WHEN THE MUSIC DIES (MUSIC CITY MURDERS Book 1) (7 page)

“Wow, I guess that fits. Anyhow, Twan told me he heard that D-man took a couple of AJ wannabes—”

“Who’s D-man?” Norm interrupted.

“Brown, D-man Brown. Real tough son of a bitch. Anyhow, Antoine said he took these two wannabes with him to scare the pizza boy. I’d say he wanted to impress these two with his macho and his nine millimeter.”

“Let’s curtail the editorials,” Mike said, “and move ahead with the facts as you heard them, okay?”

“Sure. Okay—Twan said the pizza boy had X’d one of the AJ’s tags, and he’d been braggin’ about it. Said he was some kinda ex-gangster from San Diego before he moved to the musical city a few months back. He was dissin’ the local colors like they wasn’t real gangsters. I guess he missed the Southern Cal street action and wanted to stir up some shit here. Might have been a bad idea, huh?”

“Ya think? Facts, Lando,” Norm shouted.

“What else did your brother tell you?” Mike asked in a milder tone.

“That’s about it. He said they didn’t take D’s car ‘cause D was afraid that drivin’ into South Nashville, somebody might put some holes in his Navigator.”

“Brown drives a Lincoln Navigator?”

“Yeah, that’s what Twan said. I don’t know what color or anything. They was in a Cap Classic at Sandstone. Belonged to one of the young dogs, I guess.”

“Well, if you’ve started guessing again—I guess—we must be finished,” said Norm.

“Thanks, Lando,” Mike said. “We appreciate your help.”

“No pra, gents.” He stood and puffed out his chest. “Anything I can do to help out the PD.”

“Right. We should have more stand-up citizens like you, Lando,” Norm kidded.

“Yo, uh—who do I need to see—to, uh—get my, uh—you know?” Reese said with both hands actively assisting with his request for money.

“I don’t know, Detective Neal, do you know who he needs to uh, see to get his uh, you know?” Norm mocked Reese.

“I’m not sure, Detective Wallace,” Mike said. “Isn’t Detective Jack Hogue in charge of the Confidential Informant Compensation Program?”

“Why, yes. I think you’re right,” Norm said, turning to Reese. “Lando, see Detective Hogue for your payment.”

“Thanks, gents. Later on.”

Lando strutted from the room while Norm worked to suppress his laughter. “Detective Neal, I’m surprised at you.”

Mike smiled.

Norm made his usual bold entrance into Interview Room Two with Mike trailing. The older Davis brother was sitting slumped in the straight-back chair, arms folded, chin in his chest and both legs bouncing. He sat up in the metal chair.

“Troy Davis? My name is Detective Neal. This is Detective Wallace. Can we get you anything, a soda, some coffee?

“No, sir. The officer gave me one already.”

“We’re here so you can tell us what happened at the Sandstone Apartments last night,” Mike said. “You don’t mind if I record our conversation do you?” He placed a small recorder on the table.

“Uh, yes, sir. I mean no, sir. I don’t mind. I’m gonna tell you the truth.” Troy Davis looked down at his folded arms.

“This is Detective Mike Neal, Detective Norm Wallace, and Mr. Troy Davis. It is April 14th.

“Telling us the truth is a very good idea, Troy,” Norm said.

“Relax and tell us what you remember,” Mike said.

“Have you talked to my brother yet?” Troy asked.

“Not yet,” Mike said.

“Is he okay?” Troy asked. “I don’t think he’s handlin’ this very well.”

“I’m sure he’s fine,” Mike said. “He’s in another room like this down the hall. The officers are keeping an eye on him like they did with you.”

“Okay.” Troy took in a large breath. “Me and my brother Robert— we live with our Mama, our Grandmama, and our Auntie. We got two sisters too. We’re the only men in the house. Lately, I guess for the last few weeks, we been hangin’ with some dudes on the street. Listenin’ to music, smokin’, drinkin’, and all that. We kinda got wrapped up with ‘em. You know, they was strong like real men. Like the men on TV, know what I’m sayin’?”

“How old are you, Troy?” Mike asked.

“Nineteen.”

“How old is Robert?”

“Seventeen.”

“Go ahead.” Mike looked at Norm and then back at Davis.

“They asked us if we wanted to hook up with them. You know, join their gang. You ever heard of the Arm of Justice?”

“Yeah, we’ve heard of them,” Norm said.

