Bodega Read online

 Bodega

  A Detective Sarah Renner Short Story

  By Stephen Johnson

  Copyright 2014 Stephen Johnson

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental

  Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  The move seemed choreographed as the uniformed officer lifted the yellow tape and Detective Sarah Renner stooped and stepped into the crime scene.

  “Evening, Detective. Your partner’s inside.”

  She took a beat and purposefully scanned the stucco bodega, set to the pavement on the corner site. A decrepit, timber low-set bookended one side of the building, while in the opposite direction, a row of semi-detached houses ran away into the darkness.

  “Walk and talk.” She started to move off. “You the responding - first on scene?”

  “That’s right. Dispatch called us on the thirty. We made it in under three minutes.”

  Renner nodded, acknowledging the New Orleans Police dispatch code for a shooting-related homicide. She continued to scan the street and neighboring buildings. The odd blast of a siren or someone yelling profanities at the officers forming the perimeter to the scene intermittently disturbed the low rumble created by their conversation. She knew it wouldn’t be long before numbers would reach an uncomfortable level.

  For Renner, today marked ten years with NOPD Homicide. She knew the city and sensed the underlying racial divide that fuelled the frustration on the streets. For some it had become a case of survival and any remnants of common sense or decency had long since washed away with the floods. Scenes like she was now encountering had become business as usual. As the adrenaline began to flow, instinctively she reached down and adjusted her badge, fixed over her belt, and felt for her service piece tight on her right hip.

  “Who was here when you arrived?”

  “No one. Street was empty.”

  “No witnesses at all?”

  “None that’ll talk.”

  “Who called it in?”

  “9-1-1 came in from one of the residents down the street.”

  “What about this lot? Someone must have seen something.”

  “People round here got short memories.”

  Renner made her way toward the entrance of the store, not waiting for a response. As she approached, Gabriel Lucas stepped out through the door. He had ten years on her, and it was beginning to show in his eyes.

  “How they doin’ Renner?”

  “Red Sox by one. Holt and Pedroia got home in the eighth. That’s when I got the call. You know, you’re still in with a chance.”

  “Too much confidence is unhealthy.”

  “Maybe,” she replied, “We’ll see. Tell me about our scene?”

  “Armed robbery. Two male subjects expired. Clean shot to the first. Second subject took multiple hits.”

  “CCTV?” Renner asked, as she stepped through the doors and around one of the victims who lay face down in a fetid mixture of blood and shattered glass from the nearby door. Her nose was overwhelmed by the hopped aroma from several broken bottles of Dixie that lay scattered about his body. She looked around the interior of the store, noting that bright yellow, first response evidence markers had been laid out across the floor. A mobile phone chimed in the background.

  “God, what a mess,” she said, as she continued to take in the details. She looked up toward the corners of the room, spotting three separate cameras, each strategically positioned.

  “There’s another one outside on the corner of the block,” Lucas replied, reading her train of thought. “We need to get digital forensics in to locate and download all the footage.”

  “What did they get away with?”

  “Can’t say. Register’s empty. I can’t imagine they would keep more than a couple of hundred in cash.”

  “IDs on the subjects?”

  Lucas flipped the page on his notepad. “Store clerk’s Javiero Minaya, 57.”

  “He the owner?”

  “Checking now.”

  “He live upstairs?”

  “No. Tenants are away.”

  “The customer?”

  “Rontel Clayton, 22. Address is listed as 4729 South Saratoga. It’s only a few blocks from here. There’s a unit en- route to notify the family.”

  Renner made her way back across the tiled floor and looked down at Clayton’s lifeless eyes.

  “Call them off. I’ll do it,” she said quietly, her mood now somber. “I want to speak to them anyway. First, I need to understand how all this went down.”

  Lucas nodded across to the patrol officer guarding the door; he reached for his portable radio, and made the call.

  Renner stepped forward. “So let’s play it out. Our guy comes in, clerk sees him and goes for the silent alarm – Click.” She pointed toward the counter and used her hand as an improvised pistol. “Takes him out and starts goin’ for the register.” She pivoted on the spot. “Now, Clayton appears and startles him. He approaches and guns him down. He unloads the mag into him before he takes off."

  “That’s cold,” Lucas replied under his breath.

  “He’s sure angry about something.” She moved away and squeezed through the narrow gap to stand behind the dark timber and glass counter. The Medical Examiner was kneeling, busy examining the body. Lucas leaned in from the other side.

  “What have you got for me?”

  The M.E looked up.

  “So far, we’ve identified eight gunshot wounds, all nine-millimeter and almost certainly from the same shooter. We can confirm after the autopsies. After that, it’s over to ballistics and you two.”

  “Looks like most of them ended up in our second subject,” Lucas added.

  “Mr. Minaya here was killed with a single shot to the back of the head at close range – He didn’t see it coming – through and through, lights out. He was dead before he hit the floor.”

  Renner knelt down and studied the body. Minaya’s greying hair was matted in the pool of blood and bone that surrounded his body and was ponding against a nearby step.

  “Jesus, whose phone is that?” Renner asked, distracted by the continuous ringtone.

