Remember Me
Part 3
They were on their way to
Records and Information when Dobey stopped them in the hall.
"Starsky, Hutch, the
doctor from
The two detectives exchanged looks. Hutch gave
his Captain a thumb's up.
"We're on our way,
Cap!"
The doctor in charge of James Woodrow's case
was waiting for them outside of the ICU.
"I never would have
believed it when he came in, but I think he's going to make it. He's answered
all of my questions, he's breathing on his own, and he knows where he's at. I
can give you fifteen minutes with him, but that's it. His condition is still
serious."
Starsky nodded.
"Fifteen minutes is all we'll need, Doc. Thanks."
Swathed in bandages from the
waist up, James Woodrow looked more like an imitation of The Mummy than a live
person. Although his eyes were only small slits on each side of his broken
nose, the grief and anger in them was evident.
Starsky stood close to the
bed. "Mr. Woodrow, I'm Detective Starsky and this is my partner, Detective
Hutchinson. I know you're in a lot of pain, but we really need your help. Can
you tell us what happened?"
Woodrow's voice was muddled
because of the broken teeth. "We were getting ready for bed. Sissy was already
in the bedroom and I was checking the back door to make sure it was locked.
They kicked in the front door before I could do anything about it. They all had
guns. One of them shot me then another punk went at me with a tire iron. He
said he heard my uncle had a lot of money stashed in his safe. Uncle Sid isn't
rich and he doesn't have a safe! I tried to tell them that, but they kept
hitting me with that damned tire iron. Then Jamal asked me where I hid the
drugs. I told him I was out of that shit, but he just laughed. I knew Sissy was
going to hear them, and I didn't want her coming out of the bedroom, so I tried
to kick the gun out of Ricky's hand. That's when he shot me again, and I went
down. Sissy came out of the bedroom and saw what was happening. I yelled at her
to run, but Jamal shot her in the head before she could get out the door. I
crawled over to her and put my arm across her, and that son-of-a-bitch just
laughed at me! I begged him not to kill her, but he pulled the trigger anyway.
That's all I remember."
Hutch forced himself to
ignore the chill that ran down his spine. "OK, one of them was Jamal, the
other was Ricky. Can you give us their full names, and the name of the other
assailant?"
"Jamal
Zhan, Richard Riverside, and Carl Young. I only know Jamal, from when I was dealing cocaine. I'd seen the other
two around, but that's it."
"Do you know where they
live?"
"Jamal used to live
over in the projects, on
Starsky and Hutch exchanged
glances then Starsky laid a hand on Woodrow's shoulder.
"OK, you've helped us a
lot. Get some rest now, and we'll let you know when we have them in
custody."
A single tear ran down the
wounded man's cheek. "I told them I didn't have any money. They didn't
have to kill Sissy. I begged them not to! Why did they have to kill her?"
Hutch's eyes were filled
with compassion. "I don't know, Mr. Woodrow, but what happened wasn't your
fault. I know it doesn't seem like it now, but you're lucky to be alive. The
best thing you can do right now is get well and beat them at their own game.
You just listen to your doctor and we'll take care of them."
James Woodrow turned his
head away. "I'd like to take care of those bastards. They'd pay for what
they did to Sissy."
As he closed his eyes,
Starsky turned to his partner. Quietly, they left the grieving man. When they
were out in the hall, Hutch's eyes blazed.
"You know, I'd give up
my badge for just thirty minutes alone with those creeps. They killed that girl
for nothing. Sometimes I wonder why we do this job."
Starsky's reply was calm.
"We do it so no one else has to go through what those two kids did. Come
on; we know their names now. Let's go get these assholes."
They drove back to the station
and stopped at R&I before going to their desks. All three men that James
Woodrow named had records. Jamal Zhan was the obvious ring-leader. His rap
sheet detailed the numerous times he'd been arrested for breaking and entering,
armed robbery, and assault and battery. There was also a string of convictions
for possession of controlled substances and possession with intent to sell, not
to mention the number of times he'd been arrested for drunk and disorderly. By
comparison, Richard Riverside and Carl Young were babes in the woods. The two
detectives wrote down Jamal's last known address, informed Dobey that they were
ready to make an arrest, and headed for the
Hutch breathed a sigh of
relief as they sped to the
Starsky nodded. "It
wouldn't hurt to have a little back-up, too, just in case."