“Last night, D-man came to me. He’s one of the AJs. He asked if we wanted to ride with him to scare a boy who X’d one of their tags. He said all he was gonna do was scare the shit out of him so he wouldn’t even think about doin’ it again. I thought sure, why not, we’re three on one. We’re gonna scare a dude. You know? It could be fun.” Troy took his eyes from Mike, looked down and hesitated, appearing to realize how that sounded from this perspective.

“Go on,” Mike said.

“D told me to drive. He said he was low on gas. So, we got in my car.”

“What kind of car do you have?” Mike said.

“It’s a blue 1977 Caprice Classic. It’s really my Mama’s car.”

“Did she know you were in it last night?”

“Yes, sir. But, she thought we was surfin’ the mall at Hickory Hollow.”

“Okay, continue,” Mike said.

“We got in my—my Mama’s car and D told me to go to Pauletti’s, over on Nolensville Road. When we got there, he told me to turn around and park on the side street and turn the engine off. He said the dude we was lookin’ for delivered for Pauletti’s Pizza. So, we waited. Pretty soon the dude drove into the back lot. He parked his car and went inside. D told me to start the car and be ready. He came back out in a few minutes with some pizzas. We followed him.”

Reliving the night was making Davis even more nervous. He was sweating and his breathing rate had escalated.

“You okay?” Mike asked.

He nodded and kept looking down. “I screwed up, didn’t I?”

“Well,” Mike said, “you have an opportunity to try and at least repair it a little.”

He looked at Mike. “I didn’t shoot nobody, and my brother Robert didn’t either. We went along for the ride. D lied to us. He said he was gonna scare the dude, but he robbed him and then he shot him—right there. He shot him three times.” Davis shook his head. “It was bad.”

“What kind of gun was it?” Norm asked.

Davis wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. “A nine millimeter. That’s what he said it was.”

“Then what happened after Brown shot the boy?”

“We ran back to the car, and I drove outta there as fast as I could. I took D back to his car, and then me and Robert went home. I didn’t sleep all night. I could hear Robert cryin’. He had his face in his pillow, but I didn’t tell him I knew. He’s so scared. I gotta get him outta this. He didn’t do nothin’. This is my fault. He wouldn’t been in it if it wasn’t for me. I don’t care about me, but I gotta get him outta this. Mama’s gonna die when she hears, and she’s gonna kill me first. What can I do?” He held his head in his hands.

“You’re doing it, Troy,” Norm said. “The one who did the shooting is the one who should go down for it. Your testimony will be necessary in order to put him away.”

“No problem. I need you to promise me Robert goes free. He ain’t done nothin’.”

“We can’t make a lot of promises,” Mike said, “but the more you and Robert help the District Attorney, the better your chances.”

“What else do I need to do?”

“Do you know a lawyer?” Mike asked.

“No, sir.”

“Listen,” Mike said, “we’re going to have to place you under arrest—”

“What?”

“Hang on. Listen to me.”

Troy’s lips tightened along with his forehead, and he battled back his emotions as best he could.

“We don’t have any choice, but to place you under arrest,” Mike said. “We’ll get a public defender down here for you and Robert before you leave this room.”

“You gonna arrest Robert, too?

Mike nodded.

“Does my Mama have to know?”

“I’m afraid so,” Mike said. “I think they may have already called her. Robert is still a minor, you know.”

“Oh, shit,” Troy said, dropping his arms and then his head onto the table.

“Troy, sit tight and we’ll be back in a little while,” Norm said. “If you need anything, just knock on the door.”

Outside the door, Mike turned to Norm and said, “He’s telling the truth.”

“Yeah, I think so too.”

“Marty, you got Demetrius Brown yet?” Norm asked.

“Yeah, he’s in number three.”

“Keep an eye on this kid for us?” Mike pointed toward room number two. “He’s upset.”

“Sure,” Marty said.

Mike opened the door to room number three to find Demetrius Renaldo Brown in his best bad-ass gangster pose. He was slumped down in the straight-backed metal chair with his arms pulled back inside the arm holes of his dark green XXL hoody. He had a low-brow tight-lipped screw you gaze on his face, and he avoided acknowledging the detectives’ arrival with as much as a glance.

Brown’s file had cautioned Mike he was no virgin in the interview room. His gang attachment guaranteed he’d been coached on how to deal with the police. Rookies talk; veterans listen. Find out what the cops know and what they think they know. Gather information, then exercise your rights and tell it all to your lawyer.

