Cast the First Stone: Murder In Memphis

Dedication

To our eldest daughter Shannon Paavola Greene, recently diagnosed with Acute Myeloid Leukemia: the summer of 2015 began with a shock—the leukemia, the powerful drugs, and forced separation from her daughter Ariana, age five months when diagnosed. She has maintained a positive outlook and strong endearing spirit. Husband Gabriel has provided continual and loving support. As this book goes to publication, Shannon has completed four rounds of chemo. Each round completed is one step closer to full remission.

Shannon had read an early draft of the manuscript and conceptualized the book cover before the diagnosis. Four months later, having just completed her sixth bag of chemo in three days, she insisted on finishing the cover despite the classic chemo fog, constant nausea and fatigue. Incredible!

Table of Contents

Acknowledgements

Dedication

Chapter 1: The Sequel

Chapter 2: The Hoopla

Chapter 3: The Bloody Robe

Chapter 4: Not Quite Back to Normal

Chapter 5: Everyone Loved Harlan

Chapter 6: Hate Crimes

Chapter 7: More Witnesses

Chapter 8: A Troubled Couple

Chapter 9: Comparing Notes

Chapter 10: Digging Up Old Ground

Chapter 11: The Unconscious at Work

Chapter 12: Dueling Pastors

Chapter 13: Can I Get a Witness?

Chapter 14: Recuperating

Chapter 15: The Cover-up Two-Step

Chapter 16: Dinner at the Haven

Chapter 17: The Confrontational Inquiry

Chapter 18: Ya Gotta Love the Irish

Chapter 19: Number Four

Chapter 20: Like Father, Like Son

Chapter 21: The Murder Scene

Chapter 22: The Donut Shop Stakeout

Chapter 23: Need a Break

Chapter 24: Tight as a Drum

Chapter 25: Getting Her Money’s Worth

Chapter 26: Details

Chapter 27: Someone Knows

Chapter 28: Attention to Detail

Chapter 29: Champing at the Bit

Chapter 30: Old Fashioned Police Work

Chapter 31: Family

Chapter 32: The Service

Chapter 33: Flying Solo

Chapter 34: Facing their First Trauma

Chapter 35: New Leads

Chapter 36: Deep Trouble

Chapter 37: The Councilman

Chapter 38: Surprises

Chapter 39: Digesting

Chapter 40: Conversion Therapy

Chapter 41: Wives and Mothers

Chapter 42: Connecting the Dots

Chapter 43: Takedown

Chapter 44: Pieces of the Puzzle

Chapter 45: A Crisis of Faith

Chapter 46: Twenty-First Century Chivalry

Chapter 47: Show-and-Tell

Chapter 48: The Long Drive

Chapter 49: A Shelter for Yellow Bird

Chapter 50: Elementary, My Dear Watson

Chapter 51: Snakes Alive

Chapter 52: Always Ask the Secretary

Chapter 53: A Hunch Pays Off

Chapter 54: Three Birds, One Stone

Chapter 55: One of the Good Guys

Chapter 56: Following the Improbable

Chapter 57: Bathroom Talk

Chapter 58: Lots to Share

Chapter 59: When the Brain Won’t Sleep

Chapter 60: Your Turn

Chapter 61: Say Goodbye, Johnnie

Chapter 62: Psychologists Know Everything

Chapter 63: Never Fired A Shot

Chapter 64: The Second Gun

Chapter 65: Looking for the Second Gun

Chapter 66: Éclairs All Around

Chapter 67: The Anguish of Sin

Chapter 68: Wall of Opposition

Chapter 69: Tightrope

Chapter 70: Keystone

Chapter 71: Aftermath

Chapter 72: Loose Ends

Facts

Chapter 1

The Sequel

Tuesday afternoon, September 22, 2009, Memphis Police Department Briefing…The prospect of being late had Julia’s stomach in knots. No one ever mentioned ‘Julia Todd’ and ‘late’ in the same sentence, and she would certainly be on time for her first day back from medical leave. She strode down a hall in the Criminal Justice Center. Voices and laughter grew louder. She reached the meeting room and slipped in the rear door, hoping to sit in the last row.

