The Atlanta Co-Ed Murder

© 2010, 2014 Glen C. Carrington. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 06/09/2014

ISBN: 978-1-4520-4062-2 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4520-4063-9 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4520-4064-6 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2010909297

Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

The Trial

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

T his book is dedicated first to my father, Leonard Carrington, who passed away last year and then to my immediate family consisting of my mother, Gleanor Carrington; my brother Duke and his wife Carolyn; my sister Linda and her husband Marvin; and my three nephews, Kelsy and his wife Erica, Joshua, and Zachary. A quote by Daniel H. Burnham is directed to my nephews:

Make no little plans; they have no magic

to stir men’s blood…Make big plans, aim

high in hope and work.

Daniel H. Burnham

Dad was always supportive in encouraging us to be the best that we could be. We need to express those same sentiments to those coming behind us and show by discussion and deeds the actions that will help push those attributes onto the next generation. Although one could honestly say I stumbled into writing, the following quote probably best sums up my writing history.

Unprovided with original learning, unformed in the habits of thinking, unskilled in the arts of composition, I resolved to write a book.

Edward Gibbon

English historian of Rome (1737 - 1794)

So, if I can write a book with little formal training, the world is out there for your taking if you set your mind to it. Stay focused…and keep plodding toward your goal.

And thanks to all those who helped in the editing of this book like Jeanna Del Real, Saundra Davis, and Melinda Evans. As I’ve stated before, writing is only half the task of putting a book together. For your editing help I give you the three T’s…Thank you…Thank you…and Thank you.

The Dead cannot cry out for justice: it is a duty of the living to do so for them.

Lois McMaster Bujold,

Diplomatic Immunity, 2002

US science fiction author

Prologue

T he original call arrived at a pigeon’s breath before 6:45 P.M. Outside, following a brisk soaking downpour, a stoic summer evening dressed in smoldering humidity was quietly settling in. The relentless slivers of steam rising gently from the hot pavement took on the mushroom-like image of a nuclear explosion’s aftermath.

Three times the phone rang shrilly. The anachronous answering machine made its usual gyrating noises before finally clicking on. The anxious caller had listened patiently in hopes the intended recipient would pick up during the recorded message. But that was not to be, and the caller elected not to leave a message.

The second call, almost predictably, especially considering the identity of the caller, came a few hours later, around 10:30 P.M. The phone was promptly answered after the first ring.

Hello, Detective Lincoln?

Yes.

This is Franklin Dillard.

Good evening, Sir! It’s been awhile. The caller’s authoritative voice had a soothing effect, touching chords in the detective’s fonder memories.

Indeed, it’s been over two years.

There was a pause, as the detective’s mind flashed back to the case involving the brutal slaying of his caller’s youngest daughter. That case, a real mind twister, had brought the detective dangerously close to death.

When will you be returning to the mainland? Dillard asked, in a monotone voice. The tone made the question straightforward, thereby begging a direct response.

Actually, I really don’t know. I never dreamed I’d be staying in Hawaii this long. Sir, I would assume this is not a social call.

No, I’m afraid not. Frankly, I need your services again, Detective.

Before the investigator could respond, his mind once again automatically flashed back to the high-profile Dillard murder case with its many challenging aspects. Abstract images paraded rapidly across his mind’s screen, images he thought were securely stowed away.

Tell me, what’s happened?

A brief pause passed before the precise words were coolly delivered by the caller.

A good friend of mine just lost his daughter. She was raped and killed on her fiancé’s college campus, Douglass University, in Atlanta.

The detective listened closely. He knew that Dillard possessed keen innate insight, a man who had built a formidable legal empire and knew intimately the levers of influence and power.

When did it happen? Detective Lincoln asked.

Seven days ago.

Do the authorities have any suspects?

They’ve detained three male students, top athletes on the basketball team. Of course the students insist they’re innocent.

The detective continued to silently listen. Dillard, an attorney and a father, had lost a daughter in similar circumstances. He would unquestionably tell the private eye all he knew.

