57
“Has anyone seen Marshall?” one of the detectives in the row shouted. “I’ve got a phone call for him! The person at the end of the line says it’s important!”
“I’ll take it,” Samuels said. “Marshall went out to get some air.”
“Okay, line two!” the detective shouted.
Samuels picked up the phone and tapped into line two. “Hello, this is Detective Samuels.”
“I told the other cop I wanted to speak to Detective Marshall. If you aren’t Detective Marshall, I don’t want to speak to you.”
“Ma’am…”
“My name is Miss Ellen Pomeroy.”
“Miss Pomeroy, Detective Marshall is my partner, and he’s out of the office at the moment. Anything you want to say to him you can say to me.”
“I don’t like this one bit…but if you’re the only somebody I can talk to, I guess you’re it. Are you sure you’re Detective Marshall’s partner?”
“Ma’am, I’d swear on the Bible if I wasn’t a religious man, but you can rest assured that I will take good notes and get the message to Detective Marshall.”
“Good. You have a pen and pencil? You better be ready to write. See, the feller that they found dead near some railroad tracks in Durham…”
“Yes, what about him?” Samuels asked with renewed interest.
“I’m getting to it. Don’t push me. Anyways, I’ve seen that feller over at the condos where I live. My wonderful grandson who’s on one of those NBA basketball teams put me up in this nice place, and I ain’t got nothing to do but watch the soaps and look out my window.”
“Uh-huh,” Samuels said under his breath, hoping Miss Pomeroy would hurry and get on with her story.
“Anyways, that feller came around here a lot last week, but on yesterday, there was a big fight between him and the girl he sees over here.”
“Miss Pomeroy, are you sure it’s the same man? Was it Victor Christianson?”
“Sho I’m sure. They had his picture covering the whole television screen. I was mad because I was trying to solve the puzzle on Wheel of Fortune. I had the answer, but them rude TV announcers cut into my program and started talkin’ about the man that got murdered. Anyways, getting back to the story, I hear what I think is gunshots and a few minutes later the man comes staggering down the stairs holding onto his arm, shouting obscenities at the girlfriend. I mean to tell you, he had a filthy mouth, but hers weren’t no better.”
“Do you know the name of the woman you call…his girlfriend?”
“Yes, I do. She’s really nice, though. Helped me a time or two with my groceries. Took them all the way into my condo and put them up for me, too. I hate to squeal on her.”
“But you already have, Miss Pomeroy, by calling in with the information about the man who was killed. We need to speak with this woman; she may be a lead in our case.”
“Well, I hope she isn’t in too much trouble because that Christianson feller was most definitely alive when he left her place; although she kept shouting that she should’ve killed him like he killed her. Now, I didn’t understand it because as I said, both of them were good and alive. Anyways, her name is Sheila Atkins.”
“Oh, Ms. Sheila Atkins,” Samuels said, wishing he hadn’t been so demonstrative upon recognizing Sheila’s name.
“Did I say something wrong?” Miss Pomeroy asked.
“No, Miss Pomeroy, you have been most helpful. I will need your telephone number in the event Detective Marshall needs to follow-up and talk with you further. Would that be okay?”
“Oh, yes. My number is 555-1520.”
Miss Pomeroy had warmed to Samuels and figured he’d ask his next question. “Miss Pomeroy, if we need for you to testify in a court of law to what you just told me, would you be willing to do that?”
“Testify…in court…like they do on Perry Mason? Why sho, honey. Just tell me what day to be there. Give me enough time, though, so I can get my grandson to buy me a new dress. I want to look real pretty when the judge tells me to ‘Answer the question, Miss Pomeroy.’”
“Again, you’ve been very helpful, Miss Pomeroy. We will call you if we need to speak with you further. Have a good day.”
“You too, young feller. Don’t leave out anything when you tell Detective Marshall.”
“I’ll make sure I tell him the story exactly as you told it to me,” Samuels said with a grin on his face.”
“All right. I’m through. I’ve done my civic duty for today.”
“Goodbye, Miss Pomeroy.”
Samuels set the phone down, put his feet up on his desk, and reflected on the phone call from Miss Pomeroy. It certainly could be a lead in the case, although Christianson was very much alive at the time of the incident Miss Pomeroy spoke about. But it might certainly be a key in the Afrika Bailey shooting. “Uhm,” Samuels hummed to himself.
“Uhm…what’s that all about?” Marshall asked, coming up behind Samuels. He placed his jacket on the back of his chair and sat down. Samuels remained cool, kept his feet on top of his desk until Marshall stared him down, and then removed them.
“Got an interesting call a moment ago. And you won’t believe what about.”
“Shoot. Give me the four-one-one,” Marshall said.
Samuels gave Marshall the low down just as Miss Pomeroy had told it to him. Marshall’s eyebrows shot up to his forehead when Samuels got to the part about Sheila and Christianson having a fight at her condo and that gunshots were heard.
“Get your coat. We’re going to the campus to interview the lovely Ms. Sheila Atkins. I’m anxious to see how much flirting she’s going to do this time.”
Samuels laughed. “She was a looker.”
“She ain’t the kind of woman that’s gonna look at a white boy; especially you. Even if she did, you wouldn’t get to first base. I can tell Ms. Sheila Atkins the future Ms. Sheila Billops is a feisty one. Back in the day, we’d call her a brick house with nothing but fire and desire.”
“How did you get that welt on your face, Marshall?” Samuels began to laugh again.
“Shut the hell up, Samuels,” Marshall billowed. “It’s none of your business.”
Before Samuels could shoot off another word, Detective Chad Smith bounced into the corridor where Marshall and Samuels stood.
“What is it, Smith?” Marshall asked.
“Ballistics ID’d the prints on the gun found near Christianson’s body.”
“Well, don’t just stand there; tell us who they belong to,” Samuels pushed.
Smith’s nostrils flared and he gave Samuels a don’t work my nerve today look. “There may have been several people who handled the gun. Christianson’s prints were definitely on it. Ballistics was able to get an ID of a fingertip that didn’t belong to Christianson but did belong to Raphael Bailey.”
“Who’s Raphael Bailey?” Samuels asked.
“The father of the kid…the cheerleader that got shot,” Marshall offered. “Smith said earlier that the Bailey woman picked the gun up on the day of the murder. Could be…she showed it to her husband, which would explain his fingerprint on the gun but it doesn’t explain how Victor Christianson’s fingerprints got on it.”
“Yeah, his prints were all over the gun like he had a good grip on it,” Smith continued. “Only thing, the fingerprints were smudged by something—maybe someone was trying to conceal their prints.”
“A third person,” Marshall said. “Thanks, Smith. We’re on our way to question another person of interest who I believe is indirectly linked to this case, and then we’re going to make a visit to see the Baileys.”
“Here’s the address for Mrs. Bailey,” Smith said, handing the paper with the information on it to Marshall. “I’ll keep you posted if anything else comes up.”
“Do that,” Samuels said, getting in the last word.