Raising Cain (21 page)

Brownie felt Ace’s hand slide along his leg. “If you’re packing, please tell me,” Ace said. “I hate surprises.”

Brownie gritted his teeth as Ace’s hand hit the bulge on his ankle. It was his backup gun, a Walther PPK strapped to his leg
in a velcro holster. Ace raised his trouser leg and snatched the weapon. “That’s one. What else you got?” Ace tossed the weapon
to Handey Randel, who was standing guard several feet away.

Brownie closed his eyes and didn’t respond. His mind was beginning to play tricks.
He
was the arresting officer, and someone else was against the car. That was the history, the only past he knew.
He
was the one giving the orders, immobilizing his prey.

“One more,” Ace said, removing Brownie’s 9-millimeter from his waist holster.

“Cuff him, and let’s get the hell out of here,” Handey said. King had suggested that they ride Brownie a little and try to
provoke a reaction. Resisting arrest would be a nice charge to add to the list; it would verify his temper and imply guilt
on the murder charge.

Handey glanced at the sky. Darkness was encroaching, and in a few more minutes it would be night. They were on a lonely road,
and there were no backup cops upon the direction of King. Their authority derived from the court order; King could use his
mercenaries to make the arrest. He didn’t want the local police involved, not even Frank Davis. Too much could go wrong.

“Place your hands behind your back,” Ace ordered. “You know the routine.”

Brownie took a breath and tried to stay calm. Then he slowly put his hands behind his back.

“That’s good,” Ace said, tightening the cuffs down as far as they would go.

“Read his rights and let’s get out of here,” Handey said.

Ace pulled out a plastic card and read the Miranda warnings. When he finished, he looked at Brownie. “Do you understand these
rights as I have read them to you?”

Brownie didn’t answer.

“That’s a
yes
,” Handey said.

“Knowing your rights, do you or do you not wish to make a statement?”

Brownie remained silent.

“That’s a
no
.” Handey took Brownie by the arm and guided him toward the backseat.

“Watch his head.” Ace pushed the prisoner from behind.

Brownie wanted to break his chains and run away. This was demeaning, humiliating. With King as prosecutor, he’d expected an
arrest. But he’d never imagined that it would feel like this.

The detectives locked the doors and began driving. “How about a bedtime story?” Ace joked. “In case he has trouble sleeping
down at the jail.”

“Leave him alone,” Handey said.

“Better not sleep on your stomach”— Ace chuckled—“if you know what I mean.”

“Can the shit,” Handey scolded. “We picked him up, and our job is done. Cut the man some slack.”

“Guess he’s gonna need it,” Ace replied.

“Yes, he is, but it’s not our concern anymore. From now on Sergeant Brown is the exclusive property of Kent King.”

Reverend Taylor had called an emergency meeting of the elders in the basement of his Blocktown church. The inner circle was
there, and so was Officer Bobbie Thompson. It was late on the evening of Brownie’s arrest. Taylor rose from his chair and
spoke to the group.

“You all know what’s happened.”

“Brother Joseph Brown has been selected as the scapegoat for the CAIN man’s killing. He’s incarcerated at the county detention
center.”

Taylor looked at Bobbie. “Can you elaborate, Brother Thompson?”

“Sergeant Brown was taken into custody by two auxiliary detectives assigned to Special Prosecutor Kent King. He was charged
with the murder of Thomas Ruth, taken to the station, processed, and locked up on a no-bond status.”

A murmur rose among the crowd.

Thompson looked at Taylor. “That’s all I know. King isn’t letting anyone from the department near the case. He’s using his
hired goons to do the fieldwork.”

Reverend Taylor unbuttoned his coat and swept it open with his elbows. “We have to
do
something, friends. We cannot allow one of our lambs to be slaughtered.” He began to pace, then stopped suddenly and looked
at Thompson again. “Did Brother Brown really kill the man?”

“They got a ton of evidence that says he did.”

“What do
you
think?”

Bobbie looked down. “He might have.”

A rumble swept the room.

“If he did, he did it for
us
,” the reverend said. “Threw himself on the spear.”

“Yes, sir!” a man declared.