"One of those three students was dating the young lady. The father of the deceased, my friend and associate, was not very fond of this young man. He considered him from the wrong side of the tracks, an unfit suitor for his daughter. All three young men have had prior minor run-ins with the law. The police found marijuana in their room and forensic tests confirmed they had been using drugs that evening.

They claimed they had just finished playing a basketball game and had returned to their room… discovering the young lady dead in the closet. The young men further admit that, because of their intoxication, regrettable decisions were made that night. They allegedly panicked and foolishly attempted to dispose of the dead girl’s body.

Dillard paused, allowing his words to sink in.

The police have yet to arrest and charge them with anything because of the intense pressure they’re receiving. The boys, all top athletes, attract major college revenues. The victim attended the neighboring all girls’ school, Sojourner Truth College. The renowned Rev. Deek Johnson is standing, right now, firmly behind the boys. The Reverend is an alumnus of the boys’ school, Douglass. The President of Douglass is a good buddy of Deek’s.

What can I do for you, Mr. Dillard?

After a brief moment, Dillard responded. He was not a man by formal training or accumulated knowledge that minced his words. Powerful men possessed a natural ability to instill a sense of urgency.

I want you to find out the truth. I have some influence there and the Atlanta police have agreed to allow you to consult. My Atlanta office routinely interacts with the Atlanta Police Department’s top brass. Chief Bernhart will talk with you. He’s aware of your potential role in finding my friend’s daughter’s murderer.

When did you want me to start?

As soon as possible, if you’re interested?

I should be able to fly out in a few days.

Good. I’ll get you all the names and telephone numbers of the people that you’ll need to contact.

Will you be going to Atlanta? the detective asked.

No, I just attended the funeral. There’s nothing more I can do there. But, I have confidence you can help.

I’ll call you when I get to Atlanta, Mr. Dillard.

Thank you. And goodnight, Detective.

Goodnight, Sir.

Detective Lincoln thought back on the past couple of years. It was time. He suspected what might be before him. Well rested, he felt fit and ready. Here, again, was an opportunity to retest his skills.

Mistakes are, after all, the foundations of truth, and if a man does not know what a thing is, it is at least an increase in knowledge if he knows what it is not.

Carl Jung (1875 – 1961)

Chapter 1

D etective William Monroe Lincoln, tall, tanned, and dapper landed at the Atlanta International Airport three days after the Franklin Dillard call. He picked up his bags, rented a car, and drove toward Richard and Carla Valencia’s house, the dead girl’s parents. Carlita Valencia’s parents resided in a sprawling suburb twenty-five minutes from downtown Atlanta. The home was five-thousand-square-feet with ample accommodations for the detective. Normally, the investigator would have declined the offer to stay there, but in this case, he welcomed the opportunity to obtain as much information about the victim as possible.

Before driving to the Valencia home, he detoured to police headquarters. Chief Bernhart was off site, but Detective John Michael O’Brien, who was assigned to the case, was available. O’Brien was a third-generation Atlantan and the fifth family member in law enforcement. The Officer, medium height and muscular build, was rambunctious in nature. He led Detective Lincoln to his office where numerous sports trophies and old newspaper articles were nicely framed on the walls. O’Brien, a former athlete, had achieved some measure of local fame.

What do you have so far, Officer? Are the boys guilty?

O’Brien turned around and walked back to his chair. His eyes remained focused firmly on the investigator. He was naturally leery of outsiders broaching his domain to solve his cases. This is not a good thing from the average detective’s perspective.

It would seem so. A security guard caught them red-handed trying to dispose of the body. The young men had wrapped the corpse in a rug. They were stopped in the parking lot of one suspect’s dormitory. They ran. The guard caught one immediately and the other two were apprehended the next day.

What do they say happened? Bill inquired.

O’Brien surveyed Lincoln. How did this famed detective operate? Was he going to pull a rabbit out of a hat and proclaim case solved? He’d wait and see.

