Aftermath (7 page)

Fingerprints

It was tight in the back of the squad car as Misa was driven to the police station that night. With her hands cuffed firmly behind her back—the female officer who put the handcuffs on had expressed concern that Misa might slip out of them with her small wrists—she sat uncomfortably as she listened to the two officers in the front seat joke about each other's mamas.

Misa thought about the look on Frankie's face. She tried to block it out as she gazed out the window at the passing motorists. She thought instead about Shane, her sweet boy with his big innocent eyes and his beautiful smile. Misa missed him more than she ever had before. She felt tears stinging at the corners of her eyes as she acknowledged her role in what had happened to her son. Misa hadn't been there to protect Shane. In fact, she'd been so busy trying to be everything Baron Nobles had ever dreamed of that she hadn't even noticed her own child's misery.

She had been a terrible mother, she decided. It didn't matter that her heart had been in the right place; that she had only been out trying to secure a place in Baron's life so that she and Shane could have a better existence. None of that mattered now. Shane had been victimized and Misa felt that it was all her fault.

They arrived at the precinct and Misa was ushered inside, the cold winter wind howling in her ears, whistling through the trees and nudging them all forward toward the big doors leading into the police station, to her fate. Once inside, one of her captors ordered her to sit on a bench as he approached the desk sergeant and was handed a logbook.

Misa sat on the bench and shivered slightly as her body warmed up from the cold January air outside. She watched the officers gather around and talk about her in hushed tones.
“Murdered the guy … said he was molesting her kid … her brother-in-law, can you imagine?”

She felt like an exhibit at the zoo. After several agonizing minutes, she was led up an old, paint-chipped staircase that reminded her of the one in her former high school. The handcuffs still tore at her wrists and she hoped, as they reached the landing, that someone would take them off her soon. They stepped into a room and a heavy iron door shut behind them. She looked around and saw four officers and a few holding cells. She was mercifully uncuffed and ordered to step out of her shoes. Misa was searched again and made to pass through a metal detector. Once they were satisfied that she had no weapons of mass destruction, they gave her back her shoes—without the laces. Next, she was led into a cell that was smaller than her tiny bathroom at home, and she sat on the bench inside as the officer shut and locked the cell door behind her. She massaged her sore wrists as she peered through the bars at the officers filling out paperwork and milling about.

Misa looked around. This place was filthy. Previous poor, unfortunate souls had carved their names into the bench on which she sat, onto the walls surrounding her. Misa couldn't imagine what would possess a person to want to leave their mark
here
of all places. She had certainly never imagined that she would find herself in this situation. No one could have predicted that things would've turned out the way they had.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a female officer who came and unlocked Misa's cell. She informed her that she was about to be fingerprinted and photographed. Misa let out a soft moan as she was led to the photographing station. She was familiar enough with the justice system to know that her mug shot would inevitably appear in the newspaper the next day. She stepped into the white-painted square on the floor as the officer instructed her and looked into the camera as she was told.

“How's my hair?” Misa half jokingly asked the woman wielding the camera.

The brunette seemed caught off guard by the question, but nodded, offered Misa a weak smile. “Good.”

It was true. Compared to most of the people who slid through the precinct late at night, she did look all right. Misa had a fresh new weave, which was less than a week old and still looked great.

She glared into the camera, her expression defiant. The officer told her to turn to her left and another picture was taken. Then she was led over to a high-tech fingerprinting station and processed. When she was done, the officer who had brought her in appeared again and handcuffed her, looser this time, before leading her up another flight of stairs. This time, Misa was led down a maze of hallways and brought into an office where an older white woman with glasses and plainclothes sat behind a large oak desk.

The cop ushered her into a nearby room and ordered her to sit on a folding chair. He left her in there and went back outside the room to speak with the woman at the desk. Misa stared at the wall in the room she had been left in. Photos lined the wall like poorly applied wallpaper—pictures of crime victims. Misa read their names, read the details of their murders.

