Sweet Dreams, page 2
Kate said, “Trying to justify his actions, huh?”
Cornbread, Buck, and Charlie pulled up and got out of their cars, walking toward the crime scene. All three nodded at the detectives and followed Kate into the empty bank.
The bank manager, Mr. Porter, was a big man in a three-piece suit, well-dressed and well-groomed, with an aura of cologne that clung to him and filled the room. Kate sat next to Porter on one side of the table—Charlie, Buck, and Cornbread on the other—and watched what had happened an hour earlier on the security monitor.
Kate saw a white Chevy drive into the frame and park next to the ATM. She saw the man reach his arm through the open window, slide his credit card in. Now, from another angle, a black Chrysler sedan turned in and parked behind the Chevy.
In the next frame, the man in the Chevy took his money, retrieved his card, and slid it in his wallet. De’Ron Griffin got out of the Chrysler, holding a matte black semiautomatic down his right leg as he walked to the Chevy. Kate knew what was going to happen and still tensed up when De’Ron aimed the gun, took the man’s wallet, and shot him. No hesitation. De’Ron went back to his car, got in, and drove away.
Mr. Porter turned off the monitor and glanced at Kate and then Cornbread, Charlie, and Buck, holding his gaze on each of them for a beat. “An innocent man murdered for fifty dollars. What’s the world coming to?” Porter shook his head. “You know who the son of a bitch is, why don’t you go arrest him?”
Kate said, “We know who he is, not where he is. Taking De’Ron Griffin off the street is our number one priority.”
•••
Kate, sitting at her desk in the bullpen, saw Cornbread wave her over. “Check this out.” He turned the computer monitor so she could see the screen. “What I was telling you about earlier.”
It was footage from inside a bank. A priest in a black clergy shirt carrying a briefcase crossed the lobby to a teller window. “He opened the case and handed the cute blonde teller a note,” Cornbread said. “Says give me everything you got and no dye packs.”
Kate said, “Ever seen a priest carrying a briefcase?”
“Watch this.”
The priest pulled a pistol out of the case and fired a round into the ceiling.
“Now he turns,” Cornbread said, “yells, ‘everyone on the floor,’ and takes off with eighteen thousand dollars.”
Kate said, “Anyone see him leave the bank?
“No,” Cornbread said. “That’s what’s so strange. Man walks out, and poof, disappears like he a genie or something.”
“I’ve got one for you. Where’d the shooter get his priest outfit?”
“Clergy Supply. Been dressing stylish men of God since 1893.” Cornbread said it straight, trying not to grin. “Black, long-sleeve clergy shirts are going for eighty-three dollars. Collars are eleven seventy-five. They also have cassocks, chasubles, and clergy accessories.”
“What’s a clergy accessory?”
“You know, like vestment hangers and cope clasps.”
“Oh, cope clasps, huh? I’m not even going to ask.”
•••
Two fifty-seven p.m., Kate parked on Blaine Street, just west of De’Ron’s mother’s house. Her name was Bettye Lewis. She lived in a brick two-story bungalow with a front porch, a two-car garage in back, and a vacant lot next door.
It was another neighborhood filled with a-bans and blight. Two houses across the street had plywood over the doors and windows and lawns with grass better than two feet long. There were a couple cars parked on the street behind her and zero traffic.
She could see Buck park in the driveway of one of the a-bans, with a rearview eye on the Lewis home. Cornbread was at the end of the block, his car facing her. Charlie, parked in the minivan, was in her trunk.
According to the Department of Motor Vehicles, Bettye Lewis drove a 2005 Buick. According to the Michigan Unemployment Agency, Bettye Lewis had been let go from her job at Douglas Cleaners and was collecting twelve hundred a month. And according to cell phone tower records, Bettye Lewis had received half a dozen calls from De’Ron Griffin in the past couple days.
Kate could see the mailman approaching in her side mirror and then moving past the car. He continued along the sidewalk and stopped at the Lewis residence, took a stack of envelopes out of his bag, and stuffed them in the mailbox next to the door.
