Serving Time (The Valentine Law Series Book 1) Read online

  Serving Time

  Valentine Law Series

  Bailey West

  Copyright © 2018 by Bailey West

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Cover Design by Cover Couture

  Photos (c) Depositphotos

  Samuel

  ~1993~

  BOOM

  BOOM

  BOOM

  My mother dropped her fork on her dinner plate and glared at me while asking, “Who is that banging on the door like the police?”

  “I don’t know,” I shrugged.

  Whoever it was, banged with such force that the door shook on its hinges and the windows on the front of the house rattled.

  Although I had recently turned nineteen, I still lived with my mother, and she always wanted us, my older sister Torrey and me to have dinner with her as a family. Mom didn’t ask for much, so as often as I could if I wasn’t working late or hanging with my friends, I ate dinner with her. Torrey was usually here for dinner too, but she was running late, so we started without her.

  We had just sat down to eat when the knocking began. I knew it wasn’t any of my friends because my mother had taught me as a kid that no one interrupts family dinner. Several of my friends learned that lesson the hard way.

  BOOM

  BOOM

  BOOM

  My mother grabbed her napkin from her lap, threw it on the table and jumped up from her seat at the dining room table. She quickly walked to the front door and snatched it open without looking through the peephole. She was immediately pushed to the side by one cop while three other police officers rushed through the front door.

  I jumped from my chair to go to the aid of my mother when two of the officers blocked my path; one stood in front of me, and the other moved to stand behind me.

  “What is going on?” My mother yelled as she struggled to get free from the officer’s forearm pressing her back into the door.

  “Samuel Valentine?” The cop standing in front of me spoke.

  “Yes?” I answered while still trying to maneuver around him to get to my mother.

  The cop behind me grabbed both my arms, pulling them behind me then slammed me face first onto the dining room table.

  “What the hell!” I yelled as he aggressively pinned my arms behind me.

  I knew this position. I was being arrested.

  “WHAT ARE YOU DOING TO MY SON!” My mother wailed.

  “You are under arrest for murder,” the cop behind me announced.

  “Murder?”

  “Murder! What in the hell are you talking about?” My mother grunted still unable to free herself from the officer’s grip.

  “Shut up!” The officer spat angrily with his forearm still to her chest.

  “Aye, man stop yelling at my mother like that!” I yelled still pinned to the table.

  The officer behind me applied more pressure to my back as he continued to speak, “You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law…”

  “What’s going on!” Torrey yelled while running through the front door. She was immediately tackled to the ground by the third officer in the room.

  “Oh, my God! That’s my daughter! Torrey! She didn’t do anything,” my mother screamed.

  “Aye man, you ain’t got to do her like that!” I said through clenched teeth. My heart was beating so fast I could feel it in my ears. I didn’t understand what was happening or why the cops were treating my family and me like we were criminals but there was only so much I could take. I tried to lift myself from the table. When that didn’t work, I rocked from side to side. I had to get free.

  “We know our rights!” Torrey yelled from the ground. “You can’t treat us like this, you racist pigs! You’re doing this because we Black! Black people have rights too! I’m calling the news as soon as I get up from this floor to report yet another case of racial profiling and pig brutality. Where are your white hoods you whack ass lynch mob!”

  The officer holding Torrey pulled his gun and rested it on the back of her head. “Shut the fuck up!”

  “Fuck naw!” I yelled still attempting to get free. Police or not, no one pulls a gun on my family.

  “Stop resisting,” the cop holding me rumbled, struggling to contain me.

  I fought until I had freed myself from the officer’s grip and charged full steam, toward the cop with the gun on my sister. He saw me coming and moved his gun from the back of Torrey’s head and trained it on me. I didn’t care about his weapon, all I cared about was the way he was handling my sister, and that was about to stop. I made it within inches of the cop but was tackled just before putting my hands on him.

  “Tell him to calm down before he dies in here,” one cop yelled with his knee in my back.

  “Samuel, baby please,” I heard my mother cry out.

  “We are going to be alright, El,” Torrey cried. “Please calm down.”

  All the cops in the room were working together, attempting to contain me. I felt knees, hands, and batons all working simultaneously to restrain me. I expected to feel shoes and fists next. My temper had gotten me into more altercations than I cared to count. It was one thing to aggravate me, but my family was an entirely different story. I had zero tolerance for people mishandling them. Once someone came for my family, it would take an army to stop me from hurting whoever tried to hurt them. People generally left us alone.

  “El, we’re okay, I promise,” Torrey sobbed.

  I stopped fighting after hearing my sister sobbing. She never cried. I felt the cold steel around my wrist and knew they’d handcuffed me. The fight was over.

  “…You have the right to an attorney,” the officer continued while breathing heavily, “If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided for you. Do you understand the rights as I have just read them to you? With these rights in mind, do you wish to speak to me?”

  I nodded my head and let the officers pull me from the ground and lead me out of the house.

  “We are right behind you, El,” Torrey called out.

  “Don’t hurt my baby,” my mother cried.