"That's a good idea,
Ollie. I'll have a unit meet us there."
The two detectives
approached the address quietly and pulled behind the patrol car that was
waiting for them. After a brief conference, Starsky and Hutch went to the front
door of 7C while the two uniformed officers went to the back. Starsky waited
five minutes then nodded to his partner.
Hutch knocked on the wooden
door and stood to one side. Moments later, a feminine voice spoke from the
other side.
"Who is it?"
Starsky and Hutch exchanged
a glance then Hutch shrugged minutely. "It's the mailman, Miss. I have a
registered letter for Mr. Jamal Zhan, and I need his signature."
"Um, he's not here
right now. Can you come back later?"
Hutch made a face. "I'm
almost at the end of my shift. If you could sign for him, it would save him the
trouble of coming down to the post office."
"Well, I guess I could
do that."
They waited for the woman to
open the door then pushed their way into the apartment. Starsky, with his
weapon drawn, took her by the arm and shoved her behind him then quickly looked
through the small apartment. Shaking his head, he walked back to Hutch,
followed by the two unformed officers.
The young woman put on an
angry face. "Hey, what is this?"
Hutch flashed his badge at
her, his gun in his other hand. "Police. Who are
you and where is Zhan?"
The young woman stared at
the gun in Hutch's hand. "I'm Nina Gallant. Jamal's my boyfriend. What do
you want him for? Look; you can't just barge in like this! I haven't done
anything wrong!"
Both detectives recognized
her name instantly. Starsky advanced on her, his expression intimidating.
"Your boyfriend's in a
lot of trouble, Nina. We want to talk to him about the murder of Cecilia Powell
and the attempted murder of James Woodrow. You know, I kinda think you were the
one that aimed your boyfriend right at them. Now, we can either charge you with
accessory, or with conspiracy to commit murder, for starters. That's about a 15
year difference in your sentence. You can get out of the joint before the
wrinkles take over, or you can spend the rest of your life behind bars."
At the mention of prison,
Nina's face paled. "I didn’t do anything! I didn't know he was going to
kill her! I-I only told him about the drugs."
Hutch's voice was steel
under velvet. "What did you think he was going to do, ask them
nicely?"
"It wasn't my idea!
Jamal's crazy. He owes every dealer in the projects, and he thought he could
get money and coke from Jimmy. I told him not to go over there!"
Starsky sneered. "I'm
sure you did. You're a real upstanding citizen. Where is Jamal?"
"He's at the Pelican
Hotel with Ricky and Carl. Ricky scored some pot, so they're having a little
party. I was supposed to meet them later."
"Is this supposed to be
a private party, or is the whole neighborhood invited?"
"No, it's j-just them.
He only got enough pot for a few joints, and a case of beer."
Starsky nodded then shoved
her toward the uniformed officers. "Get her out of here."
Mitchell Grayson took her
arm. "Do you want us to book her, Starsky?"
"Yeah,
for aiding and abetting. We'll
hash out the rest later."
Nina threw a scared look
over her shoulder as the officer handcuffed her. "Wait a minute! What
about our deal?"
Starsky turned to his
partner. "Did you hear me say anything about a deal?"
Hutch shook his head once.
"Nope, I didn't hear you say that."
Nina's voice echoed in the
apartment as she was escorted out the door. "You lousy,
rotten pig! You said we could make a deal! I spilled my guts to you.
That's not fair!"
Hutch's ice blue eyes cut
her like lasers. "What your boyfriend did to Cecilia Powell wasn't fair
either. Adjust."
Thirty minutes later, the
Starsky spread out the blue
prints that Daryl had brought. "Where do you think they're holed up?"
Daryl thought carefully as
he examined the maze of rooms. "I think they're probably here, in the old
banquet room. That's where most of these kids hang out. The power's turned off,
but they usually keep their booze iced down in a big tub. They burn candles at
night and the street lights shine through those big windows."
Starsky nodded. "That
sounds reasonable to me. How do they get in? I noticed a padlock on the front
door."
Daryl pointed to the
blueprints again. "There's an old employee's entrance on the side of the
building. Someone jimmied the lock a long time ago. The kids sneak in and out
that way."
