Dominion (78 page)

“Matthew Harper,” Clarence said. “That name’s familiar.”

“Between the two voice lines and the two fax numbers, we’ve covered nearly all these Sacramento calls,” Ollie said, rubbing his hands together as if he were coming off a week long fast to an all-you-can-eat buffet. “Now the thirty-two-thousand-dollar question is, who’s Matthew Harper?”

Clarence heard a light knock on the front door Saturday morning at 7:15. Surprised, he opened the door.

“Morning,” Manny mumbled to Clarence.

“Something wrong?” Clarence asked.

“Just here to pick up your dad. We’re going fishing.”

“Oh, yeah. Sorry. Forgot all about that. I know Daddy’s up. I’ll get him. Come on in.”

“That’s okay. I’ll just wait out here.”

Clarence disappeared into his father’s room for a moment, followed out by his daddy.

“Manuel,” Obadiah said warmly. “I’s movin’ a little slow this mornin’. But I gots my fishin’ rod leaned out by the garage door. Want to see them ol’ Shadow Ball pictures?”

“Yeah. I’d love to.” Manny disappeared into Obadiah’s room.

Clarence considered admitting to Manny he’d been right to doubt Mookie’s story about the Hispanics. But he just didn’t feel up to an I told you so.

The men didn’t reappear from the bedroom for a half hour. Manny escorted Obadiah out the front door, lost in conversation.

Clarence sat at his desk Monday morning, looking at three-by-five cards and typing.

The body of Robert Sandifer lay in an open casket. He’d been arrested twenty-three times for felonies. At the time of his death he was wanted for the murder of a fourteen-year-old girl. He was executed by members of his own gang. He lay in the casket with his arms wrapped around a teddy bear. Robert Sandifer was eleven years old.

In the last five years violent crimes committed by juveniles rose 60 percent. The number of murders committed by minors doubled between the 1980s and the 1990s. Juveniles now account for half of all concealed weapons violations, a third of all robberies, a third of all aggravated assaults, a quarter of all weapons assaults, and a quarter of all murders. In another two years there will be a million more teenagers, children of baby boomers, in the crime-prone ages of fourteen to seventeen. Statistics indicate 6 percent of the males in this group will be chronic lawbreakers, responsible for 50 percent of serious juvenile crime. Which means that America is about to be overrun by 30,000 more juvenile thieves, muggers, rapists, and killers.

Clarence reread his first two paragraphs. Why should he write such discouraging news? Because it’s true, he thought. But he didn’t feel like writing anymore. He had an appointment with Ollie—and a face-off with a crime-prone-aged boy called Mookie.

“Well,” Ollie told Clarence, “Matthew Harper has no criminal history. Went to work for Sacramento Public Works in 1994. I made a contact there that pulled his resume. Guess where he worked until 1994?”

“Reg Norcoast’s office,” Clarence said.

“How’d you know?” Ollie seemed disappointed.

“It came to me just as you said it. I knew the name was familiar. Red-headed guy.”

“Among other things, Harper was Norcoast’s financial man and his campaign director. I need to find out exactly what he did here, why he left, what his connections are.”

“Ollie, this thing about Leesa Fletcher?” Clarence asked. “I don’t get it. Shouldn’t the autopsy have shown she was pregnant? I mean, not even my source at the
Trib
who told me about the cocaine knew about the child.”

“I’m one step ahead of you. I’ve got a call in to the medical examiner, the one whose signature is on this autopsy report. I want to know why he didn’t mention the pregnancy.”

“Do you think she went ahead with the abortion and didn’t tell Sue?”

“If she did, the autopsy report would indicate the surgery. Either way, something’s really fishy. We have to nail down the father of the child. If it’s not Norcoast, we lose his motive,
that
motive anyway, but we might pick up a new suspect. Anyway, right now let’s focus on our boy Mookie. Here’s what we’re going to do.”

“Okay, Mookie,” Ollie ushered the trembling boy into a barren room. It wasn’t a standard interrogation cubicle, but an office where the walls were so thin you could hear sounds from the next room. “I’m asking your permission for Mr. Abernathy to be here, since he’s the one you first talked to. This isn’t an official interrogation or anything. We just want to talk. Is that okay with you?”

Mookie nodded, looking like a kid who’d rather be anyplace else in the universe.

“Okay, Mookie, we’ve got someone in the next room who says you lied to us. You weren’t out there that night. You didn’t see two Hispanic guys in a gold Impala.” Ollie turned to Clarence with a smile. “Or even a
green
Impala. You didn’t see anybody at all, did you?”

