Blue Justice (9 page)

“This is the third officer killed in the last week.”  A woman said. 

“Yeah,” somebody said.  “I saw the news too.  This is insane.”

“This is not good at all,” said the woman. 

The patrol cars surrounded the scene.  They un-holstered their guns as they exited their cars.  They made their way to their fallen comrade to try and administer first –aid.  They shook their heads and holstered their guns.  Questions were hurled at everyone standing around.  Nobody admitted to seeing anything.  They said that they heard gunshots—maybe two and heard a car speed off. 

Detective Jasmine Coffy was assigned the case.  She had eight years on the force, with two of those years in homicide—one of ten black female homicide detectives in Louisiana.  Violence in the Big Easy was pretty normal to her.  She grew up in New Orleans in a family with three brothers.  They lived near the river on the outskirts of the city.  From the time she was a little girl she was taught to hunt and fish by her older brothers and also learned to cook like her mother.  Of course Jasmine wanted to be a police officer. 

Her desire to become a police officer began when she was nine years old.  She was walking down town with her parents along the river in the French Quarter when she saw a man get beaten and stabbed.  Before she could scream, her dad covered her mouth and quickly walked back to their old Ford pickup truck and sped away.  She still remembers his words.  “Jas, there are some folks round here you just can’t help.”

Now, Jasmine pulled up to the scene.  Police from every agency were there, which was normal when the “Officer Down” call comes over the radio.  Whatever an officer is doing at that moment—even if they had just stopped a vehicle and was in the middle of writing a ticket; they were rolling in the distressed officer’s direction.  And fast. 

Jas hesitated on walking up to the body.  The last thing any officer wants to see is one of their own lying dead in the street because of some punk who didn’t want to go to jail.  She pulled out her badge and showed it to the officer logging names at the crime scene.  The Crime Lab and Evidence Division were already on the job.  She walked up to the female CLED tech.

“What do we have?” Jas asked.  The tech wiped her eye with the back of her glove.

She had been crying.  Jas gave her a second to gain her composure. 

“Sorry, Detective, this is my third scene involving a fallen officer and I just can’t…”  She couldn’t finish.  The tears flowed.  Jas placed her hand on the tech’s shoulder.  “I understand.”

She turned.  The body was covered already.  Detective Santiago had just finished interviewing the witnesses.  Jas called out to him.  She waved her hand for him to come to her.

“Bernard, what do we have?”

“Hey Jas.”  He shook his head.  “Sorry, but we got a bunch of witnesses who didn’t see anything—only heard the shots.  Officer Davies didn’t have a chance to pull his gun out the holster.  He was killed in cold blood.”

The very words “Killed in cold blood” sent a chill down her spine.

“Where did the shots hit him?” she asked.

“Two in the back; one made its way to his chest from the side, probably as he turned to get away.  He was wearing his vest but it only helped some.  He must have fallen at some point and the perpetrator got off a head shot and according to witnesses, sped off.  But nobody saw the car or the driver.”

Jas let it all settle in her mind. 

“Well, I better go and tell the chief so he can inform his wife.”

“Ok, thanks, Bernard.  I will see you back at the station.  I’m going to look around some more.”

She hated that part of the job--telling a family member that their loved one is dead.  Especially when you don’t have the person responsible.  She went over to the body, stooped down and slid the cover back to see Davies.  The blood was now dry.  Under what was left of his head.  He had been shot at close range.  By the perp.   She slid the cover back on Davies, stood up and sighed.

“Three dead in a week.  All killed the same way.  Shot in cold blood.  Just doesn’t make sense.  Probably some fanatic that wants to get justice for all the police murders of blacks in the news lately,” she said.  She got back in her car and drove to the substation in the 8
th
Precinct.    

The precinct was usually noisy with phones ringing.  Officers joking around.  And people being interviewed by investigators or making formal complaints with the desk Sergeant.  Today was different.  Gloom had settled in.  Some officers had drifted to corners of the room not to be seen shedding tears.  Others rubbed their badges, contemplating on quitting the job they loved. 

Police Commissioner Larry Flanagan and Chief Estelle Adelaide walked into the muster room. 

“I know how you all feel.  It is not an easy thing to talk about when someone you know and work with and depend on is gone,” said the Commissioner.  “But we have a duty and an obligation, not only to the community we police, but to our families and our fallen comrades, to find this animal and bring him to justice.”  He paused.  Some officers felt the boost of his speech and stood upright.  They all respected him and wanted the horror to go away. 

“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 will 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.