Color of Justice (19 page)

The reference to her sister had taken hold of him. He'd met her sister, Avon before. Chemin was dark. But Avon was completely the opposite. He remembered thinking that maybe they were not even related or had different fathers, which they didn't. Chemin's mother was very light and her father was dark. The girls had been split between them almost right down the middle.

Chemin folded her arms and gave Marshall a look that suggested she'd get him later. “No, I'll talk about it,” she said. “Avon and I got along fine when we were young,” she said, turning to Danny. “In fact, we were best friends in that way that only sisters can be. Then, when I turned twelve we both got interested in boys. In a nutshell, she got more attention than I did. In our culture, the lighter the woman, the more she's favored by black men.”

Marshall cleared his throat.

“With some exceptions,” said Chemin, smiling at her husband. “And for a woman, that ability to attract men is everything. We're told all our lives that our beauty is our value as women, and then we learn that some of us are more valuable than others. It doesn't matter if you don't believe it. The world is what it is and nothing is going to change that. All the light-skinned girls got the best boyfriends in school, were favored by certain sororities, got married first—and look.”

Chemin grabbed a magazine from a table and flipped through. She stopped at each ad featuring a black model, and in almost every case that model was light-skinned.

“The media lets you know what time it is every day,” she said. “See how most of them are either really fair or that weird-ass golden color?” She laughed.

“Or maybe you just think about shit too much,” Marshall laughed.

“No, I don't,” said Chemin. “I know what I'm talking about.”

“This is too fuckin' much,” said Danny. “Dark brothers get dogged, light brothers get dogged, for what? This thing is crazy.”

“Most of us try to be bigger than color, Danny,” said Chemin. Her face showed her sincerity. “We try, but a lot of times we fail. So the thing isn't crazy. It's human.”

“Finish the sister story,” said Marshall. “I never get tired of hearing this.”

“That's because you're sick,” said Chemin, giving him a love tap on the head. “Anyway, Avon and I started dating boys, and soon she began to think she was better than me. Or at least that's what I thought. We never talked about it, but it was there, under our relationship, festering like a sickness. And then one day, we had a fight over, of all things, a sweater. She wanted to wear my red sweater because ‘it looked better on her,' she said, and it wasn't right for me. I knew what she meant. I'd heard that old saying about how dark girls shouldn't wear red. I told her she couldn't wear it, and she wore it on a date anyway, so I ripped one of hers to pieces. We had a terrible fight, hair-pulling, the whole bit. I called her a thief and she called me a black bitch. Not just a bitch, a
black
one, as if the word black made it worse. We didn't speak for almost a year after that. We made up, but our relationship has never been the same.” She looked far away for a second, reclaiming the last of the memory. “What kind of case are you working that you need to know this?”

“A murder case,” I said. “All of my victims are light-skinned blacks.”

“Damn,” said Chemin. “I'm sorry.” She made this last statement after searching for something appropriate to say. “Does it mean anything?”

“I'm afraid it might mean everything,” said Danny. “This killer is sick in the head, and maybe he's seeing shit that the rest of us can't.”

“Killers usually do, don't they?” said Marshall.

Chemin let out a little puff of air that echoed the exasperation Danny was feeling. Marshall said nothing. He just looked at Danny with the self-assured face of a friend.

“Whatever this whole thing is about,” said Marshall, “you can handle it.”

Danny nodded slightly, not knowing whether Marshall was talking about the case or the situation with his mother. He supposed that his friend meant both matters. In that regard he was grateful for his confidence.

Danny thanked Marshall and Chemin, then left them to their evening. He had brought a load of grief and heavy thinking on them, and he didn't want them to suffer any more.

Danny stepped outside into the cool night and immediately his thoughts went back to his father and the terrible burden he was carrying. He vowed at that moment that he had to face up to it and soon.

He got into his car and pulled off. He was vaguely aware of the car bumping over the road. He was processing all that he'd had just heard from his friends.

“…it was my own people, not being my own people, and I felt like nothing.”

He heard Erik's statement again. Danny saw millions of black people fighting against themselves and keeping it secret, like a shameful addiction.

Danny wondered if the deaths of the Bakers and
Olittah Reese were what they seemed to be, revenge for lost wealth, or were born out of the affliction Marshall called colorism. And if it was, would it make the killer more or less deadly?

John and Lenora Baker sat with Olittah Reese talking quietly about something. Danny stood behind them straining to hear and worried that they would see him.

The Bakers looked robust and healthy and Ms. Baker wore a bright yellow hat. Olittah looked even better, sexy and vibrant as she laughed at something. Suddenly, Olittah Reese turned and winked at him. But now she was the dead Olittah, pale and water-damaged. Next to her, Danny saw his mother. Sorrow lined her pained visage and she held up her hands in a pleading gesture.

“Why, son?” she asked in sorrowful voice. Then she tumbled down a dark abyss, pulling the others with her….

Danny awoke in bed alone, breathing hard. He got up and went into the kitchen and poured a big glass of water. He wasn't particularly thirsty, but needed to do something physical to remind himself that he was indeed awake.

