Chapter
4
Pettiway and Parish pulled up on Lenox Avenue between 110th and 111th Streets. As usual, the block was busy. Traffic was extremely heavy and all eyes were on them.
“You can do the honors,” Pettiway told Parish as they stood in front of Kisha’s apartment door.
“About time,” Parish said smartly. He pulled out his radio and gave the metal door three hard bangs.
“Jeez, we’re not here to serve a warrant for Christ sake,” Pettiway said disapprovingly. “This is Homicide. We have to have finesse, kid.”
“Sorry,” Parish replied. He put his radio away and prepared to knock on the door again but this time with his knuckles. He heard movement behind the door as if someone was looking though the peephole. Parish held his badge up to be seen. “Police. Open up!” he demanded.
The locks on the door were disengaged and the door open slightly revealing a short, petite, brown skin female. “Can I help you?” she asked with an attitude.
“Kisha?” Parish asked.
“Yeah, and?” Kisha replied.
“I am Detective Parish. This is my partner Pettiway. Is it okay if we come inside so we can talk to you?”
Kisha looked from one detective to the other. “What is this about?”
“We’d rather not talk in the hall. No need to have your neighbors in your business,” Parish told her.
Reluctantly, Kisha opened the door wider allowing them entry. “What is this about?” she asked as she closed the door behind the detectives.
“Like I said, I’m Detective Parish, Homicide Division. Do you know Ali Ricardo?”
“Yeah I know Ali. And if he killed someone I don’t know nothing about it,” Kisha said quickly.
“Ehhm.” Parish cleared his throat uncomfortably. “We’re not here because Ali killed someone.”
“Then how come you…,” Kisha began as the answer popped in her head before the question was even finished coming out of her mouth. “No. uh-uh. It can’t be,” she said in denial.
Parish saw her sway a brief second. He saw the all too familiar signs that she was about to faint from grief so he reached out and grabbed a hold of her. “Easy. Why don’t you have a seat,” he told her as he lead her to the kitchen table.
“Ali. Is he…is he…dead?” Kisha asked trying not to lose it.
“I’m afraid so.”
Kisha’s eyes welled up ready to burst with tears. “How?”
“He was shot to death,” Parish answered.
Kisha sucked in a deep breath. Her chest heaved heavily before the flood dams broke and she began wailing.
Pettiway watched Kisha’s reaction to the bad news from the kitchen entrance way. From his peripheral he saw movement in the back bedroom. He kept an eye on the bedroom as a precaution. When he got an uneasy feeling in his stomach he inconspicuously took his service weapon of safety. The movement of his hand on his gun caught Parish’s eye and Pettiway shook his head no as Parish’s hand moved toward his gun.
“How…how did it happen?” Kisha asked as she lift her head tear streaked face from her hands.
“We really don’t have that many answers. We was hoping maybe you can help,” Parish told her. “All we know at this moment is that he was found shot on the 6 Train.”
“Ali…on the train?” Kisha asked surprised. “Ali never took the train. Anywhere. What was he doing on the train?” she asked already forming a conspiracy theory in her mind.
“Is that really that odd for him?”
Kisha let out an uneasy laugh. “One time I had to go get the baby from my aunt’s house in Long Island. I was going to take the train to Jamaica Ave and catch a cab from there. Ali found out and flip the script. He yelled at me for having his baby on the dirty ass train. He gave me cab fare to Long Island and back. We talking like a hundred dollars easily. But he didn’t care.”
“Do you know if he had any trouble with anyone?” Parish questioned.
“You’re talking about Ali. He had problems with everyone. Somebody was always trying to disrespect him or he thought somebody was always trying to take something from him.”
“Did he have a lot of problems with people disrespecting him?” Parish asked. He knew how street guys held respect high on their priority list.
“No. Everybody was scared of him. But that didn’t stop him from always thinking it,” Kisha explained.
“Recently, a young man entered the emergency room at Lincoln Hospital claiming to have been pistol whipped by Ali. Do you know who that guy was?” Parish asked.
“I have no idea.”
“Um, was everything alright between you two?” Parish asked.
“Everything was good. Why?” Kisha asked suspiciously as she stared Parish down with a tear streaked face.
“Well, we have a report from his P.O. that you called in complaining that Ali grabbed you by the shirt.”
“Yeah I did. And I told him I didn’t want to press charges or anything. I just wanted him to scare Ali,” Kisha explained.
“What happened to cause that?”
Kisha let out an exasperated breath. “Me and Ali got into an argument because he thought I was cheating on him.”
“It’s really none of our business but were you?” Parish saw the indignant look on her face and quickly explained. “The only reason I ask is because if that was a motive it can help us narrow down who killed him.”
“Are you serious?” Kisha asked him angrily. “Tuh, it was a girl.”
“Excuse me?” Parish asked confused.
