Black Mark, page 11
“I guess the Bloods did a deal with them.”
“Yeah. Must have been a good deal too. Right now there’s more meth on the street than you can shake a stick at. It’s like Christmas for every tweaker east of I-205.”
“So the money’s flowing too, then.”
“Yeah, whoever took the Mexicans up on their distribution offer is making bank. No skin off my back, though. I’m too old to be dealing meth anymore.” Sonny finished his beer and pointed the bottle at me. “What’s this got to do with your buddy’s case?”
“It’s a long story. Short version is that someone’s trying to frame him for that murder, and the dead guy is connected to the meth trade.”
“You need any help?”
“Not right now.”
“If that changes, you call me.” Sonny stood up. “What you asked me now, that was nothing. I still owe you for what you did for Junior.”
He held out his hand, so I stood up and shook it. “Will do. Thanks, Sonny.”
I drove home, thinking about what Gradzinski had told me. Betts must have been the Mexicans’ partner. Like everyone else, I’d heard stories about how ruthless the cartels could be. But even so, it wasn’t likely they’d killed Betts, given what Billy had told me about the supply drying up when he died. If the Mexicans were going to execute Betts, they would’ve had replacement distribution arrangements in place. Besides, even if they did kill Betts, there was no reason for them to frame Elliott.
Still, now we knew where some of Betts’s money had come from. Maybe we could follow that money and see where it led.
EIGHTEEN
HUNTED
The doctors brought Elliott out of his coma just over a week later. I wanted to go see him right away, but the doctor wouldn’t let him have visitors until they were sure he was stable. I kept pushing and they finally agreed to let us visit a couple of days later.
Casey was waiting at reception when I arrived at the hospital, leaning against a wall, scrolling through her phone. She wore a Seahawks T-shirt and tight jeans that fit her athletic physique well. I struggled to drag my gaze up to her face.
“Casual Thursday?” I said.
“Very funny,” she replied. “I got a copy of the indictment this morning. They confirmed the aggravated murder charge.”
Casey’s news instantly knocked the humor out of me. “No surprise there, I guess.”
“Yeah, I know.” Casey pushed herself off the wall. “Shall we go see Elliott?”
There was a different uniformed officer by Elliott’s door. He let us in without objection when Casey told him who we were. Elliott was still hooked up to all kinds of monitors and drips, and an oxygen mask covered his face. He looked frail, his eyes sunken and dull, and his cheeks hollow.
“Hey, Mick,” he said, his voice hoarse. “Good to see you.”
“Good to see you too, buddy. How are you feeling?”
“Like shit.” Elliott lifted his right hand, which held a small plastic device connected to one of the IV drips. “They gave me this morphine pump, but I’m trying not to use it. I want to keep my head clear.”
Casey pulled another chair over and sat down. “What have the medical staff told you?”
“Not much. Apparently I was in a coma for about a month.”
“That’s right. Have the police been to see you?”
“No, you’re my first visitors. What’s happening in my case?”
“I guess you know you’ve been arrested,” I said. “They charged you with aggravated murder.”
Elliott sighed. “I figured they’d do that.”
“Do you mind if I look at your chart?” Casey said.
Elliott nodded his head slightly. Casey grabbed the chart from the end of the bed and flicked through it. She frowned at a page and handed it to me.
There were notes from earlier that morning indicating Elliott still didn’t have any feeling below the waist.
He must have seen the look on my face. “The doctor told me what’s going on.”
“What did he say?”
“One of the bullets is lodged against my spine. He thinks they might be able to remove it, but he’s not sure it will help. It depends on how much damage it’s already done to my spinal cord.”
“When are they going to do it?”
“Probably late next week. They have to wait until the swelling goes down some.” Elliott coughed, then flicked his eyes to the table beside the bed. “Would you hand me that water?”
There was a plastic cup with a drinking straw poking through a hole in the lid. I held it up to Elliott’s mouth and he took a couple of sips.
“Thanks.” He looked at Casey. “What happens next?”
“The next step is arraignment,” she said. “But it won’t take place until you’re well enough to appear in court.”
“That could be a while,” Elliott said with a rueful half smile. “Do I have to be there?”
“We could arrange for you to appear by video conference.”
“Yes, please. The sooner we begin, the sooner this will be over. And after arraignment?”
“Not much for a while,” Casey said. “I’ll mostly be pushing for access to evidence and witnesses. There will be a preliminary hearing in about a month, where both sides get to argue legal points. Mostly about what evidence will or won’t be admitted at trial.”
“And what happens to me during that time?”
“At some point you’ll be transferred to a correctional facility, probably Inverness. They have a hospital ward there, but it’s pretty basic, so you’ll be staying here until your condition has improved significantly.”
“I don’t suppose there’s any chance of bail?” Elliott said.
“We’ll fight for it at the arraignment, but like I told you before, I doubt it’ll be granted.”
Elliott nodded slowly. “What about the trial? When will that be?”
“Hard to say. Probably three months from now at the soonest, but it could take up to a year.”
