Murder in Germantown (27 page)

Kensan’s face was chiseled out of lemons. He had a bright yellow complexion, no more than two ounces of body fat, and inviting eyes. But he was dressed inappropriately. We shook hands and proceeded to my office.

CHAPTER 61

When I closed my office door behind us, I smelled the cappuccino and offered him a cup. He took it, but wanted to know what it was. He was standing at the door, as if he was afraid to enter.

“
Negro, if you don’t come into this office and get comfortable,” I told him.

I then handed him a Harvard mug.

“
That’s expresso coffee mixed with frothed hot milk, and flavored with cinnamon, and Nestle Quik.”

“
You said that like I should have known that. I’m not a Starbucks kinda guy,” he said and had a seat on the sofa. “This is a nice office. They must pay you a lot of money?”

“
They do, but I earn it. More importantly, I practice law because I like it, not for the pay. Ergo, I work hard.”

He laughed and said, “Stop lying.”

“
Ken, I do not do any lying. Look at teachers, they aren’t paid a lot, but they have a passion for their roles in America,” I said, checking my E-mail.

Both Aramis and Jon Rude had forwarded reports of their findings from the James case. I printed their reports and avariciously snatched up the hard copies from the printer.

“
Aiight, you have a point, but you lie.”

“
In court. Maybe.” I laughed.

“
Whatever. I brought a resume.”

I kept reading my investigator’s report and made notes on a yellow legal pad of what I needed done next.

“
That’s nice,” I said.

“
You don’t want to see it?” he asked.

His face was twisted with confusion.

“
Not yet,” I said and sipped my drink. I typed a reply to Jon and simultaneously asked Kensan, “What courses did you take in jail?”

“
Uh...English, College Algebra, Creative Writing, Art History and Sociology,” he said. “I have 15 credits from Penn State that I can transfer to any college and Penn won’t even release that I took them in jail.”

“
Creative Writing?” I asked and kept writing.

“
I wrote a manuscript while I was down. I wanted to learn a few tricks.”

“
Makes sense,” I said, typing a reply to Aramis. “I want to write a legal thriller.”

“
You type fast as hell. What’s that 60 words per minute?”

“
Eighty.” Bragging. “But you must type fast, too to have done a novel.”

“
Actually, I wrote it long hand, but I type about thirty words a minute looking at the keys.,” he chuckled.

“
What kind of grades did you get?”

“
Three B’s, one A, and one C. The C was in Art History. I was not feeling the Teenage Mutant Ninja Painters.”

I laughed. “Cute, but Art History is a humanities requirement in all schools I would think. It was for me at Georgetown. What kind of job do you want?”

“
Telemarketing. Retail. Customer Service. That sort of thing. Something for me to pay my own rent, while I get my book published. I am already writing another one.”

I snatched up my phone. It was 7:40.

“
Johnson, this is Ravonne Lemmelle. My friend that I just let up will be coming down to make a run for me. You can let him back up.”

I then turned to Kensan and said, “Ken, on the corner of 12th and Chestnut a few short steps from here is a Seven Eleven. Could you go grab me a
Daily
News
? I need to read the article about Wydell’s case.”

“
Come on, Ray-Ray. Don’t turn me needing your help into being a flunky.”

“
I don’t need a flunky. I need your help. I have to run to the law library to check some things for a case this morning.”

“
I thought you asked me here to help me. How are you going to do that in court?”

“
I am going to help you. And like you told me last night, you wanted to earn your place.”

“
Not by being your slave. I had enough of that shit in jail. I don’t want to start out as an errand boy. You haven’t even looked at my resumé, Ray-Ray.”

He glared at me like a piranha, prepared to bite my head off.

“
I do not need errand boys, Ken,” I said. It was like a warning. “In fact, I don’t need the paper, either,” I said and pulled the
Daily News
from my briefcase. “Let’s get this straight. I do not need you for anything. I do not owe you anything. I have no intentions of using you. So the next time I ask you to do something as small as that, do not interpret that as disrespect. You’re a sage man, I mean wise...”

“
Sorry to interrupt you from meandering on, but I read the dictionary in jail about an hour a day. I have a vast vocabulary.”

“
Good,” I said and could care less. “Do you have a license?”

“
No.”

“
Permit?”

“
No.”

“
Pen and paper?”

“
Nope.”

“
Zero for three. Nice!” I raved and rolled to my credenza.

I grabbed a legal pad and slid it across my desk to him along with a pen.

“
Take notes,” I said and began to pace behind my desk. “Penn-Dot is at 11th and Market. You’re going to need to get the current copy of the driving manual.”

He sat there.

