He was in the passenger seat of a car when the driver pulled a gun and started firing shots in the air near a bus stop by Saint Louis Avenue and Twenty-Second. He was involved in a fight at an Arby’s on Lindell. And then there was, according to the incident summary, a blurry black-and-white security video of him and three friends stomping on and robbing a man at the MetroLink light rail station on Grand.
Once the man was down, Devon had pulled off the victim’s pants and run. They had left the bloodied victim half-naked on the train platform. The pants were found a few blocks away, but the cell phone and wallet that had been in the pants were gone.
A warrant had been issued for Devon’s arrest, but it was still outstanding. Devon disappeared about the time that the warrant and a probation violation had been issued.
I pushed the file aside, took a sip of coffee, and then, through the window, I saw Tanisha walking toward my office.
I told Sammy that I’d be right back, then headed out the door after Tanisha.
She was looking in my office window and knocking on the door by the time I caught up to her. “Tanisha,” I said, then pointed at the locked office door when she turned to me. “Sorry about that. It’s too hot in there to get any work done. Want to come down to the coffee shop?”
She was skeptical. “Did you find my brother?”
“No.” I shook my head. “But we can talk about it.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Later, I dropped Sammy off at home, where my mother and the Judge promised to feed her and tuck her into bed, then got back in my car to go to work.
As the rest of the city emptied out, heading to South County and Saint Charles, I crossed Forty against traffic and drove back over to the Northside. My task was to find Devon Walker’s girlfriends.
This was it. I’d spent almost the entire day working on her brother’s file. I was going to knock on a few doors, talk to these people, and be done with it.
As much as my heart broke for Tanisha Walker and her family, it couldn’t be personal. I was a lawyer, I reminded myself, and I wouldn’t do anybody any good going broke looking for a nasty kid that nobody besides his little sister wanted found.
The streetlights came on as I pulled up to the first address that Tanisha Walker had given me. I got out of my car and looked for signs of life. It was a typical Northside home on one of the few blocks that were mostly intact. There was no extravagance. It didn’t have arches or turrets. There was no grand Queen Anne–style porch wrapping around the front. Instead, it had a concrete stoop.
I walked up to the door and knocked, hearing a television on inside. I waited, then rang the doorbell when nobody came.
I was about to knock again when I heard some movement from behind the door. Then the door cracked open a few inches, still secured by a chain.
It was a heavyset woman, but I couldn’t tell her age. Most of her face remained hidden behind the door. “One question,” she said. Her visible eyeball looked me up and down. “Cop, bill collector, or preacher?”
“None of the above,” I said. “Justin Glass.” I hoped she’d recognize the last name, but she didn’t. “I’m a lawyer. Got an office over on Fourteenth.”
Her suspicion remained, so I told her about my client and her missing brother. “I think he was dating your daughter. At least, that’s what Tanisha told me.”
The woman closed the door in my face. I wondered whether that was the end of the conversation, whether she was going to return to her television show; but then I heard the chain fall away. I had passed the test—at least enough for her to open the door wide, if not to ask me in.
“Kids don’t date no more. Always runnin’. And I ain’t never heard of no Devon Walker, neither.”
“Maybe a photo.” I took one out of my pocket. Tanisha had brought it to our meeting. “He’s the one on the right.”
The woman leaned in, squinting at the photograph. After a few seconds, she nodded. “I seen him around plenty a while ago . . . not lately.” She shook her head. “Didn’t know who he was. Couldn’t tell you where he is.”
“When would you say was the last time you saw him?”
“Don’t know.” She glanced behind her. The commercial had ended and she longed to return to her television. Then she came back at me. “Maybe last winter. Christmastime.” She raised her eyebrows and put her hands on her ample hips. “Anything else?”
I knew from her expression and tone that our time had run out. “Well thank you,” I said. “You know when your daughter’s gonna be back?”
The woman shook her head. “No idea.”
I gave her my card, told her to ask her daughter to call me, and thanked her again for her time.
Walking away, I heard the front door close behind me, followed by the chain.
I had no expectation that her daughter would ever call. I doubted that she would even get the message.
The second girlfriend lived five blocks over from the first. Her house looked the same as the other, except it was lit and hopping. Every light was on. There were cars parked in front, people lingered in the street, and other groups gathered on the corner. Music came from somewhere, and three guys were on the porch smoking weed. More people were inside.
I wondered whether this was a party or just a regular night on the block—or maybe a little bit of both.
The palms of my hands started to sweat. My heart beat faster, and my adrenaline rose the closer I got to the front stoop. I wondered how I should start the conversation, but the boys on the front stoop made that decision for me.
“Fuck you want?” A tall kid with sagging pants and no shirt stood a step above me, looking down like he was ready to pounce. He was lean, with prison muscles—the kind you get when you work out in a cage, not a gym. “Come to arrest us?”
“Nope, not a cop.”
“You look like a cop.”
“Well,” I said, trying to keep it friendly, “I’m a lawyer. Tanisha Walker sent me over here. She’s looking for her big brother.”
“Fuckin’ lawyer drivin’ that sad-ass ride?” The tall kid laughed and pointed at my Honda, and the other thugs on the porch joined in, all smirks and eye rolls. Once upon a time, there was an inherent respect for the older black men in the community, but not here. There wasn’t anybody left to teach it.
“Is BeeBee here?” I thought it best to get to the point. “Tanisha told me that I should talk to BeeBee about her brother Devon.”
“Well she ain’t here.” His words slurred together. “Nobody’s here; ain’t nobody knows nothing about D.” He waved me off. “When D wantacomeback, hecomeback. So get the fuck in your shitty-ass car, negro, and get the fuck outta here.” The tall kid took a step forward, and the others stood. They circled behind in support of whatever he wanted to do.
Getting into my “shitty-ass car” was an excellent idea. “Fine.” As I took my business card out of my wallet, a few more curious people emerged from the house, and others looked out the windows to see what was going on. “If you see BeeBee, just give her this.” I held out the business card, but the tall kid wouldn’t take it. “Please.”