Vinny had not called or left any message since her departure. He took this to mean that he should not call or leave a message at her sister's. In his head, he saw them all sitting around, talking about him, making those excited sounds women make when they're talking about something juicy. Worse were the pictures of Vinny in the arms and bed of another man, purging herself of guilt and celebrating her new life without him.

He wondered how he could mend his relationship with Vinny before it was too late. It's a fucked-up thing to be a man, he thought, to realize that most of what you're about is trying to figure out women—and you never will.

He decided to take his own advice and concentrate on the case. His evening with Marshall and Chemin had shaken him in ways that he could not fully explain. He'd always thought of black people as one people. Now, Danny was seeing them as gradations on a living line of color. Erik was very dark in complexion like Hamilton Grace and his sons; Marshall and Chemin were about the same dark color. Janis was a light brown, like Kelly, Hamilton's wife. Jim Cole, his boss, was fair-skinned, and the victims were all even lighter than that.

And then, me, thought Danny. Next on the line was white itself.

He got a pad and wrote down what he knew about the case so far. It always helped to see the shape of what he was up against:

The first thing he noticed was that he had a lot more suspects than victims. The killer wasn't a
rabid dog, tearing his way through a list. He was cold, calculating, and sure of himself.

Danny thought that he could find the next victim by seeing who else had been involved with the company, but as far as he knew, only the Bakers and Olittah Reese had done the solicitations.

Then he wrote:

Money

Danny thought about the missing money that went through New Nubia. Everyone assumed the Bakers had stolen it, but in fact all of the money was never found.

Maybe the killer was looking for it. And maybe he was willing to kill anyone who he thought might have it.

That would explain the meticulous nature of the killer and why he might be asking his victims questions. Then he wrote:

Color

The skin tones of the suspects ran the gamut, from the darkness of Grace to the almost Caucasian hue of the Stallworths. But the victims were still all light-skinned. He wrote:

Baker thought Castle still existed.

Then Danny wrote:

What if it did?

“Stallworth,” said Danny to himself. Oscar and Virginia were such snobs and she had that picture of her family with the Castle Society prominently displayed in her home. So there was a history. And Virginia had made it a point to tell him that it didn't exist anymore. He might have suspected Hamilton Grace, but he was too dark.

“Too dark,” said Danny out loud as if he needed to hear it. And then he went back to bed.

Danny did not get any sleep before the morning came. He drifted off now and then, but the fear of another nightmare about his mother would pump
adrenaline into his blood and he'd wake right up. Finally, he hustled out of bed and went into work early.

 

Thirteen hundred always seemed spooky early in the day, and this was no exception. Behind the clean interior was a long history of crime, death and struggle. In the academy, Danny had heard stories of the place being haunted, and he believed every one of them. Danny didn't think the troubled souls on both sides of the badge would ever rest peacefully.

He entered the office and was surprised to find Janis already there alone, looking at some papers. He said hello, then sat down at his desk and started to read the case file again.

The two sat in silence for a while, not looking at each other. In the distance, Danny heard sounds of other people in the building.

“You don't like me, do you?” asked Janis.

Danny looked up at Janis and was surprised to see her smiling a little.

“I'm not sure,” said Danny. “But you seem like a good cop.”

“I didn't come to take over your case.”

“Doesn't matter. You did. You and your boss, but I'm a big boy. I can still do my job. But when I get this bastard, all the newspapers will care about is that the case got closed after the FBI got into it.”

Janis adjusted her glasses. “And that bothers you?”

“No,” said Danny. “The people who matter in the Department will know the truth.”

“And what if I catch him first?” asked Janis with another little smile.

“Then the newspapers will have it right for once,” said Danny.

Danny went back to his list and Janis read from a stack of papers. He wasn't even sure if she respected him at all. Like all feds, she was hard to read. They must teach them that, he thought.

“I have a profile of the killer for you,” she said to Danny in a matter-of-fact tone. “I spent all last night putting it together.”

“A serial killer profile?” asked Danny. There was a note of challenge in his voice.

“Yes. I still believe I'm on the right track,” said Janis rather defiantly. “Do you still have doubts?”

“You're the doctor,” said Danny.

“That's not an answer,” Janis said, a little annoyed.

“I'm working on my own theory,” said Danny. “There are solid, normal reasons for these killings. I think I've already met the killer on my interviews. I just need to narrow it down.”

“Well, let me read the profile to you,” said Janis. “Perhaps I can change your mind.” She cleared her throat. “‘I am a black man, twenty to forty years old. I'm intelligent, possibly possessing a secondary college degree. I have had a tortured childhood, possibly traumatized or abused at an early age. As a young adult, this continual abuse mutated my normal pattern of thinking, and I began to experiment
with venting my rage, first on inanimate objects, then on small animals. I found that violence lessened the pain I felt inside, so I kept killing animals and destroying things, changing my life to revolve around this occupation. I learned to appear normal to others, and I am even considered charming among my friends. I may have turned my tortured self into another personality, an avenger who carries out my will against my enemies. I plan each kill meticulously, and I am searching for an answer to the end of my internal pain. I am not insane. I am special.'”

