native New Orleanean. Father unknown, mother missing since leaving Andray at a hospital three years after giving him a misspelled name and a crack addiction at birth. Andray had officially aged out of foster care six months ago but hadnât actually had a foster placement for six years. Instead heâd been assigned to the St. Josephâs Service Center Home in St. Rochâwhich had closed in 2002. No one noticed that he had no placement after that. He had a record longer than my hotel room, but I didnât see anything more interesting than Iâd seen at first glance: more possession, more assault. It didnât take much to rack up those charges, especially if you were black and poor and male. I guessed Iâd done a lot moreassaulting and carrying and narcotic using and distributing than Andray, but my jacket was less than half as long. Then again, Iâd rarely used a nine-millimeter or an AK-47 in my assaulting, like Andray had.
Heâd been arrested for murder twice. Both arrests ended in a release after sixty days. That was the usual down here. The locals called it a sixty-day homicide or a misdemeanor murder or a 701â701 being the code that said the cops had sixty days to charge the suspect or let him go. Sixty days was a long time to put a murder charge together. Sixty days was a long time to put the Constitution on hold. But not long enough for this town. More than ninety percent of people arrested for murder in New Orleans were released in sixty days.
But a 701 was no cakewalk for the guy they arrested, either. A homicide suspect in New Orleans was more likely to be murdered himself than tried in court. The cops might as well have painted a target on the kids they held, guilty or not, for sixty days before they put them back out on the street. Any contact with the cops was grounds for the death penalty, and the judges and juries on the street didnât need sixty days to make a case stick.
People kill each other everywhere. The difference was that in New Orleans, no one tried to stop them. The cops blamed the DA and the DA blamed the cops. The schools blamed the parents and the parents blamed the schools. White people blamed black people and black people blamed white people. In the meantime, everyone went on killing each other.
I put the official records aside and looked at the fingerprints again. Like most criminals, Andray had a strong Robberâs Swirl and a short Temper Curve. I wasnât surprised he was in jail. Vic had an overdeveloped Line of Denial and a small scar where his Conscience Whorl should have been. Typical lawyer. But both men had a strong and well-defined Heart Center in their thumbs. I didnât expect that.
Constance taught me the esoteric art of reading fingerprints long ago. There were only a few people left who really knew how to do it, and none here in the States. Some were in Europe,most were in India. When Constance died I had to continue my study from books and intuition.
âNever be afraid to learn from the ether,â Constance told me. âThatâs where knowledge lives before someone hunts it, kills it, and mounts it in a book.â
Â
I figured I had it solved. Andray Fairview broke in to Vicâs house, found him at home, took some food, and took Vic too. Andray probably planned to take Vic to an ATM for a withdrawal. When he found out they were all down, he killed Vic and ditched him in the floodwaters. It wasnât a perfect crime, but it was a damn good one. Given that teenagers are rarely criminal masterminds, I figured the case would be over in a few days. The case of Vic Willing was as good as closed.
Or so I thought until I fell asleep that night.
12
I WALKED DOWN a long street that used to be in a city. Now it was deserted, covered with white ash and dried gray mud. Brown plants died along the side of the road. Ruins of cars and houses sat still and broken on either side of the street. The air smelled sweet and
Heâd been arrested for murder twice. Both arrests ended in a release after sixty days. That was the usual down here. The locals called it a sixty-day homicide or a misdemeanor murder or a 701â701 being the code that said the cops had sixty days to charge the suspect or let him go. Sixty days was a long time to put a murder charge together. Sixty days was a long time to put the Constitution on hold. But not long enough for this town. More than ninety percent of people arrested for murder in New Orleans were released in sixty days.
But a 701 was no cakewalk for the guy they arrested, either. A homicide suspect in New Orleans was more likely to be murdered himself than tried in court. The cops might as well have painted a target on the kids they held, guilty or not, for sixty days before they put them back out on the street. Any contact with the cops was grounds for the death penalty, and the judges and juries on the street didnât need sixty days to make a case stick.
People kill each other everywhere. The difference was that in New Orleans, no one tried to stop them. The cops blamed the DA and the DA blamed the cops. The schools blamed the parents and the parents blamed the schools. White people blamed black people and black people blamed white people. In the meantime, everyone went on killing each other.
I put the official records aside and looked at the fingerprints again. Like most criminals, Andray had a strong Robberâs Swirl and a short Temper Curve. I wasnât surprised he was in jail. Vic had an overdeveloped Line of Denial and a small scar where his Conscience Whorl should have been. Typical lawyer. But both men had a strong and well-defined Heart Center in their thumbs. I didnât expect that.
Constance taught me the esoteric art of reading fingerprints long ago. There were only a few people left who really knew how to do it, and none here in the States. Some were in Europe,most were in India. When Constance died I had to continue my study from books and intuition.
âNever be afraid to learn from the ether,â Constance told me. âThatâs where knowledge lives before someone hunts it, kills it, and mounts it in a book.â
Â
I figured I had it solved. Andray Fairview broke in to Vicâs house, found him at home, took some food, and took Vic too. Andray probably planned to take Vic to an ATM for a withdrawal. When he found out they were all down, he killed Vic and ditched him in the floodwaters. It wasnât a perfect crime, but it was a damn good one. Given that teenagers are rarely criminal masterminds, I figured the case would be over in a few days. The case of Vic Willing was as good as closed.
Or so I thought until I fell asleep that night.
12
I WALKED DOWN a long street that used to be in a city. Now it was deserted, covered with white ash and dried gray mud. Brown plants died along the side of the road. Ruins of cars and houses sat still and broken on either side of the street. The air smelled sweet and
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