“
You’re not writing, Ken.” I mentioned that and went on. “Afterward, you should walk, take the train, or get a cab over to the public library on Vine and 19th Streets. There you will find the business section, get a resume book, and write a resume that will get you a job doing whatever you want. Don’t forget a sample thank you letter for after interviews, as well. When I see the resume in your hand and the one that you will do today, I should see an improvement. Do you have a library card?”

“
No.”

“
While you’re there, get one and borrow the current
Writer’s Market Handbook
,” I told him, slipping on my coat.

“
Excuse me a moment,” I said to him.

I dialed Marsha on her cell phone. She was running late.

“
Marsha, please get me a reservation for two at Twenty21.” I hung up and turned back to Kensan. “At one, please meet me at Twenty21. It’s a restaurant. That’s all,” I said and headed to the door. “Let’s go, Ken.”

“
One problem,” he said. “I do not know where that place is.”

“
Find it!”

CHAPTER 62

Wydell James had managed the front cover of the
Philadelphia Daily News
, and an article in the
Philadelphia Inquirer
. That was despite his case being five days old. On the cover, he donned a LaSalle University basketball uniform. He smiled under the caption: Could This Distinguished Student Have Committed a Triple Homicide?

I sat at my desk and read Aramis’s article. It was a detailed account of the past five days in Philadelphia, involving the murders of three very known street pharmacists. I wondered was it widely accepted that Wydell had done the killings by people not employed by the State. Aramis’s article began speculation that there was another shooter. He highlighted that the detectives were not pressed to track them down. As far as they knew, they had the killer. I planned to disprove that.

An hour after I had been preparing a
habeas corpus
, Marsha said through the intercom that Jon Rude was there to see me.

I was ecstatic.

I had her send him in and asked her to hold all of my calls.

I straightened my tie before I shook Rude’s hand.

Without preface, he said, “What’s your plan for the motion to dismiss hearing? Who are you going to call?”

“
Nobody,” I replied. “I have not filed a MTD.”

“
Oh, but you will, my friend,” he told me and raised his eyebrows a few times. “I have the evidentiary nourishment to support one.”

“
Let me be frank. You have evidence to vivify that my client could not have shot and killed anyone?”

“
Maybe.”

“
I can’t file a MTD, then. I need a clear innocence defense in order to do that.”

“
Sure you can. I have the goods to darken the prosecution’s case until it is as blackened out as a phallus running across the screen on an episode of Seinfeld.”

“
And what is that?”

“
The police found very good footprints in the snow going to and from the crime scene. Size nine. Saucony running shoes. That was not in the preliminary discovery.”

“
That’s interesting, but we need the second shooter. Hell, the first one while we’re at it.”

“
And I have one for you.”

“
Stop!” I said in awe.

“
The shell casings found on the property around the tree belonged to a pistol, but the bullets in two of the vics belong to a rifle.”

I sat at my computer and pulled up a few of the guns on our data base.

I then said to Rude, “The pistol belongs to Wydell. And I guess you have no idea who this rifle belongs to?”

“
No, but I have these,” he told me and pulled out a bag with spent shell casings. “These belong to the rifle.”

“
You found them?” I asked puzzled. “How’d the police miss them?”

“
They didn’t miss them. They did not look for them.”

“
Pretty good, but get to the crime that you committed to get these shells.”

“
Oh, brother, I never commit crimes. I am a sworn blah, blah, blah. Anyway.” He pulled out his digital camera. “Load these photos into your computer.”

I did what I was asked and before my eyes were photos of a very stately home with a massive balcony and expansive columns.

“
This was the second shooter’s position, huh?” I asked.

“
You better believe it!”

“
And you got the casings with the owner’s consent?” I did not need my investigator arrested and this marvelous intelligence inadmissible. “Come on, Rude. Now I have to work magic to get this into evidence.”

He pulled out a letter. “Typed on the homeowner’s computer. It’s a letter confirming that the maid is a resident of the home and had the authority to allow me to search the balcony for evidence of a crime.”

“
Good, but...”

“
They are away for the winter. Paris. The retired Mr. & Mrs. Gottshalk.”

“
We need that Saucony, or a blabbermouth that can put someone on that balcony.”

“
There’s more,” Rude said. He smiled and rolled up his sleeves.

I was excited. “More?”

“
Absolutely.”

“
Do tell all.”

“
Saucony’s are worn by the winter cross country team at...”

“
LaSalle.”

“
Yup. Guess what else?”

“
Only women wear them.”

“
Yup. They were donated.”

“
Get the hell out of here, Rude.”

“
I gathered that from a reliable source,” he said. “Very reliable,” he added mischievously.

“
Okay, Rude. How many of them did you screw?” I asked with a sarcastic smirk on my face.

“
Two.”

“
Legal?”

“
That’s still 18?”

“
Yup,” I said in his voice.

“
Then yes, they were legal.”