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“Like you ain’t part of it?”
“You have a violent history. Dusting a rich white boy wouldn’t be inconsistent with some of your past behavior.”
My statement was simplistic. In truth, I wanted him to contradict it.
“You talking about that drive-by on the dude who said he was gonna cook me in a pot?”
“He put up a kite on you, then got capped watering his grass.”
“He got capped ’cause he stepped on some dago’s dope so many times there wasn’t nothing left of it but baby laxative.”
“You burned down a police officer’s house.”
Monarch twisted a crick out of his neck, his chains clinking, his manacled hands rolling into balls at his sides. “There use to be a cop ’round here liked to run black girls in for soliciting, even when they wasn’t soliciting. Except they didn’t end up down at the jail. They ended up copping his stick in the back of his cruiser. So a fire broke out under his house one night. Too bad he wasn’t home.”
“Where’d you get the cut-down that was in your car?”
“You seen it?”
“Yeah, in an evidence locker.”
“Then you know more about it than I do, ’cause I ain’t never seen it and I ain’t got no idea how it got in my car. You a smart cop. The FBI was already jamming me. Why would I leave a sawed-off shotgun in my car?”
“You called Tony’s house and tried to extort money from him. Your prints were on the pay phone where the call was made. You set up a meet with Tony. Your voice has been identified.”
“I ain’t called nobody. I’m t’rew here. Tell the screw I’m ready to go eat. Y’all got a nigger in the box. Y’all ain’t gonna look for nobody else.”
“That’s a lie.”
“Where you been, man? I’m sitting here in chains. I ain’t did nothing. Whoever smoked that white boy is laughing at y’all.” He stood up from his chair. “On the gate!” he yelled, his love handles bunching over his waist chain.
IN THE MORNING I got lucky. Wally buzzed my phone and told me a kid by the name of J. J. Castille was in the waiting room and wanted to see me.
“Send him up,” I said.
“He’s got a package in his hand. He wouldn’t tell me what it was.”
“I know him. He’s okay.”
“He’s on his way.”
A moment later J.J. tapped on my glass and I motioned him inside. “You want to go fishing?” I asked.
“I got something here I thought you might want. I don’t know if it’s important or not. But I don’t feel good about a lot of things that have happened at the house. Anyway, here it is.” He set a rectangular object on my desk. It was wrapped in brown paper and taped down at the edges.
I told him to have a chair, then began unwrapping the paper.
“I work for room and board at the house, and I’m supposed to clean up all the junk and loose trash people leave behind at the end of each semester,” he said. “So I found a boxful of junk down in the basement, and that videocassette was in there. I started to throw it out, then I thought maybe somebody tossed it in there by mistake. So I stuck it in the VCR and watched a little bit of it. I’m probably wasting your time.”
“Let’s take a look,” I said.
We went downstairs to a small room that contained a computer, a fax and Xerox machine, and a television set that we used to view surveillance videos. I shoved J.J.’s cassette into the VCR. A collage of meaningless scenes appeared on the screen—a crowd of revelers at a sports bar, Mardi Gras floats, a kid mooning from an upstairs window, a wedding party emerging from a church, the bride in white, her face glowing with happiness.
I pushed the fast-forward button.
“Stop! Right there, back it up,” J.J. said.
I eased back to footage of a touch football game, then eased forward and froze the frame on a lawn party in progress. The St. Augustine grass was in full sun, live oaks and towering slash pines and a blue sky backdropping the dancers. From the lack of shadows, I guessed the video was shot close to noon.