  “It’s Clayton’s, detective. Fourth time so far.”

  “Anyone check the call log?”

  “I’ll get to that when I’m finished here,” the crime lab technician replied from over the counter.

  “Bring me the list when you’re done.”

  There was a movement at the rear door. “Detectives.”

  “What now?” Renner asked, as she and Lucas both looked up. A tech waved them toward a back room.

  “We’ve located the CCTV footage. You'll both want to see this.”

  Crammed into the small room, Renner and Lucas waited as the tech prepared the footage. Angled downwards, the 20” surveillance monitor was mounted high on the wall. Four images divided the screen in a two by two grid.

  “Here we go.”

  “It must be a hundred degrees in here,” Renner said, as she tied back her shoulder length blonde hair and replaced her trademark green baseball cap, smoothing it into shape.

  “Okay.” The forensics tech began his commentary. “Here’s our second subject entering the shop.”

  Renner noted down the timestamp as she watched the flickering footage.

  22:45 08/21/14 24HR

  “He heads past the display stand and down the aisle five.”

  “Here comes our shooter,” Lucas said, pointing at the screen. “He’s on foot. Must have parked out of sight or he’s got a driver waiting.”

  “If we’re lucky, one of the other cameras might pick him up on the wa
y out," Renner replied.

  “Shit! He’s wearing a mask. Can’t make out his face.”

  “What is he – six foot?”

  “At least, maybe six-two if you compare him to the door frame.”

  “Look at his shirt,” Renner said. “Dark blue with white sleeves. Look at the embroidery. You recognize that?”

  “Nice. That’s what, late eighties?”

  “Nineties,” she replied, matter of fact. “Regardless, it’s a warm night for long sleeves don’t you think?” Her focus shifted back to the monitor.

  They watched the footage play for the next thirty seconds, as the shooter made his way to the counter and shot the clerk.

  “Didn’t hesitate for a second,” Renner said, shaking her head. She folded her arms across her chest.

  “You see the second guy?” the tech asked.

  “Clayton?” Lucas replied.

  “Yeah, Clayton. He’s trying to make his way round the back of the aisles and up to the door.”

  The tech paused the playback.

  “Detectives, this is the part I don’t get. Look, our shooter closes and locks the door.”

  “He wants time to go through the register,” Lucas replied. “Probably also figures there’s a safe.”

  “No clerk, no combination,” Renner added.

  “You might get lucky with prints?”

  “Maybe. Come on, hit play, let’s go,” Lucas replied.

  “No, hold on,” Renner replied. “Look at the reflection in the counter.” She pointed at the screen. “The neck.”

  “Combine that with the build – athletic. I’d say, black male, late twenties, early thirties,” Lucas offered.

  “He’s wearing white latex gloves. Bet they’re straight off the shelf from Costco.”

  “There go the prints.”

  “Okay, let it play,” she said, quietly.

  The tape resumed and after a few moments, Lucas spoke up. “Look, there's Clayton. He's going for the door. He doesn’t know it’s locked.”

  Renner and Lucas both remained fixed to the screen.

  “Oh God. He just realized.” She said as she instinctively placed her hand over her mouth.

  Clayton fumbled with the lock for a moment before he finally spun around with his hands up in surrender. The shooter approached and momentarily paused, before discharging the weapon several times. He moved up, stood over him and fired four more times. Clayton’s body bucked up off the floor as each of the rounds tore through his chest.

  “Look at the way he holds the weapon. He uses both hands,” Renner said, pointing at the monitor. “He’s not 3-N-G or any of the other uptown bangers.”

  Lucas stretched his neck and rolled back his shoulders. “Okay, we’ve got to work through this—”

  “Hold on, back up the tape,” she interrupted for a second time, holding up her hand. “I think he said something to Clayton, before he shot him. Here, look at camera number two. See - looks like he’s reaching for something."

  "His keys. Shooter wants his keys,” Lucas replied. “Hang on, where's he going now? He put something in his bag.”

  Renner’s eyes flicked from one monitor to the next, scanning the different perspectives the cameras afforded of the scene.

  “We can check it out in a minute,” she replied, “see what’s missing.”

  They watched on in silence as the shooter made his way back to the front of the shop and methodically picked up all the spent shell casings.

  “He must have known that units were on the way,” Lucas said.

  “Man - look at him; he’s so calm and deliberate," Renner replied, still in deep focus.

  The team watched as the shooter proceeded to pack the cash from the register into a black rucksack and make his way to the door. He made his way around Clayton, avoiding the pool of blood now forming on the floor. The team’s focus moved to the external camera, which followed the shooter outside to Clayton’s car.

  He placed the bag on the front hood, made his way across the frontage of the neighbouring building before rounding the corner out of sight. He was out of camera view for a few seconds, before reappearing, getting into Clayton’s car and making his way out of the carpark.

  Lucas leaned across to Renner. “Get the plate details to dispatch. We’ll issue a BOLO, see if we can locate him.”

  “On it,” she replied. “Looks like a Chevy Corsica.”

  “Don’t think they make them any more,” he replied. “Most likely dumped it by now though. Probably close by. We can get patrols to run a street-by-street search.”