"OK, we'll spread out
and cover all the entrances. Don't let anyone in or out of the building. Keep
your radios turned to Tac 2 and wait for my signal. Heads up, everybody; these
three are armed and dangerous. We don't need any heroes."
Starsky and Hutch walked
around to the small wooden door on the side of the hotel. The entire door knob
was missing, and the door gaped open a fraction of an inch.
Hutch thumbed a button on
his radio. "OK, we're going in. Stay on your toes, everybody."
The two detectives and two
of the uniformed officers eased their way through the door. As soon as they
were inside, they could hear the music blaring from the banquet room. Hutch
shook his head in disgust and motioned for his partner to follow him. The four
men spread out on either side of the door. Hutch made a fist then put one
finger at a time up for a count of three then stood back and kicked the door
in. Moving as one, Starsky and Hutch rushed into the room with their guns aimed
at the three suspects.
"Freeze,
police! Stay where you are!"
Jamal, Ricky, and Carl sat
on a ratty-looking couch and stared stupidly at the detectives. Finally, their
drugged-out brains registered the sight of four police officers and they
frantically looked around the room for a way out. Jamal reached under his shirt
for the gun that was stuck in his belt.
Starsky glared at him.
"Don't even try it, punk!"
Jamal's glassy eyes stared
back at him as his hand still moved toward his gun. Starsky pulled the slide
back on his Beretta. "Surely you aren't that stupid."
Jamal's hands dropped limply
to his side as he slumped back on the couch. While Daryl kept the suspects
covered with his gun, Starsky, Hutch, and the other officer handcuffed the
three felons. Hutch raised his radio again.
"OK, we've got them.
We're coming out."
An hour later, Dobey stood
in front of the cell and gazed at the three men sprawled out on the bunks. He
shook his head in disgust.
"What fine, upstanding
young men they are. A young woman is dead, a young man's life has been changed
forever, and those three will probably spend the rest of their lives behind
bars. It makes me want to go home and hug my son then lock him in his bedroom
until he's thirty. What a waste!"
He turned away and looked at
Starsky and Hutch. "They're high as kites and drunk on top of that. You
won't get anything sensible out of them tonight. Give them time to sober up
then read them their rights again. If
they waive right to counsel, get it in writing. I want this done by the book.
Meanwhile, go home and get some sleep. You both look beat."
Hutch nodded tiredly. "Yes, sir. Oh, did you call Cecilia Powell's
parents?"
"Yes. They were
relieved when I told them we had three suspects in custody. And they said the
coroner had released Cecilia's body. The visitation is tomorrow night and the
funeral is Friday morning."
"That's good. Maybe now
they can have some closure."
The two detectives let the
three suspects sit in their cells until the next afternoon. Then they were
separated and taken to the interrogation rooms. Jamal Zhan was being escorted
from his cell when Linda Baylor ran up to the two detectives.
"Is that him? Is he one
of the punks that murdered Sissy?"
Hutch took her by her
shoulders. "You shouldn't be here, Linda. You're not one of the
investigating officers."
She looked up at him.
"Do you think I care? Tell me the truth: is that him? Did he kill my
niece?"
Starsky helped Hutch lead
her away from the cell block. "Linda, you know the drill. We have reason
to believe he was one of the men responsible, but they weren't in any condition
last night to answer any questions. We're going to talk to them right now. Go
home, or even better, go back to your sister's house and we'll call as soon as
we're finished. If you hang around here, you could jeopardize the case or even
worse, get in some kind of trouble. Amanda needs you now. The funeral's going
to be hard enough on her without worrying about you."
Linda laid her head on
Hutch's shoulder. "I feel so damned helpless! She was my niece, but Dobey
wouldn't let me near this case. I couldn't stand waiting in my apartment any
longer, so when I heard this morning that you made an arrest, I came down
here." She looked from one man to the other. "I just wanted to see
what they looked like. I wanted to see the monsters that killed Sissy."
Starsky touched her hair.
"You'll see them, Linda, when it's time. Now go home. We've got them now.
Let us do our job."
"You promise to call
when you're finished? You'll tell me if they confess?"