A few minutes later Kate noticed a woman on the porch, getting the mail. She picked up the radio. “Got a visual on S-3. Let’s go.”
On the porch, Cornbread nodded and Kate rang the bell. A black woman stood at the front window looking at them before she opened the door. “US Marshals. Are you Bettye Lewis?”
“Why don’t you leave the poor boy alone? Just got done doin’ his time. Let him be. I’m a God-fearing Christian woman prayin’ on his behalf.”
“Not hard enough,” Kate wanted to say, but said, “Is De’Ron in the house?”
“He come by when he get release. Ain’t seen him since.”
“But you’ve talked to him.”
Bettye Lewis looked at Kate but didn’t say anything.
“While you were praying for De’Ron, he carjacked a pregnant woman. She went into labor and had to be rushed to the hospital,” Kate said.
“Oh, Lord, oh, Lord. Lord have mercy,” Bettye Lewis said, curlers in her black hair, fingers of her right hand holding the lapels of her robe closed.
“In the past few weeks De’Ron has robbed two liquor stores.”
Bettye Lewis said, “Jesus have mercy. I have not come to call the righteous, but sinners to repentance.”
“Hour and a half ago De’Ron murdered a man—”
Bettye Lewis cut her off with more scripture. “If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just to forgive us our sins, and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness.”
Kate heard Buck’s cowboy boots on the wood porch behind them. He came in the house and said, “QD, better check this out.”
The garage door was up. One space was empty, and in the other was the Chrysler 200 she had seen earlier in the ATM robbery/homicide video. Charlie Luna was checking the inside of the vehicle. Kate turned and looked at Bettye Lewis standing behind her. “When did De’Ron come and take your car?”
“For whosoever shall call upon the name of the Lord shall be saved.”
“One more word of scripture, you’re going to jail.” Kate paused. “Where’s your son?”
“I don’t know.”
“He’s got your car, doesn’t he?”
Betty Lewis didn’t respond. Kate cuffed her and escorted Bettye to Charlie’s G-ride that had a cage in back, and Charlie took her to the Wayne County Jail. Letting De’Ron use her car made Bettye an accessory.
Kate and Cornbread searched the house. Only thing they found was a statue of Jesus in one of the dark upstairs bedrooms.
Cornbread said, “Thought it was him, De’Ron. Almost shot Jesus.”
“Are you putting me on?”
“You didn’t think the scripture-quoting woman would have a Jesus statue?”
“No, that doesn’t surprise me. I didn’t expect the mother of a fugitive to play the religion card.”
“Card? She played the whole deck.”
“All right, where is he?” Kate said. “Where’s De’Ron?”
“Getting his fix. I think he’s still around. In a motel, maybe, or a dope house. He’s gonna be out of money or out of product—one or the other or both—be back on the street. And when he is, De’Ron’s gonna be driving a red 2005 Buick with a personalized plate says BETTYE. Shouldn’t be hard to spot. There’s a BOLO on De’Ron. We’re gonna catch him.” Cornbread paused. “Got time to look at more footage of the Shooter? That one’s hot too.”
“I can’t. I’ve got a date.”
“This the same dude you been seein’?”
“We’ve gone out six times. It might be a new record.”
“What’re you, hard to please?”
“No, I’m just looking for someone to hang out with, have fun. That shouldn’t be too difficult, should it?”
“This current dude must be confident, huh? Step out with a marshal.”
“We’ll see.”
“Come on, you got to be more positive.” Cornbread shrugged. “Loosen up a little. Maybe you’re too tough. Don’t wear your duty belt on dates.”
Kate smiled. “I’ll remember that. Thanks.”
“And don’t pull your weapon less he really gets out of hand.”
“Cornbread’s dating tips. What would I do without you?”
“Diss me all you want, but I believe I qualify—all the ladies I been with.” He said it matter of fact, not boasting.
Kate held him in her gaze. “But you found one and settled down, right?”
Cornbread frowned.
“Or have you?”
“Quick Draw, you gettin’ in my lunch?” He flashed his big white teeth.
“Well, you are engaged, aren’t you?”