Two of the boys claimed they discovered the body in their friend’s closet. They had played a home basketball game that night. All three are team starters. After the game, they went to Roger Brown’s place to talk and do ‘other things’. Brown resides in the dorm and his two teammates live in an off-campus apartment. Brown was dating the young lady, or whatever they call it these days. The three students were smoking pot in the dorm room and had worked up an appetite. Brown lost the bet on deciding who would go get food.

While Brown was gone, his two buddies looked for a particular game while they waited. They claim when Jesus Gonzalez opened the closet door, looking for the board game, he discovered the girl’s body.

A long silence filled the room. Detective O’Brien wanted his words to weigh heavily in the listener’s ear. Detective Lincoln, however, sat patiently and waited for Officer O’Brien to resume.

According to them, they ‘freaked-out’. They figured people would think they had killed her. They’re saying they made a bad decision and got caught.

Why haven’t you arrested them yet? Lincoln asked.

It was obvious, by O’Brien’s body language, that this was an irritating issue. The Police could arrest a man who they themselves watched commit a crime, but the judicial bureaucrats of lawyers, judges, and prosecutors would intervene and the wheels of justice would then move at a crippled snail’s pace. This issue drives most Officers to the abyss.

Because of the damn politics being played! That’s the reason! That loudmouth self-righteous Rev. Deek Johnson is involved, telling everyone to ‘go slow’. He not only has the university president’s ear, but even the damn President of the United States too! He’s making sure those boys get extra-special treatment. And as if that wasn’t enough, he’s got two Harvard law school professors giving them legal advice.

I heard that the good Reverend also went to school at Douglas.

Yeah, you heard right.

So, how is the media playing it?

It was an open and shut case before Deek Johnson got involved. Now, the papers are sniffing around looking into the young lady’s affairs. She was a nice girl from a decent family, but that’s history. Every disgusting piece of dirt imaginable is being manufactured. For instance, they interviewed a student just last night. This guy says he heard she was a lesbian. When the reporter asked if he thought it was true, the student didn’t know. Even though he’s never met the young lady, he was still only too willing to repeat this ugly rumor. What’s going on is sickening. It makes me want to puke!

Lincoln could feel O’Brien’s disgust. He had seen the ugly side of politics for himself and had spent several painful weeks in jail because he found himself on the wrong side of the political equation.

So, it appears that Rev. Johnson is running the show?

Well, almost, until Dr. Elizabeth Bay Crockett, the president of the women’s college, got involved. Now she’s leading the charge, fighting Deek and his cronies. Her recent comments have hit the mark.

Will you arrest the three young men?

Oh yes. It’s only a matter of time. The political waters have shifted slightly now that Dr. Crockett has spoken out.

So, the lines have been drawn?

Definitely.

Lincoln could imagine the intense battle of wills. Both Rev. Johnson and Dr. Crockett were very determined individuals who would normally be found working on the same side; however, they were now worthy opponents.

So, tell me, what are these three students like?

It was time for Detective Lincoln to start getting background information. The outcome of a case is usually determined by the characters involved. The detective sought character profile types. The more he knew the better his data analysis.

Roger Brown was dating the girl. He’s the starting point guard on the basketball team. Brown is from New York and is a junior.

Is he pro material?

The Officer tilted his head back, reflecting on Lincoln’s question. He already knew his answer, but wanted to show Detective Lincoln that he was not one to rush to judgment, that he was reflective.

Well, he’s good, but there’re lots of guys who are good. In my opinion, he’s playing for the wrong school to make it to the pros.

Okay, who are the other two?

Jesus Gonzalez is from Los Angeles. You don’t find many Hispanics who can play ball like he can. He’s a class act. He grew up in inner city neighborhoods and he’s athletic. He learned by playing against the neighborhood’s best. He figured out that basketball could get him a ticket out of the barrio. The third boy is Jamal ‘Tiny’ Muhammad. Jamal is six foot-seven and they’ve always called him Tiny. He’s from Washington, DC.

Are they clean?

