“You have the right to the presence of an attorney during any questioning. Do you understand?”
“ Before,” Fuqua said.
“What?” I asked, confused.
“You said I have the right to the presence of an attorney during any questioning. Should be before and during any questioning.”
“That’s one for the books,” Graupmann said sarcastically. “A scumbag cop killer knows Miranda better than the great Ash Levine.”
“He’s probably heard it more times than me,” I said. Turning to Fuqua I said, “Let’s finish this. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed for you before and during any questioning, free of charge. You understand?”
“Yeah, I understan’.”
“Okay,” I said. “I just want to get your side of the story. First of all, where were you on Thursday night, three weeks ago?”
Fuqua brushed his jaw with his palm. “Probably in my house, drinkin’ some eight ball, and watchin’ TV.”
“That was in the house you rented behind the main house, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Anybody with you that night.”
“Naw. My girlfriend was in Oakland visiting her sister.”
“Your landlord see you that night.”
“Naw. He always turn in early.”
“Did you know Pete Relovich when he was working as a detective in the Harbor Division?”
“Sure I knew him,” Fuqua said. “He popped me and sent me to the pen.”
“Were you angry with him?”
“ Hell yes I was angry with him. ‘Cause I didn’t do what he say I did.”
Graupmann muttered, “Sure. Folsom’s full of innocent-”
Cutting him off, I asked, “Have you ever been to Relovich’s house?” This was a critical question, because if he denied it, then I knew the Kleenex would doom him in front of a jury. But if he was a step ahead of me and could come up with an innocuous explanation why he visited Relovich-but left before the time of the murder-the evidence against him might be negated.
“I never been to his house.”
Relieved, I asked, “You’re absolutely sure you’ve never been to his house?”
“Hell, no!”
“Know where he lives?”
“How would I know that?”
“Is that a no?”
“Yes.”
I held up a hand. “Let me clarify. Do you know where former Detective Relovich lives?”
“No.”
Now that I could use the Kleenex against him, I figured I would try for a backdoor confession. “Listen Terrell, I know you’re lying. I’ve got evidence that puts you right at Relovich’s. DNA evidence. And DNA doesn’t lie. But I know that every story’s got two sides. I want to hear yours. Maybe Relovich asked you to come by to provide info on an old case. When you were there, maybe he came after you. Maybe he pulled a gun. Maybe you felt your life was in danger. If it went down like that, you can claim self-defense.”
“Don’t play me like that.”
“I’m not playing you,” I said. “I’m serious as a heart attack.”
Fuqua dropped his head on the table and closed his eyes.
Graupmann banged his fist on the table. “Wake up, shitbird. We’re talking to you.”
He opened one eye.
“Look,” I said, “I know you didn’t go to Relovich’s alone. Maybe you had no idea what your partner was going to do. If it was your partner who shot him, save yourself and let us know.”
Fuqua shook his head disconsolately.
“You got a chance right now,” I said. “But when we pick up this other guy, he’ll roll over like a circus dog. Then it’ll be too late for you.”
“You tryin’ to do me.”
“I’m not trying to do anybody.” I rapped my knuckles on the table. “Terrell, this is a death penalty case. And juries don’t like cop killers. Right now, you’re looking at the choke chamber. Give me something. Anything. And I’ll try to help you.”
Fuqua glared at me, eyes as cold as bullets. “You jammin’ me for a murder I didn’t do. You playin’ me for the fool, like you LAPD cops do.”
He grabbed my card off the table, and studied it for a moment, reading with his lips. “Le- viiine,” he said, stretching out the second syllable. He angrily threw the card on the ground. “Damn! Had a public defender once whose name was Le- viiine. He was a motherfuckin’ Jew. I learned about Jews when I was in the joint. Became a Muslim in there. I go by Tariq Ahmed Fawaz now. My cellie give me one of our minister’s writings. He called y’all bloodsuckers. He called your religion a gutter religion.”
Fuqua leaned over and spit on the floor. “I learned from him how y’all controlled the slave trade back in the day, and how now ya’ll now control Hollywood, trying to keep the bruthas down, making us look like clowns, makin’ us look like degenerates in front of the whole world. This minister said Hitler was a great man. Maybe if Hitler finished the job, you wouldn’t be here persecutin’ me like this.”
Graupmann laughed so hard that he choked. “This guy’s the black Mel Gibson.”
I jerked my thumb at the door. Graupmann followed me into the hallway.
“I can handle it on my own now,” I said. As Graupmann returned to the squad room, I shut down the video so the hidden camera wouldn’t record our encounter.
When I returned to the interview room, I kicked the bottom of Fuqua’s chair so hard that he tumbled over. When he tried to stand up, I stepped on his wrist, increasing the pressure until he grimaced in pain.
“When I brought you in here, I treated you with respect. I expect to be treated the same way. When you say things that are disrespectful, there are consequences. Do you understand?”
Fuqua looked up at me, eyes smoldering.
I put more weight on his wrist. “Do you understand?”
“Yeah!” Fuqua yelped.
“Yes, what?” I asked.
“Yes, I understand.”
I lifted my foot and Fuqua climbed to his feet, groaning and rubbing his wrist.
When he sat down, I said, “I’m glad we understand each other. But before I get back to my questions, let me explain something to you. You know who the biggest slave traders were, the people who really ran and controlled the West African slave trade? Not Jews. But Arabs. That’s right. Muslims.”
Fuqua shook his head. “That ain’t right.”
“After they convict your ass, you’re going to have plenty of time to read history and find out the real story. And the real story is that Arabs operated all those African slave markets and made their money selling slaves to other merchants who shipped them to America. You changing your name to a Muslim name is like me changing my name from Asher to Adolf. Wouldn’t be too bright, would it?”
“I don’t know about that,” Fuqua said, looking uncertain.
“Now getting back to Relovich, I’m giving you one final chance to give me your side of the story.” I planned to flip the video back on if Fuqua said anything interesting.
Duffy barged into the interview room and said, “Come on out for a sec.”
When I shut the door, Duffy asked, “Did he cop to it?”
“No.”
“Doesn’t matter. You’ve got DNA. This case is cleared.” Duffy clapped softly. “Hell of a job.”
Graupmann, staring at his desk, mumbled, “Good work.”
“I just talked to the chief,” Duffy said. “He and Grazzo send their congratulations. They’re setting up a press
