Extreme Justice: A Ben Kincaid Novel of Suspense

Chapter 18

BEN WAS NOT exactly surprised when he heard the thunderous pounding on the front door of Uncle Earl’s Jazz Revue. He was surprised, however, when he opened the door and found a friend standing on the other side.

“Mike!” Ben said. “What are you doing here?”

“We’ve come to make an arrest, Ben. May we come in?”

Ben nodded and stepped aside, making way for Mike Morelli, two uniforms, and a silent, sulking Lieutenant Prescott.

“I didn’t think you handled arrests yourself.”

“Normally I don’t,” Mike said, thrusting his hands deep in the pockets of his trench coat. “But I’m still in charge of the Homicide Department. When one of my men tells me his arrest has been thwarted, I get involved.”

Ben stepped between his friend and Prescott. “Look, Mike, I don’t know what the good lieutenant told you, but he breezed in with no warrant, didn’t read Earl his rights, and basically came on like he’d cut the man’s tongue out if he didn’t spill his guts.”

“That’s a filthy lie,” Prescott barked.

“Like hell,” Ben replied. “I’m surprised you didn’t bring a rubber hose.”

Prescott started to respond, but Mike cut him off with a gesture. “Don’t even start, you two. It doesn’t matter what happened before. We’re starting from scratch.” He withdrew a folded piece of paper from his coat pocket. “We have a warrant.”

“Based on what? That Earl happened to be here when the body was found?”

“There’s more evidence against Earl than that, Ben. And there doesn’t seem to be any exculpatory evidence suggesting that he didn’t commit the crime. We have more than enough to justify an arrest.”

“I’ll want the arraignment held as soon as possible.”

“Understood.”

“And the preliminary hearing. I think we can beat this rap.”

“You can take that up with the judge.”

“And I’ll ask the court to set bail.”

Prescott made a snorting noise, but Mike remained placid. “You’re always free to ask. Now where is he?”

Ben leaned up the spiral staircase that led to Earl’s office. “Come on out, Earl.”

Earl had changed his clothes and combed his hair and generally groomed himself. It was obvious that this time he was ready to travel.

“Thank you for your cooperation,” Mike said.

Earl held out his hands. “I suppose you’ll want to cuff me.”

“It’s departmental procedure,” Mike said. “Prescott, read him his rights.”

“But—”

“Do it.”

His lips pursed, Prescott pulled a card out of his shirt pocket and began to read.

While Earl was being Mirandized, Ben saw the young boy he had met earlier entering the club. He stopped several paces from the cops, then turned and ran.

Obviously not a kid who liked rubbing shoulders with police officers, Ben noted. He wondered if Tyrone Jackson’s ties with the Crips had been severed as completely as he had intimated.

To his surprise, the kid stopped at the door. He hesitated, obviously deliberating. After a more than a minute had passed, he slowly made his way back to the center of the club.

“What’s going on?” Tyrone asked.

“Earl’s being arrested,” Ben said quietly.

“For what?”

“For the murder. Yesterday. Lily Campbell.”

“But—”

“I know. We’re going to do everything possible for him.”

“But—”

Mike cocked up one eyebrow. “But what?”

“Why him?”

Prescott sneered. “Because we think he did it, that’s why.”

“But—”

A deep crease lined Mike’s forehead. “Kid, if you have something to say, say it. If you don’t, get out of the way.”

“I—but—” Whatever was on the boy’s mind, he didn’t seem able to spit it out.

Mike’s eyes narrowed. “You know, you look familiar.”

The kid turned away. “I shouldn’t. I’m new in town. I don’t know anybody.”

“Right.”

“I’m not a suspect. I don’t have to answer any questions. Can I go?”

Mike frowned. “I suppose.” Tyrone skittered toward the door. “C’mon, Earl, you’re going downtown.”

“Say goodbye to this pretty club of yours,” Prescott added. “You may never see it again.”

Once again, Tyrone froze. “Now why is that?”

“ ’Cause once he’s charged with capital murder, he ain’t likely to be set free for no amount of money. And once he’s been convicted, he ain’t gonna see nothin’ but a cell. Followed by a coffin.”

Tyrone turned away. Ben had the clear impression that he wanted to say something. But whatever it was, it wasn’t coming out.

He checked Mike—he was watching the kid too. Ben knew Mike was biding his time, hoping Tyrone would talk.