Major Williams looked up from the podium. Welcome back, Lieutenant Todd.

Eyes turned. A few claps and several comments rose from the group.

Julia felt her cheeks get hot. She lowered her eyes, raised a hand slightly and smiled tightlipped.

There are seats up front, Lieutenant, said Williams.

Julia grabbed the first empty chair.

Williams set down his styrofoam cup, unfolded his notes. He looked up at his officers. The room went quiet.

Last year, he said, the MPD cleared eighty-nine percent of our homicide cases—way above the national average. He paused. But not our hate crime murders. Memphis has a national reputation for our hate crimes—first against blacks…now against gays.

The assembled officers reacted—a blend of chatter and squeaking leather.

Okay, said Williams. Settle down.

Isolated snickers. Quiet returned.

Over the last twenty months we’ve had three unsolved hate crime murders, all gay men, all with the same MO. I don’t want a fourth. We need to nail this SOB. He gestured to an officer in the front row. I’ve asked Lieutenant Bertrand to take the lead. I expect everyone to cooperate with any and all requests he makes.

Williams sipped his coffee, found it too hot, spilled a bit. Things are only going to get worse, he said. I’m sure you’ve heard the City Council is talking about including gays in the ordinance on discrimination. It’s in committee now.

More side chat.

Knock it off! Williams paused. "I made the council’s committee meeting two weeks ago. Folks got pretty worked up. For once, race wasn’t the main issue. Liberal blacks and conservative whites spoke against this amendment. Others called it a civil right. Members were sharply divided."

He took another sip. "I may be the only one here old enough to have seen the first movie—I drank from separate water fountains, watched movies from the colored section at the Orpheum, witnessed the I Am A Man marches. And I remember when Dr. Martin Luther King was assassinated, within a mile of where I’m standing. It was all about the civil rights of a minority then, too. He scanned his officers. For now, this is only a heads-up, but we need to be ready."

An officer caught Williams’s eye. Ready for what, sir?

All this business will incite the fringe elements, Williams said. Probably get our serial killer to go after number four. More hate crimes will trigger crimes of revenge. You can bet on the KKK parading in here again. And maybe we’ll see the results of the state’s new laws, which practically encourage civilians to carry guns everywhere.

He waited till the side-chatter stopped. This evening will be the last committee meeting on this. If they vote to send a proposed amendment to the City Council, there’ll be the usual three readings before their final vote. That’s when I expect things to ratchet up. Meantime, I’ll be assigning more officers to the committee meeting as a preventive move. If this goes to the full council, I’ll be calling you for overtime support.

He made eye contact with each officer. I don’t know what your personal opinions are on this subject, and I don’t give a damn. I expect you and your officers to behave like professionals. Our only mission is the safety of this city and the protection of its citizens, no matter who they are. Understood?

Yes, sir! the group responded.

Good. Dismissed. Williams looked to his right. Lieutenant Todd. A word?

The room cleared and Julia approached the major.

Didn’t think you were coming back till next week, Lieutenant.

My first day, sir.

How’re you feeling?

Much better.

I assume the doc cleared you to return.

Yes, sir. It took me all yesterday to get every ‘i’ dotted and ‘t’ crossed. I collected letters from Simms and Notting, my surgeon and my shrink, and hand-delivered them to HR. Filled out some forms and they scheduled me for this afternoon. I didn’t get in till two-fifteen. But five minutes later I had a stamped ‘Ready for Active Duty’ form.

Williams locked eyes on hers. Getting shot is bad enough. Then getting in a gun fight with another Mexican cartel hitman and killing him, that’s a lot to deal with. Not to mention your family being targeted. It’d take the juice out of any of us. Staying home is not a sign a weakness, Lieutenant. You can take more time.

"I’ve been going stir crazy, sir. I exercise every day and I’ve seen every rerun of the Wild Wild West I can stand. I’m ready to be back. I need to be back."

