…
Devonte noted to himself that this was an important detail.
“Tell me what happened,” he asked, turning on the recorder.
“Jamal ran a hand through his short cropped hair.
“Lese arrived last night around 7:00.
We met online 3 months ago.
She lives in Memphis.
I live here.
We’ve met a few times, but this was the first time she came to my house.
How’d that go? It was fine, Jamal shrugged.
We ordered dinner, watched a movie, went to bed.
Today, I showed her the city.
We had lunch at the old mill.
Came home around 5.
And then then Jamal hesitated.
We had a little wine.
Then she went upstairs to shower and change.
I stayed downstairs.
And then I went upstairs to take a shower in the other bathroom.
Then I heard a noise and a scream.
ran out and saw her there.
Devonte watched Jamal’s face carefully.
He spoke evenly but avoided meeting his gaze.
The sweat on his forehead, the slight tremor in his hands were signs of stress, but it could have been caused as much by the lie as by the shock of what had happened.
Was it just the two of you in the house? Yes, Mr. Wayright.
I noticed some disorder in the living room, a broken vase, pillows.
Was that before or after Miss Pitman fell? Jamal blinked as if he just remembered it.
Oh, that we had a little argument before she went upstairs.
Nothing serious.
What was it about? Jamal looked away.
Personal, just a misunderstanding.
She wanted to stay longer and I told her I had a lot of work next week.
Devonte made a note in his notebook.
The answer sounded wrote insincere.
And how serious was this fight? Not very.
They raised their voices a little, that’s all.
Then she went upstairs to cool off, take a shower.
Patrolman Menddees showed up at the kitchen door.
Detective, the medical examiner’s here.
Also, a neighbor wants to talk.
Says she heard noises coming from the house.
Devonte nodded.
Minus Mr. Wayright.
You stay here.
I’ll be right back.
Dr. Amelia Wong, the county medical examiner, was already examining Landanda’s body.
A small energetic woman with glasses.
She was known for her pedentry and attention to detail.
Detective Devonte.
She nodded without taking a break from her examination.
Primary cause of death is fractured cervical vertebrae and massive head trauma.
Time of death was between 6:00 and 6:30 in the evening.
But I have questions about this accident.
I’m listening.
First of all, there are bruises on the right wrist that look like grab marks.
Secondly, there’s an abrasion on the left cheek, obviously sustained before the fall.
And look at this, she pointed to the victim’s halfopen robe.
Belts ripped, not untied.
Devonte crouched next to the body, scrutinizing the places the doctor had indicated.
Looks like a struggle.
Definitely.
One more thing.
There’s skin under her fingernails.
She was struggling, clinging to someone.
We’ll need to get DNA samples from the guy for comparison.
Devonte’s up.
Thank you, Doctor Wong.
I look forward to your full report.
The neighbor was waiting on the front porch.
Cassidy Jackson, 28, school teacher.
She fidgeted nervously with the bracelet on her wrist.
Minus Miss Jackson.
I’m Detective Devonte.
You wanted to talk about what you heard? Yes.
She glanced across the street at Jamal’s house where the police were bustling about.
It’s Lashonda, isn’t it? Jamal said she was coming.
I saw her yesterday when she arrived.
Do you know Mr. Wayright? Well, we’ve been neighbors for 2 years.
We chat sometimes if we meet on the street.
A couple of times I’ve gone to his place to get salt or sugar.
He’s quiet, polite, works from home as a computer programmer.
What did you hear today? Cassidy shivered even though the evening was warm.
I’ve been working in the garden since about 5:00.
The windows in Jamal’s house were open.
At first, I heard them talking, laughing.
Then, around 6, maybe a little earlier, there was a loud argument.
I couldn’t hear words, just raised tones.
At first, it was mostly Jamal talking.
Then, Lashonda started laughing.
Loud, almost hysterical.
It was a kind of evil laugh.
And then she yelled something about baby or little one.
I couldn’t quite make out baby.
Yeah, something like what a baby or poor little baby.
And she just kept laughing and laughing.
And then all of a sudden, there was a loud scream, a bang, and then everything went quiet.
A few minutes later, I saw the police pull up.