“Sacrificed himself.”

“Amen!”

“We’ve got to help him.”

“Uh-huh!”

Taylor pointed to Bobbie. “Does he have a lawyer?”

Bobbie stood up again. “Don’t think so. Not yet, anyway.”

“Then I say we get him one.” Taylor began pointing around the room. “We got to help, brothers.
You
going to help?”

An elder said yes.

“What about
you
?”

Another yes.

“And
you
? And
you
?” Taylor pulled out his offering dish and held it aloft. “Pile it high, friends, the brother needs help, a
lot
of help.” He produced a stack of hundred-dollar bills and dropped them in. “A lot of help,” he repeated.

The dish made the rounds, and at each stop, a handful of bills was added. When it was returned to the reverend, he smiled
and put it on a table at the front of the room. “At this point I would like to nominate Brother William Stanton as Sergeant
Brown’s legal defender.” Stanton was the only black attorney in town.

Bobbie Thompson frowned. “What’s the problem, brother?” Taylor asked.

Thompson looked around self-consciously. “Do you think he’s up to it?” Stanton had taken the bar exam six times before passing,
and he was often steamrollered by other lawyers.

Taylor squared his shoulders. “
I
believe he is. We can put it on the floor for discussion and take a vote, if that’s what you people want.” You
people
was meant for Bobbie Thompson. None of the congregation dared challenge Taylor’s judgment, especially now. “What about it?
Shall we vote?”

The elders agreed.

“
I
suggest we hire William Stanton to represent Brother Brown,” Taylor said. “Any discussion on the issue?”

Thompson looked down.

“Let’s vote. All in favor so signify.”

Every hand but Thompson’s went up. Then he slowly raised his as well.

“It’s unanimous. William Stanton will defend Brother Brown.”

There was a murmur of approval.

“Anticipating this, I took the liberty
before
the meeting to ask Brother Stanton if he could do it, and he said yes.”

There was another rumble of approval.

“Let’s keep the faith, friends. We have to stand by Brother Brown at all costs. He’s one of
us
.” There was a burst of applause, and Taylor adjourned the meeting.

Bobbie Thompson waved good-bye and walked to his car. Taylor seemed sincere in his desire to help Brownie; he’d raised a lot
of money and contributed a bankroll of his own. But his choice of Stanton didn’t make sense. Sure, Stanton was black, part
of the community. But he was a lightweight at trial. And his chances of beating Kent King were just about zero.

Brownie was in Warden Todd Frenkel’s office at the detention center. His handcuffs had been removed, and there were no guards
present. This was a private meeting between two old friends.

“I’m so sorry about this, Brownie,” Frenkel said. He was a paunchy, acne-scarred civil servant, shocked that Brownie was his
new resident.

“Not your fault,” Brownie replied, visibly shaken but calm.

“I’ve got to make some decisions about your… living arrangements.” As a charged felon on no-bond status, he was supposed to
be kept under heavy security. “I suggest first off that we keep you in protective segregation.”

Brownie shook his head. “No.”

Frenkel frowned. “No? We got a hundred twenty-two inmates in here now, and by my count
you
turned the key on at least fifty of them. You’re not good cellmate material.”

“I don’t want segregation,” Brownie said. “I can handle it.”

The warden sighed. “A shiv could come from
any
direction, at
any
time.”

“I know.”

“And we can’t protect you fully if you’re in general population.”

“I understand.”

“So why don’t you let us keep you safe?”

“No,” Brownie repeated. He had the right to decline secure lockup; that was one of the few choices a prisoner could make.

“You’re sure about this?” the warden asked.

“Absolutely.” If word got out that Brownie was in segregation, he’d be in even more danger. The animals would sense fear and
attack for sure. No, Brownie had to go into the jungle and take a stand. And he had better access to information there. The
thug network was plugged in to a lot of county secrets, and Brownie still needed answers.

“All right then,” Frenkel said reluctantly, “you’re going to have to sign a release that we offered you segregation and you
declined it.”

“I’ll do that.”

“Is there
anything
else I can do to help you get through this?”

Brownie leaned forward in his chair. “There is one thing.…”

“Say the word.”