  After arriving at the police station, I was taken into a small room where I sat for what felt like hours, handcuffed to the small metal table in front of me. There were no windows, no air flow, no sound; just a tiny stale room with a two-way mirror covering the wall in front of me. I had no idea what the cop was talking about when he said I was being arrested for murder. I had knocked out a few dudes in the streets, but I fought with my hands. I wasn’t a murderer. I hoped this was all a misunderstanding.

  I fit the profile of every criminal ever described on the news; tall, between the ages of nineteen and thirty with a low haircut and a dark hoodie. It wasn’t uncommon for me to be questioned by the police, about where I was going or what I was doing when I was minding my own business.

  Two men finally walked into the room.

  They must be the detectives.

  They brought the smell of cigarettes and coffee in with them, reminding me that I hadn’t had the chance to finish the dinner my mother had prepared. Hopefully, she put my plate in the microwave.

  Both the detectives were white. One was taller and rounder than the other. The taller one was balding, but he was wearing a comb-over thing that white men wear when they are trying to cover a bald spot. It’s so dumb because the comb-over is not hiding anything. We still see the bald spot
! The shorter one looked younger than the tall one, he stared at me like he caught me in the bed with his wife or something. I stared back. This crap didn’t intimidate me. I didn’t do anything.

  The older detective began, “Sam, is that what they call you? Sam?”

  I didn’t respond.

  No one calls me Sam. I hate that nickname.

  “Sam, I am detective Brown. This is detective Beatty. We have some questions for you.”

  I maintained eye contact without saying anything.

  “Where were you two nights ago around eleven p.m.?”

  Two nights ago? I was out with my boys after I got off work at the Foot Locker in Northwest Plaza Mall. After we played a couple games at the bowling alley, I called Delina, and she let me run through and hit it real quick before I went home.

  “Probably at home,” I shrugged.

  “Probably?” The second detective repeated.

  I cut my eyes at him and gave the first detective my attention.

  “I can’t be sure, but that’s where I usually am if I am not at work.”

  I didn’t know what this was all about, so I was not about to tell them anything. I didn’t know if one of my boys was in trouble or what, but they wasn’t about to get me to snitch.

  “Oh, I get it. You think you have some power here, boy,” Detective Beatty said. “Well you don’t, and you are going down for what you did to those people!”

  What I did? To what people?

  I looked at him and rolled my eyes. I was a little shook by what he’d just said, but I wasn’t about to sweat in front of these pigs. I knew I hadn’t hurt anyone.

  Detective Brown reached into a folder and produced some pictures he slid across the table. I looked down at the picture on top and nearly threw up the dinner I was enjoying with my mother before the cops busted in.

  It was a picture of a man with half of his head blown off. The remaining half was swollen and bloody. Lying next to the man was a woman whose entire chest was saturated with blood. I’d seen things like this on TV, but I’d never seen a real dead body. My stomach churned with nausea. I pushed the picture across the table, but the table wasn’t large enough for me not to be able to see it.

  “Now you are going to try to play like you’ve never seen Mr. Caldwell like this! This is how you left him after you broke into his home and raped his girlfriend!”

  “WAIT, WHAT! I ain’t never raped or killed nobody! What in the hell is you talkin’ bout?”

  In what seemed like one fluid motion, Detective Beatty jumped up from his chair, reached for my head and slammed it onto the table.

  He applied pressure to my head as he spoke, “You worthless, bottom-feeding, piece of shit, you are going to tell us the truth! We know you did this!”

  I held in the tears that were stinging the backs of my eyes. I cleared my throat and said, “Lawyer.”

  I’d watched enough TV to know I was in trouble and I wasn’t going to say anything else until somebody with some sort of power came to my rescue.

  Samuel

  ~1994~

  “Valentine, you have a visitor!”

  I was escorted from my cell to the attorney visiting room, which was different than the room where I was visited by my mother and sister. I sat across from a table with my attorney, but I spoke to my family through glass. I hadn’t hugged my mother in over a year. My life was miserable.

  After speaking with the detectives the night I was arrested, I was taken from the interrogation room and was booked. My arraignment on the charges of murder and resisting arrest, took place a few days later. The prosecutor asked that I be denied bail due to the heinous acts committed against the two people. The judge agreed, and I spent the next year in Saint Louis County Detention Center awaiting my trial date.

  My public defender, who I met the day of my arraignment, informed me I was being charged with the murders of Charles Caldwell and Valencia Grenred. They lived in the suburbs of Saint Louis County. Their home was burglarized. Ms. Grenred was raped before she was murdered. I had never laid eyes on either one of those people while they were alive, and I shol’ wasn’t in the area where they were killed. I never went to that part of the County.

  I walked into the visiting room and saw Mom and Torrey sitting with my attorney. Mom looked like she’d aged some in the past year, but she was still beautiful. Torrey looked a lot like Mom. They shared the same burnt sienna skin and round brown eyes, and they shared the same smile. They could pass for sisters since Mom was only seventeen years older than Torrey. Torrey was six years older than me.

