Mama's Boy (3 page)

4

H
arris County Courtroom 101-B was deathly quiet as the jury foreman stood and cleared his throat. As if he knew every eye was perched on him, the salt-and-pepper-haired man slowly spoke.

“On the charge of murder in the first degree, we, the jury, find the defendant, Dwayne Murphy”—he paused for effect—“guilty.”

Dwayne's side of the courtroom erupted in chaos. His elderly mother wailed, while his three baby mamas loudly sobbed and cried about how unfair the verdict was. Forget the fact that Dwayne had tied up and robbed an elderly couple, shooting the poor old man in the head when he tried to escape. As far as the family was concerned, Dwayne deserved a second chance. But Kay wasn't a second-chance kind of chick. That's why she had an impeccable record as a Harris County prosecutor.

“Yes!” Harold, the assistant district attorney sitting next to Kay, muttered. He'd been second chair on this case. And although he had nicknamed Kay “Stone Cold Sally,” he was grateful to secure a conviction.

The judge made his final declarations and as they led Dwayne out in handcuffs, he glared at Kay. He didn't say a word, but his eyes belied his hatred. How in the world was he mad at her when he'd committed a heinous crime?

Kay didn't give Dwayne the satisfaction of letting him bother her. She was used to hate-filled stares. She'd put away enough bad guys that she didn't let any of them faze her.

“Good job, as usual, Mrs. Christiansen,” Dwayne's severely tanned public defender said as he shook her hand. He really hadn't put up much of a fight, but at the last minute he had tried to trot out some witnesses to cast reasonable doubt on the real killer. Truthfully, he acted like he just wanted to get back to whatever beach had torched his skin.

“You know how I do,” Kay replied with a smile.

“Yes, I do,” he replied. “You go for the jugular. That's why you're going to get my vote for mayor.” He lowered his voice. “But don't tell anyone.” He winked before turning and exiting the courtroom.

Kay sat and went over some last-minute paperwork, then headed across the street to her office. She knew that she had some extra oomph in her strut. Winning gave her a high. A sense of power over the bad guys. She was going to miss this part of her job. Putting criminals behind bars had been her sole purpose for the past decade. With a ninety percent conviction rate, Kay was a sought-after prosecutor and had fielded offers from all over the country. But she was happy with her life in Houston. She did let the Democratic National Committee convince her to take that winning record to the city's top spot and that's what she was poised to do next. And even though the election was almost three months away, if the early polls were any indication, she was well on her way.

“Another win for Mrs. Christiansen.”

Kay smiled as her boss, Sam Turner, walked into her office. It wasn't often that the Harris County district attorney himself paid a personal visit to his prosecutors. And yet, here he was.

“Thank you very much, Mr. Turner. Just doing my job,” Kay replied.

“And you do it so well.” Sam was a robust man, with thinning white hair and eyebrows that seemed like they met at the bridge of his nose. He boasted more than thirty years of legal experience, so he was well respected. While Kay didn't agree with some of his ways, he had her ultimate respect.

Sam walked in and headed over to a side wall, which was adorned with commendations, awards, and letters of achievement. He was looking at those things like he hadn't seen them many times. “We sure are going to miss you in this office.”

“Hey, I haven't gone anywhere yet,” Kay replied.

Sam turned to face her. “But you will. I can't believe you're about to become my boss.”

“Let's not put the cart before the horse,” Kay said, popping her briefcase open to remove some files. Lots of people thought she was a shoo-in for the mayor's job, but her competitor, Marty Simon, was a man not to be underestimated.

“I'm just speaking the truth,” Sam said.

“Well, there is still a little thing called an election that has to take place.”

He waved her off. “Yes, I know. You're going to win it hands down, though.”

“I don't know about that. Marty Simon is a pretty viable candidate,” Kay replied. There were two other people running, some
hippie whose only mission was to legalize the use of marijuana and a self-proclaimed civil rights activist who believed all nonblacks were the devil. No one paid either of those two any attention.

“Marty Simon is also a prick and a snot-nosed Texan who thinks he should be handed everything on a silver platter, including the mayoral position.” Sam's contempt was obvious. As someone who worked hard and had pulled himself up through the ranks, Sam had little respect for “privileged fools,” as he called them.

“Well, Marty is definitely some competition,” Kay said.

“You got this. I can't believe you're staying on the job, though, through this whole election. You sure about that?”

“Yes, I'm sure. I love what I do and I'm not mayor yet. And until I win an election, I'll keep prosecuting.”