“I might need a secure phone, computer, and fax machine from time to time. Think you can arrange it?”

“Done.”

“Thanks, Todd,” Brownie said.

“If you need
anything
, Brownie, anything at all, let me know.”

“I will.”

“And for God’s sake, watch your back.”

Gardner leaned across Tanya Peters’s desk. “I don’t care if he is in conference, I want to talk to him
now
.”

Kent King’s dark-haired secretary tried to smile. She had been with King for three years and was stronger than her hundred-pound
body implied. “He’s not to be disturbed.”

“We’ll see about that.” Gardner flanked her desk and banged on the inner office door. “Get out here, King!”

Tanya tried to block him, but Gardner’s eyes stopped her. “If you don’t leave, I’ll call the police,” she warned.

Gardner turned. “Go ahead. They’ll be
most
helpful after last night.”

Tanya suddenly realized that was a bad idea. The cops had no love for King as it was, and with a fellow officer under arrest
they’d probably be hostile. “I’ll talk to him,” she said, lifting her phone. “It’s Mr. Lawson,” she whispered. Then she hung
up.

Gardner stood by the door with his arms crossed. In a moment, King emerged. “What’s going on?” he asked nonchalantly.

“Step outside,” Gardner said.

King nodded and opened the door to the hallway.

Gardner followed, and they walked outside to the parking lot. It was morning, and Gardner’s breath showed in the chilly air.

“Let me have it,” King said.

“You made a big mistake last night.”

King hitched up his collar. “Pardon?”

“Brownie didn’t kill anyone, and you know it. The case is
bullshit
.”

“You’re wrong.”

“How can you go from appointment to indictment in
two days
? That’s ridiculous. It takes time to put together a case.”

“You ought to know,” King retorted.

“What do you mean by that?”

“You were taking all the time in the world now, weren’t you? That’s why they appointed
me
. They wanted to get something done. You didn’t have the guts to do it, but
I did
.”

Gardner gritted his teeth. This was playing like a thousand other confrontations with King. “Brownie did
not
kill Ruth. It was someone else.”

King put his hands in his pockets. “Have you seen the evidence?”

“Some of it.”

“Your
friend
is guilty. Two days or two years in the investigation would not make a difference. I have motive, opportunity, means, eye
witnesses, fingerprints…. It’s a dead lock.”

“There’s an explanation for those things. He was working on the case, trying to solve it.
He
didn’t do it. The real killer is still out there.”

King laughed. “How does it feel?”

“What?”

“How often did I tell you ‘My client is innocent’? And how often did you throw the evidence in my face?”

“Is
that
what this is about? Revenge on me?”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” King said. “I couldn’t
care less
about you and your pathetic little life. This is about
law
. As a defense attorney, I defended. And now as a prosecutor, I’m going to prosecute. It’s as simple as that. You have anything
else
on your alleged mind this morning? I have
state
business to attend to.”

Gardner looked him in the eye. “You have to set bond.”

King feigned alarm. “I do?”

“Goddamnit, Kent. You cannot keep Brownie in with the criminals he’s locked up!”

“Brownie’s a big boy. He can take care of himself.”

Gardner put his finger on King’s chest. “Set a bond, Kent.”

King squared his shoulders. “Or what? You have no jurisdiction anymore.”

The realization that he could do nothing was beginning to seep through, and Gardner dropped his hand.

“I suggest you back off until the case is over,” King said. “I’ve got it under control.” He turned toward his office.

“Kent.” Gardner had finally regained his voice.

King stopped.

“If anything happens to Brownie in the lockup—
anything
—I don’t care who’s on what side or who’s got what title: it’s between you and me.”

King turned and smiled. “That’s not a nice thing for a
fellow prosecutor
to say.”

“I mean it,” Gardner continued. “You want to get personal, I’ll get personal.”

“You’re deluded,” King said. “Go home.” Then he disappeared into the building.

“What did I tell you about the equation?” Paulie Brown asked as he handed a book to the youngster seated on his couch. The
boy’s name was Joey Sill, and he was Paulie’s “little brother” in the outreach project.