CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR
It took less than a minute for Ava to lay out everything Albert Long had confessed, and even less than that for Minard to sigh and start shaking his head. It was the exact opposite of the sort of reaction she’d been hoping to get.
“Here’s my concern,” Minard said. “While it’s certainly eye-opening that Long lied about this testimony, it does nothing to change the fact that we still have a man crouched over the dead body less than thirty seconds or so after Long heard Monty Lincoln’s voice.” He then turned directly to Ava and added: “And before you get started, yes…I’d have the same concern if it was a white man crouched over the body. The fact that all signs point to Carter Epps and that he’s already in custody is going to make Long’s new testimony flimsy at best.”
“So we’re stuck, then?” Ava asked.
“No. You’re in the same place you were in before you hauled Albert Long in here. You still have about five hours to find the killer. I hate to say it, but coming up with the killer is going to be the only way you can free Carter Epps. You may have caught Albert Long in a series of lies, but that’s a long way away from clearing Epps’s name.”
Ava was especially frustrated over this because she understood the argument. She supposed she’d been so blinded by the anger from Long’s admission of lying that she hadn’t realized it.
“Thank you sir,” she said rather curtly, turning to exit the office. “I suppose we’d better step to it, then.”
When she left his office, she felt angry and rejected. It was another one of those moments where she felt like she was running uphill and just when she started to get used to the incline, it got even steeper. Only this time, she did her best to remind herself it had nothing to do with the fact that she was a woman being hazed and disrespected by men. This time, it was a broken system of law that had yet to see white men and black men as equals.
Ava didn’t bother heading to Frank’s desk or to the Women’s Bureau. She made a direct line to the front doors and stepped out onto the street. It was nearing one o’clock and the streets were rather busy with people going about their midday business. She walked to the end of the block where a bench sat along the edge of the precinct’s outer wall. She sat down, aware that Frank was following her, but barely noticing him.
She’d been faced with the prospect of failure before, but this was different. She knew that she’d closed every case she’d been given but that didn’t matter right now. This was the first time she could physically feel the weight of an innocent man’s future resting in her hands. If she didn’t figure out who the killer actually was in the next four hours or so, Carter Epps was going to go to jail for a crime he didn’t commit.
Frank joined her on the bench and she could immediately sense that Minard’s response had deflated him, too. “You know it’s not about you this time, right?”
“I do,” she said. “This time, it’s because Carter Epps is black.”
“I think that might be partly true,” Frank said, “but you can’t make assumptions like that. One thing I’ve learned in this job is that someone will always have someone else to blame. In this case, what if Carter Epps was white? Well, then it would come down to what sort of money he makes. Is he poor or wealthy? That’s going to be the driving force behind assumptions and stereotypes. But in this particular example, it just happens to be that he’s a black man. I tell you all of this because you can never let your own grudges or feelings about classes or races cloud your vision. If you do that, it will come back to bite you.”
She knew this was true and she also knew that the ignorance about race that seemed prevalent in the precinct was indeed getting on her nerves. There was no point in denying it. And maybe it was getting in her way. But it was hard to look past the racist undertones that were scattered throughout this case. It seemed to be everywhere, which made it very hard not to think of it as a driving force behind the murder.
“I know,” she said. “And I’m trying to keep a clear head. But when our murder victim was intentionally trying to buy out Harlem properties so he could turn them into whites-only establishments, it’s a little hard to separate it.”
“I have to wonder, though, if it was him being racist, or just knowing that whites tend to be wealthier than blacks. It makes sense to open up a business that is exclusively for people who are willing to drop a little money here and there.”
“And I suppose he would have to possess some sort of tolerance for black people if he was trying to do business deals with them.”
“Maybe,” Frank said. “Or maybe he doesn’t care what race someone is so long as there was some money to be made. Either way, what can we do about it?”
Ava heard the question, but she was also reconsidering the last thing she’d mentioned. Based on the flippant attitude of Samuel Lincoln, Monty’s brother, she found it hard to accept that Monty would have been friendly with many people of color. Yet, on the other hand…
“Hold on a second,” she said, processing her thoughts out loud. “When we went to speak with Leon, we found out more than just the fact that he and Ma are dating. Leon and Ma told us that Monty Lincoln had been getting handsy with Ma. Groping her, trying to flirt, basically assaulting her.”
“Yeah, I remember that,” Frank said, his tone indicating that he might already know where she was headed with this.
“If he was blatantly racist, do you really think he’d be drawn to a colored woman in such a way? Based on what they said, it wasn’t like he was being demeaning to her, no more so than any other man would be to any other woman. He was just…”
“Trying to get his jollies, as they say,” Frank said. “But to your question, I’ve seen this sort of thing a few times. There are still far too many white men who think they have free rein over the black community. And who do they see as the weakest members of the community? Women. It becomes this very strange fetish-type situation where they become attracted to the very thing they want to demean because they know no one will really care.”
“That’s sick.”
“I agree.”
Ava suppressed a little shiver of anger and asked: “So, do you think there’s any chance he may only be opposed to black men?”
“I suppose it could be possible,” Frank said, considering. “Especially when you think about how rare it is to find black business owners. And if he’s going after businesses…I don’t know. Maybe he feels black businesses or organizations don’t belong? Or some other nonsense.”
“Back at the start of all of this, Samuel Lincoln said Monty already had two small properties in Harlem. Apartment buildings, right?”
“Two of them,” Frank said. “He also said those deals had gone down smoothly.”
“We need to find out which apartment buildings they are. Maybe see what sort of people are living there—and if they’re black, we can ask about how they’ve been treated. Maybe some of them will even be able to offer insights into why Monty was killed.”
“That’s not a bad idea,” Frank said. “And I think Samuel would be able to give us those addresses.” He got to his feet, and Ava did the same. Without another word shared between them, they started around the building, for the back lot and the patrol cars.
“Does this feel like a long shot to you?” Ava asked.
Frank chuckled nervously and shrugged. “I’ll give you another little tip. When you’re on a time crunch, every single idea you get is going to feel like a long shot.”
It wasn’t particularly uplifting, but it helped her to center her thoughts, knowing that Frank was just as hurried and anxious to find answers as she was. And by the time they were in the car and headed back to the Lincoln residence, it was starting to feel less and less like a long shot after all.