“And that's why you're my number-one girl.” Sam patted the back of the wingback chair in front of her desk. “Well, I have to go. I just wanted to stop in and tell you good job on that Murphy case. Should get a nice little feature in the paper for that one.”

After decades in an office that was besieged with negative publicity about overturned DNA rape cases, Sam welcomed any positive media coverage.

“Thanks a lot,” Kay replied. “His sentencing is in a few days and I'm sure he'll get life.”

“That's what I'm talking about,” Sam said. “Kudos to you, soon-to-be-mayor Christiansen. You've ensured that the city has one less criminal on the streets.”

Kay smiled. “That's what I do. Make the city a safer place.”

He headed to the door. “And soon you'll be doing that as mayor. You just make sure you remember the little people. And give us big raises.” He winked as he left her office.

5

T
he crinkle of the blinds caused Gloria to turn her head toward the window, where Elton was once again peering out.

“Dag-blasted cops driving by here all day.” He slammed the blinds as if they'd done something to him. “If they're not driving by, they're posted up just sitting for hours. We're lucky Jasper has a small police force or they'd have somebody staked out here twenty-four/seven.”

Elton straightened his tie, a scowl etched across his face. He'd been at that window all night, watching the police watching their house. He paused when he noticed Gloria's velour jogging suit. “Umm, don't you think you need to be getting ready for church?”

Gloria slid her feet into her comfortable nursing shoes that Jamal used to always tease her about. “I'm not going to church and I can't believe you are.”

“Well, that's ludicrous. Where else would I be going?'

She stood from her seat on the sofa. “Elton, our son is missing
and you want me to put on my First Lady face? I don't think so. Jesus is just gonna have to give me a pass today.”

“Don't get flippant with the Lord,” he chastised.

She exhaled a weary sigh. “Elton, you do whatever you need to do.” She walked over and grabbed her car keys off the counter.

“See, this situation has you turning into someone I don't even know,” he snapped.

When she spun around to face him, a mixture of anger, fear, and frustration covered her face. “I'm not like you! I can't pretend everything is fine when it's not. I can't fake the funk in front of our congregation when I don't know where my son is!”

Elton took a deep breath. “Maybe being in the Lord's house is what we need.”

She threw up her hands to let him know she was done talking. “What I need is to find out where Jamal is. I'm going up to the jail to see if Brian or Dix can tell me anything.”

“I told you, when I talked to both of their families last night, they said they don't know anything,” Elton said. He'd spent over an hour on the phone with Dix's grandmother, Helen, a member of their church. She was distraught over his arrest. Gloria had wanted to scream. At least she knew where Dix was.

“Elton, I can't sit around and do nothing,” Gloria said as she headed to the door. “I
won't
sit around and do nothing.” She didn't give him a chance to say anything else.

The drive to the Jasper County Jail had seemed like one of the longest of her life, even though it was only a few minutes from their house.

It felt like a small rodent was gnawing on Gloria's insides as she
made her way into the old rundown building that housed Jasper's county jail.

“May I help you?” a male officer greeted her as she walked up. He looked agitated by her presence.

“Yes, I'd like to see Brian Waters and Dix Jacobson,” Gloria replied.

The officer hesitated, glaring at her, before finally turning around to another officer who sat at a corner desk reading the newspaper. “Hey, Kenny, are those boys back there taking visitors? Somebody wants to see them.”

Kenny glanced up from his newspaper, stared at Gloria for a minute, then said, “That Dix boy and his loud mouth don't get to see anyone. We had to put a muzzle on him.”

“So she can see the other one?” the officer asked.

“I guess.” Kenny forcefully pushed back from his desk like he was upset that his important work had been interrupted.

“Have a seat till we call you,” the officer said.

Gloria nodded then went to sit in one of the hard chairs lined against a back wall. She clutched her purse tighter as her eyes darted around the small jail. A newspaper was tossed on the seat across from her, the headline so big that she could see it from her seat. COP KILLER ON THE RUN. Her son's picture—it looked like they'd used a menacing photo he'd taken when he was on the wrestling team—was plastered across the whole top of the paper. It took up all six columns.

Gloria refused to pick the paper up and, thankfully, the clerk called her so she didn't have to be tortured by even seeing it any longer.

“You can go back.” He motioned toward a side door.

This was Gloria's first time ever setting foot in a jail. She would've thought they'd check her for weapons or something, but the door just buzzed to signal that it was unlocked and she walked to the back.

“He's in there,” Kenny said, pointing to a box-sized room.

