Aunt of Murder Victim Shot During Hostage Taking
Anniversary of son’s disappearance triggers violence
The investigation of murdered attorney Caroline Lee took a tragic turn on Saturday when a Memphis police detective shot and wounded the victim’s aunt, Mrs. Gracie Ella Adams of Memphis. Mrs. Adams had allegedly kidnapped Mrs. Rosalyn Lee, mother of the murder victim, and held her at gunpoint in frigid waters. The shooting took place at a flooded rice field in Crittenden Co., Arkansas, the spot where Mrs. Adams’s son disappeared five years ago to the day.
Sources say Memphis Detective Billy Able wounded Mrs. Adams after she threatened to shoot Mrs. Lee. Mrs. Adams is currently in serious condition at the MED.
Family member Judd Phillips, concerned about Mrs. Adams’s mental stability, contacted Detectives Able and Malone and requested assistance after Crittenden Co. Sherriff’s deputies had been unable to respond due to the oil tanker truck spill on I-40.
Detective Able has been placed on administrative leave pending investigations to be conducted by the Crittenden County Sherriff’s Office and Memphis City Police Department.
The hours following the shooting weren’t as difficult as Frankie had expected. A helicopter airlifted Gracie Ella and Rosalyn to the MED. She and Billy spent the rest of Saturday and all day Sunday giving statements to the Sherriff’s Office and the Memphis Police Department’s internal investigators. As senior officer on the scene, the shooting had been Billy’s call. Because he’d discharged his weapon, he’d been placed on administrative leave until cleared by the “shooting board.”
On Monday Frankie returned to duty as lead detective for the Lee investigation. The evidence needed to bring charges of voluntary manslaughter against Mrs. Adams for the murder of Caroline Lee had been collected at the Arkansas crime scene—blood on the sweater, mud on the boots from the bison field, the heel impression, and a positive ballistic comparison from her derringer.
The MED’s surgeon reported to Frankie that the .40 caliber bullet had entered below Mrs. Adams’s rib cage, sliced her anterior/superior liver, and narrowly missed her lung before exiting. She came out of ICU and into a private room under 24-hour guard and suicide watch.
On Tuesday, Frankie was back at the MED, waiting for an elevator in the lobby. The doors slid open. Judd and Jerry Vanderman stepped out.
Vanderman frowned when he recognized her then cranked it up to a smile. “Good afternoon, Detective Malone. Are you here to see Mrs. Adams?”
“I’m checking her progress.” She glanced at Judd, who was clear-eyed and appeared to be steady on his feet.
“You should know I’m serving as counsel to Mrs. Adams,” Vanderman said.
“So Mr. Phillips has told me.”
Judd nodded. “Hello, Detective.” He’d texted her on Monday concerning his plans to hire Vanderman to represent his aunt. He added:
Your actions saved both my aunts’ lives. May I take you for dinner at Itta Bena as a special thank you?
She’d responded:
Perfect.
Gracie Ella would need a skilled attorney like Vanderman. She faced not only charges of voluntary manslaughter but also aggravated kidnapping. Because she’d crossed the state line with Rosalyn, both state and federal charges could be filed concurrently; however, the ADA said he doubted the U.S. attorney would bother. Down the road, she would likely face class B felony embezzlement charges. Frankie had a feeling Judd would be the one on the hook for the staggering amount of legal bills.
She paced the MED’s parking lot to get a little air and called Billy to tell him about her encounter with Vanderman.
“Was he rude?” he asked.
“No, but it was a stretch for him.”
“You’re now lead on a case he’s defending. Are you looking for payback for his earlier dickhead behavior?”
“Not right away. I’ll make him wonder when the hammer will drop.” She smiled to herself, enjoying the thought.
The sound of a tugboat tooting its horn came over the phone. She pictured Billy at home, grounded like a kid who’d thrown a baseball through a window or dented his dad’s car. Only this was different. He’d shot a woman and nearly taken her life. A lot of good officers have been knocked out of commission by the effects of the use of deadly force.
