Murder Rap: The Untold Story of the Biggie Smalls and Tupac Shakur Murder Investigations (29 page)

Agreeable and intelligent, Wright would help to lock in some of the final pieces of the puzzle Daryn and I were trying to assemble. We met with him in our offices on May 5 and immediately got to the point: what could he tell us about the murder of Biggie Smalls? While insisting that he had only heard the same rumors and speculation as everyone else, he did recall an unusual incident that had occurred shortly before the Wallace killing. Suge’s brother-in-law Norris Anderson had contacted Wright about the possibility of quickly obtaining $25,000 for use in obtaining a secured credit card in the name of Theresa Swann. Norris, Wright told us, was unwilling to withdraw funds for that purpose from the Death Row accounts for fear of raising the suspicions of federal authorities who were, even then, looking into the label’s financial transactions.

Wright suggested instead that Norris contact Sharitha Knight, Suge’s wife. Since her husband’s incarceration, Sharitha had built a successful concert promotion business under the banner of Knightlife Entertainment. She had recently returned home from managing a nationwide tour for Snoop Dogg, the superstar rapper who at that time was still on Death Row Records having just released
Tha Doggfather
, his last album for the label. Tours usually generated lots of cash, Reggie told Norris. Perhaps Sharitha could come up with the money on such short notice. As to whether Anderson ever acted on his advice, Reggie couldn’t say.

“What did Theresa need all the money for?” I pressed Reggie.

He shrugged. “You’d have to ask her that,” he replied laconically.

“Reggie,” Daryn interjected, “was Theresa involved in the murder?”

As Wright leaned back in his chair, his expression and body language seemed to be sending a message in sharp contrast to his guarded answer.

“I don’t know. Like I said, ask her.”

We had every intention of doing just that, but before we let Reggie go we had one more question. Flipping through pages of reports containing information we had gathered on Suge’s associates, Daryn commented on how seldom Poochie’s name appeared in accounts of meetings and parties attended by Death Row principals.

“Why is that, Reggie?” he asked.

Wright again fixed us with an appraising stare. He knew what we wanted to know and we knew that he knew. But it wasn’t going to go much further than that. “I can tell you this,” Reggie said at last. “Suge and Poochie. That was different from everyone else. Poochie didn’t hang out much. He stayed in the background. And when he did show up, it wasn’t for partying. He and Suge would go off together by themselves and talk. Those two had secrets between them.” He paused before adding, “And then there was the Impala.”

“The Impala?’ I echoed, my heart skipping a beat.

“Yeah,” Reggie replied. “Poochie did some favor for Suge and Suge took him down to George Chevrolet out there on Lakewood Boulevard. Told him to pick out any car on the lot. Poochie chose an Impala.”

“Was it black?” I asked, trying to keep my voice steady.

Reggie shrugged again. “I don’t know,” he replied. “All I know is that Suge liked it so much he bought one for himself. I guess you could say they were tight like that.”

Daryn and I sat together in the empty office for a long while after Reggie had gone. We were both thinking the same thing, a process of elimination that had brought us to a conclusion that we couldn’t confirm but that still seemed to us all-but inescapable.

“It was Poochie, wasn’t it?” Daryn ventured at last.

I nodded: Roderick Reed’s scrawled prison letters; Reggie Wright, Jr.’s enigmatic but strangely interconnected stories. None of that was particularly conclusive, not even particularly convincing. And by the same token, Poochie was just one of many hardcore gangbangers who had proven themselves capable of committing the crime. But Poochie’s special relationship with Suge Knight was a compelling consideration, along with the fact that he had seemingly done just this kind of work for Suge in the past. Did that mean he was the one we’d been after all this time? Maybe we were just jumping to conclusions based on mere hints and vague suggestions. Maybe we had talked ourselves into believing we had really found the shooter.

But there we were in spite of ourselves, grappling to make sense of what we somehow suspected was the truth. A lot has been made of the special instincts required to be a cop, the celebrated “gut feeling” that operates in the realm of guesswork and conjecture. And it’s true that there’s often a voice in the back of your head whispering to you that things either don’t add up or that they do. But police work is about more than playing your hunches. It’s about certainty, empirical evidence, and a lot of times whatever certainty you may feel in your gut doesn’t come with the facts to back it up. Many a case has been won and lost in the space between what you’re sure of and what you can verify.

We felt sure, suddenly and completely, that Wardell “Poochie” Fouse had shot Christopher Wallace from the driver’s seat of a black Chevrolet Impala outside the Petersen Automotive Museum on March 9, 1997. What we needed to do now was to prove it.

There was a lot riding on the faith we had in our own conclusions. If we were sure — really sure — then we were obliged to act, put some clout behind our conviction or call it a day. Any instinct is only as good as your willingness to follow it through. It all came down to Theresa Swann and what she might tell us at the upcoming meeting. We both had our doubts that, when it came down to it, she would be willing to come clean and tell us everything she knew. Like I said, people don’t change and both Daryn and I had the sneaking suspicion Theresa would balk. She and Suge simply had too much history together, too many entangling emotional ties. We needed to find a way to make it all right for her to tell us what she might know.

CHAPTER
24

The Ruse

A
S THE DAYS TICKED DOWN
to our fateful encounter with Theresa, we became convinced that the only way to gain her full cooperation would be to try and figure out up front what she was going to tell us. We felt certain that she’d be considerably more comfortable confirming information that we already had then having to come up with it herself.