Gloria eased the door open and stepped inside the bare room, which only had a raggedy table and two chairs. She couldn't imagine her son ever being in a place like this. The sight of Brian sitting there, his butterscotch skin pierced with a large brownish red bruise on his face, hurt her heart. “Oh, my God, what happened?” she said, sliding into the chair across from him.

Brian cut his eyes over at the guard perched near the door. “They're just showing me love in the Jasper County Jail.” He held his shackled hands up. “Can I at least get these things off ?”

“Nope,” the guard said, not bothering to move.

“Dang, you got my legs all shackled like I'm a slave or something!”

“How are you?” Gloria asked, trying to keep any more trouble from brewing.

He huffed. “No disrespect, Mrs. J., but how do you think?”

“I'm sorry, that was a crazy question.”

“Have you talked to my mama?” he asked. “Are they trying to get me and Dix out?”

Like Dix, Brian was from an impoverished family. Last night, his mother had told Elton that she had a warrant out for her arrest so she “couldn't go anywhere near the jail.” Gloria didn't have the heart to tell Brian that, but she didn't want to lie, either.

“They're working on it.” That much she knew was true, because Helen asked for the church to pitch in for Dix's bail. Since Mount Sinai was barely keeping the lights on, that wasn't an option.

Gloria weighed her next words carefully. The guard acted like he wasn't paying attention, but she had no doubt that he was soaking in her every word.

“Do you have any idea where Jamal is?” she asked, her voice low.

She had hoped that he would cut his eyes at the guard, blink, anything that would reveal that he did indeed know, but just didn't want to say. But his eyes bore no answers and he confirmed it by saying, “Honestly, Mrs. J., we don't know where Jamal went. We all just ran and went our separate ways. They caught me and Dix at his cousin's house.” Brian did look over at the guard when he added, “We didn't do nothin'! That cop came messin' with us.” He turned back and looked Gloria in the eyes. “It was an accident. I swear to you. Jamal ain't mean to kill nobody.”

“But how did . . .” She stopped. There were so many questions that she wanted to ask him. But she knew that here, under the heavy listening ear of the guard, and probably a bugged room, wasn't the time or place.

“They talking about I'm an accessory to a murder,” Brian continued. “We ain't murder nobody. That shooting was an accident. If anything it was self-defense.”

Gloria saw the guard roll his eyes and sneer and she knew they needed to end this conversation. “Okay.” She patted his hand, trying to will some words of comfort to come out. “You stay strong in here. Everybody's working to get you out. And please, if you get any idea where Jamal could've gone, call me. Collect. I'm just sick with worry.”

Brian tried his best to smile. “Don't worry, Mrs. J. Jamal may be a square, but he's a smart dude. Street smart. He's okay. I know my boy. He's probably long gone,” Brian added and she could tell that was for the officer's benefit—at least she hoped it was.

6

T
he bright light shone directly in Kay's face. She squinted as the cameraman mumbled an apology, then adjusted the lights.

“Sorry about that,” said Ming Vu, the reporter who was positioned right in front of Kay, ready to conduct her
Dateline
-style interview. “But you'd better get used to being in the spotlight.”

Kay smiled. One of the first things her publicist, Loni, told her was not to appear too smug or cocky. As a strong black woman, she had to be careful of the dreaded “angry black woman” stereotype.

“Well, we'll just see how everything turns out,” Kay said, flashing the “gentle look” Loni had spent two hours working with her to perfect.

“Thank you for staying late for the interview. I like to do these in-depth interviews when we don't have the hustle and daily activity of an office.”

Ming Vu was known for her hard-hitting interviews. Loni had grilled Kay for hours, getting her prepared for anything Ming might throw her way. That's why it surprised her when Ming leaned
in and whispered, “Between you and me, your win will do wonders for the minority and female agenda, so we're all rooting for you.”

“I appreciate that. And while I will focus on those issues, I want to make sure that Houstonians know I represent all constituents, no matter what their race, religion, or creed,” Kay said, fully aware that the mics could always be open.

Ming leaned back and winked. “Good answer.” She looked over her shoulder. “So, Todd, are we ready?”

“Ready to roll,” the cameraman replied. “I got the mic check while you ladies were talking, so I'm rolling.”

“Awesome.” Ming sat up straight and dove into the interview. “Kay, we're going to skip all the basics, as people already know you're a Stanford graduate, MBA and law degree from Rice, so your pedigree speaks for itself, but people want to know the real you.”

Kay released a comfortable laugh. “What you see is what you get. I'm just an ordinary girl doing extraordinary things.”