Devonte frowned, writing down the statement.
The words about the baby clearly did not fit into Jamal’s version of the dispute over the length of the visit.
Are you sure that’s what you heard? Positive.
That laugh.
It was so harsh, so mocking, and the baby thing sounded like a taunt, too.
I also thought it was weird.
After thanking Cassidy, Devonte went back into the house.
By this time, Landanda’s body had already been loaded into the medical examiner’s van, and the technicians were bagging evidence.
One of them called out to the detective.
Sir, we found this between the steps.
He held out a transparent bag containing a smartphone with a cracked screen.
Looks like the victim’s cell phone.
It was on.
Last message sent at 5 hours and 42 minutes.
Devonte took the bag.
The phone screen showed the beginning of the message.
You won’t believe what I just Jamal was still sitting in the kitchen.
In front of him was a glass of water which he apparently hadn’t touched.
Minus Mr. Wayright.
I have more questions, Devonte said, sitting down across from him.
Your neighbor, Miss Jackson, says she heard you arguing loudly with Miss Pitman just before she fell.
Jamal tensed.
I told you we had a slight misunderstanding.
She also claims to have heard Lashonda laughing and saying something about a baby or little one.
That doesn’t sound much like an argument about the length of a visit, don’t you think? Jamal’s face flashed, his fists clenched involuntarily.
That Cassidy girl, she’s always sticking her nose in.
I don’t know what she heard.
Minus Mr. Waywright.
In a situation like this, it’s best to be frank.
Ms.
Pitman has bruising on her body that’s not consistent with a simple fall.
There are traces of skin under her fingernails, possibly yours, and a neighbor’s testimony of an altercation you’re trying to downplay.
This doesn’t look like an accident.
I didn’t kill her, Jamal almost shouted.
Yes, we were arguing.
And yes, she laughed.
But I didn’t push her.
I swear she just stumbled and fell.
What were you really arguing about, Jamal? And why was she laughing? Jamal shook his head, his lips tightly pressed together.
I don’t want to talk about it.
It’s personal.
There’s nothing personal about a man’s death, Devonte said stiffly.
Either you tell me the truth now or we continue this conversation at the station.
I want a lawyer, Jamal said with sudden firmness.
I’m not saying anything else without a lawyer.
Devonte looked at him carefully, then nodded.
Good.
Mr. Waywright, we’re going to have to ask you to come down to the station for further conversation, and we’re going to need a sample of your DNA.
Am I under arrest? There’s fear back in Jamal’s voice.
Not yet.
But the circumstances surrounding Ms.
Pitman’s death warrant further investigation.
As Jamal was led away, Devonte walked around the house one more time, up the stairs to the second floor.
Jamal’s bedroom was neat.
The bed perfectly made, too perfect for a room where a couple had recently been.
In the bathroom, a damp towel on the floor, a few long hairs in the sink.
In the waist basket, crumpled tissues.
The detective took a close look around the bedroom.
In the nightstand by the bed, a pack of condoms, two pills, obviously from the pharmacy.
In the closet were Jamal’s neatly folded clothes, and on the guest rack were a few women’s clothes.
Leand’s suitcase stood in the corner, half unpacked.
Devonte went downstairs, went to the front door where the technicians were finishing up.
“Did they find anything else?” “Yes, sir,” one of them answered.
“There’s a dent in the wall by the stairs at shoulder level, fresh, probably from the impact of a body falling.
And then there’s what looks like blood on the carpet in the living room.
Very small, almost imperceptible.
Samples were taken for analysis.
And the cell phone.
Did you find any other gadgets? There was a laptop found in the bedroom believed to be Mr. Waywrites.
It’s being analyzed and a tablet in the victim’s bag.
Both devices are password protected.
Devonte nodded and went out onto the porch.
It was evening.
Neighbors were coming back from work down the street, looking curiously at the police cars.
The picture was slowly taking shape, but much remained unclear.
What did the words about the baby mean? Why had Lashonda laughed in a way that was memorable to the neighbor? And most importantly, what had really happened on those stairs? The patrol chief approached Devonte.
We took Wayne right down to the station.
He’s already contacted his lawyer.