“Yeah. But she got a cat. There’s cat hair all over everything. I hate that shit.”
“You can work it out, can’t you?”
“You don’t understand. It’s between me and the cat, I’m gonna lose.”
“I’ve got to go. Anything happens with De’Ron, call me.”
Four
An hour and a half later Kate was chewing her first bite of grilled Hawaiian Big Eye Tuna rubbed in Togarashi when her phone started beeping. She took it out of her blazer pocket, glanced at the screen. “I’ve got to take this,” she said to Adam, her date.
Kate walked outside and stood on the sidewalk, pressing her finger against her ear so she could hear over the traffic. It was Cornbread. “Patrol car just spotted a red Buick with a BETTYE plate on Manning Street approaching Gratiot and followed it to the Cabana Motel on Harper. A black male fitting De’Ron Griffin’s physicals, and a white girl, the officer said looked about twenty, are currently in room eight on the ground floor.”
“Where are we going to meet?”
“Abandoned repair shop just south of the motel.”
Kate disconnected, glanced across the street, and saw a man in a gray Honda staring at her. She’d swear she had seen the same car parked in front of her apartment that morning.
Kate went back in the restaurant and said, “Something’s come up, I’ve got to run.”
Adam gave her a hard look. “Again? Seems like every time we go out…”
“It’s my job. I’m sorry.”
She took a twenty out of her wallet and put it on the table. “Take my fish home and have it tomorrow, it’s good.”
Adam glanced at her but didn’t say anything. Kate crossed the room and walked out the door, thinking this was another one that wasn’t going to work, and she kind of liked him.
It was 7:45 and still light out when she got on the freeway heading downtown. Kate saw a gray car in her rearview mirror, cutting through traffic, coming up behind her. Was it the same one she had just seen? Was somebody following her? Kate merged right into the middle lane and slowed down. The gray car she now recognized as a Honda passed her and took off.
Kate got a quick glance at the driver—a white male—but she couldn’t say with certainty what he looked like or how old he was. She took a lane, floored it, and got almost close enough to read the license number before the Honda cut across three lanes and took the exit at Eight Mile Road.
It was dark when she met the team at the abandoned auto repair shop parking lot two doors from the motel, plywood over the windows and doors, grass growing through cracks in the asphalt. Kate, still dressed for her date, joined Cornbread, Buck, Avery Rison, and Bob Dunn.
Dunn said, “You sure clean up. I didn’t recognize you without your duty belt.”
Kate ignored him, took off her blazer, slipped a heavy vest over her head, and adjusted the straps. “Has anyone ID’d S-1 since he checked in?”
“I showed the manager De’Ron’s picture,” Buck said. “Man said it’s him, no question, and the mother’s car with the BETTYE plate is parked in front of the room.”
Cornbread said, “Dispatch called, said De’Ron just ordered from Lucky’s Pizza. Driver’s gonna stop here in about twenty minutes. Who’s gonna do the delivery?”
“I am,” Kate said. “I’m going to give De’Ron his food and cuff him.”
Avery Rison said. “What about the girl?”
Kate said, “What do we know about her?”
“Based on the police officer’s description, she could be this twenty-year-old kid from Birmingham. Evidently, she came downtown, went to a party, and got hooked on crack,” Avery Rison said. “Girl was arrested, bonded out, didn’t show up for her hearing, and now has a fugitive warrant against her. Hangs around Gratiot and Seven Mile, bangs street trash to get money for her next fix. My guess, she has no idea who she’s shacked up with.”
Kate said, “What’s her name?”
“Gretchen Conway,” Rison said.
When the pizza man pulled in the lot, Kate walked over and met him. He was a scraggly white guy, late thirties, nervous seeing cops and marshals holding Remington 870 pump-action shotguns and AR-15s. She said, “I need to borrow your jacket.” It was dark blue and had a Lucky’s Pizza logo on the upper right side.
The pizza man took it off and gave it to her. He opened the hatchback and handed Kate a plastic delivery bag. “And you’re gonna need this.” She rested it on the hood of her G-ride, took out the pizza, opened the box and helped herself to a slice that looked like cheese with pepperoni and black olives.