“An extraordinary prosecutor,” Ming said. “That's right on the money.” She crossed her long legs in her seat and Kay could tell the tone of the interview was about to shift. “So tell me, what drives you? Some would argue that you're incredibly hard on minorities.”

“I treat all of my cases the same,” Kay coolly countered. “Unfortunately, I do have a lot of cases from people of color that come through my office. I'm in the business of righting wrongs and there is no color driving that.”

“Civil rights activist Reuben Muhammad said in a recent interview that you are worse than some of the”—she looked down at her notes—“and I'm quoting here, ‘redneck prosecutors who revel in putting young black boys behind bars.' How do you feel about that?”

Kay inhaled, then let out a slow breath. She'd seen that interview, and while she had never addressed it, those words had sliced her heart. She took pride in her work and tried to be fair, but it seemed she could never make some people happy.

“Honestly, those words hurt,” Kay admitted. “I have a son.”

“Your stepson, Ryan?”

She paused. “Yes. And so it gives me no pleasure in throwing people, especially young minority males, in jail. But I also don't think the color of your skin should give you a pass because a system is flawed.”

“So you admit that the system is flawed?”

Kay had to take a moment. Ming had almost tripped her up. “Of course, any system can stand some improvement, but right now it's the only system we have.”

That answer seemed to satisfy Ming because she nodded, then tossed a few more questions at Kay—on topics ranging from the budget to employee discontent to crime. But Kay could tell by the look on both her publicist's and campaign manager's faces that she was handling the interview like a pro.

“So are you worried about Marty Simon?” Ming asked after wrapping up the city-related questions.

“I don't think about Marty,” Kay replied. “I could spend my time telling you all the bad things I know about him, but I'd much rather spend my time telling you all the good things about me. I know Marty has engaged in some mud-slinging, but I have taken and always will take the high road.”

“Very admirable,” Ming said. During her entire interview, Ming had never looked at her notes, other than getting the direct quote from Reuben Muhammad. Kay made a mental note to see if she
was tired of TV and wanted to become her press secretary. If she won. No,
when
she won, Kay mentally corrected herself.

“Tell us about your home life,” Ming continued. “You know you and your husband are the talk of the town. Not many people can battle it out in the courtroom, then maintain a happy home afterward. But you've successfully done it for ten years.”

“Well, my husband and I have only gone up against each other in the courtroom four times. And while we give our careers our all, when we cross that doorstep into our home, we hang our legal hats at the door. We don't let our work, especially when we're on opposite sides of the bench, come home with us, and that makes for a happy home.”

“Amazing.”

“I guess when you spend all day arguing, the last thing you want to do is come home and do it some more,” Kay added with a laugh.

“Do your children know what you do?” Ming asked.

“Our youngest, Leslie, couldn't care less. She's four. So her biggest issue is which tutu to wear today. But the oldest, Ryan, he knows. And since he's such a scholar, he does try to weigh in, but again, we don't bring our work home and we don't discuss our cases.”

“At all?” Ming asked.

“At all,” Kay replied.

“Well, this picture-perfect life is just going to have us all a tad jealous.”

“I do have a great life,” Kay said. “But I work hard for the life I have.”

“And I bet the only thing that would make it better is becoming the next mayor of Houston.”

“You said it, I didn't.”

Kay was glad to wrap up the interview. Per Kay's insistence, Loni had made sure that the reporters knew to stay away from the subject of her childhood. Loni let the media know how difficult it was for Kay to discuss her parents' deaths, twelve years ago, at the hands of a drunk driver. As an only child, there wasn't much else to investigate in her past. And that's just the way Kay wanted to keep it. When she had left for college at Stanford, which was as far away as she could get from her strict parents, Kay hadn't kept in touch with family much. Then, when her parents had died her senior year, Kay had completely cut everyone off. As far as Kay was concerned, she had reinvented herself. Her father and mother had died. So there really was no reason to connect with anyone else. Her life began the day she enrolled in Stanford University. And that's as far back as she ever wanted to go.

“Great interview,” her campaign manager, Jeff, said. He'd sat quietly in the corner the whole time.

“Of course it was great,” Loni said, handing Kay a piece of paper. “I taught her very well. Here's your media itinerary for the rest of the week. I've given a copy to Valerie so she can make sure it's all on your calendar.”

Kay nodded her appreciation. Between her fantastic assistant, Valerie, and Loni and Jeff, Kay had the perfect team by her side. Perfect life. Perfect team. Perfect family. What more could a woman want?