“And I’ll be inside the whole time. Great. Anything you can do to get it moving would be good.”
Casey took a legal pad and a pen out of her briefcase. “Can you tell us what happened on the night you were arrested?”
Elliott tensed. “Yeah. It happened after Mick dropped me off. As soon as I left the office, there was a cop car in my rearview mirror. I took it easy, but he pulled me over after maybe a quarter mile.”
“Were there any other cars around?” I asked.
“No. I pulled over and wound down my window, and the cop just shouted at me.”
“What did he say?”
“He told me to get out of the car and put my hands up.” Elliott’s face darkened. “Then he shot me.”
“What? Immediately?” I could hear Casey’s surprise.
“Almost. I got out of the car and put my hands on my head. He had his gun out and he shot me. He didn’t even ask me my name.”
Casey and I looked at each other. Elliott’s story was beyond strange.
“Was there another officer there?” Casey asked.
“I don’t know.”
“And the guy who shot you. Did you see his name badge?”
“No. It was dark.”
“Can you remember any other details?”
“No. I vaguely remember being in the ambulance, and then I was here.” Elliott winced. “I think I’ll take a hit of that morphine now.”
He squeezed the morphine pump a couple of times. Almost immediately, the tension flowed out of his face.
“I know what you’re thinking, Mick. That I should have run. But I’m going to beat this.”
“I know you are, buddy,” I said. “And we’re going to help you do it. Get some rest. I’ll come see you tomorrow.”
We left Elliott and went for coffee. Neither of us spoke as we walked. I was in shock about Elliott’s story and I expected Casey was too. You hear a lot of crazy things when you’re a defense attorney, but I’d never heard of a cop shooting someone as soon as he got out of the car.
When we got to the cafeteria, the boiled vegetable smell was worse than on our previous visit. We got drinks and sat at a table.
“What did you make of all that?” Casey asked.
“Something doesn’t add up. I mean, what with Andre Gladen and all the others, we’ve all seen stories about cops killing Black guys. But shooting Elliott before he’s had a chance to say or do anything makes no sense.”
“Do you think he’s being straight with us?”
“On the shooting? Yeah, I do. I think that’s how it went down.”
“Me too,” she replied. “How did they find him so fast?”
“They must have followed us from the council meeting.”
“That still doesn’t explain why Elliott got shot. Why didn’t they just arrest him?”
“Because somebody wants this whole thing tied up with a neat little bow. Somebody knows Elliott didn’t do it and shooting him was their way of shutting him up.” I banged my fist on the table. The brawler in me wanted to find the person responsible and rip their fucking throat out, but I’d settle for kicking their ass in court.
“So you still think it’s a gang thing?” Casey said. “Even after a cop shot Elliott?”
“I do, especially given the Mexican cartel connection. The cop could be on the gang payroll. It wouldn’t be the first time a uniform took a few bucks to do some dirty work.” I paused. “Although now you mention it, there might be another answer. When we first found the body, Elliott said the cops could be behind it. They’ve been hassling him because he organized the Black Lives Matter protests. Maybe some cop got the bright idea to whack Betts and dump the body at Elliott’s place. Kill two birds with one stone, so to speak.”
“That’s pretty far-fetched, Mick. Like you said, we’ve seen cops do some dark shit lately, but it’s usually on the spur of the moment. Premeditated execution of one man to frame another is next-level stuff.”
“Okay, what if someone else killed Betts, and when the cops found the body they decided to use it to frame Elliott?”
“That’s more likely, but still deep left field. Let’s keep on the gang angle for now. Meanwhile, I’ll push hard on discovery from the arrest and shooting. Demand that the DA turns over any recordings, in-car video, investigation reports, the works. If there’s anything in there to back up your theory, we can pursue it.”
“Right.” I sat back and ran a hand through my hair. “You know, if the discovery backs up Elliott’s story, things could get ugly. The BLM protests are still going on every night. If video of a Portland cop shooting an unarmed Black guy got out, this city would explode.”
“You’re right, but we should probably plan a press conference anyway. Things have been tense enough, since word spread that Elliott has been shot. If we control the narrative, hopefully we can keep a lid on things and claim the moral high ground at the same time.”
“Sounds like a plan. How can I help?”
Casey fidgeted with her coffee cup. “Mick, there’s no easy way to say this. I don’t want you at the press conference.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You know why. Like I said, we’re trying to claim the moral high ground.”
I felt my face grow hot. “Oh, I get it. Having Mick Ward the disbarred lawyer in the picture isn’t the image you’re looking for.”
“Don’t take it personally. You know how the game is played. We want the story to be about Elliott, not you.”
“Yeah, fine. Whatever.”
She was right, but that didn’t mean I had to like it. For a while, we sat in silence. Eventually, she leaned forward and put her hand on mine.
“You’re okay with this, right?”
There was a look in her eye I couldn’t quite place. Something personal, enough to take me down a notch.
“Guess I have to be,” I said. “You’re the boss.”
She squeezed my hand and sat back. “I know it’s tough. I wish it didn’t have to be this way.”