Don’t be afraid to lean on your team. Tagger and Marino are good men.

Preaching to the choir, sir. Tag and the Professor are more like family. I owe them my life. Wouldn’t be here without them…neither would my Aunt Louise…nor Mark. She looked away, her eyes welled up.

Williams raised his hands, palms up. This is what I mean, Lieutenant. It takes time.

Julia dabbed her eyes, composed herself quickly, and brought her body to attention. I’ll be okay. You can count on it.

Williams sighed. I don’t want you working solo for a solid week. Understood?

Yes, sir.

I’d really prefer it if you glued your butt to a chair till Thanksgiving, but I know you’d find a way around that. Williams sighed. "Okay, here’s the deal. I’m assigning you and your team to help monitor the City Council sessions starting with this evening’s committee meeting. You’ll have plenty of comrades in blue around you. In the meantime, if you have any problems I want you to call me immediately. That’s an order, Lieutenant."

I will, sir. Thank you.

Chapter 2

The Hoopla

Tuesday, September 22, 2009, City Council committee meeting…The elevator dinged. Seconds later the silver doors slid opened. Two councilmen took a step forward then froze as a wall of people closed on them—all speaking at once, some shouting, bodies forcing the doors open, hands grabbing them.

Make a path! yelled a police sergeant as he forced his way through the crowd. Come on! Step back! Let the councilmen through.

The crowd parted reluctantly. The councilmen hurried down the hall, the sergeant on their heels. They entered a small meeting room. Comments and shouts returned as people hurried forward, pushing and elbowing. The sergeant closed the door, but the clamor continued.

The first councilman straightened his glasses. What the hell was that? He noticed a rumpled piece of paper in his handkerchief pocket. He grabbed it and smoothed it out. The other men looked over his shoulder.

HOMOSEXUALITY IS A SIN.

YOU ARE ALL GOING TO HELL.

The second councilman checked his suit coat, but found nothing. Where’d they come from? Who let them in?

They were in the hall when I got here, the sergeant said. But they’d been quiet till your elevator opened.

Outside, the noise level rose.

The first councilman looked at his watch. It’s still an hour before the meeting starts. He handed the sergeant an agenda. We need to clear the hall before the others arrive. Everyone goes except these four people approved to speak.

The sergeant nodded and keyed his two-way. Stop all access to the building except for council, staff, scheduled speakers, and media.

Copy that, Sergeant.

And get somebody up here to clear these people from the building. Now!

***

Julia’s homicide team consisted of her and two male Sergeants: Johnnie Tag Tagger, a large muscular African-American, and Tony Professor Marino, a more rounded Italian-American with a storehouse of random information. Their team had one of the department’s best homicide closing rates.

Julia and Tagger shared an inexplicable ability to anticipate danger, especially involving one another. Three weeks before, Tagger’s quick actions saved Julia and her significant other Mark Sanders. Julia’s injuries were limited to a bullet in the side, through and through. The next day Marino shot the hitman’s partner before he could empty his clip into Mark. Julia owed them big time.

***

Tagger and Marino drove four miles west from their midtown Union Station precinct to the Criminal Justice Center on Poplar Avenue known all over town simply by its numerical address: 201. They pulled into the parking garage one street over. Loud undecipherable chants on bullhorns echoed off the concrete walls. Julia met up with them as they walked down the exit ramp.

Hey, fellas, she said, beaming.

Marino smiled. Lieutenant. Great to see you.

Second that, Tagger said. How are you doing?

I’m ready to be back, she said.

Marino nodded toward the bull horns. You sure we have to do this?

Yeah, Professor, Julia said, I’m sure. Afraid it’s my fault. The Major wanted me to be surrounded by fellow officers my first week back. On top of which, he specified this particular duty assignment. Sorry, fellas.

Not a problem, Lieutenant, Tagger said. Tony and I planned on sticking close to you anyway. Let’s do our four hours’ OT and get out of here.

