48
DUNCAN WAS finally getting around to looking into Candace’s tip about the bogus evictions at Jacob Riis involving the private security guards. He hadn’t made it a priority because it was a double-edged sword: while it would potentially call into question Driscoll’s honesty if he could establish that the security guys as a group were involved in framing people to set them up for eviction, Fowler’s lying to get Rafael evicted gave his client more of a motive to shoot the guy. He thought of just tracking down the girl LaShonda whom Candace had quoted in her article, but he decided instead to start from scratch—there was no point in chasing after what Candace already knew.
Duncan searched the online court database, sifting through all the cases in which the Housing Authority was a plaintiff to find those involving people at Jacob Riis, a tedious task that consumed a few hours. Once he had a list of defendants, he looked for phone numbers, finding listed numbers for only about half.
The first couple of people he tried didn’t answer; the next one hung up on him. Then he reached a woman named Betty Stevenson. Duncan explained that he represented Rafael Nazario and was calling regarding evictions at the project.
“My son already got a lawyer,” Betty said. “For all the good it done.”
“I’m not looking to represent your son,” Duncan said. “What I’m looking into is whether the security guards at Jacob Riis are setting people up with drug busts in order to get evictions. The city is claiming that drug possession is the reason they’re evicting your family, right?”
“On account of my oldest, Dwayne.”
“Were the private security guards involved in Dwayne’s arrest?”
“Why are you asking about this?” Betty asked suspiciously.
“I represent Rafael Nazario, who lives in Riis. He’s been accused of shooting that security guard a while back. Do you know the Nazarios? Rafael or his grandmother, Dolores?”
“The police just been hassling my boy about that,” Betty said. “He don’t know nothing about it.”
Duncan was doubly surprised: first that the police would be questioning this Dwayne about the murder, and second that they’d done it recently. Clearly the cops were up to something that Duncan knew nothing about. “The police were talking to your son about the shooting of Sean Fowler?” Duncan said carefully, wanting to make sure there was no misunderstanding here, while also trying to make sure he didn’t spook Betty.
“I don’t know the Spanish boy, but the police want my son to go up in court and lie about seeing him. They took him the other day, saying how they would help keep us from being thrown out of here if he’d say he saw that other boy running away from shooting the security guard.”
“I’m sorry, ma’am, but I’m not sure I understand,” Duncan said. “The police have tried to get your son to be a witness against Rafael in the shooting?”
“That’s what I just got done telling you,” Betty said impatiently.
Duncan’s mind was racing with what this meant. “What is it they wanted him to say he saw?”
“The Spanish kid running away after he shot that man.”
Duncan sucked in his breath. “Is Dwayne home?”
“Last thing my boy needs is to be mixed up in some kind of murder.”
“I understand that, but my client is also a young man who lives in Jacob Riis, and he’s looking at spending the rest of his life in jail for something he didn’t do. I need to talk to your son.”
Betty finally relented, saying that Dwayne wasn’t home but that if Duncan came by that evening she would try to have her son waiting. So around eight o’clock Duncan took a cab down to Avenue D. Night was falling, and despite himself Duncan felt nervous as he approached Jacob Riis. He was used to housing projects; they were stitched into the city’s fabric. But getting used to them really just meant learning to ignore them. A key to successfully living in New York was developing the ability to tune out the depressing aspects of the city.
Duncan found himself fighting against his own instinctive resistance as he headed directly into the project, looking for the Stevensons’ building. He had no doubt that anyone glancing his way pegged him as an outsider. He caught a hard look or two from people gathered on the benches along the project’s walkways, but nobody said anything to him.
In the lobby of the building was a bored-looking security guard behind bulletproof glass, who asked Duncan for ID before calling up to the Stevenson apartment. It was clear as soon as Duncan walked into the apartment that Dwayne Stevenson didn’t want to talk to him. He was sitting stiffly on the ragged living room couch, looking like he was serving detention.
Duncan sat down in a chair across from Dwayne. Betty stood behind him, not joining them but not leaving the room either. The apartment was roughly the same size and condition as the Nazarios’ apartment, though it lacked the decorative flair that at least somewhat brightened his clients’ home. Dwayne was stocky, hard-looking: Duncan would’ve been intimidated by him if their paths had crossed on the street. He introduced himself, explained why he was there, the kid dead-eyed the whole time. “The private security guards have been faking drug busts as a way to be able to throw people out of here, so they don’t have to move them back when they rebuild the project. When you got arrested, did they have anything to do with it?”
Dwayne shook his head. “It was the housing police that took me in. I don’t know shit about the security guards.”
“Do you know Rafael Nazario?”
“I know who he is. You’re helping him out on the murder beef?”
“That’s right. Your mother said the police are trying to get you to be a witness against Rafael.”
“They want me to say I saw your boy running away from where he dropped that guy. They brought me in the night of the shooting. I told them I ain’t see nobody running except the five-oh, but that wasn’t good enough. Then the other day they come and got me again, saying that if I lie for them they’d help us with getting thrown out of here.”
“What was it they wanted you to lie about, exactly?”
“Me and my boy Lamar was on a bench outside our project. These two po-po come running up, start asking us did we see somebody go by. We say we didn’t see nothing like that. They took us in, kept us all night, trying to get us to say we saw Rafael. I told ’em I’m not no snitch, and besides that I never seen him go past that night.”
“Would you have definitely seen Rafael if he had run by?”
Dwayne clearly thought this was a stupid question. “Not going to miss somebody booking past us,” he said.
“Got it,” Duncan said, getting to his feet. He figured he’d gotten what he’d come for, at least for now. “Thanks for speaking to me, Dwayne. This has been very helpful.”
Dwayne didn’t seem to like being told he’d been helpful. “But I didn’t see nothing,” he said.
“Exactly,” Duncan said.