Are you kidding? You know the blueprint. They’re all top athletes and have been treated royally. Each has had scrapes with the law. They’re not Boy Scouts, far from it.

I’d like to read the file. Is that possible?

Sure. Chief Bernhart has already agreed. I’ve got it right there, O’Brien remarked, pointing his finger at a set of gray six-foot filing cabinets. O’Brien pulled a set of keys from his pocket and took out two very full sets of manila folders.

You can read them here at my desk. I’ve got to take care of a few things upstairs anyway. Be my guest.

I appreciate it. Thanks.

After an hour of reading, Lincoln figured he was about halfway through. He decided to call the Valencia family to tell them he would arrive in about two hours. He finished his reading fifty minutes later. Lincoln took copious notes, folded them, and placed the papers in his inside jacket pocket. As he sat there, a knock on the door got his attention. He soon stared into the warm brown eyes of an attractive female wearing a detective’s shield on her leather jacket lapel.

Hello, I’m Detective Nakita Cruz, O’Brien’s partner. I was just informed that you were here. It’s nice to finally meet you, Detective Lincoln. I’ve heard a lot about you. And with that she held out her hand.

Please, call me Bill. He raised his hand and shook hers.

And I’m Nakita.

That’s an interesting name, Detective.

Which one? she smiled.

Nakita. It sounds Russian.

My father is a Hungarian Jew and my mother is Hispanic. He took her name because his was too much to handle. Since my father is very liberal and didn’t have a problem shedding his last name, and my mother is a fireball who thinks all men should change their last names to that of their wife, it worked out perfectly.

And so did you do the same thing with your husband?

She paused for a few seconds and looked at him curiously.

How do you know I’m married, Detective?

No ring, he said as he turned and sat back down in his chair, but the ring mark is evident on your finger. You recently removed your ring, to conceal it. I assume you did it before you introduced yourself to me. Engaged women usually don’t conceal that information, but broadcast it. Therefore, by simple deduction, I assume you’re married.

Very good, Detective, I mean, Bill. You have a sharp eye. I get a better measure of a man when he thinks I’m single.

I understand. Tell me about the case, Nikita. I’ve got about twenty minutes before I have to go. What’s your gut feeling about these young men?

I think they’re guilty. Their story is too bizarre, in my opinion, for them to be anything else. How often do you go home and ‘discover’ a body in your closet, which just happens to be your recently murdered girlfriend?

Rumor has it there’re politics afoot.

I suggest you wear your boots, Detective.

When are you going to arrest the young men?

With the way things are going, we may have to wait for the President of the United States to give us the nod first.

It’s that bad?

Where have you been living, Detective?

Hawaii.

Oh, I was beginning to wonder if you read the papers.

Could the young men be not guilty?

She studied Bill closely, wondering where he was going with this. She remembered Lincoln had solved the infamous Oakland Hills voodoo murders. In that case, the real murderers had gone unsuspected until the man standing before her had rooted them out. She took another hard look at Detective Lincoln and chose her words most carefully.

In my opinion, it is highly unlikely that anyone other than those three students is guilty.

Thank you for your observations, Detective. I must be going. O’Brien gave me his telephone number. I’d like yours as well.

Both detectives exchanged information. Bill shook hands with the lady cop and a few minutes later was in his car driving toward the Valencia family home.

The struggling for knowledge has a pleasure in it like that of wrestling with a fine woman.

George Savile, Lord Halifax (1633-1695)

English statesman, author

Chapter 2

D etective Lincoln pulled into the Valencia’s gated driveway at 5:35 P.M. As he opened the car door and stepped out, the main entrance door opened and a middle-aged couple walked toward him. The man, approximately six feet tall, was dressed in an open collared, short-sleeved designer shirt and casual slacks. The woman, much shorter than the man, wore black slacks with a light sweater.

Detective Lincoln? the man asked while approaching him.

Yes, but please call me Bill.

I’m Richard and this is my wife, Carla.

It’s nice to meet you both. I’m sorry we have to meet under these circumstances.