Of course, such a strategy carried with it an enormous risk. If we prompted her with our own assumptions, there would be nothing to stop her from simply agreeing with us in the hopes that we would walk away satisfied. But it wasn’t going to be that simple. If she only told us what she thought we wanted to hear, we’d find out soon enough and be back, knocking at her door. Our hope was that we had provided enough incentive for her to tell us the truth. We had reasons, some substantive and some mere supposition, to believe that Poochie was the shooter. If Theresa confirmed that suspicion, we would at least have an avenue to move forward with the investigation. If not, we’d be out of options. We held our breath and gave it a shot.

We devised a ruse, as simple as it was risky. It involved putting together a sheaf of documents to present to Theresa, beginning with a driver’s license Poochie had taken out under the alias of Darnell Bolton, but with a photo Swann would know to be him. We’d use it strictly for purposes of identification, making sure Theresa had no doubt about the individual we were interested in. Our next step was to create a statement we titled “
The Declaration of Darnell Bolton
,” still using the name that appeared on the driver’s license. This “
Declaration”
was nothing more or less than a fictitious confession put into Poochie’s mouth. It consisted of fourteen numbered statements, duly witnessed and notarized by invented individuals and then signed by me, in a passable copy of Poochie’s handwriting.

I, Darnell Bolton
, it began,
do hereby declare and state:

1. I am a member of a criminal street gang known as the Mob Piru.
   
2. I am associated with members of Death Row Records, many of whom are also members of the Mob Piru gang.
   
3. I am associated with the founder and CEO of Death Row Records, namely Marion “Suge” Knight.
   
4. In the winter of 1996 and the spring of 1997, I met with Knight on various occasions to discuss Knight’s desire and intention to murder Christopher “Biggie Smalls” Wallace. I understood the motive for the murder was retaliation for the murder of Tupac Shakur during the fall of 1996. Knight believed Bad Boy Records CEO Sean “Puffy” Combs had solicited the murder of Shakur, utilizing Southside Crip gang members to accomplish the killing.
   
5. I agreed to carry out the retaliation murder of Wallace in exchange for an unspecified amount of currency.
   

It was here that we got even more creative. In order to make the document appear authentic we had blacked out certain portions, as if we were trying to protect sensitive information and identities, while at the same time making sure we implicated Theresa. The next item read:

1. I conspired with other associates of Knight’s to carry out the murder, including
   (redacted), (redacted), (redacted)
   and Theresa Swann
   .
   

Aside from looking great on the page, the deletions effectively disguised the fact that there were key elements to the case that we didn’t yet know or were just plain making up. We continued to sprinkle blackouts through the rest of the bogus declaration.

1. On March 9, 1997, I arrived at the Petersen Automotive Museum and received information from
   (redacted)
   regarding the location of Wallace.
   
2. I responded to that location driving a
   (redacted)
   in color.
   
3. I was the sole occupant of the vehicle.
   
4. I was attired in a
   (redacted)
   which I discarded after the incident.
   
5. (redacted)
   carrying Wallace and began shooting toward him.
   
6. I left the location and discarded the gun at
   (redacted).
   I never saw the gun again.
   
7. I received
   (redacted)
   from Knight for my participation in the murder. I received such
   (redacted)
   female confidante Theresa Swann. I also received
   (redacted)
   from
   (redacted).
   
8. I swear the foregoing is true and correct under penalty of perjury.
   

We dated it 4/1/98. April Fool’s Day.

Once we had completed the dead man’s declaration, we also fabricated a letter from the fictional legal firm of Manuel Quan and Phillip Wiggins. Addressed to Chief Bratton, under the heading “
Re: Murder Investigation of Christopher Wallace Case No. 9707-19963
,” the correspondence was full of bewildering legalese designed to impress Theresa with its sheer officialness. “It is our full intention,” we wrote at one point, “to relinquish the written and oral declaration of the decedent for purposes of providing exculpatory evidence to be utilized and evaluated by the Court should charges in the case be brought against those believed by us to be innocent.” What it meant was anybody’s guess, but it looked completely legit on the fake letterhead we had invented for the occasion.

The subterfuge was complete, but whether or not it would work was a question that kept me up nights before our May 28 interview with Theresa. Maybe she’d buy the whole thing and confirm our theory that Poochie had killed Biggie Smalls. Or maybe she’d spot our scheme a mile off, throw our faked papers and our unsubstantiated conclusions back in our faces and laugh out loud. We could possibly outsmart her. Or we’d just possibly outsmart ourselves. Either way, there was no turning back. We were committed to seeing our plan through, whatever the outcome.

It was 1:30 in the afternoon when Daryn, Jeff Bennett and I finally sat down at a conference table in a spacious meeting room adjacent to the task force offices. I had chosen the locale with care: the large and roomy space was intended to calm Theresa’s nerves while at the same time projecting all the power and authority that came with being on our own turf. But it was immediately clear that whatever combination of comfort and clout we presented, Theresa was already on the ragged edge. As she took a seat across from us, she immediately began to cry again, nodding mutely when we asked her to confirm for the record that the interview was voluntary.

She pulled herself together when we questioned her about legal representation, telling us that she had, in fact, consulted a lawyer, adding with a well-rehearsed line that she declined to be represented by counsel at this time. She was, it seemed, going to take her chances by facing us down on her own.