“Thanks.” I managed a smile. “Now get out of here.”
Casey nodded and smiled back at me, then got up and left.
I sat there, finishing my coffee and thinking about the case. I was relieved to see Elliott doing better. Hopefully, removing the bullet would save him from being paralyzed. But whatever happened, he had a tough road ahead. He’d be spending time in jail—at least until we got through the trial, and possibly a whole lot longer. Looking after yourself in jail was tough enough at any time. Doing it in a wheelchair would be a nightmare.
Meanwhile, I had to get ready for a capital murder trial, starting with the arraignment, and I felt uneasy. At first, I couldn’t work out why. Then it hit me. I hadn’t been in a courtroom since I was disbarred. How would I respond? How would the judge react to my presence? Or the prosecutor, for that matter? I thought about not going, or just sitting in the public gallery. But I couldn’t help Elliott if I was sitting in the cheap seats. I had to get back on the horse.
NINETEEN
NOBODY’S PERFECT
I got to the hospital as early as I could on Friday morning. Elliott was awake when I arrived. He still looked fragile, but his eyes were clearer and the morphine pump was looped around his bed rail, rather than clutched in his hand. He smiled when he saw me come in.
“Hey, buddy,” I said. “How are you feeling?”
Elliott sighed. “Okay, I guess. Tired.” He waved a remote control at the TV. “Basic cable sucks.”
“Amen to that.” I sat by his bed. “You feel up to talking about a few things related to your case?”
“Definitely. What’s up?”
“I’ve been investigating who could be behind this, and I’ve got a couple of questions for you.”
“Okay, what can I tell you?”
“Let’s start with this. Was Betts still dealing?”
Elliott hesitated. “Why do you ask?”
“Your old Crip buddies seem to think he was.”
“What did you talk to them for?” he snapped.
“Why do you think? I told you before that’s the most likely answer. So I tracked down DeAngelo Kennedy and asked him about it.”
“I’m guessing he wasn’t too happy when you mentioned my name.”
I rubbed my eye. The swelling and discoloration were gone, but it still felt tender. “You could say that.”
“Mick, I’ve got history with those guys,” he said. “Last thing I need is to give them a reason to come after me.”
“Don’t worry, you’re fine as long as you stay off their turf. What about Betts? Was he dealing?”
“Yeah.” Elliott paused, his breathing heavy. “I got word a while back that Betts was still in the game.”
“Did you hear this before or after your fight with him?”
“After. I got a call from one of his Deuce Mob brothers. Told me not to fuck with Betts because he was protected. I knew what that meant.”
I knew, too. Gang members wouldn’t waste a second on a small-time argument unless the guy involved was important. It also confirmed what Billy Hinds had discovered: it was unlikely the Bloods had killed Betts.
“I have to ask. Why didn’t you tell me about this when we found the body? Or when we met with Casey?”
“I don’t know. Does it matter?”
“Of course it matters,” I said. “We’re trying to figure out who set you up. If you want us to help you, you’ve got to be straight with us.”
Elliott closed his eyes and slowly shook his head.
“Come on,” I said. “The time for fucking around is long gone.”
Elliott took a deep breath. “I took money,” he said.
“What? From Betts?”
“Yeah. I took money to turn a blind eye to him dealing.”
“Jesus Christ. Why?”
“It’s a long story. But he came to me after we fought at the NNC meeting. Said we should be working together, not against each other. He said he’d kick me a cut if I looked the other way. It was right after I got the call saying Betts was protected, so I knew I couldn’t stop him dealing. Meanwhile, the after school computer club at Albina Community Center was running out of money, and I couldn’t find a sponsor to keep it going. So I took the money from him. His drugs hurt plenty of kids. This way, his money could help a few. I put it all into the computer club, I swear. I never kept a dime for myself.”
“How much are we talking?”
“Maybe ten grand, all up.”
I rolled my eyes. “Well, there’s the connection.”
“What do you mean?”
“Between you and Betts. It all fits now. Your Crip buddies already hated you. They knew Betts was dealing again and they find out you’re taking a cut from the Deuce Mob Bloods. So they whack him and dump the body on you.”
“I don’t buy it.”
“Why not?”
“It’s too complicated. If the Crips wanted me gone, they’d just whack me themselves. They wouldn’t fuck around burying a body in my yard.”
“You better hope you’re right.”
“Why?”
“If my theory is correct, we can’t go to the cops with it. You’d have to admit to taking money from Betts, which means you’d go down for dealing. Not quite as bad as murder, but you still won’t see daylight for a long time.”
“Great. Now I gotta worry about that too.”
“Look, it’s not the end of the world,” I said, “but I need your help.”
“What do you mean?”
“The plan stays the same. We need to figure out exactly who killed Betts and serve him up to the cops. But if it wasn’t the Crips, we need an angle, a way to figure out who pulled the trigger. Help me out.”
“I’m trying. Really, I am.”
I looked at my friend, lying in a hospital bed and surrounded by all kinds of medical equipment. He looked like a dried-out shell of his former self.