We understand. Please come in. My son will bring your bags in.

Thanks.

The three of them walked inside. The detective was introduced to the son, Richard Jr. At twenty-five, Richard Jr. was their eldest child. He greeted the lawman and then retrieved the bags. Another woman was sitting in the living room. She stood as they came closer. Carla introduced her to the detective.

This is my youngest sister, Offie.

I’m pleased to meet you. I’m Bill Lincoln.

It’s my pleasure. Thank you for coming, Detective.

The resemblance was uncanny. The deceased looked more like her aunt than her own mother! Lincoln had received a package regarding the case from Franklin Dillard Sr.; it was waiting for him when he arrived at the airport. The deceased daughter’s picture was in that package.

I apologize for staring, but you and your niece looked so very much alike.

Why, thank you Mr. Lincoln. My niece was a lovely young lady.

It’s true. As Carlita aged, she started looking more like my sister than me, Carla reflected. It was amazing. Everyone noticed.

I never cared much for her friend Roger, the father remarked.

Why is that? Bill asked.

Because, he has a low-class mentality, he’s a hooligan. I didn’t mind that he was poor, that means nothing to me. I was more concerned about his lifestyle than his wallet. He simply didn’t share the same value system that we instilled our daughter with.

We raised our little girl to respect everyone. But, he was trash, Mr. Lincoln, the mother stated. I never said those words to her, but that’s exactly how I felt!

So, tell me, why did she go out with him? the detective inquired.

He was a basketball star who took an interest in a pretty girl, our pretty girl. Surely you know how it is for young girls. She was receiving attention from someone everyone knew and admired. During the basketball season, these young men were like demi-gods.

Did she like the young man as a person?

Well, I think she liked the attention more so than the boy. So many of the girls wanted to date Roger and there she was, his choice. They had little in common. He didn’t care anything about school beyond playing basketball.

Lincoln knew the story. He felt sorry for this beleaguered couple. They were obviously hardworking and middle-class. Now, suddenly, their simple family life had been sucked down into a nightmarish vortex.

Can you tell me when you last heard from Carlita?

I spoke with her around 2:00 P.M. She had just called to say ‘hello’, the mother answered.

Did she say what she planned that evening? the detective asked.

No, nothing specific; she mentioned a basketball game, but she wasn’t sure if she was going due to homework. There was an after game party she said she’d probably attend.

Did she say whether she would go with Roger or planned to meet him there?

Mrs. Valencia thought for a few seconds and responded.

For the life of me, I can’t remember if she said anything about how she was going to get there.

Did any of you talk to her that day? the detective inquired. The others shook their heads.

Now think about this before answering, is there anything I should know about your daughter that would be considered, well, negative?

Once again, the family collectively shook their heads.

Had she ever become pregnant?

Heavens, no! exclaimed her mother.

Definitely not! the father echoed.

How could you be sure? the detective asked. The parent’s response had been too quick and too intense. Their daughter was dating out of her social class so what else might she be doing? Too many parents put on blinders regarding their offspring.

Well, because she would’ve told me, Carla responded. After all, we were very, very close.

Was she sexually active with Roger?

There was silence. The father and mother exchanged glances. They had both been asked this question before. Carla’s sister also had nothing to contribute to this issue.

Who would know if she had been sexually active with Roger? the detective inquired.

Again, silence.

Well then, who were her closest girlfriends?

This was a better way to get an answer. The family seemed most uncomfortable discussing the potential sex life of their dead daughter. A few moments later, the mother offered the names of three young ladies.

Now, how do you feel about the politics being played out here?

It’s absolutely disgusting, Richard asserted boldly. You’d think everyone would want to solve this heinous crime, but that’s not the case. We’ve got political grandstanding that would make your stomach turn. Thank God Dr. Crockett has stepped forward with a different point of view.

Then it’s safe to assume that you’re not a fan of Rev. Deek Johnson.

No, I hate him, Carla interjected. I used to respect him, but not anymore.

And what about you, Offie, how do you feel about Rev. Johnson?

