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Bird of Paradise: A Diana Siddal and Mustapha Alawi Mystery Short Page 4
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sir; you murdered her.”
Wilson said, “As a convicted felon, Mr. Rodriguez isn't much of a credible witness.”
Baxter said, “Yeah. Who’s the jury going to believe: me or a guy who's been to jail twice?”
Diana said, “If it were just a question of your word against his? You might have a point.”
Mustapha slapped a file folder down on the table. “It ain't charity if you're threatening to send him back to jail if he doesn't clean up after all your messes.”
Diana said, “Mr. Rodriguez made a couple of dumb mistakes when he was fresh out of high school. And nobody's going to argue that he's the sharpest knife in the drawer. But he's kept his nose clean for over a decade. I'll save you the lecture about how our society makes it nearly impossible for someone who's done their time and stays out of trouble to get anywhere in life.”
“And we’ll get straight to the fun part,” said Mustapha. “You see, Mr. Rodriguez kept evidence, and took pictures.” He flipped open the file folder. “He waited till you went to puke again to take this one. There’s Jasmine, and there's your foyer, Mr. Baxter.”
Wilson motioned for the picture, looked at it. “It's not probative. Mr. Rodriguez is a violent felon: he's much more likely to have killed Ms. Stark that my client.”
“Sure, you could argue that. But then there's the actual evidence.” He tapped on the photo. “You told him to get rid of the hatchet, too; but he wrapped in plastic and kept it in his freezer. For a guy who's not so smart, that was pretty clever. It's got the victim's blood on the blade and Mr. Baxter's sweat on the handle.”
“DNA will take a couple of weeks,” said Diana. “But the preliminary tests all match you, Mr. Baxter; and more importantly, they don't match Mr. Rodriguez. You can confer with your attorney for an hour or so, but after that, you're going to be arrested for extortion and murder. It's up to you whether you confess and save yourself about a decade in jail, or roll the dice at trial.”
Mustapha stood up. “And think about how much those trial lawyers are going to cost you.”
-----
Robert was running through some variations on an old Miles Davis tune, just letting the flow of the notes echo through the metal grillwork at the top of the Lenox MARTA station, mingle up there, make little baby notes of their own. The porkpie hat he’d inverted in front of him was mostly full of change and singles; the church food pantry was going to be thrilled Robert had picked a warm spring Saturday to busk near the ritzy malls. Still, a $10 bill was something to notice. He kept the rhythm as his gaze followed up the woman’s arm, but then faltered entirely when he recognized her face.
He sprang to his feet, and immediately wished he’d done it more slowly. His knees weren’t getting any younger. He hugged her tightly. “I thought you weren’t getting in til tonight.”
“Got to the airport early. If I upgraded, I got a non-stop.”
“What a treat! How’s my favorite daughter?”
“Dad! I’m your only daughter.”
“Doesn’t make it false. Here, let me pack all this up and we can go have coffee.”
“And what’s this all about? Clarinet? Subway station? Where are your spreadsheets?”
“I needed a reason to live, you want to know the truth.” He noticed that Liz had a few grey hairs at her temples. Circle of life.
“Mom said you were doing flash mobs? I'm surprised she even knew what that meant. And you got arrested, and some girl got murdered?”
“And a guy I knew stole two million dollars from the murderer. Well, they're pretty sure about that. Apparently he really did vanish.”
“Wow. Dad, I can't believe you got involved with so much drama.”
“Oh, this wasn’t real drama. This was greed and foolishness. Real drama—well, I'll save you the lecture. I'm going to have to air out your bedroom.”
“Well, that's not going to be necessary for long. I got promoted, Dad.”
“That's fantastic!”
“But, if I take the promotion, they want to put me in charge of the Atlanta office.”
“Praise the Lord!”
“Don't pass the ketchup just yet. You should… probably know that I got married, last year.”
“What!? That's wonderful. Why… why didn’t you tell us?”
“Um… well, because I married a woman.”
“Of course you did. I just wish you had told us so we could come to the wedding.”
“But… Mom,”
“She figured it out long before I did. Back when you were in middle school. She's been worried for years that you weren't going to meet the right girl and settle down.” They stepped onto the escalator and arose into the spring sunlight. “Your mother's not nearly as conservative as you think. Just tell us one of you wants to have kids and all will be forgiven.”
###
About the Author
Julian Cage is a deeply cynical man who trolls the crime news of metro Atlanta. From these he creates fast-paced, character-driven mystery-thriller fiction. These novels and short stories center around Detective Diana Siddal and Inspector Mustapha Alawi, senior Homicide investigators for the Atlanta Police Department. You can reach Julian at [email protected].