Trina Samuels, shot numerous times in the head … Darin “Dusty” Fernandez, missing since August 2007 … Martin “Murk” Payton last seen leaving Top Cuts Barbershop … found with a bullet to the back of the head in the basement of 555 Steuben Street … a witness stabbed to death in his home … another bludgeoned to death in the parking lot of Staten Island Savings Bank.

Misa looked at all the faces and all the stories and immediately felt like something was wrong. First of all, Frankie owned Top Cuts Barbershop. It was one of the many legitimate businesses he used as fronts for his illicit drug empire. She had also heard Baron mention Dusty's name on at least one occasion—particularly in hushed tones during late-night phone calls with Frankie during a trip he had taken with Misa to Miami.

Misa recalled the Miami trip now as she stared at Dusty's name and face on the poster. She remembered hearing Baron admit to having killed Dusty, recalled how she had judged him for taking the life of another human being. And now she had done the same thing. She had never been the most religious person, but she did believe in God. She knew that murder was a sin, no matter how you cut it. Misa's faith taught her that God himself would exact revenge against Steven for what he had done to Shane. But Misa's maternal instincts hadn't allowed her to wait patiently for justice. She had had to get some kind of immediate closure, and she had done that. Even as she sat there, knowing that she was facing a horrible immediate future in prison, she felt better knowing that Steven was dead—that she had killed him.

She turned her attention back to the wall and read some more of the posters, although no other names, faces, or details jumped out at her. The white woman who had been seated at the desk came into the room, but the other officer stayed outside. She sat across from Misa and offered her a halfhearted hello.

“So, what happened tonight?” she asked.

Misa ignored the question. She had asked for an attorney so many times she was sick of saying it. Plus, she was certain that the rookie outside had filled this lady in on all the details.

The woman smirked at Misa. “You're probably smart not to say too much. Is there anything you need? Any phone calls you need to get out of the way?”

Misa shook her head. “No.”

“Well, it's late and I'm sure you'd like to get settled in for the night and lay down for a spell. Why don't you take a look behind you and tell me if you recognize anybody?”

Misa spun around in her seat and looked at the wall behind her. Unlike the wall she'd been facing, this one was papered with photos of wanted criminals and descriptions of the crimes they were accused of. Her eyes danced across it and settled on a photo of Daniel “Danno” Henriquez, an associate of both Frankie and Baron Nobles.

Misa's stomach flip-flopped.

… wanted in connection with the rape and torture of Trina Samuels … DNA evidence found at the scene …

Misa didn't want to overreact, but she was stunned.

“If you recognize someone on that wall, I'm sure it would look good for you in court.”

Misa wondered if they already knew that she was familiar with Baron, had vacationed with him, spent nights in his bed. She wondered if they knew that she had seen Danno plenty of times before. Her connection to Frankie was unmistakable, but she wasn't sure if they knew how close she had gotten to the criminal side of it all, the things she'd heard over the past few months. Misa decided that now more than ever, she needed to keep her lips sealed. She had permanently burned her bridges with Frankie Bingham. The Nobles family was powerful and Misa couldn't afford to make any more mistakes.

She looked at the woman who hadn't bothered to identify herself and shook her head. No matter how grim her future seemed at the moment, she couldn't see snitching as a means of bettering her chances at trial. “I want to talk to my lawyer,” she said.

The woman looked disappointed. “You sure?” she asked. “Take another look.”

Misa didn't bother. She had seen enough the first time.

The woman nodded. Her glasses were ugly, Misa decided. Far too big for her face. She scribbled something in yet another logbook and called the rookie to come and get Misa. The officer came back in and ushered Misa all the way down the two flights of stairs they'd originally climbed and then farther down another stairwell, into what seemed like the dungeon of the precinct. It turned out to be the holding cells for the female prisoners. A blond female cop took over at that point and the rookie disappeared for good. Misa was led by the blonde to what would be her cell for the night.