Hutch gave her a hug then
gently turned her toward the hall. "We promise to keep you and Sissy's
parents informed. Go on; have one of the uni's take you home."
The two detectives watched
her go then Hutch turned to his partner. "It never ends, does it? An
innocent girl is murdered and her family is left to deal with the loss. And for what?"
Starsky knew there wasn't an
answer for that, so he just shrugged and touched his friend's stomach.
"Come on; we've got work to do."
While Simmons and Babcock
interviewed Ricky Riverside and Carl Young, Starsky and Hutch concentrated on
Jamal Zhan. The sullen young man gazed
through red-rimmed eyes as they walked into the interrogation room.
Starsky sat across the small
table from Jamal and grinned. "Hi'ya, Jamal. How ya feelin' this morning?"
"Get lost, pig."
Hutch shook his head
regretfully. "I'm afraid we can't do that, Jamal. You see, we got some
things to go over with you. Now, you can have a lawyer present if you want one.
They read you your right this morning, didn't they?"
"Yeah,
so what?"
"Well, if you want a
lawyer, and can't afford one, we'll stop right now until one is appointed for
you. Do you want us to do that?"
"I don't need a lawyer,
pig. I ain't done anything wrong."
Starsky's smile was feral.
"Then you won't mind signing this little piece of paper, would you? It
just states that you've waived your right to an attorney." He leaned
forward and whispered conspiratorially.
"It's just a formality, you know."
Hutch laid a small manila
folder on the table as he waited for Jamal to sign the document and push it
back to Starsky. "Well, now that we've taken care of that, we'd like to
ask you a few questions."
Jamal eyed the folder
warily. "What about?"
Hutch tapped his finger on
the file and regarded the young man on the other side of the table. "To
put it bluntly, Jamal ole buddy, you've been screwed. Your girlfriend gave you
up. Nina told us all about your visit with James Woodrow and Cecilia Powell.
She put you, Ricky Riverside, and Carl Young in that house at the time of the murder.
Now, if you tell us all about it, it will go a lot easier on you. Judges just
love to hear about how remorseful
creeps like you are. If we have to go to court, it won't take the jury fifteen
minutes to convict your sorry ass."
Jamal looked down at his
hands. "Nina's got a big mouth. She don't know
anything."
Starsky tilted his head.
"Now, that's not entirely true. She told you about the Percodan Cecilia
Powell had at that party a couple of years ago, and you knew James Woodrow used
to deal in coke. Nina said you owed a lot of people money, people that don't
take kindly to being shafted. So you and your pals decided to pay them a little
visit. You put your guns in your belts, drove over to their house and broke in.
You wasted that girl and damned near killed James Woodrow and still left
empty-handed. In case you don't know it, that's murder in the first degree.
Kiss your ass good-bye, Jamal. You're headed for the big house this time."
Jamal sneered at them.
"You're spittin' in the wind, pig. You got nothing on me."
Hutch shook his head.
"We've got Nina's testimony against you, the guns we confiscated from you
three bums last night, and a bloody footprint from the scene. The slugs we took
out of Cecilia and Jimmy match the bullets in your guns. And right at this very
minute, three teams from our crime lab are going over every inch of your
apartment, and the apartments where Carl and Ricky live. When they find the
boot one of you yahoos were wearing, it will match the print we took at the
scene. Oh, did we forget to mention the statement we got from James Woodrow? He
woke up and told us all about it. He named all three of you as his
assailants."
He smiled viciously at the
look of surprise on Jamal's face. "What's the matter, Jamal? Didn't you
think he'd wake up? You mean you thought he was dead, too? Or maybe you didn't
think he'd recover enough to finger you. Well, surprise, surprise. He gave us
all the gory details about that night. His statement alone is enough to
convict. By the time he's through testifying against you, they're going to lock
you in a cell and throw away the key. Since you like parties so much, I'm sure
the other prisoners will throw a big welcome party for you and your friends, if
you get my drift."
Jamal showed fear for the
first time. "We didn't mean for it to happen! I needed the cash, man! Some
of the dealers threatened to come after me if I didn’t pay up. I thought if I came
up with the cash and the dope, they'd leave me alone. Nina told me about the
Percodan and I figured Jimmy would have some coke stashed in that house
somewhere. But when he told us there wasn't anything, Carl freaked and started
beating Jimmy with a tire iron. I guess we all went a little crazy, because the
next thing I know, Jimmy and the broad are laying on the floor in their own
blood and we can hear sirens. It wasn't supposed to go down that way,
honest!"