Bob Dunn said, “Hey, what’re you doing?”
“Having dinner,” she said with a mouthful of pizza.
Kate pulled into the Cabana Motel parking lot, creeping, looking for room number eight, saw it and parked in front, Cornbread and Buck crouching behind the SUV. She got out wearing the Lucky’s Pizza jacket and carrying the delivery bag and moved to the door. Kate knocked, glanced at the window, and saw the drapes rustle.
Seconds later the door opened a crack, held by the security chain. She heard the laugh track of a TV sitcom and saw De’Ron Griffin in a stained white T-shirt, right arm hanging down his leg. Kate couldn’t see a gun but knew he had one. De’Ron unhooked the security chain, swung the door open, looked at her car with the Lucky’s Pizza topper on the roof, stepped over the threshold, looked right, then left. He motioned Kate inside, closed the door, and refastened the security chain. Her heart was pounding. The girl on the bed, watching TV, glanced at her. The room had the sour smell of sweat.
Kate said, “Where do you want this?”
“Right there,” De’Ron Griffin said, indicating a small table with two chairs against the wall. “The fuck took so long?”
“Sorry. It’s been really busy tonight. The pizza’s on us. No charge for the inconvenience.”
“I think the whole thing should be on you. What kind a business you runnin’?”
Kate, with her back to De’Ron, placed the delivery bag on the table, and opened the Velcro flap, looking at her primary, a Glock 22.
“Leave everything where it’s at,” De’Ron said.
“I want to confirm your order: one pizza supreme,” she slid the pizza box out, “eight wing dings, and a shrimp basket. Is that right?”
De’Ron Griffin started across the room. “Let me see what else you got in there.”
Now Kate saw the semiautomatic he was holding down his leg.
“I’m starving,” the girl said. “I want some pizza.” She was pale and thin, her fingertips black from the crack pipe.
As De’Ron got closer Kate handed the pizza box to him. He took it in his left hand, turned, and gave it to the girl. “Okay, here you go. Don’t eat it all.”
The girl opened the box. “Hey, there’s a piece missing.”
De’Ron glanced at the pizza and back at Kate as she was bringing the Glock out of the delivery bag. “US Marshal. Drop your weapon.”
De’Ron raised his gun in a split-second motion and fired twice. Kate felt the first round punch the center of her vest and knock her back against the wall. The second round hit higher and stung her collar bone. Without realizing it, Kate was firing back, squeezing the trigger, the hard blasts of the gunshots filling the room. De’Ron Griffin was on the floor when the door burst open, Cornbread and Buck charging in, aiming shotguns at the fugitive on the floor and the girl on the bed.
Kate was lightheaded, sitting in the chair. She could see blood streaming down the front of the windbreaker and wondered where it was coming from. Cornbread stepped closer to her, a look of concern on his face. “QD, you okay? Stay with me now.” He touched her neck, feeling for a pulse. She was starting to fade as Cornbread grabbed his phone. “Shots fired, Cabana Motel, officer down, suspect down. US Marshal McGraw was shot but breathing. Scene is clear. Send EMS.”
Cornbread’s voice was the last thing Kate heard before she passed out.
•••
Kate, starting to regain consciousness, heard a whooshing sound, and the constant beeping of machines. She heard voices on the intercom and felt something in her nose and something in her arm and opened her eyes. She was in the hospital, her Aunt Elaine sitting in a chair next to the bed, worried but trying to smile.
“How do you feel, honey?”
Kate wondered why her aunt was whispering.
She glanced at the window; it was light out. “How long have I been here?” She tried to sit up, felt a sharp pain in her shoulder, touched the bandage that was high on the left side. Aunt Elaine got up, tears in her eyes, held Kate’s hands, and said, “You’re not supposed to move. You’ve been shot.”
Kate’s mind drifted back to the scene in the motel room, seeing De’Ron Griffin raise his gun, hearing the loud reports of the gunshots. She didn’t remember firing back but De’Ron was on the floor as Cornbread and Buck entered the room.