Upon seeing it, Misa paused. The tiny cell was filthy, covered in graffiti that had been carved into the walls, into the hard metal bench and even the floor. A disgusting stainless steel toilet with a sink on top of it sat in the middle of the cell and the smell of urine was overpowering. Yellowed tissue clung to the seat of the toilet and Misa had to fight the urge to gag.

“I can't sleep in here,” Misa said, shaking her head and backing away.

Blondie took Misa by the arm and urged her forward. “I know,” she said, sounding as if she felt genuine sympathy for the pretty young lady in her charge. “It's not easy, but you have to go in there. Just try to get some sleep and before you know it, it'll be morning and you'll be on your way to court.”

Misa looked again at the cell she was being forced to spend the night in and shut her eyes as if to block it out. She pictured her own bed at home, Baron's big beautiful bed in his big beautiful house. Looking at the metal bench she was being made to sleep on tonight, she shook her head as Blondie uncuffed her and nudged her forward into her evening accommodations. Misa slunk down onto the bench and leaned her fresh weave against the dank and dirty walls as Blondie locked her cell. She heard another door slam as Blondie retreated, heard still another door shut loudly outside of that one, and knew there was no escaping this fate. She was doomed to live like an animal for the time being. Misa could hear other voices in neighboring cells and listened to the conversations being shouted out from one woman to another. But she refrained from joining in. Instead, she laid her small body on top of the hard metal bench and shut her eyes. Sleep never came for Misa, but she still dreamed of seeing her son smiling at her, free of his predator, no longer scared of the big bad wolf.

*   *   *

Camille had showered
, changed, and was lying across the chaise in Dominique's living room. Toya, too, had freshened up and was sipping a cup of coffee while seated on the sofa, looking at the sunlight spilling through the huge windows of Dominique's apartment. Dominique was walking back and forth, frantically dialing the numbers of some of Octavia's friends in hopes that they had heard from her during the night. So far, she'd had no luck. Both Toya and Camille had been disheartened to learn about Octavia running away. Toya had assured Dominique that her daughter was a smart young lady and that she was okay and would come home soon. Dominique wanted to believe that, but her maternal instincts tugged at her still. None of the women had slept a wink in close to twenty-four hours. And what an unbelievable twenty-four hours it had been.

After leaving Staten Island, the three friends had arrived at Dominique's Upper East Side apartment and Camille had immediately called her mother to tell her about Misa's arrest. Her mother, Lily, had been understandably distraught, and when she called Misa's ex-husband, Louis, it had been even more difficult. Louis had at first been dead silent, leaving Camille wondering if he was still on the line. When he finally spoke again, his words were cold.

“I don't feel sorry for her,” he said. “None of this would've happened if she was doing her job as a mother.” He had paused again. “But I would like to be in court tomorrow to answer any questions about Shane.” Louis was secretly relieved that someone had paid the ultimate price for what had been done to his son. But he still held Misa one hundred percent accountable. Camille didn't argue with him. Instead, she gave him the information for Misa's bail hearing. She advised both her mother and Louis to watch what they said to the media and to their friends about the situation in the days to come.

Even as she helped Camille calm down after a long and tragic evening and watched as Dominique paced the floor waiting for word from her daughter, Toya couldn't get her father out of her mind. She lay across the sofa and exhaled loudly.

Looking over at Toya, Dominique noticed that her friend looked exhausted. She knew that she personally wouldn't be able to sleep no matter how she tried, and assumed that the same was true for Camille. But Dominique saw no reason why Toya shouldn't get some rest.

“Toya, are you sure you don't want to go lay down in Octavia's room? Misa won't be in court for hours.” They had agreed that Toya would accompany Camille to Misa's court appearance that afternoon while Dominique stayed home and waited for word from Octavia.

Toya shook her head. “Can't sleep,” she said. “Got too much on my mind. Y'all ain't the only ones dealing with some bullshit.”