“I’ve been thinking,” he said. “Mrs. Adams claimed she didn’t remember shooting Caroline yet she removed her sweater, the only thing that tied her to the murder.”
“I thought about that. She wasn’t as disoriented as she pretended to be.”
“She’s definitely nuts,” he said, “so she’ll get a reduced sentence in return for a guilty plea for the manslaughter. The aggravated kidnapping charge will be harder to defend. She forced Rosalyn to drive to the rice field with intent to do harm. It’s clear premeditation.”
Frankie stopped beside her car. “Somewhere along the way I’m expecting a pat on the back from the chief or the director.”
“That won’t happen until I’m cleared and maybe not even then.”
“I don’t see why. In one week we’ve gone from nothing, to conjecture, to knowing who committed the murder.” She heard the tugboat horn again and checked the time. “Well, that’s it for me. All I’ve got. What are your plans?”
“I’m going to hang my new flat screen.”
Frankie drove to the CJC with Billy’s welfare on her mind. Between Caroline’s murder and the coming embezzlement charges, the list of collateral damage was growing. Zelda and the employees at the Lee Law Firm and Airlee Bank would lose their jobs. Robert Highsmith had suffered a terrific loss; however, he might find some comfort in working with the Economic Crimes investigators who would soon issue an arrest warrant for Martin. Taking Martin down would be the first step in bringing the Lees to justice for betraying their clients.
Her mobile rang. The name on the screen read Lee, M. She pulled over. What was that sleaze up to now?
“Malone,” she answered, brusquely.
“It’s Elena Lucchesi calling. You gave me this number.”
“Of course, Elena. How may I help you?”
“I’m not having trouble. I wanted to call . . . Martin is very upset about his aunt. We are leaving for Rome this afternoon for a break. I don’t think I’ll return to Memphis. I wanted to say goodbye.”
Frankie almost dropped the phone. The investigators in Economic Crimes probably hadn’t considered Martin as a flight risk. “Is Martin there now?”
“He’s driving here from his office. Our bags are downstairs.”
“I’m glad you called, Elena. Best of luck in Rome.”
She hung up and immediately phoned the investigators. The chase was on.
Leo sat in a patch of sunlight on the floor and watched Billy as he struggled to hang the flat screen TV on the straps he’d attached to the wall. He’d made a list of several chores around the barge, knowing his reinstatement could take up to three weeks. He was okay with that. Yesterday he’d set in motion a big project, something he’d mulled over the past week. If it came through, he would need those three weeks to make the deal work.
Monday night he’d called Blue to check on his dad and to go over Saturday’s events in the rice field. He then gave Blue the disturbing news that Gracie Ella Adams had been the one who’d killed Caroline.
The line had stayed quiet a long time. “Why did she do it?” Blue asked.
“A broken heart. A twisted mind. A long-standing feud between two women. Really, it came down to revenge.”
At the end of the conversation, he told Blue where to find Zelda’s car keys. Fifteen minutes later Blue called back.
“The gun was in her trunk in a box under a bunch of shopping bags. I hear she’s really upset about you taking her in for questioning. I’ll be in Memphis in the morning. If you want, I’ll call her about the keys and offer to pick her up.”
“No, I’ll call.”
Blue chuckled. “Good luck, my friend.”
Billy left a message for Zelda saying he had information about the gun. She called right back.
“Where was it?” she demanded.
“In the trunk of your car. Blue has your keys. He’ll be in Memphis tomorrow if you want a ride to Airlee.”
He could hear her breathing into the receiver. “I’m so mad at you I don’t know what to say.”
“I was doing my job, Zelda. I won’t apologize for it.”
“I wanted to be important to you. You made it clear I was just another criminal.”
He started to defend himself, but then didn’t feel he had the right. He let it go.
She drew in a breath. “Judd has spoken to a choreographer in Las Vegas. There’s an opening for an assistant. I’m going to move whether I get the job or not. I want out of this town.”