Offie hadn’t said much during the conversation. There weren’t many questions she could answer better than her sister and brother-in-law. This was the first question the detective had asked her directly.

I have mixed feelings. I don’t think I can give a truly unbiased opinion. I loved my niece and anyone hindering finding her murderer does not sit well with me. I don’t think that’s a fair question, Detective Lincoln.

I can understand your feelings. The detective turned and looked directly at the husband. And you Richard, what are your feelings about Rev. Johnson?

As an attorney, I can understand his comments. But as the father of a murdered child, I want justice. I want to find my daughter’s killer. Anyone stopping that from happening is no friend of mine!

They talked for twenty minutes more until Carla fixed dinner. The detective learned nothing else of relevance that evening.

Chapter 3

T he following morning, Detective Lincoln had breakfast with the Valencia family and then met with detectives O’Brien and Cruz. Detective Lincoln was taken to the crime scene. The dorm room was still taped off by the police department.

The Officers flashed their badges before the sentry guarding the room and the detectives entered Suite 303, Roger Brown Jr.’s place. Detective Cruz, taking control, escorted Detective Lincoln throughout the crime scene. She showed him where the body had been found and presented the list of the room items found that night. The small room could not accommodate more than two students as living quarters.

Let’s go to the parking lot. I want to see where that security guard stopped them, Lincoln stated.

They took a modern elevator down and walked fifty steps to the parking lot. Detective Cruz identified the spot where the students were confronted that night. There was nothing unusual about the location. It was Roger’s designated parking place. Detective O’Brien opened his case file and read the statement made by the arresting security guard.

The guard wrote, ‘When completing my rounds, I noticed three students in the parking lot, acting strangely. I went to investigate and noticed a rolled rug in their possession. Their behavior was noticeably suspicious. I started asking questions. The students dropped the rug and ran. I immediately grabbed the one closest to me; he had stumbled and fallen. I fell on top and subdued him’.

Have the police interviewed the students? Lincoln inquired. There had been no mention of any interviews in the file that Detective Lincoln had reviewed.

No. Unfortunately the lawyers have effectively cut off all communication. The students haven’t even been charged. Damn I hate this lawyer crap. It seems like the only people who have rights any more are the damn criminals, O’Brien gruffly spit out as if he had discovered a nasty-tasting object in his mouth.

Well now, just who are the boys’ lawyers?

Those two Harvard Law professors who are always on television complaining ad nausea about how this one’s or that one’s rights have been violated. Apparently they’ve never met a guilty person in their lives. Nor have they ever seen a piece of evidence that wasn’t either planted or corrupted by the police, Detective O’Brien spewed.

You mean Ribinovitz and Stone, the dynamic duo? They’re a pair, alright,

Detective Lincoln reflected. Ordinary defense lawyers were an obstacle and top defense lawyers were just another layer delaying and sidetracking the slow turning wheels of justice.

You get them on camera and it’s a show. They quote the Constitution, the Bill of Rights, the Bible, the Koran, sing songs with the Mormon Tabernacle Choir and then they tag-team it over to the Rev. Deek Johnson. And you know he’s never met any student from Douglass University who has ever done anything wrong. I’m surprised they’ve even acknowledged the girl’s death. If you leave it up to them, they’d probably try to convince us that some alien invaders did it, O’Brien continued to rail.

Please, spare me the details, Bill whipped. However, I’d like to talk to the boys.

Now that’s a novel idea, Detective. Why didn’t we think of that? O’Brien responded sarcastically.

Bill ignored the comment and decided there was nothing more to see.

I’d also like to talk to some of the boys’ friends. Can we do that today? Detective Lincoln asked.

O’Brien opened his file again and looked for the telephone list of the people they had interviewed. Two of the non-suspect basketball players lived on campus. He called the on- campus players first, since they were the closest. The phone was answered by one of the students… a Phillip ‘Squeaky’ Banks. Quickly, it was determined the young man had no interest in speaking with the police. Lincoln, after