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Wilson said, “As a convicted felon, Mr. Rodriguez isn't much of a credible witness.”
Baxter said, “Yeah. Who’s the jury going to believe: me or a guy who's been to jail twice?”
Diana said, “If it were just a question of your word against his? You might have a point.”
Mustapha slapped a file folder down on the table. “It ain't charity if you're threatening to send him back to jail if he doesn't clean up after all your messes.”
Diana said, “Mr. Rodriguez made a couple of dumb mistakes when he was fresh out of high school. And nobody's going to argue that he's the sharpest knife in the drawer. But he's kept his nose clean for over a decade. I'll save you the lecture about how our society makes it nearly impossible for someone who's done their time and stays out of trouble to get anywhere in life.”
“And we’ll get straight to the fun part,” said Mustapha. “You see, Mr. Rodriguez kept evidence, and took pictures.” He flipped open the file folder. “He waited till you went to puke again to take this one. There’s Jasmine, and there's your foyer, Mr. Baxter.”
Wilson motioned for the picture, looked at it. “It's not probative. Mr. Rodriguez is a violent felon: he's much more likely to have killed Ms. Stark that my client.”
“Sure, you could argue that. But then there's the actual evidence.” He tapped on the photo. “You told him to get rid of the hatchet, too; but he wrapped in plastic and kept it in his freezer. For a guy who's not so smart, that was pretty clever. It's got the victim's blood on the blade and Mr. Baxter's sweat on the handle.”
“DNA will take a couple of weeks,” said Diana. “But the preliminary tests all match you, Mr. Baxter; and more importantly, they don't match Mr. Rodriguez. You can confer with your attorney for an hour or so, but after that, you're going to be arrested for extortion and murder. It's up to you whether you confess and save yourself about a decade in jail, or roll the dice at trial.”
Mustapha stood up. “And think about how much those trial lawyers are going to cost you.”
-----
Robert was running through some variations on an old Miles Davis tune, just letting the flow of the notes echo through the metal grillwork at the top of the Lenox MARTA station, mingle up there, make little baby notes of their own. The porkpie hat he’d inverted in front of him was mostly full of change and singles; the church food pantry was going to be thrilled Robert had picked a warm spring Saturday to busk near the ritzy malls. Still, a $10 bill was something to notice. He kept the rhythm as his gaze followed up the woman’s arm, but then faltered entirely when he recognized her face.
He sprang to his feet, and immediately wished he’d done it more slowly. His knees weren’t getting any younger. He hugged her tightly. “I thought you weren’t getting in til tonight.”
“Got to the airport early. If I upgraded, I got a non-stop.”
“What a treat! How’s my favorite daughter?”
“Dad! I’m your only daughter.”
“Doesn’t make it false. Here, let me pack all this up and we can go have coffee.”
“And what’s this all about? Clarinet? Subway station? Where are your spreadsheets?”
“I needed a reason to live, you want to know the truth.” He noticed that Liz had a few grey hairs at her temples. Circle of life.
“Mom said you were doing flash mobs? I'm surprised she even knew what that meant. And you got arrested, and some girl got murdered?”
“And a guy I knew stole two million dollars from the murderer. Well, they're pretty sure about that. Apparently he really did vanish.”
“Wow. Dad, I can't believe you got involved with so much drama.”
“Oh, this wasn’t real drama. This was greed and foolishness. Real drama—well, I'll save you the lecture. I'm going to have to air out your bedroom.”
“Well, that's not going to be necessary for long. I got promoted, Dad.”
“That's fantastic!”
“But, if I take the promotion, they want to put me in charge of the Atlanta office.”
“Praise the Lord!”
“Don't pass the ketchup just yet. You should… probably know that I got married, last year.”
“What!? That's wonderful. Why… why didn’t you tell us?”
“Um… well, because I married a woman.”
“Of course you did. I just wish you had told us so we could come to the wedding.”
“But… Mom,”
“She figured it out long before I did. Back when you were in middle school. She's been worried for years that you weren't going to meet the right girl and settle down.” They stepped onto the escalator and arose into the spring sunlight. “Your mother's not nearly as conservative as you think. Just tell us one of you wants to have kids and all will be forgiven.”
###
About the Author
Julian Cage is a deeply cynical man who trolls the crime news of metro Atlanta. From these he creates fast-paced, character-driven mystery-thriller fiction. These novels and short stories center around Detective Diana Siddal and Inspector Mustapha Alawi, senior Homicide investigators for the Atlanta Police Department. You can reach Julian at [email protected].
Thank you for reading books on Archive.BookFrom.Net
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Bird of Paradise: A Diana Siddal and Mustapha Alawi Mystery Short