Starsky glared at him.
"You're lying, punk. You shot James Woodrow as soon as you broke into the
house. Then when Cecilia Powell came out of the bedroom, you shot her in the
back of the head. Why? Was she trying to go for help?"
"I didn't mean to shoot
him! The gun went off accidentally. We
thought they would be in bed, but he was standing right there when we broke in.
I was scared, man! Then when Sissy came out of the bedroom, Jimmy yelled at her
to run away. We couldn't let her get away! I just wanted the money and the
coke. I needed the stuff to pay my dealers."
Hutch slammed his fist on
the table. "That's bull shit and you know it! Both those kids were clean.
They told you there wasn't anything in that house, but you didn't listen. You
were having too much fun beating the Hell out of Woodrow to stop. Then you shot
them and ran like the chicken-shit you are. James Woodrow begged you not to
kill Cecilia Powell, but you just laughed at him and shot her anyway."
"No, man, you got it
all wrong! It wasn't supposed to go down like that!"
Starsky leaned back in his
seat. "Sure, it just got out of hand a little. We all know how that can
happen. Who's the brainiac that decided Sydney Jenkins had money stashed in a
safe somewhere in that house?"
"That was Ricky. He saw
the old man at the bank one day. He's a big honcho down there. Ricky said he
was talking about all this money he had in his safe. Jimmy said he didn't know anything
about it, but the old man was talking about how big the safe was, so we knew he
had to have a lot of money in it."
"That big honcho is a
bank teller, you idiot! He's worked there for about twelve years. The only safe
he gets close to is the one in the bank. Do you get it now, scum? Sydney
Jenkins isn't rich! You murdered that girl for nothing!"
Jamal looked frantically
from one detective to the other. "We didn't mean for it to happen! You
gotta believe me!"
Hutch stood up, towering
over the scared man. "The only thing I believe is you didn't mean to get
caught. You murdered Cecilia Powell and left James Woodrow for dead. You went
in there intending to kill those two kids. Even if you'd gotten what you
wanted, you weren't about to leave them alive to finger you."
He opened the folder and
took out an eight by ten glossy photograph, and threw it down in front of Jamal
Zhan.
"Here, put that on the
wall in your cell, Jamal. She can keep you company for the next fifty years or
so. You can look at her every day and think about what you did to her."
Starsky stood up and raised
his hand in the air. "Wait a minute, Hutch. You forgot about
something."
"What?"
Starsky gave Jamal a wide
smile. "The state of
Hutch grinned mirthlessly
back at his partner. "Oh, yeah, I did forget about that."
He turned to Jamal, and
leaned down, putting his hands on the table. "Take a good look at her,
Jamal. I hope you see her in your dreams for the rest of your unnatural life,
however long that turns out to be. And we have a message from her aunt for you:
burn in Hell, Jamal."
As his face turned a sickly
shade of green, Jamal looked from the two detectives to the photograph on the
table. In it, Cecilia Powell lay on the blood stained carpet. Her blonde hair
was barely discernible through the blood that covered her hair. Her eyes were
open and seemed to stare back at him. The look on her face was one of pure
terror. At the bottom of the photograph, Hutch had scrawled two words in black
ink: REMEMBER ME.
The next evening, Hutch
trotted down the steps of
Starsky sighed through a
wave of sadness. What about Cecilia
Powell? Her life is over because of those three punks. Who's going to remember
her?
He pulled on his necktie,
grumbling under his breath. "I hate neckties. They always make me feel
like I'm choking."
Hutch laid a hand on his
friend's shoulder, understanding the real reason for Starsky's mood. "I
know."
The parking lot of the funeral
home was filled to capacity, so they parked the
"How are you holding
up, Sweetheart?"
"What can I say,
Starsk? They're going to bury my niece tomorrow. I couldn't have loved her more
if she was my own." She took his hand in hers. "I'm sorry. It's just
so hard. I'm doing as well as I can, I guess."
