Untitled (9 page)

  A week later, Cavanaugh came over with his son, a quiet little boy named Danny. Marshall and Danny hit it off right away. But Moses didn't like the strange boy and stayed away from him. Cavanaugh told Beatrice that he wanted to help the family as much as he could. He also wanted his son to have friends in their neighborhood. He was skinny, weak, and always the only white kid around.

  Buford had actually helped Cavanaugh get a job at the Chrysler plant before Cavanaugh had become a cop. Before then, Robert Cavanaugh's life had been crumbling. His wife was leaving him, and he wrestled with alcohol. The Chrysler job stabilized him, and saved his family.

  Robert Cavanaugh had bright red hair, twinkling green eyes and a thin Irish brogue. He eventually quit the plant and became a cop like his father before him.

  Marshall and the family anguished as the trial dragged on, and Percy's lawyer, a brilliant young attorney named Frank D'Estenne, almost got Percy acquitted. Marshall watched in stony silence as the lawyers worked, manipulating the truth and bending lies to look like truth. All through the ordeal, he stared with hatred at Moses, who seemed unaffected by the trial.

  Marshall knew then that he wanted to be a lawyer, to help present the truth in the public forum. Percy was convicted and sent to prison for thirty years. The family had cheered the verdict of guilty of manslaughter. Cavanaugh and his family had sat through the entire trial with the Jacksons and seemed just as happy.

  The conviction brought closure to the family. It was the end of a nightmare. Marshall shut the door on his father's life and faced the uncertainty of a world without him.

  Beatrice caught the weight of Buford's absence and bore it for the rest of her life. She worked full-time at a public school cafeteria and did cleaning work on the weekends. But she could not stop the natural force of a missing husband and father.

  The home seemed empty and insincere after that, and the Jackson siblings began to mutate into children of loss. They became wild, aimless, and took to the streets as a replacement for the man they had lost. Suddenly, the danger of the neighborhood invaded their house and twisted their lives into ruin.

  Marshall's older sister, Theresa, started drinking, and drugs soon followed. She moved from one stupid boyfriend to another, until she got knocked up like the rest of her friends. Beatrice and Theresa fought bitterly about the unborn child, and Theresa moved out of the house and got on welfare. She came back when her daughter was born with a mental defect that would render her handicapped for the rest of her life. Theresa didn't understand that you had to stop taking drugs when you were pregnant. The baby, little Fiona, would forever be a reminder of that mistake.

  Marshall became a regular visitor to the Cavanaugh home during this time, going there to escape the darkness that had fallen on his own home. He and young Danny soon became best friends.

  The Cavanaughs were one of the few white families who stayed in the black neighborhoods, in part because the city had a residency requirement for its police officers, but mostly because they liked the people there. They were God-fearing Catholics and believed that each man was their brother.

  The Cavanaughs were a good but troubled family, just like Marshall's own. Danny's older brother had been in jail for most of his life. And even though a good job had helped Robert Cavanaugh, he still drank too much and argued terribly with his wife, an amiable woman named Lucy. But they were lucky in that despite their dysfunction, no one had died because of it.

  Marshall and Danny shared their lives in the black neighborhood. Danny had already picked up the lingo and rhythms of the street and at times seemed more at home than Marshall. There were a few white kids who got locked into the community and culture and in effect became just as black as their friends. Danny was one of those kids. Sometimes Marshall would hear him talking and not even know he wasn't black until he saw his face.

  They were ostracized by their friends for their friendship but held on fast to each other. Soon, Marshall looked at the little Irish boy as his brother.

  This drove a bigger wedge between Marshall and Moses. Jealous and alone, Moses' resolve to do wrong deepened until it became his philosophy. He became worse, getting kicked out of school, fighting and stealing everything in sight. He was a monster devouring the happiness and hope of his family.

