The Case of Laurence Witherspoon (2)

Chapter 2 of a 5 Chapter Short Story

Halima was ringing the Witherspoon's doorbell repeatedly, but I was oblivious to the noise. The words that had just been uttered over the radio were still ringing loudly in my head.

"Laurence Witherspoon is pleading guilty to the murder of Samantha Johnson".

What could this mean? If Laurence really was guilty, the method for which he committed the murder was absurd. Frankly, there would have been a multitude of ways for him to kill her without attracting this much attention. And if he wanted the attention (a trait of some exhibitionist type murderers), how did he know she would be on the Brooklyn Bridge, possibly about to commit suicide? And if he was not guilty, what reason could he have for pleading so? Is it a cover up?

The questions continued to spin through my mind until my thoughts were interrupted by the door finally opening. An elderly man emerged, towering over Halima, his cheeks flushed and his black hair ruffled.

"The f**k do you think you're doing ringing my doorbell like some mad person?!" he spat at Halima. I quickly stepped up to diffuse the situation; Halima had a hot temper, and her eyes were already flashing dangerously.

"Good morning Mr. Witherspoon, I presume?" He nodded, eyes still locked on Halima, as I continued on, "We apologize for our intrusion, but it is urgent. My name is Detective Charles Franklin, NYPD, and this is my partner, Halima Mason. We are in charge of the investigation into the death of Samantha Johnson, of which your son is being accused. We hoped to ask you and your wife a few questions?"

"Carey's not feeling too well. This whole thing has got her out of sorts, so I have her getting a lot of bed rest. What kind of answers do you think we can give you? And why the hell am I hearing that my son is pleading guilty? Is this another media stunt for publicity?" he asked.

"That is what we are trying to figure out, Mr. Witherspoon", said Halima, "may we come in?" 

"The name's Joel, girl" he said, stepping aside to let us in, his eyes never once leaving Halima. I was used to her drawing stares, but this was one of disgust, rather than lust. A few glances around the living room were enough to explain why: a Confederate flag hung on one of the walls, as did a framed picture of the famous General Robert E. Lee. The ever observant Halima had took all of this in while I was still looking around, and was now fixing me a pointed stare of anger. I shook my head and raised my finger to my lips: say nothing. Jack Witherspoon settled into an armchair with a cup of coffee at the corner of the living room, and was watching us. His eyes narrowed as Halima began to speak,

"What was Laurence like growing up?"

Joel took a sip of his coffee before he answered.

"He was a quiet one. He didn't care for sports or outdoor activities, just locked himself in his room most of the time with books until it was time to eat. Carey wanted to coddle him and send him to a private high school because she thought he would get bullied. Typical woman behaviour, but I refused to let her baby him. Public high school toughened him up, didn't it? Look at him now: NYU Valedictorian!" he finished proudly, spilling a bit of his coffee in his exuberance. As he grumbled off to the kitchen to get a rag, I quickly whispered to Halima,

"Do exactly as I tell you and do not react. Understand?"

She nodded, confused but trusting. Joel came back and cleaned up the coffee spill, still mumbling to himself about Laurence's achievements. 

"When was the last time you saw Laurence?" Halima continued.

"He was over for dinner two weeks ago. Any other useless questions you wanna ask?" Joel responded aggressively.

"Halima, why don't you run down to that convenience store we saw on our way here and grab me a sandwich? The usual turkey with cheese", I said quickly, before Halima could open her mouth to retort to Joel. She looked at me furiously, but did not protest and headed to the door. I sat down next to Joel, and whispered, but loud enough for it to carry across the whole room,

"NYPD's becoming a nightmare. Look at the partner I get assigned: silly black woman, only good for errands."

Halima's hand froze on the doorknob for a moment, then she let herself out. Joel Witherspoon laughed out loud, then said,

"Disgusting stuff. All the cops I see these days are negros, and it is them committing most of the damn crimes! Who knows if the police is to be trusted any more?"

"The department thinks that we have to have... what did they call it, racial diversity? The blokes and I drew straws and I ended up with the short one, so I got the chick. Lucky me, huh?"

We both laughed, and Joel seemed to be in better spirits. I continued asking him questions about Laurence: his hobbies, likes and dislikes, past girlfriends, and the like, but nothing seemed to yield anything out of the ordinary, until Joel said,

"Laurence still has a bit of that weird little kid in him. Every time he comes over, he still locks himself in that old room. Says he never gets tired of reading his old books."

This could be useful. I had built up a mild rapport with Joel by targeting Halima, but I doubt that would have been enough to convince him to let me see Laurence's old room without a warrant. I needed to reel him in.

"Look Joel, I'll be honest with ya. Your kid seems tied up in something weird. You know he's innocent, I know he's innocent, but for some reason he's pleading guilty. You know there was a case a few years back where a bunch of black gang members threatened a common factory worker into pleading guilty for their crime by holding his daughter hostage. Maybe it could be something similar to that. Would it be okay if I looked around Laurence's room? There might be something in there to shed some light on the case".

