Chapter 17
JD and I walked back to the parking lot after turning Luther’s place upside down.
You’d have to be a fool to keep a murder weapon lying around.
Luther may have been a little odd, but he was no dummy.
We didn’t find a pistol on his boat. Lots of places to hide one, though, and it could have been sitting at the bottom of the marina.
“You think that guy snapped and killed them both?” JD asked.
“He’s the most likely suspect we’ve got so far.”
“Maybe he thought Evelyn was in cahoots with the devil. That guy is certifiable, alright.”
Despite my growing interest in Luther as a suspect, JD and I hit the clubs on Oyster Avenue that evening, looking for Clarence.
Denise had searched the system for his aliases “Little C, ‘Lil C” and came up with nothing. Apparently, Clarence didn’t have a prior, which was miraculous in his line of work.
Bumper didn't really get happening ‘till around 11:00 PM. We showed up at midnight looking for the dirtbag. Little C wasn't a hard guy to find in a crowd. At 7’1”, with the body of an offensive lineman, he took up quite a bit of space.
Techno music pumped through massive speakers, and bodies bounced in rhythm to the beat on the dance floor.
The club was full of leggy beauties in skimpy cocktail dresses and spike-heels shoes.
It was the kind of place where the beat never stopped pumping.
More than half the crowd was usually on some type of illicit substance.
You could see it in their eyes, pupils black as coal.
Clubs like this always had a few dealers handing out tabs of ecstasy, which was usually just cheap methamphetamine masquerading as the party drug.
Half these kids didn’t know what they were taking and didn't care.
The big man leaned against the wall by a massive speaker, nodding his head in rhythm to the beat.
We watched him for a moment.
People came up to him, exchanged a few words, shook hands, then moved on. The exchange was slick. Little C had a good racket, doing hundreds of deals throughout the course of the night. Nobody was going to give him any grief.
Clarence did not match the appearance of the shooter. He wasn’t our guy. But he could have had someone do it for him.
“How do you want to handle this?” JD muttered.
I shrugged and just walked up to the big fellow. “I need two tabs of Molly.”
Clarence looked me up and down. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Either he had made us for cops, or he didn’t sell to strangers.
“Dustin said you could hook us up.”
“Dustin? That bitch owes me money. You tell that little prick, I see him again, I’m gonna pop a cap in his ass.”
“How are you gonna get paid then?”
Clarence hadn’t really considered it. “Watching him die might just be worth it.”
“Tell us how you really feel,” JD said.
Maybe Clarence knew the shooter shot the wrong guy.
Clarence looked at Jack, and his eyes narrowed. “You. I know you.“
Jack smiled. “Lead singer of Wild Fury.”
Clarence shook his head. “No. I don’t listen to that dogshit.”
Jack frowned.
I steered things back on track. “You know Dustin is an easy guy to find. He’s working as the Easter bunny at the mall,“ I said, testing his knowledge.
“Yeah, I know where he worked.”
“Did you send somebody up there to collect?”
His brow knitted again. “Why are you asking so many questions? You 5-O?”
I flashed my badge.
Clarence’s eyes rounded at the sight. He froze for a moment, then took off running. He barreled through the crowd like a water buffalo, knocking over revelers like bowling pins. The guy was surprisingly quick.
JD and I gave chase.
Clarance raced across the club and burst out the emergency exit.
I followed him into the back alley with Jack right behind me.
Clarence sprinted as fast as he could, his legs driving his massive frame forward. He looked over his shoulder at me with wide eyes to see my progress.
I was gaining on the bastard.
My chest heaved for breath, and my sneakers slapped against the concrete. The dull thump of music from the club spilled into the alleyway.
I was only a few paces behind. Clarence wasn't an endurance athlete. It didn't take long for his initial burst of speed to fade. Still, he was a big guy and would be hard to bring down. As I drew close, I kicked his foot, causing him to trip over himself.
Work smarter, not harder.
The big guy crashed to the ground like a rhino.
I pounced on top of him and slapped the cuffs around his wrists.
"Man, why you sweating me? I didn't do nothing!”
"Got any needles in your pockets?”
"No. I got nothing in my pockets.”
He was full of shit.
I snapped on a pair of nitrile gloves and dug my fingers into his pocket with caution. I pulled out several single-serving bags of dope and tossed them onto the concrete beside his face. "What's that?"
"Aspirin," he deadpanned.
"We'll see about that. You're under arrest for possession of narcotics. You have the right to remain silent…"
I pulled his phone from his pocket and used facial recognition to unlock it. I’m sure it was a burner.
“You can’t do that. I got a right to privacy.”
The courts had ruled that using facial recognition to open a phone wasn’t a 4th Amendment violation. Always use a passcode instead when doing illegal shit.
I tabbed through the recent calls and texts. “Well, look at what we have here,” I said with glee. “I thought you didn’t know Evelyn.”
“I don’t know anybody named Evelyn.”
“Why is her number in your phone? You sell dope to her?”
“I don’t sell dope.”
“Right,” I said, thick with sarcasm.
Jack called for a patrol unit. The squad car arrived a few moments later, and we stuffed Clarence into the backseat. He was taken to the station, processed, and printed.
We hustled back to the Porsche, drove to the station, filled out after-action reports, then paid him a visit in the tiny room.
The pale fluorescent lights buzzed overhead. Clarence sat at the table, cuffed at the wrists, looking deflated.
JD and I took a seat across the table from him. "Who's Evelyn Ellington?"
His face wrinkled with confusion. "Who?"
I showed him a picture on my phone.
Clarence shook his head. "Never seen her before.”
"You sure about that?”
“I don't know. I could have bumped into her at one of the clubs. I'm a very social person,” he said in an innocent voice.
“Why is her number in your phone?”
He said nothing.
"Who did you send up to the mall to kill Dustin?”
His face wrinkled. "I didn't send nobody.”
"Somebody tried to kill him. They shot a kid named Cody Griggs instead."
"I don't know nothing about that.”
"You just told me earlier you wanted to put a bullet in Dustin.”
"Figure of speech. I think he's a real nice guy.”
"Right now, you’re looking at a simple drug possession charge. Conspiracy to commit murder is a big one. You give up the name of the guy that you sent to kill Dustin, maybe you can get a reduced sentence.”
"Man, you're smoking crack. I didn't kill nobody. I didn't hire nobody to kill nobody. I didn't tell nobody to kill nobody. I'm a pacifist."
I scoffed.
"I want a lawyer. Now!”
That was the end of the interview.
JD and I pushed away from the table, stood up, and made our way to the door. The guard buzzed us out, and we stepped into the corridor.
Jack said, "I don't think he's our guy. I think we’re going in the wrong direction on this thing.”
I couldn't disagree with him. But at least Clarence was off the street for the moment. He wouldn’t be selling drugs to anybody for at least 24 hours. Once he got arraigned and made bail, he’d probably be back in the clubs, business as usual.
We drove back to the Avventura and called it a night. After taking Buddy for a walk, I settled in for bed.
In the morning, I got the strangest phone call.