They walked the three blocks toward City Hall. The closer they came, the louder the noise. They passed behind the State Office Building and the red bricked Mid-America Mall opened in front of them—a pedestrian-friendly area dotted with small trees and fountains, divided by trolley tracks.

Julia stopped when she saw the crowd. What a zoo.

Marino frowned. Surely we’re not the only cops here.

I told you—don’t to call me, Shirley, Tagger said.

Julia rolled her eyes. There’s the Major, she said, making an upward nod toward City Hall’s east entrance. Let’s check in. They walked across the mall, parting the groups of protesters, nudging camera crews aside.

A steady bullhorn chant came from the group on the south side: What do we want?…Civil Rights! When do we want it?…Now! The group was a mix of African-Americans, whites, Asian-Americans, and Hispanic-Americans. Clergy were sprinkled throughout—ministers, a Catholic priest, and a rabbi. The LGBT rainbow was displayed on t-shirts and balloons. Handheld signs announced CIVIL RIGHTS FOR ALL, GAY IS THE NEW BLACK, and bible passages supporting ALL GOD’S CREATURES.

A flow of taunts and name-calling came from the group on the north. This group was also racially mixed and included religious leaders. Their handheld signs proclaimed: MARRIAGE IS BETWEEN A MAN AND A WOMAN, THE BIBLE SAYS HOMOSEXUALITY IS A SIN, and PROTECT OUR CHILDREN FROM PERVERTS. Julia recognized white City Councilman Darren Brigg standing next to a distinguished-looking African-American man wedged within two groups: strikingly attired Ku Klux Klansmen and members of the neo-Nazi National Socialist Movement.

The taunts increased as Julia’s team reached Major Williams, each side trying to drown out the other.

Things are hopping, Williams said. And this is only the committee meeting. See those clowns in the black, with the big banner? he said, nodding. And over there, the jokers in the robes and hoods, playing to the media?

Here I am, stuck in the middle with you, Julia mumbled.

Williams seemed not to notice.

Hard to miss, even though there’re only a handful, Marino said.

It’s not like the KKK to just show up without any advance media hype, said Tagger. Must be homegrown. Just decided to jump in the car and start something.

We told ’em the mall was an extension of the City Council committee meeting, so no weapons allowed, said Williams. Told ’em they could either submit to a pat-down or they could lose the hoods. They opted for anonymity and the pat-down.

Find anything? Julia asked.

A handful of knives and a set of nunchucks.

Tagger indicated with his raised chin. And the dudes in the black military uniforms?

Members of the National Socialist Movement, Williams said. We saw them drive up. Gave ’em the option of leaving their guns in the cars, or just leaving. They opted to stay. Left two armed neo-Natzis back to guard the handguns and AR-15 automatic weapons in the cars.

Any pat-downs for other protesters? Julia asked.

Williams let out a long breath. Not so far. But we need to be ready for blowback from the lawyers for not treating everybody the same. For now, hoods and open weapon’s carry is probable cause.

So next time we’ll have to set up a perimeter and funnel everyone through a metal detector? Julia said.

I don’t see any way around it. Can’t do it tonight though. Just keep your eyes open.

Like you said in yesterday’s briefing, sir—this is only the beginning. Next Tuesday will make today look like a cakewalk.

Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, Marino said.

Amen, said Williams. Go say hello to these folks. Make ’em feel welcome in our fair city. And remember—everything you do and say will be recorded, either by these TV cameras or on somebody’s cell phone.

Yes, sir, Julia said.

Shouts grew louder. Two men in KKK garb attempted to wrestle away a gay pride flag while the neo-Nazis cheered them on. A lone police officer jogged toward the conflict.

Marino hurried off, ordering the protesters out of the way. Julia and Tagger strode toward the neo-Nazis, blocking their involvement.

Marino and his fellow officer separated the involved parties. The two klansmen rejoined their comrades. Marino followed, took a position facing them.