Good cell phone ringing.
have CSU do a thorough search of the whole house, especially the bedroom and the bathroom, and tell Dr. Wong, “I want the autopsy results as soon as possible.
” The detective took another look at the scene.
Something told him that Jamal’s story of just stumbled was a lie.
Now, he needed to find the truth behind that facade.
Dr. Amelia Wong always came to work at 6:00 in the morning, no matter how late her previous shift had ended.
It was exactly 6 hours and 15 minutes that morning when Landanda Pitman’s body lay on the steel table in the Olive Branch County Hospital Morg.
Dr. Wong methodically prepared the instruments, turned on the recorder, and began the external examination.
Lashonda Pitman, 45 years old, African-Amean, full build.
Cause of death was tentatively determined to be cervical spine trauma and head injury from a fall down the stairs.
But Amelia Wong wasn’t considered the best medical examiner in the county for nothing.
She noticed things that others missed.
And now she’d noticed details that didn’t fit the accidental death theory.
Mark on the right wrist, she dictated, examining the body.
Four separate oval-shaped bruises on the inside and a larger one on the outside.
Characteristic of being grabbed by a man’s hand.
She took a few pictures, measured the distance between the marks.
A bruise on the left cheek approximately 3×4 cm with the characteristic pattern of an open palm strike formed 1 to two hours before death.
Continuing her examination, Dr. Wong found several more bruises on the victim’s shoulders and thighs.
Some were fresh, others were one or two days old.
Contents under the fingernails, skin fragments presumably from the victim’s attempted defense.
sent for DNA analysis to compare with the suspect’s samples.
When Detective Devonte entered the autopsy room at 8:30, Dr. Wong was already finishing her report.
Good morning, Detective.
She nodded, keeping her eyes on the computer.
Right on time.
What do we have, doctor? Wong unfolded the monitor, showing a series of photos.
Death was caused by fractured cervical vertebrae and massive cerebral hemorrhaging.
That’s consistent with a fall from a height.
But she held up a finger.
The pattern of injuries is not consistent with an accidental fall.
Look at this.
She pointed to photos of bruising.
These injuries suggest a struggle before the fall.
Someone held her wrist with enough force to leave bruising.
The blow to her face also occurred before the fall.
And these bruises on her shoulders, she flipped through the photos, are characteristic of a violent push.
You think she was pushed? I never jumped to that conclusion, detective.
I’m just describing what I see, but I will say this.
All the injuries suggest a violent fall.
And there’s something else interesting.
Dr. Wong opened another folder of photos.
The victim’s thighs show bruising 2 days old, typical of rough sexual contact.
And these, she pointed to another photo, were formed no more than 4 to 5 hours before death.
Considering that Miss Pitman had only arrived at Mr. Wayright’s house last night.
Devonte nodded understandingly.
So they had intimate contact shortly before her death.
Quite right.
And judging by the nature of the bruises, quite active.
Devonte thanked Dr. Wong and headed for the station.
He was holding a clear bag containing Lashand’s cell phone.
Tech had lifted the lock down and now the detective could examine the contents.
In his office, Devonte sat at his desk and turned on the phone.
He was always uncomfortable digging into victims personal lives, but it was a necessary part of the job.
He started with the messages.
Lashonda’s most recent correspondences were with a friend named Shaniah.
Devonte opened the dialogue.
Lashonda 2 days ago.
Going to see my baby boy in Olive Branch tomorrow.
Miss him like crazy.
Shaniah, good luck, girlfriend.
Don’t forget protection.
Landanda, come on.
I’m 45.
What kids? But I’m really into him.
So young, so strong.
I hope he’s just as good in bed.
Devonte continued leafing through.
The following messages had been sent last night.
Lashonda arrived okay.
Jamal is so nice.
Met him with flowers.
His house is nice, cozy.
Everything is going great so far.
Shaniah, good for you.
When are you planning on having that moment, Landanda? Probably tonight.
He’s a little shy though, but I’ll fix that.
Meanwhile, the last message sent at 5 hours and 42 minutes yesterday was left unfinished.
You won’t believe what I just Devonte turned to the photo gallery.
The most recent photos had been taken yesterday.