“Yo, man, I seen what I seen.”

“Maybe you lied just for the hundred dollars. Or maybe somebody else paid you a lot more to lie. Well, that wouldn’t be that serious of an offense. But then we talked with a homeboy of yours. What if I was to tell you he says you were right in the thick of this whole thing?”

“What homie? What thing?”

“We don’t want to name names. But we’ve got him in the next room. He’s been putting the finger on you, big time. Good chance we can cut a deal with him, and he’ll testify against you.”

“Testify ’bout what?”

“Just walk us through it one more time, okay, Mookie? Were you really out there that night when the murder happened?”

“Yeah, I was there.”

“Well, that’s what your homeboy says too. Except what would you think if he says the reason you were there is that
you
did the shooting?”

“Didn’t do no shootin’!”

“You sure?”

“Didn’t do it. No way.”

“Stay here with him, Clarence. I want to check this out again with our friend in the other room.”

Ollie left the room, and Mookie looked at Clarence and trembled. Clarence stared hard at Mookie, whose forehead now glistened. Suddenly muffled voices filtered through the wall, followed by a smashing impact. Voices were louder now, the words clear. “Mookie did it. Mookie shot up the house. It was Mookie!”

“No way!” Mookie said to Clarence. “No way!” he yelled at the wall.

“You killed my sister and my niece? It was you?” Clarence stood to his feet and walked toward him. Clarence gazed down at Mookie, who knew Ty’s uncle’s already legendary rep in the hood. He’d heard what he did to Georgie.

“No way, Mr. Abernathy. No way I shot nobody. I swear it.”

“Convince me real quick, Mookie. Or maybe there won’t be anything left of you to go to jail.” Clarence reached out his big right hand toward Mookie’s neck.

Ollie walked in. “What’s going on here?”

“Keep him ’way from me,” Mookie said to Ollie. “Thinks I killed his sister.”

“Did you?” Ollie asked.

“No way. Who that lyin’ to you? What’s goin’ on? I didn’t do it. I swear. Shadow’s over there, ain’t he? He lyin’ to you.”

“Remember, Mookie,” Ollie said, “this isn’t an official interrogation. I’m not forcing you to talk. You don’t have to be here. In fact, I think I’ll just have Mr. Abernathy drive you back home, and you can call me sometime if you’re ready to talk. Okay?”

Mookie looked at Clarence, whose stare was boring holes through his forehead.

“No,” Mookie said to Ollie. “I want to talk now. I didn’t do it!”

“You got an alibi for the time of the shooting?” Ollie asked.

“Yeah, yeah. Ask my mama. I was at my crib. Sick that night. Spewin’ up.”

“But you said you were just down the street, that you saw the shooters,” Ollie said.

“GC knew I was sick. Asked me if I wanted an easy thousand dollars. Gave me this story to tell, two Spics in a gold bucket, the whole deal. I said it just like he told me. Wasn’t my fault, I’m tellin’ you. The homies heard you was payin’ for information,” Mookie looked at Clarence, “so some of the guys was thinkin’ up stories. GC say nobody do nothin’ without talkin’ to him first. Next morning he comes to me and tells me if I say his story I’d get a thousand bucks from him and a hundred from you.”

“Why would GC do that?” Ollie asked him.

“Don’t know.” Mookie hesitated. “GC gone, so guess it’s okay to tell. I started thinkin’ maybe he the shooter and wanted to cover it.”

“So why should we believe you were lying before but not now?” Ollie asked. “You realize what the penalty is for murder? You know what they’ll do to somebody who killed a woman and child?”

“I didn’t do it!”

“You mentioned Shadow before. Why?”

“That
is
Shadow, ain’t it?” He pointed to the next room. “He knew GC talked to me. He was there. He settin me up.”

“How did GC pay you?”

“Ten hundred-dollar bills in an envelope.”

“What kind of envelope?”

“Don’t know. White. Dark blue inside. Thought the blue was def ’cause I’m a Crip, you know?”

“I know,” Ollie said. “Anything written on the envelope? Your name?”

“No name. Just a trey.”

“A tray?”

“You know, number three. In pencil. That be all, man. Don’t know nothin’ else.”

“Okay, Mookie. Just wait here a few minutes. We’ll be back.” Ollie led Clarence into the other room and they sat down at the table with Manny, who was rubbing his shoulder.