I knew I had him at the mention of the fabricated black gang member case, and in moments, he had led me up the stairs to Laurence's room. Entering, I saw that Joel had not been joking. The room was littered with books of all genres, neatly organized on their shelves. I searched under the bed, in the wardrobe, and tapped around carefully for any hidden compartments, but nothing came up. It seemed to be just a normal room. I then focused on the books, and was stunned to realize that most, no, all of them were Mob related fiction/non-fiction novels. Remembering Tim's Mob suspicions, I picked up one of the books, and it turned to a page with a bookmark. Grabbing the bookmark, I noticed that it was in fact a picture. A picture of a pretty girl with brown hair, blue eyes, white teeth shining from a killer smile. I was looking at a younger Samantha Johnson. And beside her, with his arm around her waist, was Laurence Witherspoon.

---

It was noon, and I had excused myself from Joel Witherspoon's company, stating that I found nothing in Laurence's room, and I would surely keep in touch. Halima and I were heading to meet Tim Jennings, my old college room mate, and current member of the FBI. She was maintaining a cool demeanour, but I could tell she was still angry from the method I had used to gain Joel's trust, and I was sure she would give me a mouthful on it later. Thankfully she was currently distracted by the picture of Laurence and Samantha that I had found.

"So the media has it wrong, Laurence did know Samantha before the murder. It looks like they were even dating. Which just either complicates things further, or clears them up a bit. If they were broken up, he could have killed her out of spite. But if they were still together, why would he? And either way, there is still the peculiar events surrounding the murder..." Halima trailed off, lost in thought. I had already considered those questions within moments of seeing the picture, but disregarded them in favour of the bigger question: what did all of this have to do with the Mob? Was Laurence really involved with them, and if so, was he perhaps ordered to kill Samantha? Did she have debts to the some Mob members? Or was this just a calculated, seemingly random murder to fuel media fanfare while the Mob executed some other plan while the Department was distracted?

Tim was waiting for us at a Dunkin' Donuts on 46th Street, and we joined him at his table. Still the same excited, jovial man he was back at St. John's where he had minored in International Relations, Tim greeted the both of us, then immediately started grilling Halima on aspects of the Hausa culture to which Halima belonged, as well as on her views on the current state of Nigerian politics, which she was happy to answer, always pleased when someone took interest in Nigerian affairs. I listened to them talk about bribery and corruption for a few minutes, before clearing my throat and steering the conversation towards the matter at hand. Halima gave Tim the picture I had found. He grinned, then said, "Nice picture, but I have a better one".

Reaching into his briefcase, he pulled out a folder, from which he shuffled through a series of pictures. I recognized some of the men contained in them: Tony Valentino and Ricardo Monta, two known members of the Mob. Then he finally found the one he was looking for, and showed it to us.

"It was taken using a hidden camera by an agent that has managed to infiltrate a Mob dinner party", Tim explained. "Take a look at the couple you see sitting next to Tony Valentino. Look familiar?"

It was Laurence Witherspoon and Samantha Johnson, but now she was back with her blonde hair and yellowed teeth. She was leaning on Valentino's shoulder and laughing with him, while Laurence sat looking stone faced. How had Samantha Johnson turned from the pretty girlfriend of Laurence Witherspoon, to a Mob member's mistress?

Tom was talking again. "I figure Laurence really loved Samantha. But she got involved with the fast, rough life, and fell for Valentino. So he kills her out of jealousy."

Halima seemed sold, but I was not buying it.

"You really think it's that simple Tim? I can't help but feel there is something deeper at work here."

"Occam's Razor, Charles. The simplest solution is usually the best one, and that turns out to be applicable a lot in this field. But hey, that's just my opinion. The FBI is not involved in this case, I just thought you should know about this angle."

"Thanks Tim, I appreciate it", I said. Halima and I left the Dunkin' Donuts still discussing what we had found.

"I don't really have any qualms with Tim's theory. Sure, the coincidence of him coming across her at the bridge is far fetched, but I have seen stranger things" Halima said.

"But why would he do it right as she was about to do the job herself?" I countered, then sighed as I opened the car door. "We are wasting time debating this, Lima. I figure it is about time we ask the man himself. Call the office, and tell them we are coming to question Laurence Witherspoon".

The moment she had finished placing the call, the sound of gunfire had people running in all directions. Bullets pierced the windows of our car as Halima reacted with lightening speed, grabbing me and pulling me to the ground with her, as bullets whizzed through where I had just been standing. The gunfire ceased, and police officers materialized, chasing after an unseen gunman. Sarah's words from that morning flashed through my head; her reminder that I was not as young and fast as I once was seemed to be a lot truer than I would have admitted.  We picked ourselves off the ground, and settled into the car.

"You saved my life, Lima", I said in a low voice.

"I know", she said grinning, "quite an accomplishment for a silly black woman that is only good for errands, wouldn't you say?"

I groaned, and we set off towards the precinct. There was no doubt in my mind that the gunfire was a message from the Mob. Since it was apparent that Samantha was involved with them, and through her, Laurence, they must have been keeping watch on Laurence's parents in case the police visited. But why? What information were they afraid of being released? As we drove on, the one thought I settled on was that Laurence Witherspoon better have some answers.