Several showed Lashonda and Jamal having lunch together at the Old Mill restaurant.
Lashonda was smiling broadly.
Jamal looked a little tense, but was smiling, too.
A few more pictures were taken on the streets of the city, but the last pictures made the detective frown.
They were taken in a bedroom, apparently in Jamal’s house.
The pictures showed a male sex organ of extremely small size.
Underneath the photos, Lashonda wrote comments saying, “Is this a joke?” And smallest I’ve ever seen.
Devonte leaned back in his chair.
A lot of things were starting to make sense now.
Lashonda’s taunts about the size of Jamal’s genitals that the neighbor had mentioned, the argument that had turned into conflict, and perhaps the jolt of rage that had led to the fatal fall.
He picked up the phone and dialed Ricardo Menddees’s number.
Ricardo, I need the address of one Leroy Tommpkins.
According to a neighbor, he’s Jamal Wayright’s best friend.
Half an hour later, Devonte was sitting in Betty’s diner across from a large man with dreadlocks pulled back into a ponytail.
Leroy Tommpkins, 33 years old, worked as a bartender at a local club and looked frankly nervous.
I don’t understand why you wanted to talk to me, he said, stirring sugar into his coffee.
I don’t know anything about what happened to that woman.
Minus Mr. Tommpkins.
I just want a better understanding of what happened.
You’re Jamal’s best friend, right? Uh, yeah.
We’ve been friends since we were 15.
Did he tell you about his relationship with Landanda Pitman? Leroy shrugged.
Not much.
They met on some dating app.
She was older, but Jamal liked that.
Said she was easy to be with, didn’t require commitment, just wanted to have fun.
What about their intimate life? Leroy was visibly tense.
Look, that’s Jamal’s personal business.
Minus Mr. Tommpkins, the woman is dead.
There are indications that her death was not an accident.
If you want to help your friend, you better tell the truth.
Leroy stared at his coffee for a few seconds, then sighed.
Okay, Jamal, he’s got some complexes, you know what I mean? Tell me more about it.
Tell me.
Well, he’s got a little uh, you know, he’s always worried about it.
He got bullied in the locker room at school.
Then he had trouble with girls.
Some laughed, others just disappeared after the first night.
That’s why he didn’t have many relationships.
He was too shy to get close to women.
What about Londa? They dated for a few months.
Yeah, but they only saw each other a couple times and always in public, restaurants, movies.
As far as I know, they weren’t intimate until this weekend.
Did Jamal talk to you about her arrival? Yeah, he called the day before yesterday excited.
Said everything was going great, that Landanda was a great woman, but it was clear he was nervous about uh, you know, that they were finally going to be together.
I told him that size wasn’t the point, that there were other ways to pleasure a woman.
He seemed to calm down a little bit.
When was the last time you spoke to him? Yesterday afternoon around 3:00.
He wrote that they’d had lunch and were on their way home.
I didn’t hear from him again until I saw the news about some woman dying in his house.
I tried to call, but the phone wasn’t answering.
Devonte made some notes in his notebook.
Do you think Jamal might have reacted aggressively if Lashonda had heard him in some way about the compound? Loy wondered.
Jamal is usually a calm guy, but this topic is very painful for him.
Once in college, some jerk made a joke about it in front of everyone, and Jamal broke his nose.
He almost got expelled.
But I haven’t seen him snap like that since.
So, if the woman he was finally in a relationship with started making fun of his peculiarity, would that hurt him? Very much so, Leroy nodded.
Especially if it was in a particularly cruel, mocking way.
He’d definitely lose his temper, but I don’t think he’d kill anyone.
It’s Jamal for crying out loud.
He even takes spiders out of the house, not kill them.
After talking to Leroy, the detective went back to the station.
Officer Mendes met him in the hallway.
Detective Miss Jackson Waywright’s neighbor is looking for you.
Says she remembered something important.
Cassidy Jackson was waiting in the visitor’s room.
She looked even more nervous than yesterday.
Minus Miss Jackson.
You wanted to see me? Yes, detective.
She interlocked her fingers in her lap.
I couldn’t sleep all night thinking about what happened.
And I remembered something else I heard before before Londaanda fell.
