Raising Cain (45 page)

“That’s where you’re wrong. I’ve got a witness who puts you in possession of the cellular phone that made the nine-one-one
call the night Daddy died. And I’ve got you in possession of the pension money.” He took the check out of Katanga’s hand.
“But here’s the best part. He had help on the outside.”

“No,” Taylor sputtered.

Brownie took a copy of Anders’s picture from his pocket. “I have evidence. Mr. Jenkins here had help from an old friend, a
man known as Thomas Ruth.”

“What?” Gardner exclaimed.

“That’s right! Taylor, a.k.a. Jenkins, and Ruth, a.k.a. Graves, were in the same unit in Vietnam.” He handed Gardner the photo.
“They went on after the war to run cons together, and this was the best con of all, a double-edged hustle. Taylor worked the
dark side of the street, and Ruth worked the light. And they split the proceeds. It was a symbiotic relationship from hell,
and they damned near pulled it off.”

“Shut up!” Taylor hissed.

Brownie placed his foot on the reverend’s neck. “You shut up!” He then turned to his amazed audience. “Ruth was a psycho,
and Taylor supplied him with pills. But Taylor got greedy. As I read it, no one was supposed to get hurt because Ruth had
this aversion to violence. Taylor, on the other hand, couldn’t care less. He ‘snaked’ Daddy and killed him for the pension.
Ruth got blamed and hounded, and went off the edge. And when I got in trouble, Taylor hired Willie Stanton. He musta figured
that would eliminate
me
, too.”

Up to now, Katanga had remained silent. Without warning, he grabbed Brownie’s gun.

“Hey!” Brownie yelled. Althea’s eyes went wide, and Gardner and Jennifer jumped back.

“You!” Katanga shrieked. He pointed the gun at Taylor. “You suckered me! Told me to let my brother go down! Told me to shut
my mouth.”

“Give me the gun,” Brownie said. “Come on, bro.”

“You killed my daddy!” He clicked the hammer.

Taylor’s face went slack with terror. “Brother,” he begged.

“Don’t ‘brother’ me!” Katanga leaned close. “You’re no brother!” His hand was trembling as much as his voice.

“Give me the gun,” Brownie urged.

“You’re gonna die,” Katanga said, pressing the gun to Taylor’s face.

“Please,” Taylor pleaded. Tears rolled down his cheeks. “Please.”

The reverend closed his eyes.

“Look at him,” Brownie said. “Look at his skin.”

Katanga hesitated.

“What color is it?”

“Black,” Katanga muttered.

“What color was Ruth’s?”

“White.”

“So what color is greed?” Brownie was standing over Taylor now.

“Green.”

“Right,” Brownie replied. “It was just about money.”

Katanga’s hand dropped, and Brownie took the gun. “He’ll be punished, don’t worry about that. No reason for you to mess yourself
up doin’ it. We all know what happens when you use self-help.”

Taylor lay back on the floor and sobbed while the others collected themselves.

Brownie addressed them. “You had to
see
what caused the trouble. I couldn’t just tell you.”

“I’ll call the police station,” Jennifer said, “and ask them to pick up the prisoner.”

Gardner shook Brownie’s hand. “God, Brownie. That was incredible. Ruth and Taylor, working a scam together. I’d never have
guessed.”

“No one would have. That’s what made the damn thing work. Between the two of them they sure screwed things up around here.”

“But you smoked them out. You never gave up.”

“Neither did you.”

They looked at Katanga and Althea comforting each other in the corner. “There’s nothing like real family,” Gardner said.

Brownie turned. “You are right about that.” He smiled and punched Gardner’s arm. “
Brother
.”

“Tired?” Gardner asked.

Jennifer looked over her shoulder from the bench of the makeup table. “A little.” Her hair glinted auburn highlights in the
glow of the lamp.

Gardner picked up her silver brush. “May I?”

“I’d like that.”

Gardner stroked her hair until it bristled with static electricity. “It’s happy tonight,” he said.

Down the hall, Granville slept. He was in his old room, in the mansion on the hill. Carole had finally moved out and acquired
a place in town.

Many months had passed since the Ruth case, and the world had changed. Brownie was now a lieutenant, chief of detectives.
His wounds healed, he was back chasing felons and visiting his brother’s outreach program in D.C. Reverend Taylor was convicted
of the murder of Joseph Brown and sentenced to life in prison. Frank Davis, terminated from the police force, was now a security
guard.

Kent King quietly folded his practice, moved to Baltimore, and entered partnership with Lin Song. He was tired of the county,
he said. The city was more exciting.

“Ready for bed, Mrs. State’s Attorney?” Gardner inquired. With King out of the way, Jennifer had taken the prosecutor’s job.

“Ready, Professor.”

Gardner now taught a legal tactics course at Western Maryland Law School, instructing future advocates on the nuances of trial
law. He also dabbled in criminal defense on the side, easing his way into that frame of reference. He still had a lot of prosecutor
left in him, and the transition wasn’t easy.

Gardner gave Jennifer’s hair another sensuous stroke and put down the brush. “You know it’s all or nothing with me, Jen. I
can’t go halfway.”

She eyed him in the mirror. “I know.”

“Are you sure you can handle it?”

“I’m going to try.”

“Do you think we’ll make it?”

Jennifer turned and hugged his waist. “We’ll
make
it,” she whispered. Then she reached over and switched off the light.

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