  The tech stopped the tape and Lucas made arrangements for a copy to be sent to Homicide.

  “You know this guy will have a record,” Lucas said, as they moved away. “He knew exactly what he was doing. He came with a plan.”

  “I was thinking the same thing,” Renner replied. “This sure as hell wasn’t his first time.”

  ***

  The brightly lit living room of Clayton’s house was sparse. Renner and Lucas sat opposite Clayton’s partner, Shantay Watts. A close friend was consoling her as Renner finished running through the details of Clayton’s death.

  “Do your parents live nearby?” Lucas asked.

  “Yes sir,” Shantay replied. “Mom’s on night shift.”

  "And your father?" Renner asked.

  “God only knows. He comes and goes." Her comment was followed by a long period of silence, interspersed with tears, before she finally continued.

  “I knew something was wrong. He only went out to pick up some beer. He’d been working real long hours lately. I tried his phone over and over and it kept goin’ straight onto the message.”

  Renner and Lucas sat silent as she wiped her eyes with the back of her sleeve. “How this could happen! Rontel was a good man… a good man. He never hurt nobody.”

  “Amen,” her friend added quietly.

  Renner sat forward and turned a gold cross that hung from her neck through her fingers.

  “Shantay, Rontel did nothing wrong, other than walk into that store at the wrong time,” she said, softly.

  “Who did this - who took my baby!” Watts screamed back.

  “We’re trying to figure that out,” Lucas replied, weighing into the conversation. "You need to understand something else. He took Rontel’s car. We’ve got a search for it under way now. We need to find it.”

  “That’s my car, not his,” she replied, shaking her head. “They took my car?”

  Renner nodded. “Okay. So what can you tell us about it?”

  Shantay took a moment to compose herself. “It’s a Chevy.”

  “What else?”

  “Front bumpers all banged in. Wasn’t my fault—”

  “We’re not interested in how it happened, Shantay. Was it the driver’s side?” Renner continued, trying to get some momentum into the conversation.

  “Yeah that’s right. How’d you know that if it’s gone?”

  “Camera at the bodega. It showed the passenger side. I remembered it was fine.”

  She nodded and closed her eyes.

  “What else can you tell us?”

  “It’s dark green. Paint’s all faded, ‘specially on the roof.”

  Watts began to calm down and she was distracted by the questions.

  “Small details are important, Shantay?”

  “Front light don’t work.”

  “Same side?”

  Watts nodded, before she broke down as another wave of grief washed across her.

  Renner looked up and across and made eye contact with Lucas. She nodded in confirmation. He immediately turned and pulled his mobile phone from his pocket as he disappeared into the adjoining room to call it in.

  “That’s helpful, Shantay. We know what to look for now.”

  “Thank you. Please promise me you will find who did this.”

  “We’ll do our best.”

  As she waited for Lucas to finish, she continued to talk to Watts. “So how long had you been
with Rontel?”

  “Comin’ up on our two-years. We were in love. He was real good to me.”

  Renner sat forward.

  “He was a good man detective, a good man.”

  With that, Renner turned and saw that Lucas had finished his call. He was putting his phone back in his jacket.

  She stood. “Thank you and again, I’m sorry for your loss. We’ll be in touch.”

  She moved away, past Lucas and toward the door. When they were outside, Renner heard a call.

  “Detectives.”

  They both turned as Watt’s friend approached them.

  “Can send someone round to sit and talk with her. Rontel was her life, you know. Now he’s gone, I’m real scared for her.”

  Renner nodded back and let her continue.

  A few years back, my brother Izaak, he took her off the rails, real bad. Drugs and all that shit. We don’t talk no more. Rontel; He got her life in order again – she was doin real good. I’m scared she will go to all hell again.”

  “I’ll organize the Victim Support Unit to come see her. I’ll make the call now, Okay?”

  The young woman nodded back.

  Renner and Lucas turned and started across the road. “Come on,” Renner said, “we still have to notify Minaya’s family, and get back down town to write this whole mess up.”

  ***

  Over forty-eight hours had passed since the late night shooting at the bodega and, during a routine early morning patrol, officers had located the scorched shell of Shantay Watts’ car. It sat on the shoreline of the Mississippi River amongst a number of large industrial warehouses. A row of rusted shipping containers and decrepit timber pallets overgrown with weeds screened it from the nearby road.

  Renner and Lucas had taken the call and made their way to the location. As they methodically circled the car, the crime lab technicians worked it over, looking for any residual evidence that may have survived the fire.

  Renner moved forwards and carefully opened the driver’s door. “Hey, Lucas, come check this out.”

  “Fire started here,” she said, pointing to the deformed steel frame of the driver’s seat.

  “Huh?” Lucas muttered. “What is it?”

  “Look at the position. It’s way back. Set by a tall driver. Remember the height of the shooter. Circumstantial, I know, but we might be able to match his height to the position.”

  “Not much, but a start, I guess.”

  “About all we’ll get. Fire will have removed any prints or DNA.”

  “He must have parked another vehicle nearby. Everything he has done so far was deliberate. He would have picked this place for a reason.”