“Ali thought I was cheating on him with a girl. For some reason he got the idea because one of his knuckle head friends told him the girl was an undercover dyke. And since me and the girl was hanging out a lot he got suspicious.”
“Oh.”
Pettiway kept a watchful eye on the bedroom. He saw a shadow come close to the door as if someone was standing on the other side listening. He caught a glimpse of a shirtless male’s reflection from a mirror. A male with a bandage on his face.
“You sure there wasn’t anyone else? No jilted lover? No long lost love? Baby father who happened to pop up in the picture?” Parish pushed.
Kisha let out an uneasy laugh. “None of that. Ali wasn’t my daughter’s blood but he was her father. We been together since my daughter was ten months old. Her father wasn’t never in the picture. Made it known from day one he didn’t want anything to do with us. Ali fell in love with my baby. The first date we went on he showed up with a gift for her.”
“And you don’t think your daughter’s father had anything to do with it?” Parish pushed.
“Like I said, he could care less about his daughter.”
Circling back Parish asked her, “Did Ali tell you what cause the altercation between him and the guy he allegedly assaulted?”
“The only time Ali told me anything is if he thought me or the baby would be in danger if I came up to the Bronx. Other than that he didn’t tell me anything.”
“Okay,” Parish said as he dug in his pocket for a business card.
Pettiway gave Parish an inconspicuous head nod toward the bedroom as if telling him to mention it.
Parish, unsure exactly what Pettiway wanted him to ask, played it safe. “Uh…is there someone here or someone we can call for you? Somebody to make sure you’re okay?”
Kisha stifled a sniffle and wiped away a tear as she came back to her sense, realizing them no her, ever mention her guest in the back bedroom. “No, no. I’ll be okay. I’ma call my momma. I’ll be alright until she gets here.”
“Okay. Well, here’s my card with my direct number. If you think of anything or hear anything feel free to call me. Like I said, we don’t have all the answers right now but we’re going to figure out what happened to him. If you can give us something that’ll point us in the right direction we’ll definitely appreciate it.”
Kisha took the business card and read the contact information on the front of it. “If I hear
anything I’ll give you a call,” she said as she got up from her seat. She walked the detectives to the front door making sure it was locked once they were out.
“You think she…” Parish began.
“Quiet,” Pettiway snapped in a hushed voice as he placed his ear to the door. He listened intently as he heard a quiet sob, then a muffled man’s voice, he deduced was consoling Kisha, on the other end of the door. A few words here and there quickly turned into a quiet argument. He listened as the voices trailed to the back of the apartment until they couldn’t be heard any more.
“What you hear?” Parish asked eagerly as Pettiway moved from the door.
“Whoever was in that bedroom came out and spoke to her. Sounds like a man. She said something to him, I think out of anger. It sounded like they were arguing but I couldn’t hear anymore after that,” Pettiway told him as he quickly jotted notes down in his pad.
“Lets go back in there!” Parish said eagerly sensing it could be the link they were looking for.
“Go in and say what? We got a report of a couple fighting? We just gave her bad news. Screaming and crying is normal. If we go back in there and find anything it’ll get tossed quicker than month old milk,” Pettiway told him frustrated as he headed for the elevator.
“Whoever was in that bedroom could be our killer. Him and Kisha could have conspired together,” Parish argued.
“First off, keep your damn voice down. The last thing we need is a nosey neighbor listening to two homicide detectives talk suspects in the hall,” Pettiway said chastising his partner. “Second, you could be right,” he agreed as the elevator door opened up. The detectives stepped on and as the door closed Pettiway added, “We’ll sit a car on Kisha. Find out who our mystery man is. When we do, we throw a couple of questions at him. If he trips up we drag him in for an official sit down. Hopefully we can get him to spill the beans on what happened.”
“Every minute we wait give them more time to get their story together. Or worse get in the wind!” Parish snapped.
Pettiway heard him clearly but didn’t respond to him. He exited the elevator refusing to say another word while they were out in the open.
Once inside the sedan Pettiway said, “You’re right but that’s a chance we have to take. In the long run, Kisha will be the weak link. She was initially shocked when you told her about the death of her boyfriend. That tells me whatever happened she wasn’t privy to the plans. In the mean time, we do some more digging. Find out where she was. Who she was with. Who the female, if it’s true, she was linked to. We get our ducks in a row so when we come back to question her we have the ammo to turn up the pressure. Get her to crack on whoever was in that bedroom.”
“I don’t like this waiting,” Parish said frustrated as he rubbed his hand over his face. “I don’t like it at all.”
“This isn’t the Gang Unit. You can’t go rushing in using brute force because that’s what the suspects are used to. This is Homicide. We use finesse and we bill our case on facts. We can’t afford to make mistakes. We do and the killer walks. Simple as that.”
Parish let out an exasperated breath of air as he glared out of the passenger window. He hated waiting. He hated it so much that at that moment he reconsidered staying in the Homicide Unit.