Hutch put an arm around her
as they walked to the viewing room. "I wish there was something we could
say to make it easier, but there isn't. Just remember that we're here if you
need us."
"I know, and it means a
lot to me. I'm glad you came. Everyone's been so kind to us. The Captain sent a
beautiful arrangement of flowers, and so did the guys from Vice." Linda
stopped and looked toward the other end of the room. "I'm worried about
Amanda, though. She hasn't left Sissy's side since we got here. She's taking
this really hard. I knew she would, but I'm afraid she's going to make herself
sick if she doesn't get some rest."
"Why don't we pay our
respects then maybe you can talk her into taking a break?"
Linda nodded gratefully.
"OK, I know she'd like to see you."
Together, they walked down
the carpeted aisle to the casket that lay on a pedestal against the wall. The
two men gazed down at Cecilia Powell. Mercifully, the two wounds that had ended
her life were hidden by her blonde hair, leaving her face untouched. She was as
pretty as the picture they'd seen in her parent's living room, and she looked
as if she were sleeping peacefully on the satin interior. Amanda Powell sat in
a chair beside the coffin, holding her daughter's hand. Mark Powell stood
beside his wife, a protective hand gripping her shoulder tenderly.
Hutch took Amanda's other
hand in both of his. "Mrs. Powell, I'm very sorry for your loss. Sissy was
a beautiful girl."
Amanda looked up at him. "Oh, hello, Detective. I'm so glad you came tonight. I
wanted to thank you again for catching the men that did this to poor Sissy. At
least we know that they won't hurt anyone else now."
Linda knelt down in front of
her sister. "You look tired, Sis. Why don't we go into the lounge and have
a glass of ice water?"
Amanda took a tissue and
wiped her daughter's face. "Oh, I don't know if I should leave Sissy
alone. It's awfully hot in here. Do you think her make-up will run?"
Mark closed his eyes as a
small sob escaped then squeezed his wife's shoulder. "Her make-up is fine,
Amanda. Why don't you go with Linda and try to rest for a bit? Sissy will be
all right for a while."
Amanda stood up and gently
lay her daughter's hand on top of her other one. "Well, I guess I am a
little tired. I'll go, but just for a few minutes."
Together, Mark and Linda
helped Amanda to her feet and led her to the lounge. Starsky gazed at the young
girl in the coffin, his heart aching for her family. He was lost in thought
until Hutch nudged him. Looking up, he followed the blond's glance.
James Woodrow sat in a
wheelchair at the end of the first row of seats. A black suit covered the
bandages on his chest and a black sling held his injured arm immobile. As they
knelt down in front of him, James didn't take his eyes off the casket, seeming
to look right through them.
Hutch laid a hand briefly on
James' knee. "We got them, James. We got the men that did this to Sissy.
Maybe now you can start to put this behind you and go on with your life."
The eyes of a tortured soul
looked back at him. "My life is over, man. They killed my girl."
The end
Pat L.
Author's note:
This story is based on
actual events that happened in our small town. In the early morning, a few days
before Memorial Day, three suspects broke into a home in a remote area of our
county. The real "James Woodrow" and "Cecilia Powell" were
asleep in their bedroom when they were assaulted. "James" was beaten
and shot three times; "Cecilia" was shot twice in the head. I've changed
some of the facts because the case is still under investigation, but this
tragedy rocked the lives of many people in this small town. My oldest daughter
had a crush on "James" when she was younger. She was the one that
went down to our mall and hung around, waiting for the chance to talk to him,
and was heart-broken when he got into trouble and was sent to prison.
"Cecilia" went to school with my youngest daughter and worked in the
same restaurant that many of her friends did. In a town this size, it isn't
hard to find someone that was related to her. She was someone's cousin, niece,
granddaughter, and daughter. Their lives were changed forever on that fateful
night.
Like the characters in my
story, the real James and Cecilia weren't angels. They'd been in trouble
before, but were trying to turn their lives around. This senseless act of
violence took that chance away from Cecilia, and James' life will never be the
same.
So, on a day when we were
supposed to honor our dead, a young girl's mother said good-bye to her daughter
for the last time. This story is dedicated to the real "James
Woodrow" and to the memory of the real "Cecilia Powell". Rest in peace, Cecilia. We will never forget you.
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