  Beatrice was pleased with Marshall's transformation, but like so many mothers from the inner city, she felt her work was done with him, and concentrated on the bad son. Moses got all her attention and compassion, even as Marshall excelled in school, graduated with honors from Pershing High School, and enrolled in Wayne State.

  Marshall's relationship with his mother soured and he was off in the world on his own. He did well in college but dropped out and joined the marines. Danny Cavanaugh went against family tradition and joined with him.

  Beatrice was angry and heartbroken. She did not know what the service held for a black man in America. But Marshall wanted to be as far away from her and Detroit as he could get. So, he joined the service and went overseas. He didn't write or talk to his family for months.

  In the service, Marshall learned to be strong, tough, and resilient. He learned his way around a gun and vowed never to be without one at his disposal.

  Danny Cavanaugh excelled as a marine, going through boot camp as one of the sergeant's favorites. He was also the best shot in the camp. Little quiet Danny became a kick-ass soldier. He thrived on the machismo and the violence. He lifted weights and gained twenty pounds of muscle. Marshall watched the transformation with astonishment. The little kid who he used to protect from bullies was now fierce enough to eat them all alive.

  They were assigned to a platoon and sent to Europe as the Soviet Union crumbled and long-brewing ethnic hatreds erupted. They assisted a UN peacekeeping force in Eastern Europe. Marshall soon learned that what peacekeepers really did was to kill anyone threatening the peace.

  Marshall and his battalion fought in the cities and countryside and drove the violently hateful rebels back. He had shot at many men but didn't know how many men he had hit. But Danny had kept count. He had six notches on the butt of his rifle, but Marshall was sure it was an exaggeration. Marshall was amazed by the depth of the hatred between these white men who looked so similar to one another.

  The armed service was not his salvation, but it pointed him toward it. He learned a sense of justice and respect for his country. He had a lot of problems with America. It certainly had a history of mistreating his people, but after going around the world, Marshall felt that America was the best deal going and it was up to individuals to help themselves, using their own power and resources.

  Not long into their service, Danny's father had a heart attack, and Danny reluctantly left the service and enrolled in the police academy. It seemed that the Cavanaugh tradition was going to be upheld through another generation.

  Two months later, Marshall started to miss America and his friend. He grew tired of the service and decided that he had to go back home and finish the life that he'd started.

  Marshall returned to Detroit. He was now a man, and saw the city as a place of great opportunity. His people were in power and ruled the city. He'd always wanted to be a lawyer, and now he had the money and courage to try it.

  Marshall became reacquainted with his mother. Beatrice's life was now in a shambles. Moses had milked the family of all resources and love, and Beatrice had depleted herself trying to save him. Marshall was furious and vowed to drive his brother into the dust if he had to.

  But Moses was now a full-fledged criminal king in the neighborhoods, feared by people, and wanted by the law. He ran with killers, drug addicts, and prostitutes. He used his mother's house as living quarters for his friends, and a station for his activities. Theresa had married and moved away with her daughter, fearing the violence her brother brought home with him each night.

  Marshall confronted his brother and, with the assistance of rookie police officer Danny Cavanaugh, drove him and his element out of his mother's life, by moving her away. Beatrice lived with him for a while, then decided to move into a retirement home with people her own age.

  It had been hard for Marshall to forgive his mother for his belief that she had emotionally abandoned him, but he had to. He was alone in this world that was now so new to him. He needed the strength of his family to set the foundation for his life.

  Marshall received his degree in criminal justice at Wayne State. He later enrolled in Wayne State Law School and graduated with honors. He joined a small law firm specializing in criminal defense but soon grew tired of the game. Defense lawyers rode a sharp edge of denial. He needed a job where the lines were more clearly defined.

  So Marshall wrangled a job working in the city's legal department. While defending the city on a big police misconduct case in federal court, he impressed the presiding judge, Stephen Bradbury, who recruited him as one of his clerks. That job, added to his trial experience, got him into the U.S. attorney's office. It didn't hurt that Bradbury got bumped up to the Sixth Circuit Court of Appeals, and that he was friends with Nate Williams, who was appointed U.S. attorney soon thereafter.