“C’mon,” Mike growled, grabbing Earl by the shoulder. “We’ve got things to do.”

“Look”—Tyrone squeezed his eyes shut—”you’ve got the wrong man.”

Another snort from Prescott. “Like hell.”

“It’s true. He didn’t do it.”

Mike took a step toward Tyrone. “And how do you know that?”

“I just know, okay?”

“How?” Mike got so close to Tyrone they could swap carbon dioxide. “Is this a confession?”

“No—I—” He hung his head.

“You know, Morelli,” Prescott said, “I think maybe we should bring this one in, too.”

“No!” Tyrone exclaimed. “That’s exactly what—” He stopped, then threw himself dejectedly into a chair.

“Look, kid,” Mike said, “just tell us what you know. In the long run, it’ll be for the best.”

Tyrone let out a long sigh. His face reflected the conflicts and contradictions he was weighing. Finally, he spoke: “It wasn’t Earl. It was the clown in the fake ’fro.”

Ben stepped forward, keenly interested. Of course, he had considered the rug man a suspect. But what did this kid know?

“The rug guy?” Mike asked. “Bushy hair? Beard? So tall?”

“No,” Tyrone said, his face in his hands. “That’s where you’ve got it all wrong. You go lookin’ for some chump with an Afro, you’re gonna fail.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because he was wearing a wig. And since no one else has worn a ’fro for the last twenty years or so, you’re gonna come up empty-handed.”

“Did you see the killer?”

“I think so. I mean, I didn’t know he was a killer at the time. I didn’t know there was a killer at the time.”

“But you saw someone in a wig.”

“Right. Watched him take off the wig. Watched him taking off the fake beard, too.”

Mike made a note. “Where?”

“In the men’s room.” Tyrone laughed awkwardly. “Hell, I thought he was some kind of drag queen or cross-dresser. But then he saw me lookin’ at him, and he got all bent out of shape. Started walking toward me like he was gonna kill me. And he was hiding something under his shirt. I think it was a knife.”

“You saw—” Mike scribbled furiously in his notepad. “Why didn’t you tell us this before?”

“I”—Tyrone looked away—“I didn’t want to get involved.”

“What’s your name, kid?”

“I don’t have to answer that.”

“The hell you don’t. You’re a material witness, now. You talk to me here or I’ll haul you downtown and you’ll talk to me there. Capisce?”

He swallowed. “My name’s … Tyrone. Tyrone Jackson.”

Mike’s eyes went fuzzy, as if he was trying to dredge up an association buried deep in some fold of his memory. The light slowly dawned. “You’re wanted for something, aren’t you? That’s why you didn’t want to talk.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“You knew we’d want to question you, take your prints, run your name through the computer.” Mike nodded. “I think I understand now. C’mon, Prescott. Let’s get out of here.”

“What? You mean—we aren’t takin’ Earl in?”

Mike shrugged. “We have a witness who places another suspect at the scene of the crime with a weapon.”

“You don’t believe him, do you? You should arrest ’em both!”

“I’m not going to make any half-cocked arrests that’ll only blow up in my face later. Frankly, Prescott, I wasn’t very impressed by your case in the first place, but at least there was no other likely suspect. Now, with this kid’s testimony, which Mr. Kincaid is certain to put on at the preliminary hearing, I’m not even sure we have enough to bind the man over for trial. We need time to check this kid’s story.”

“You can’t just let this punk go! He killed someone!”

“If he did, we’ll prove it. In the meantime, I’m not going to bring charges that won’t stick.”

Prescott’s fists balled up. “The Chief won’t like this. He said he wanted an arrest, pronto.”

“I’m not going to waste the city’s resources bringing charges I know will be dismissed just so I can go on the evening news and complain about how the justice system doesn’t work and judges coddle criminals. First we do our job. Then we make an arrest.”

“But—but—”

“You heard me. We’re leaving.” Without another word, Mike walked briskly out of the office, followed by the two officers.

Prescott whirled on Ben. “We’ll be back, Kincaid. Don’t doubt it.” On his way out, he leaned close to Tyrone. “And next time we’ll be coming for you, too.” He slammed the door behind him.

“Thank God that’s over.” Ben turned toward Tyrone. “You and I have a few things to discuss.”

Tyrone’s eyes darted from side to side. “You think it’s true? What that blowhard said, I mean. About them comin’ back for me?”

Ben nodded. “You can count on it.”