Crooked

Twenty Two

Crooked

Twenty-Two

         Word of the triple homicide spread around the New York City streets like wildfire. News headlines coined the murders as "Horror in Harlem" and there were nearly a hundred people surrounding Dyckman Houses, spectating, and whispering about what could've been the reason for the killings.

The rumor was that Candace had turned into a junkie and owed over $25,000 to the wrong person. She couldn't pay it off and in return the person massacred her kids to send a clear message. It was rumored that Crook was the "wrong person" and that he had ordered the slayings. Another rumor was that Candace had her kids killed for insurance money. Her deceased husband, Trust Gates had a life insurance policy on each kid worth $50,000 and people were certain that she organized the hits for quick cash.

The gossip led to Candace and Crook being held in police custody for questioning. Detectives wanted to gauge the validity of the hearsay and Agent Banks was brewing a fresh pot of coffee in his office when he heard the news. "Did you say Treyvon King is in the building?" Agent Banks asked with wide eyes. Diamond had told him Crook's government name and he was giddy with joy that the dangerous drug lord was in the same building as him.

"Yes. Candace Gates is also here. She is the widow of Trust Gates. They were the ones who found the bodies." Detective Holmes spoke, grabbing an empty mug. He poured black coffee into the mug and put two packets of Splenda before turned on his heels to head out.

"Well, what did he say?" Agent Banks asked eagerly.

"They were not involved. King is the foster child of Candace. The kids that were killed were his foster siblings. The word on the street was wrong. We are going to have to let them go and focus our leads elsewhere." Detective Holmes shook his head as he took a sip of his coffee.

"What?" Agent Banks shouted in disbelief. "You can't just let him go! I have to talk to him! Maybe I can get some type of confession!"

"You? Confession of what?" Detective Holmes nearly spit out his coffee. "Stay in your lane, Banks. This isn't your department!"

"That's bullshit! You and I both know that those kids were killed over his drug enterprise! Those drugs from the raids were from him! Treyvon King is the reason two 6-year-olds were killed on their birthday! He's Crook, of course it's his fucking fault! Everything relates back to him!"

"And what fucking proof do you have?" Detective Holmes' lip was raised. The disdain in eyes was undeniable. Detective Holmes noticed how big-headed Agent Banks got ever since he led the raid on two drug houses. The two men inside the homes never identified where the drugs came from, so Detective Holmes was flabbergasted by Agent Banks' allegation. "You say this shit like you can back it up. All you got is circumstantial bullshit that won't convince a jury. I refuse to let you go in that room and harass that black man after his little brother and sisters have been murdered. You're going to make our division look bad."

Agent Banks chuckled. He hated when black people pulled the race card. Agent Banks knew that the homicides had to be linked to Crook. He didn't care if he didn't have any evidence to prove it. Crook was a destructive man and death always followed him.

"Five minutes, is all I ask." Agent Banks threw his hands up in surrender. "I just want five minutes to speak with him. I promise I won't let this division down. I will be able to get something."

Detective Holmes blew out a breath in frustration as he stared Agent Banks down. "Five minutes," Holmes put his five fingers up for emphasis. "Banks you better be out of that room in five minutes, or I will come in there and drag you out myself."