I’m listening to you.
When she was laughing and talking about the baby, I remembered her words clearly now.
She was yelling things like, “That’s a baby you should only play with in kindergarten.
” And that’s the smallest one I’ve ever seen.
Are you sure it was those exact words? Yeah, almost word for word.
And then I heard Jamal yell something back.
Something like, “Shut up or stop it.
” And then there was the sound of a punch, a scream.
And then everything went quiet.
Devonte nodded, writing down the statement.
“Anything else?” Cassidy shook her head.
“No, that was it.
It’s just I think it’s important.
The way she laughed, it was really cruel.
Even I felt bad.
Even though I didn’t understand what she was talking about.
After talking to Cassidy, Devonte went back to Landanda’s phone.
Now knowing the context, he was looking for something specific and he found it.
There was another dialogue on Messenger with a woman named Tiffany.
The messages were sent yesterday about an hour before Landanda’s death.
Londa, Tifi, you won’t believe this.
You remember my young one from Olive Branch? I’m at his place right now and we’re finally done.
Tiffany, come on.
How’s he doing? Lashondaanda.
Terrible.
He has such a baby in there.
I could barely contain myself from laughing right during.
But then I couldn’t take it.
Honey, it’s really 3 cm in there.
No more.
Tiffany.
Oh my god.
What did you do? Lashonda.
I tried to be polite at first, but then I just couldn’t.
Started laughing.
He took offense, of course.
sitting in the bathroom right now.
I decided to take a picture of this miracle for history.
I’ll send it to you.
You’ll laugh.
Tiffany, I’m looking forward to it.
The poor guy must be pretty upset.
Lashonda, who cares? I wasted 3 months on that loser.
I thought he was good for something.
And with a kid like that, he’s only going to play in kindergarten.
The last message from Tiffany went unanswered.
Lashonda, what are you doing missing? I’m waiting for pics.
Devonte put the phone away and rubbed the bridge of his nose.
The picture was becoming clearer.
Landa had mocked Jamal after their first intimate encounter, hurting his most painful complex.
She took pictures of his genitals, sent them to his girlfriends, laughed loudly, shouted insults, and then something happened on the stairs.
He opened the file with the coroner’s preliminary report.
Lashonda’s injuries indicated a violent push.
The bruising on her wrist indicated she’d been restrained.
Skin marks under her fingernails indicate a struggle.
Devonte envisioned the scene.
Lashonda laughing, Jamal demanding she shut up.
She continues, perhaps threatening to tell everyone about his baby.
He grabs her arm.
She claws at him, trying to break free.
Then, in a fit of rage and humiliation, he pushes her.
She falls down the stairs and dies.
Not premeditated murder, more like murder by passion, but still a murder, not an accident like Jamal claimed.
Devonte picked up the phone and dialed the DA’s office.
Marsha, it’s Devonte on the Pitman case.
Yeah, I think we have enough for an arrest warrant.
After hanging up, the detective went over the evidence one more time.
Em’s report on the nature of the injuries inconsistent with a simple fall.
the neighbors testimony about the altercation and taunting.
Lashonda’s texts to her friends detailing what happened.
Photographs with offensive comments.
Leroyy’s testimony about Jamal’s complexes and his possible reaction to the taunts.
But most importantly, Jamal’s own behavior, his lies about the cause of the altercation, his attempts to downplay the conflict, his unwillingness to talk about the actual events.
Detective Devonte was certain that Lashonda Pitman’s fall was no accident.
It was the result of the rage of a man driven to extremes by cruel taunts.
And now it was his job to prove it in court.
The interrogation room at the Olive Branch Police Station was deliberately impersonal.
Gray walls, a simple table, three chairs, and a large mirror on one wall.
Jamal Wayright sat behind the desk, tapping his fingers nervously.
Next to him sat his lawyer, Steven Greer, a stocky middle-aged man with a neatly trimmed beard.
Detective Tyrone Devonte entered the room with a folder in his hands.
He leisurely sat down across from Jamal, opened the folder, and spread out some photographs.
Minus Mr. Wayright, he began in a calm voice.
We found several inconsistencies in your story about what happened to Miss Pitman.