Janis looked at Danny, pleased with herself. She slid the papers over to him, and took a drink of coffee from a cup on her side of the desk.

“And what about the color thing?” asked Danny. “How does that figure into your profile?”

Janis took a moment, and for the first time Danny noticed that they were in the place alone. The lights were kind of low, and she looked good with her hair falling down around her face.

“That may be part of the trauma,” said Janis. “If he has a color fixation, it came about in a bad way.”

“A friend told me all about colorism last night,” said Danny.

“I don't like that word,” said Janis. “I'd prefer a more clinical term for it. Prejudice is prejudice to me. So, what did you learn?”

“That everybody has a story,” he said, then before she could respond, he asked, “What's yours?”

Janis's face took on that look of remembered pain for a second. Her brows fell and her smile
faded a little. Danny didn't know if he was asking to continue his education, or if he just wanted to know more about the lady herself.

“Well,” she began. “Your friend is right. As a psychologist, I can tell you that there is no greater sublimation in the black community than the problems with color. It has gone from overt conflict to a kind of foundation of the subconscious. When I used to take patients, I found that many of the problems of black people, particularly women, were at least in part linked to the issue.”

“I'm waiting on the story,” said Danny. He smiled a little to let her know that she had not deterred him with her interesting and clever digression.

“It's personal,” said Janis.

“How about I tell you mine?” said Danny.

“I can't stop you, but I doubt it will change my mind.”

“When I was a kid my father put me in a school where there were only three other white kids. I was the only one in my class. To say I caught hell would be an understatement. I…what do you call it when you adopt ways that ain't really yours?”

“Assimilated,” said Janis.

“Yeah, I did that,” said Danny. “And in the process, I guess maybe I lost myself. I was angry, I had a bad temper, and I was always looking to prove myself, even if I didn't have to, because I'd been doing it all my life. I've shot and killed men in the line of duty, but I wonder if I would have
chosen another way if I wasn't so messed up inside. In the end, my attitude almost cost me everything, and now I'm in therapy trying to figure all this shit out.”

Janis just stared at him for a moment, analyzing. Danny felt that she was assessing the truth of his story as well as its worth in trade for hers.

“In college, I dated this guy, Nelson, a teaching assistant in the psych department,” Janis started. “We got along fine until his parents came to visit from Nigeria. When they saw me, I knew something was wrong. They were short with me and refused to make eye contact. Well, a week later, Nelson and I broke up. It seems his father and mother thought I was too light, ‘too mixed up,' is what he said. They didn't understand American blacks, didn't know what they were. I argued with him, but his parents held the purse strings on his education. Then a month later, I saw his new girlfriend.”

“Darker,” said Danny knowingly.

“No,” said Janis. “She was white. It seems the problem was that I wasn't
pure
. Nelson's parents could accept a dark black girl, or a white one, but not one who was somewhere in between. So, I thought to hell with him, right? I mean, if he couldn't accept me for what I was, then screw him, only I was the one who felt screwed. Like—”

“Like you were nothing?” said Danny, recalling what Erik had told him.

“Something like that,” said Janis.

Danny let some time pass before he spoke again.
The silence was almost poetic as he felt himself move closer to Janis. Even though she was kind of prissy and elitist, she was strong, and more interesting than he'd first thought.

“So,” she said, breaking the beautiful silence. “Did that help you?”

“Yes,” said Danny. “The killer is linked to the Internet scam New Nubia as well as the color of the victims. If we have another victim, he or she will be fair-skinned and in the same groups of investors.”

“So where will you start?”

“I'll have Jim get security on everyone on the list. Then I want to see a lady named Virginia Stallworth. I think there's an elite secret society within the black upper class in Detroit, and I think she knows about it.”

“So, when can we talk to her?” asked Janis.

“Erik will be checking with the Fraud guys on the Internet company when he comes in. Today, it's just me. I was planning to catch her early.”

“Great, let's go.”

“I thought you were stuck on the serial killer angle,” said Danny. “I guess I've convinced you to give it up, huh?”

“No. I just want to see you in action,” she said. “I want to see this deductive mind your partner talked about.”

Danny and Janis got a car and drove out as thirteen hundred was filling up. He was hoping to take on Virginia Stallworth alone, but he didn't mind Janis coming as long as she didn't mess up his flow.
If Virginia Stallworth would cop to there being a new Castle Society, then maybe he could find the next victim before it was too late.

Danny got on the Lodge Freeway and headed uptown. They passed the tangle of cars going into downtown.

“The freeway, thank God,” said Janis. “The city looks so much better from here.”

“You're a guest,” said Danny. “Be nice.”

“I can see why your childhood was so traumatic. Detroit is a hard town.”

“Traumatic. Didn't nobody say nothin' about that,” said Danny. “The city changes you, but it don't make you sick.”

“If you say so,” said Janis.

“We probably have some time to kill,” said Danny. “In the meantime, let me show you what I mean.”