He pictured her hip-deep in showgirls dressed in sequins and ostrich feathers. Somehow that made sense.
“Best of luck, Zelda.”
“Goodbye.” She slammed down the phone.
He went to the kitchen to stow his toolbox under the sink. The cabinet door banged shut. The sound set off the image of Gracie Ella’s body spinning away from him with the force of the bullet. His heart jumped in his throat. The same thing had happened yesterday when he knocked a book off the table. Last night he’d dreamed about blood on his hands. He couldn’t go back to sleep until he got up and washed them.
He was angry with Gracie Ella for forcing him to use his gun. Was she going to shoot Rosalyn or had she set him up for suicide by cop? And what about Caroline? He would never know if Gracie Ella planned the murder or if uncontrollable rage had taken over.
Revenge is like a downed power line seeking a path to ground. It can grab any innocent bystander. This time it took Caroline.
Policy required him to attend meetings with a shrink before he resumed his duties. He wasn’t sure if he would talk about the flashbacks and dreams. He damn sure didn’t want to be sidelined as emotionally unfit. Taking the shot had been the right decision, but pretty much everything you do in this job has its cost.
His mobile pinged a text from Frankie saying she wanted him to meet her at the Shelby County Jail, the last place he wanted to be. He texted back:
Why?
She responded:
Chicken soup for your soul.
Frankie met him in the jail’s law enforcement lobby.
“You need to see this,” she said as a deputy ushered them through the bolted door to the Intake Center.
Tuesday afternoons are quiet in Intake, mostly DUIs, participants in domestic squabbles, and bond skips—all of them seated in the rows of high-backed, plastic chairs waiting to be processed. Across the room, handcuffed to a green wire bench, sat Martin Lee. He already wore a standard inmate’s blue jumpsuit, which meant at this point in the process he’d been searched twice by the arresting officers, fingerprinted and possibly strip-searched for contraband.
“Mr. Highchair Tyrant is on his way to the slammer,” Frankie said, a note of satisfaction in her voice. “What do you think?”
“I think the universe is finally spinning in the right direction,” he said. “I’m surprised Economic Crimes served the warrant. They usually take their time.”
“He was about to skip town.” She ran through her conversation with Elena. “They stopped the limousine on the way to the airport and had to forcibly remove him. He punched an officer.”
“Resisting arrest.” Billy grinned and walked around the bench. Martin had a dazed look, his face bloodless as a peeled grape. He grimaced when he realized Billy was standing ten feet away and began to yank at the cuffs securing him to the bench.
Billy crossed his arms. “You should stop that. You’re not going to get much of a result.”
“Get away from me,” Martin said, continuing to clank metal against metal. “I’ve called the mayor. You and your bitch partner will be gone by tonight.”
“Your beef is with Economic Crimes, not us. We just stopped by to say welcome to our world.”
Martin bared his teeth in an ugly smile. “This isn’t over. You have no idea who I am or what I can do.”
Billy gave a short, sharp laugh. “I had your number the first day we met at the diner. That call you made to the mayor? It should’ve been to a lawyer.”
Martin spat a clot of mucous that landed short of Billy’s boots. He stepped back. He almost felt sorry for the guy. Martin’s ancestors had passed down their wealth along with an outrageous sense of entitlement. Eventually that kind of society collapses. It appeared the walls of Jericho South were about to come tumbling down.
Two deputies walked over, one with keys. Martin stopped yanking on the cuffs and hunched his shoulders.
“You done talking, Detective?” a deputy asked. “Because this ol’ boy’s been unruly ever since he came in. He’s going into a holding tank.”
“Good idea,” Billy said. “Otherwise, the inmates are going to beat the hell out of him.”
Martin’s face went slack. The deputies hauled him to his feet, hooked him up, and turned him around.
“Martin,” Billy said. “You’re about to enter the most disagreeable phase of your entire life.”