Julia and Tagger approached six white men in black military-style uniforms, behind them a large banner displaying a Nazi swastika framed in red, a sketch of the Smoky Mountains in the background. They wore empty holsters on their wide leather belts, tattoos on their hands and necks, heads shaved or closely cropped. One man’s uniform had more emblems, and a thin leather Sam Browne strap, shoulder to hip. He stepped forward.

"Well, I’ll be jiggered, men, the leader said loudly. We got us a dyke cop and her neegra help."

His men laughed.

Whatcha think, Lieutenant? Tagger said. Looks like an entry in the best-costume contest—white-fascists-racists-in-a-group category.

It’s tough to decide between them and the group wearing their mother’s old sheets, Julia said. "But this banner with the swastika is eye catching."

One man continued laughing.

Shut up, you moron, said the leader.

To what do we owe the pleasure of your company, gentlemen? Julia said.

Well, er, Lieutenant, is it? the leader said. We were just passing through when we saw all these people skipping around with signs. Thought we’d exercise our first amendment rights and add our voices to the side of reason, the sanctity of the white heterosexual race and the Christian gospel.

"Long as it’s just your voice, Corporal," Julia said.

It’s, Captain, fool, he said. Captain Warner Emmanuel of the National Socialist Movement, Tennessee Unit.

The Tennessee Unit, huh? Julia said. That mean you can produce your Tennessee carry permits, Captain?

Hey. We’re law abiding citizens, Emmanuel said, turning to his entourage. Show the broad your carry permits, men.

They all snapped to attention, unbuttoned their top shirt buttons with their left hands, and fished out laminated Tennessee Handgun Carry Permits and dog tags on silver neck chains.

My God, Tagger said. They rehearsed this routine.

We’re totally legal, Emmanuel said. Got our training and permits up at TR, where real warriors train."

Tactical Response? Julia said. West of Nashville? The one with battlefield tactics, and class III weapons? How in the world did you get past the criminal records check?

We’re upstanding citizens, Lieutenant, Emmanuel said. Now we’ve got outstanding training. We’re ready for anything—Islamic terrorists, the government-controlled US Army if need be, and most certainly your candy-ass police department. Right, men?

Yes sir! In unison, the men returned their carry permits and dog tags, re-buttoned their shirts, and widened their feet to a parade rest stance—left hands behind backs, right hands on what would have been the grips of their pistols.

Impressive, Captain, Julia said. You almost make this candy-ass cop quake in her boots.

At ease, men, Emmanuel ordered. We don’t want the Lieutenant to feel threatened.

Is Emmanuel your real name? Tagger said.

I don’t talk to the help, Emmanuel said. "Even the really big help. And you are mighty big, boy. Must be six-four, six-five? Almost as big as, Max."

What’s a max? Tagger said.

Just one of our outstanding NSM members, Emmanuel said, looking over Tagger’s shoulder. I’ll be damned. Here he comes now.

Julia and Tagger turned to see a mountain of a man striding toward them, dressed in the same black uniform. She judged him to be at least six- six, and every bit of three hundred pounds.

Glad you’re here, Max, Emmanuel said. I was just telling these rent-a-cops about you.

You need some help, Whistler? Max said.

"This A-freekin-American cop seems to be blocking my view," Emmanuel said.

Max squared up on Tagger.

You want me to take out your other knee, Maximilian? Tagger said.

Hey. Nobody calls me Maximilian.

How about Maximilian, Junior?

How do you know…damn! Max said. You’re Tagger…Johnnie Tagger.

How’s the knee, Maximilian?

Max scowled. I still owe you for that.

You two old friends? Julia said.

Played against each other in high school, Tagger said.

This SOB took out my knee in the fourth quarter, said Max. Still can’t believe Whitehaven beat us. We were supposed to go to the state playoff.

What the hell? Emmanuel said. "You telling me this neegra cop whooped your ass?"

He hit me when I wasn’t looking, Max said.

Not true, Maximilian, Tagger said. You weren’t looking where you were supposed to.

Let’s get outta here, Emmanuel said and turned abruptly.

His men