  “No contact,” the guard barked while assisting me to the chair across from them. He handcuffed me to the table then left the room.

  As soon as the door closed, Torrey and Mom came over and hugged my neck. I couldn’t hug them back because I was handcuffed but having their arms around me gave me a level of peace I hadn’t felt since being locked up. They both kissed my face at least ten times. I enjoyed every single one. I wished I could collect a hug and kiss and save it for later.

  Seeing them here gave me hope this nightmare would be over soon. I’d heard of innocent people being jailed, but I can’t say I ever really believed it. Now, I knew it to be true.

  “Mr. Valentine, I brought your mother and sister with me today because there is a deal on the table from the DA. I think it’s a good one, but I wanted you to be able to discuss it with your family before you accepted it,” my public defender, Ms. Tyler explained.

  I sat up straight in my chair.

  Maybe I will be able to leave soon. Perhaps they want me to cop to the resisting arrest charge. I will do it as long as they let me out.

  “A deal instead of a trial?” Mom questioned.

  “Yes, Ms. Valentine. The DA is offering twenty-five years.”

  “Twenty-five years?” My mother, Torrey and I all said at the same time.

  “Yes, if a jury finds you guilty they could sentence you to life without parole or even the death penalty. The DA is being very generous with this offer.”

  “TWENTY-FIVE YEARS! FOR SOMETHING I DIDN’T DO? I’m not taking it. I won’t take it. There is no way I am going to spend my whole life in jail.”

  I sat back in my chair feverously shaking my head. “Naw, I will wait for the trial.”

  “Look, Mr. Valentine, it’s hard to prove your innocence. They say they have DNA evidence that is irrefutable.”

  “Did you see it?” Torrey asked.

  “No, but…” Ms. Tyler began.

  “It has to be refutable because I was not there!”

  My mother leaned in and placed her hand on top of mine. She knew the little patience I had was running out.

  “Shouldn’t he be given a chance to answer some questions? He can tell the jury he wasn’t the one who committed the crime,” my mother pleaded.

  “Look, Miss Valentine, as you know, your son is not a model citizen. They can pull school records and earlier juvenile records to show a pattern of violence…”

  “Are you talking about the fistfights he’s been in? All young boys fight!” Torrey yelled.

  “No, Miss Valentine, all boys don’t fight…”

  Torrey interrupted, “All the boys where we are from fight. I don’t know what they do in that stuck up ass neighborhood your bougie…”

  “Torrey,” Mom softly called her name. Torrey rolled her eyes and sat down.

  “As it stands, the deal on the table is an excellent one. I can’t guarantee I can win this case. It’s best for you to take the deal, stay out of trouble while you are down and maybe we can look at getting you out early on good behavior,” Ms. Tyler finished.

  “That’s easy for you to say because you are not the one losing years of your life for something you didn’t do!”

  “Mr. Valentine, this is the best it’s going to get. If we don’t give them an answer soon, the deal is going away. Look at the circumstances, a white man and white woman were killed. The nail in the coffin is you are black. Period. Someone is go
ing to jail for this.”

  “It doesn’t have to be me!”

  I came into this meeting hopeful this was finally going to be over. Now I was deciding between life and death.

  “You are the only one they have. This District Attorney is trying to make a name for himself by being tough on crime, so this deal is sweet. I will step out for a minute and let you talk it over with your family.”

  Two weeks later

  “Valentine!”

  I sat straight up in my bed hearing the guard call my name.

  “Get your things together we are moving you now.”

  “Moving me? To another cell?”

  “No, to prison.”

  It felt like all the blood drained from my body, leaving me feeling sick and dizzy. I slowly climbed down from the top bunk and started collecting the few things I’d accumulated while being held at the Saint Louis County Detention Center.

  It was no surprise I was leaving. Most people at STL Detention center were there waiting for a resolution to their charges. After a resolution was achieved they’d move from the County to a state prison.

  While at the County lockup, I didn’t have any problems. People mostly kept to themselves and didn’t cause any ruckus. Other inmates told me that prison was better than the County because there was more freedom. Not physical freedom, but freedom to move around the facility. They also told me I would have to establish my reputation immediately. I was going to either be the hunted or the hunter. If there were only two choices, I would choose hunter. I still couldn’t believe this was my reality. I was serving a twenty-five-year sentence for a crime I did not commit. I was completely innocent but in the eyes of the State of Missouri I was guilty; a felon.

  I took the picture of Mom and Torrey off the wall and put it in my laundry bag along with the rest of my things. I stepped outside my cell and stood against the wall. The guard attached the cuffs to my hands in front of me, and then attached the leg shackles. I hated being treated like an animal, but I took the plea deal the DA offered. I accepted the plea because I couldn’t put Mom and Torrey through anything else. I couldn’t get out of the charges and seeing them sad, and crying was wearing on me. I just wanted it all to stop. The only way to make it stop was by taking the plea. Neither Mom nor Torrey wanted me to do it, but at least with the plea I had an idea of when I would be out. Without the plea, it was a possibility that I would spend the rest of my life behind bars.