My client has already testified, Greer interjected.
Leseand Pitman was killed in an accident.
The medical examiner’s report says otherwise.
Devonte laid a copy of the report on the table.
The bruising on Ms.
Pitman’s wrists is characteristic of a strong grip.
The marks on her cheek indicate a blow an hour or two before her death.
And the skin samples under her fingernails are a perfect match to your DNA, Mr. Wayright.
Jamal swallowed but remained silent.
In addition, Devonte continued, “We have a statement from your neighbor, Ms.
Jackson, who heard a loud argument before Miss Pitman fell.
She clearly heard Lashonda yelling and laughing, using the word baby in an obviously mocking tone.
Jamal flinched at those words.
Next, Devonte placed the message printouts on the table.
We examined Ms.
Pitman’s cell phone.
We found messages to a friend sent shortly before her death.
In them, she describes your intimate encounter in great detail.
Expresses frustration with a certain aspect of your physiology.
Jamal’s face turned pale, his fists clenched involuntarily.
“This is an invasion of privacy,” Greer protested.
“It’s evidence, counselor,” Devonte countered calmly.
“We also found pictures on the victim’s cell phone with offensive comments she’d made shortly before she died.
” The detective placed another print out on the table.
And finally, we have the testimony of your friend Leroy Tommpkins, who confirmed that you have certain complexes related to your physical features and that such taunts in the past have caused you to react aggressively.
Jamal covered his face with his hands.
His shoulders shook.
All of this evidence, Mr. Waywright, indicates that Ms.
Pitman’s death was not accidental.
Now, please tell us what really happened that evening.
There was a heavy silence in the room.
Finally, Greer leaned over to his client and whispered something in his ear.
Jamal nodded, took a deep breath, and raised his head.
“All right,” he said quietly.
“I’ll tell the truth.
” His voice sounded broken, but firm.
Lashanda and I met 3 months ago through a dating app.
She was older than me, but it didn’t matter.
We’d gotten along well, met a few times when she came to Olive Branch for work, but there was no physical intimacy between us until the last time she came.
Jamal paused, gathering his thoughts.
That evening, we drank some wine and it happened, our first time.
It went well at first, but then he stammered, clearly very uncomfortable about having to talk about it.
Then she saw me completely and started laughing.
Devonte nodded silently, allowing him to continue.
Yeah, I’ve had a lifelong complex about the size of my, you know, I was bullied in school.
Several times women dumped me after finding out about it.
I thought it would be different with Lashonda.
She seemed so understanding, mature.
Jamal clenched his fists so hard his knuckles turned white.
But she started laughing, loud, hysterical, saying horrible things, that I wasn’t a man, that I was a child’s size, that she was wasting her time on me.
I asked her to stop, but she kept going.
Then she grabbed her phone and started taking pictures of me, saying she was going to send the pictures to her friends so they could laugh, too.
Devonte noticed tears of rage and humiliation welling up in Jamal’s eyes.
I was furious.
Yelled for her to stop.
Tried to take the phone away.
We fought.
I grabbed her arm.
She scratched me.
I pushed her.
She hit the wall.
Then went into the bathroom, slamming the door.
Jamal was breathing heavily, reliving the memories.
After a while, she came out and started packing, saying she was leaving.
I begged her to stay, telling her there were other ways to please a woman.
But she just laughed even louder.
said she’d tell everyone about my baby, that I’d never find a woman after such an embarrassment.
He took a deep breath.
We stood at the top of the stairs.
She kept taunting me, telling me that with this size, I should be in kindergarten.
I was furious.
I’d never felt so humiliated in my life.
And when she started laughing again, I just uh pushed her once hard.
There was silence in the room.
I didn’t mean to kill her, Jamal whispered.
I swear I just wanted her to shut up, to stop laughing, but she lost her balance and fell down the stairs.
I heard her scream and then there was a thump and silence.
He covered his face with his hands.
I went downstairs.
She lay there motionless, eyes open.
There was a pool of blood around her head.
I realized she was dead and I was scared.
I called 911, but uh I lied about what had happened.
Said it was an accident.
Devonte made notes in his notebook, then looked at the lawyer.
