window when
they hear shots. But I still find it hard to believe nobody else saw anything.
Even if they did, though, it doesn't necessarily mean we want to uncover what
they saw."
"Because they might have seen our client?"
"You never know," Myra said.
"Okay," I said. "So that was educational. Now can we get out of
here?"
"Not yet," Myra said. "We've still got to meet the neighbors."
7
Y OLANDA MILLER was not happy to see us. Not that I'd expected her to be, but the degree of her immediate hostility took me by surprise.
She was talking to us from the doorway of her apartment, making no move to let us in. I felt exposed and vulnerable standing in a hallway in the Gardens, but tried to put such thoughts out of my mind.
"I don't got to be talkin' to you," Yolanda said once we'd introduced ourselves.
"The DA told me I ain't got to say nothing to you if I don't want to."
"If necessary we can subpoena you," Myra said. "Did the DA tell
you that?"
"What's that gonna do?"
"If we subpoena you it would mean you'd have to come down to court and talk to us under oath," Myra said matter-of-factly.
"If you didn't show up the judge would issue a warrant for your arrest."
"You gonna arrest me now? For what?"
"I'm not saying we're going to arrest you, Yolanda," Myra said.
"I'm simply telling you what would happen if we were forced to subpoena you and
you didn't comply with the subpoena. I don't want to have to subpoena you at
all. We only have a couple of questions."
"I ain't got nothing to say that's going to help you all. I saw
Strawberry shoot Devin and that white dude."
"I'm not going to try to get you to say anything other than the truth," Myra said.
"I'd just like to know exactly what you saw, step by step. Let's start with
where you were."
"I'd just come out my building to go to the Arab mart down on
Avenue J."
"What's the Arab mart?"
"It's just a deli," Yolanda said with a shrug. "Everybody be
calling it that because it's run by these Arabs. They the only Arabs around
here, what with all the Jews."
"What were you going to get from the deli?" Myra asked, apparently uninterested in exploring Yolanda's lack of political correctness.
"What you care about that for?"
"I don't, really. I just want to make sure I have a full picture,
that's all."
"I got me a little boy. I needed to pick up some milk."
"You were going to get milk?"
"And I needed me some Newports," Yolanda said, drumming the fingers of one hand against the pocket of her jeans while the other hand held her front door.
"So you were going to get milk and cigarettes?"
"True that."
"Did you make it to the deli?"
"I didn't get out the Gardens."
"Okay. So what happened when you left your building?"
"I saw Devin across the way," Yolanda said.
"Did you know Devin?" Myra asked, playing it straight—we needed to know what story Yolanda was going to tell about her relationship with Devin.
"Me and him is together," Yolanda said, not making much out of it. While she was still hostile—her arms folded across her chest, her face tight and expressionless—she seemed to be reasonably forthcoming. But there was something jittery about her too, a nervous energy that seemed to go beyond the fact that we'd barged into her life and started asking questions.
"You're together?" Myra said, feigning surprise. "Meaning you're
dating?"
"Like that, sure."
"I see. How long have you and Devin been together?"
"Few months now," Yolanda said dismissively.
"What was Devin doing when you saw him that night?"
"He was talking to the white dude that got hisself killed."
"You saw the two of them talking together?"
"They was just across the way."
"Could you see Devin's face when you spotted him?"
"Naw," Yolanda said. "I could see the white dude's face, enough to
see he was white, anyway."
"What happened after you saw Devin and the white guy?"
"I was gonna go over there, talk to Devin. Just as I started
walkin' was when Strawberry started shootin'."
"Did
they hear shots. But I still find it hard to believe nobody else saw anything.
Even if they did, though, it doesn't necessarily mean we want to uncover what
they saw."
"Because they might have seen our client?"
"You never know," Myra said.
"Okay," I said. "So that was educational. Now can we get out of
here?"
"Not yet," Myra said. "We've still got to meet the neighbors."
7
Y OLANDA MILLER was not happy to see us. Not that I'd expected her to be, but the degree of her immediate hostility took me by surprise.
She was talking to us from the doorway of her apartment, making no move to let us in. I felt exposed and vulnerable standing in a hallway in the Gardens, but tried to put such thoughts out of my mind.
"I don't got to be talkin' to you," Yolanda said once we'd introduced ourselves.
"The DA told me I ain't got to say nothing to you if I don't want to."
"If necessary we can subpoena you," Myra said. "Did the DA tell
you that?"
"What's that gonna do?"
"If we subpoena you it would mean you'd have to come down to court and talk to us under oath," Myra said matter-of-factly.
"If you didn't show up the judge would issue a warrant for your arrest."
"You gonna arrest me now? For what?"
"I'm not saying we're going to arrest you, Yolanda," Myra said.
"I'm simply telling you what would happen if we were forced to subpoena you and
you didn't comply with the subpoena. I don't want to have to subpoena you at
all. We only have a couple of questions."
"I ain't got nothing to say that's going to help you all. I saw
Strawberry shoot Devin and that white dude."
"I'm not going to try to get you to say anything other than the truth," Myra said.
"I'd just like to know exactly what you saw, step by step. Let's start with
where you were."
"I'd just come out my building to go to the Arab mart down on
Avenue J."
"What's the Arab mart?"
"It's just a deli," Yolanda said with a shrug. "Everybody be
calling it that because it's run by these Arabs. They the only Arabs around
here, what with all the Jews."
"What were you going to get from the deli?" Myra asked, apparently uninterested in exploring Yolanda's lack of political correctness.
"What you care about that for?"
"I don't, really. I just want to make sure I have a full picture,
that's all."
"I got me a little boy. I needed to pick up some milk."
"You were going to get milk?"
"And I needed me some Newports," Yolanda said, drumming the fingers of one hand against the pocket of her jeans while the other hand held her front door.
"So you were going to get milk and cigarettes?"
"True that."
"Did you make it to the deli?"
"I didn't get out the Gardens."
"Okay. So what happened when you left your building?"
"I saw Devin across the way," Yolanda said.
"Did you know Devin?" Myra asked, playing it straight—we needed to know what story Yolanda was going to tell about her relationship with Devin.
"Me and him is together," Yolanda said, not making much out of it. While she was still hostile—her arms folded across her chest, her face tight and expressionless—she seemed to be reasonably forthcoming. But there was something jittery about her too, a nervous energy that seemed to go beyond the fact that we'd barged into her life and started asking questions.
"You're together?" Myra said, feigning surprise. "Meaning you're
dating?"
"Like that, sure."
"I see. How long have you and Devin been together?"
"Few months now," Yolanda said dismissively.
"What was Devin doing when you saw him that night?"
"He was talking to the white dude that got hisself killed."
"You saw the two of them talking together?"
"They was just across the way."
"Could you see Devin's face when you spotted him?"
"Naw," Yolanda said. "I could see the white dude's face, enough to
see he was white, anyway."
"What happened after you saw Devin and the white guy?"
"I was gonna go over there, talk to Devin. Just as I started
walkin' was when Strawberry started shootin'."
"Did
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