call you in the morning. Get all the sleep you need. I love you.”

  “I love you too, Jared-- and be careful, okay?”

  I noticed her hesitation, but I didn’t question it.

  “I will.”

  Chapter 4

  The best Western Hotel was located on North Rampart. It was an old style motel, a two-toned red brick building with a black top and had very long windows all over. My room faced out to the street over the guest parking tunnel. A park with a small pond was opposite my side of the road. The room was cool and smelled of fresh linen.

  “Thank you, Detective Coffy, for helping me with my bags and for the ride here.”

  “No problem,” she replied, “I will come by around 7 am to pick you up for the morning muster meeting. You will be brought up to par about everything we know.”

  “Oh, and before you go, there is just one other thing.”

  She turned to me at the door and raised her eyebrows. I hoped she didn’t get the wrong idea. She was very attractive but that isn’t what I wanted.

  “The officers who were killed—did you know them well?”

  “Yes, I knew them, but not very well, but just in working together.”

  I couldn’t read anything else out of her expression or her reply to see whether she had maybe been closer to either of the officers. She probably picked up on my probing also. Still I needed to know. Sometimes emotionally attached officers are not good to investigate with. For the time being I took her at her word.

  “Okay, I will see you at 7:00.”

  She nodded and then left. The smell of her perfume lingered in the room for a while after she had gone down the elevator.

  I went over and sat on the bed. I texted a message to Charlotte’s cell phone to include the hotel and the number and room number. My stomach growled to remind me that I haven’t eaten since before the flight. I called down to room service to try and get a late night snack. I was out of luck.

  “10:00 is when we stop serving. I am sorry, Sir, but it is now 10:30 and most of the servers are gone home,” said the woman’s voice. She sounded young.

  I was disappointed. “Well, is there a pizza place open at this time of night that can deliver?”

  The phone was quiet for a few seconds and then she spoke. “Actually, there is a pizza place that is very good and does deliver up until midnight-- Don’s Pizza and Wings.”

  The pepperoni and sausage pizza I ordered was there in 30 minutes along with 12 barbecue wings and a 20-oz. Coke. The young black man who delivered my piz
za was neatly dressed in the company’s shirt and cap over khaki pants.

  He couldn’t keep his eyes off my badge on the table by the door. I assumed he might have had some history with the police before but he didn’t act nervous.

  “You a cop, sir?” he asked.

  “Yes I am, but not from around here.”

  “Oh okay, you must be looking into those officer killings that everybody is talking about around here. I am waiting to graduate high school so I can become a cop myself.”

  Now I see that he was fascinated just like another kid—myself—when I was young, about being a police officer.

  “Well, I hope that we can catch whoever is doing these things and bring them to justice.”

  “Hey-- if I can help in anyway, let me know? Maybe I can do some undercover detective work for you.”

  “No I don’t think that would be appropriate at this time. That kind of work is dangerous and besides, I think you would be better off first getting your education and then helping us on the force after that. I believe we could use a bright young man like you.”

  He beamed at that.

  “Thanks, uhm…Detective—”

  “Jackson,” I said.

  “Cool,” said the young man. Listen, Detective, I don’t know if you know this or not--but rumor has it that the homeless man who usually hangs out in the park across the street sometimes that may know something about the killings. Nobody has seen him as much as they used to around here. His name is J.P.—at least that’s what people call him. He’s an old black guy who always pushes a grocery cart.

  I was intrigued with that and that gave me an idea. “Okay thanks, I’ll make note of that.”

  “Yes sir.”

  After he left, I sat down at the table and tore into a couple of slices of pizza and a few wings. It wasn’t bad at all. There was something like a New Orleans creole sauce on those wings.