“Counselor, your client just confessed to murder.
Would you like to make a statement?” Greer whispered something in Jamal’s ear, then turned to the detective.
“My client admits to pushing Ms.
Pitman, causing her to fall and die.
However, he had no intention of killing her.
It was an involuntary manslaughter committed in a state of extreme emotional excitement after the victim’s highly provocative behavior.
Devonte nodded.
“Mr. Waywright, have you had similar incidents with other women in the past?” Jamal looked up slowly.
“What do you mean by that? Have there been incidents where you’ve shown aggression in response to mockery of your peculiarity?” Jamal wanted to say something, but Greer put a hand on his shoulder, stopping him.
My client doesn’t have to answer that question.
I understand.
Devonte nodded.
Then let me tell you what we found in your background check, Mr. Wayne Wright.
He pulled another sheet of paper from the folder.
3 years ago in Dallas, a Renee Morgan filed an assault report against you.
She claimed that after intimacy, you hit her when she made a remark about the size of your penis.
The case was dropped because Ms.
Morgan withdrew the report, but the police report survived.
Jamal turned even paler.
A year ago in San Antonio, a woman named Crystal Page accused you of grabbing her by the throat when she laughed during your intimacy.
She also withdrew the charges, but the incident was recorded.
Devonte closed the folder.
Minus Mr. Wayright.
It seems you have a history of aggressive reactions to mockery of your physiological trait.
That changes the picture of what happened to Ms.
Pitman considerably.
“But I didn’t mean to kill her,” Jamal exclaimed.
“It was an accident.
The jolt that caused her to fall down the stairs and die is not an accident,” objected Devonte.
“It’s murder, albeit murder committed under the influence.
And given your past, the court might see it as part of a pattern of repeated behavior.
” Greer leaned toward Jamal again, explaining something, then turned to the detective.
Detective Devonte, my client is willing to cooperate with the investigation.
We acknowledge the push that led to Miss Pitman’s death, but we insist that it was an unintentional homicide committed under the influence of strong emotions after violent provocation from the victim.
We will seek a reduction in the charge.
Devonte nodded.
That’s for the prosecutor and the court to decide.
Now, Mr. Waywright, I’m going to have to hold you on the charge of murdering Lashonda Pitman.
He pulled out his handcuffs and read Jamal his rights.
Jamal Waywright, you are under arrest on the charge of murder.
You have the right to remain silent.
Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law.
You have the right to an attorney.
As the detective recited the standard wording, Jamal sat motionless as if in a trance.
All the tension of the last few days seemed to have left him, leaving only emptiness and the realization that his life would never be the same.
An hour later, having filled out the necessary paperwork, Devonte left the station, Marcia Hendrickson, the assistant district attorney, was waiting for him in the parking lot.
“Did he confess?” she asked him.
“Yeah.
” Pushed her in a rage after she mocked the size of his genitals.
Classic case of murder by passion.
What about past incidents? He didn’t deny it, but he didn’t admit it.
His lawyer will push for a reduced charge.
Marsha nodded thoughtfully.
The jury might be sympathetic.
Physical abuse is a strong emotional trigger.
But given his history with previous women, I think we can get a secondderee manslaughter charge.
He ruined a woman because of his bruised ego, Devonte said stiffly.
His shame cost her her life, “And he’ll pay for it,” Marca assured him.
“But the law takes circumstances into account.
Strong emotional arousal, provocation on the part of the victim.
All of that will be considered.
” Devonte nodded and looked at his wristwatch.
“I’ve got to go.
Got to inform Miss Pitman’s relatives that we’ve arrested a suspect.
” “The hardest part of the job,” Marcia said sympathetically.
Yes, but they need to know the truth, Devonte replied.
No matter how ugly it was.
He got into the car and took one last look at the precinct building where Jamal Wayright now stood.
A man whose life had been ruined by his own inability to cope with ridicule and who in a fit of rage had cut another man’s life short.
The case was solved.
The perpetrator found and confessed.
But Detective Tyrone Devonte felt no satisfaction.
Only the weight of realizing the human tragedy in which there was neither right nor wrong, but only victims of their own weaknesses and other people’s cruelty.