  He kept in touch with Danny all through this time on the legal fast-track, renewing his friendship. Ironically, as Mar shall grew more educated and refined, Danny became more rough and streetlike, a result of his job as a cop. In a world dominated by stereotypes, they were a paradox: the white man was black, and the black man was white.

  The day he walked in the U.S. attorney's office Marshall remembered what the man had said to him the night he almost died.
"This is what fools get in life, boy."
Marshall had survived the dangers of the street, and did not get what fools got. He looked up at the seal of the United States and knew he had found his professional home.

  Marshall stopped his workout. He was dripping with sweat and breathing hard. The tension he'd felt was gone now. Immediately, his mind went back to the case. Whoever had killed Douglas had to be organized and perhaps part of a group of conspirators who hated Douglas too. A lonegunman theory was bullshit, a beautiful lie told to people who didn't know any better.

  Marshall ascended the stairs from the basement and hopped into the shower. The hot water felt good on his tight muscles. The hair they'd found was definitely from an African-American, and he already knew the motive. Hatred. The FBI was already checking out all local and national black militant groups that might have wanted Douglas dead. To his surprise, there were a lot of them.

  Marshall was struck by the irony of his case. For so long, blacks in America had been targets of violence, discrimination, and murder. But now they had truly arrived. They were doctors, lawyers, and heads of state. And it seemed they were also engaged in the weighty business of political assassination.

M
arshall finished his shower and put on fresh clothes. He went back into his office and started taking out the forensic reports on Douglas. There wasn't much to tell. The cause of death was two bullets in the body. One in the chest and another in the head.

  He waded into the sea of paper when the doorbell rang. Marshall stopped his work. It couldn't be his wife, he thought. Marshall's hand went for the 9mm he kept in his desk, then he thought better of it. Prosecutorial paranoia. He got up and answered the door.

  He looked out the peephole and saw Agent Sommers standing in front of the door, checking out the house.

  "Hey, Marshall," said Agent Sommers as Marshall opened the door. She had a big package at her feet. "I've got all the reports from my office and the TV tapes. Damned TV news guys gave us shit about it too. Speaking of which, they're all saying the man who was shot was the gunman, so they don't know what we know yet."

  "Good. They don't need to," said Marshall. "We don't want any conspirators to know what we do." He suddenly remembered the case he and Sommers had worked on. It was a postal worker who was shot and robbed on her route. Sommers had been a dogged investigator, tireless and methodical. He was suddenly glad to have her on his side.

  "Wanna come in, have a beer or something?"

  "Do I ever," said Sommers. "But I'm on the clock. I'm still checking out leads."

  "Call me if you get anything," said Marshall.

  "I will," said Sommers. She lifted the package into Marshall's waiting hands, then turned and walked off.

  As Marshall watched Sommers leave, he saw his wife's car rolling down the street. His stomach tightened. He could not remember when he began to dread seeing his life partner. Things were not rosy for them these days, and he knew the Douglas case would only make matters worse.

  Chemin Harris-Jackson was a bright, big-eyed beauty who was funny, intelligent, and full of energy, the kind of woman who enlivened just about everything she did.

  He remembered the first time they met, how she had taught him to say her name. It was at a state bar association. He couldn't remember why she was there, but he remembered that she had been radiant, charming, and very funny. Men had lined up to test her favor, and for some reason, he'd won out.

  "Sheh-men," she had said, teaching him her name. "Not Shaman. They use magic. I do it the old-fashioned way." She was sexy, playful, and very confident. He had followed her around all night like a lost puppy, captivated by her.

  Chemin worked for a company called Hallogent, a big consulting firm that sold information on consumers and companies. They also followed buying and investing trends on a global basis. She was an assistant vice president and proud of her position.