Mike clicked on his recorder and laid it on the table. “Demetrius Brown? I’m Detective Neal. This is Detective Wallace. I see from your sheet you’ve been through this exercise quite a few times,” Mike said flipping through Brown’s file. “So, I’ll assume you have no problem with us recording our discussion today?”

Brown offered no response. Mike took it as his approval.

Mike read the Miranda card. He was confident they had Brown with the Davis brothers’ testimonies and those from the neighbors, but he was concerned that if he didn’t read it, they could lose him.

“Do you understand your rights?”

There was no response.

“Mr. Brown?” Mike asked again.

Norm stepped forward from his position at the door. He jerked the hood off Brown’s head and kicked the chair with his 15EE causing it and Brown to rotate facing him. Brown tried to stand as he extended his arms back through the sleeves, but Norm forced him back down into the chair. Norm leaned down, hovering over him. In his deepest voice, Norm said, “Answer the detective.”

“Yeah,” Brown said staring up at Norm with gritted teeth and clinched fists.

Norm gave Brown a self-confident smile and back-stepped to the door.

“Would you like to tell us your side of what happened last night at the Sandstone Apartments?” Mike asked.

Brown kept staring at the table. He said nothing.

“Would you like to tell us anything at all?” Mike waited.

There was no answer. Mike and Norm had seen this game played countless times before.

“You know, Brown?” Mike said. “You don’t look stupid.”

Brown lifted his eyes briefly.

“Anyone,” Mike paused, “who would shoot another man in front of this many witnesses has got to be disturbed—or high. Wouldn’t you think? Were you high?”

Brown appeared to be ignoring Mike.

“I mean—if I was going to cap some dude, I would plan it out so nobody saw it happening, but him. Right? He’s not gonna tell anybody. So, what made you pop a kid three times with a nine millimeter in front of an apartment building full of people who were watching you do it through their living room windows like it was going down on HBO?”

Brown glanced up at Mike. The idea there could be so many witnesses seemed to arouse a modicum of concern.

“Yeah, at least a dozen witnesses,” Mike said. “You gotta admit it, Brown, this was not your best move.”

“You know, Brown,” Norm spoke up, “the funniest thing—well, you won’t think so, but the funniest thing to me is we don’t even need the testimony of those brave, observant South Nashville citizens.”

Brown’s eyes shot up at Norm without raising his head.

“No, we don’t,” Norm said. “You see, we have something even better.” Norm smiled. “That’s right. We have your young companions; your new
homeys,
both rolling over on your ass. Isn’t that amazing? You not only whack a nineteen-year-old kid for some pizza pocket change, but you take along two impressionable teenage witnesses to watch you do it from ten feet away. What the hell were you thinking?

“Your young gangster wannabes have just arranged a nice deal with the Davidson County District Attorney,” Norm lied, “that will allow them both no more than probation in exchange for their testimony as eye witnesses to the first degree murder of Anthony Sanchez. You are screwed, Brown. This is a classic dunker.”

Brown’s chin jutted forward and his breathing became exaggerated. He said nothing.

“So, Brown,” Mike said, “as you can see, with this many witnesses we don’t have to have a confession. But, if you were feeling remorseful, and would like to motivate the District Attorney to reduce your inevitable and lengthy sentence, we’d be glad to accept your confession. Besides, I believe like your young friends said, you may have gone to Sandstone to scare the Sanchez boy and then emotions caused things to get crazy. It happens. If you were to own up to what we already know took place, there is a good chance the D.A. would take that into consideration. What do you say, Brown? Just get it off your chest? Lessen your sentence?” Mike nodded, attempting to solicit a positive response.

Brown’s mouth opened.

Mike felt optimistic.

“I want to see my lawyer,” Brown said without looking up at either detective.

“What? Damn. Really? After all that, and you still aren’t gonna confess? If this goes to trial, your ass will be parked in Old Sparky,” Norm said, referring to Tennessee’s electric chair.

“Okay,” Mike said. “Your lawyer it is. But, he’s not going to be very happy with the case you’re handing him.”

“I know the D.A., Brown. He’s hungry on this one,” Norm said. “If you don’t own up, you’re going to make some muscle-bound butt buddy at Riverbend a very happy man.”

Mike stood. He looked briefly at Brown, hoping to add some pressure and elicit a change in his decision. He turned, opened the door and stepped into the hallway. Before following Mike through the door, Norm turned back and stared at Brown.