“They called him The Motor. He loved working for that company. Being able to make a living and provide for his family made him a proud man. Terrible thing they did to him.”
“You mean the company, right?”
“Who else would I be talking about, dear? Not only him, but the whole town got hit.”
“That’s when he moved here, with his daughter?” I asked.
“Yes. His wife, Christine, had already passed. She had breast cancer. There wasn’t any need to stay in that town. It had a terrible effect on him. He started drinking… I worried about him.”
“So he moved here, to Ohio?”
“I finally convinced the stubborn mule.” Claire drifted off into her thoughts before speaking again. “He had only been here for a little over a year when he passed.” Claire continued to rock and sip. Her eyes appeared heavy, but she never kept them off of us for long.
“Claire, did Eddie ever talk about the Redline Rogues?”
She took a moment before answering. “Not that I recall. What is it?”
“A bunch of GM executives. There’s a rumor that they were responsible for shutting down the plant in Flint.” I figured it was best to leave out their names and the fact that three of them were dead.
“Oh, you’re talking about the Good Boys,” she said. “That’s what Eddie called them. Anyhow, he came upon them late one night at the plant, had forgotten something in his locker. That’s when he over heard a group of people talking in hushed tones.”
“Did he know them?” I asked.
Claire shook her head. “No, but he snuck up on ’em and listened. He said he only heard bits and pieces. He had a bad ear,” she motioned, “but he swore they were talking about shutting down the plant. Eddie was the one to spread the word before the company said anything. Everyone thought it was crazy talk until it happened.”
Claire’s story supported what Hardin told us earlier. Pieces were coming together. I started to believe our own hype; someone wanted revenge for what the RRs did.
“Did Eddie mention what they looked like?”
“From where he hid, he said he couldn’t see them all too well. But he was sure there were men and women. As far as I know, he never told anyone where he got his information on the plant closing. If you ask me, I’d say something had him spooked.”
I looked around but saw no pictures of him or his daughter.
“What about Eddie’s daughter? Do you think he mentioned it to her?”
“You mean Lisa?” Claire shrugged and took another sip of her coffee.
Wilkinson wrote her name down in his notepad.
“Sorry, we didn’t have a name for her. Do you know where we can find her?” he asked.
“I don’t know where she is. We never did see eye to eye. She moved out when she was seventeen.”
“Do you have an address or a phone number?”
Claire finished the last of her coffee. She stood up and cleared our cups on the way back to the kitchen. I looked at Wilkinson. “Looks like our chat is over.”
“No address or number. She could be anywhere,” he said.
I tried to remain optimistic.
Claire reemerged from the kitchen with a dishcloth in her hand. Wilkinson and I booth stood up.
“Do you have any idea how we can get a hold of Lisa? It’s very important we talk with her.”
“You think she killed those people?”
“No, not all,” I said. “We’re just trying to gather as much information as possible.”
“She was a quiet one. Was cordial to most. She didn’t have me fooled, though. That girl had a mean streak that would surface every now and then.”
“In what way?”
“The littlest things would set her off. I rearranged her closet once. I never did that again.” Claire bent down and gave the coffee table a once over. She then walked over to a desk and wrote something down.
“You might try Flint. It’s where she’s from,” she said as she opened the front door. She slipped me a paper with a name and an address on it as we exited the house.
37
We were still an hour’s drive from Detroit when I got a call from Solis. I was expecting an update on Archie Becker, the suspected RR. What I got instead felt like a punch to the gut.
“I hope you’re sitting down.”
“Spit it out,” I said.
“Your reporter friend, Elliot Hardin. He’s dead.”
“Come again?”
“Couple of hunters came across his car in the woods. He was inside with a gunshot wound to the back of his head.”
I whispered to Wilkinson that Hardin was dead.
“There were two vehicle tracks, so whoever did this was in the car with him with an accomplice following.”
“Why do you think that?”
“Well, the only reason to come up here is to hunt elk, and Hardin doesn’t look the type.”
I shook my head slowly. Hardin had been telling the truth earlier. How the hell am I supposed to solve this case if my informants keep showing up dead?
“What about Becker?”
“We tracked him down at Ford. He’s one of their top engineers. He denies knowing anything about the RR. He’s also refusing any help from the police. We put a patrol car outside his house anyway, as a visual deterrent in case our guy is targeting him. He’s not being helpful, though.”
“Keep an eye on him until we can get back. I want to question him personally.”
38
We reached Archie Becker’s house a little before seven that night. The sun had started to set, but kids of all ages were still out playing. Becker lived alone in the family-friendly Bloomfield Hills, north of Birmingham. Solis and Madero were parked out front in a brown unmarked vehicle waiting for us. Across the street was a patrol car, like they said.
When I got closer to their car, the detectives exited. “We followed him back from work,” Solis said. “He’s been home for maybe forty minutes.”
“Thanks. Wait outside, please.”
Wilkinson and I continued up the driveway of the ranch style home. We rang the doorbell.
A neatly dressed man answered the door. His posture deflated when he saw us. “How can I help you?” he asked, dryly.
“Archie Becker? I’m Agent Kane. This is Agent Wilkinson. We were hoping we could ask you a few questions.”
Becker flopped his head to the side and exhaled loudly. “Look, Agents. I’ve already answered a bunch from the two sitting in the car,” he pointed.
“I realize that, Mr. Becker, but you didn’t answer our questions.”
He let out another breath of air and added an eye roll. His antics were starting to annoy me.
“I suppose you want something to drink,” he said as he swung the front door open and led the way.
Actually, I would love to punch some sense into you.
Wilkinson and I looked at each other before following him. “What can you tell us about the Redline Rogues or the RRs?”
Becker never bothered to get us something to drink, but instead, he took a seat in the living room. We stood.
“I’ll repeat what I told the two detectives outside. I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Isn’t it true you worked with Marian Ward, Dennis Walters, and Rick Tanner at GM during the eighties?”
“That’s true. But I worked with a lot of people. It’s common for auto execs to move around between the big three.”
“You realize all three of them are dead. They were murdered.”
Becker looked down, then back up, but avoided eye contact. “Yes, of course. I’m very saddened by the news. I didn’t spend much time with them after I left GM, but I still considered them friends.”
“Mr. Becker, we have reason to believe whoever killed them might try to harm you.”
“Why?” he asked, his posture stiffening. “I’ve done nothing.”
“That’s what we’re trying to figure out. We know you were a member of the RRs. Who else knew?
Think, Mr. Becker. Who might have grievances against you or them?”
Becker ran his hands through what little hair he had. “Look, you guys are sounding like a broken record. I’ve already answered these questions.”
“Then it should be easier the second time around. What are you afraid of? We can protect you.”
Becker threw his head back and laughed. “Like how you protected the others?”
The mouth on this guy. Solis was right; he was definitely the short name for Richard.
“Look, I don’t need your help.”
“Funny, last time I checked, your name was Archie Becker, not Chuck Norris.”
Becker shot me a look that rivaled a snotty teenager’s. “If you’ll excuse me, I have work I need to do.”
We may have left his house, but we weren’t about to let him leave our sight. I tapped on Solis’ window. “This guy’s got an attitude and a death wish.”
“Told you.”
“I want you guys to start interviewing all of the top execs. Start at GM. Maybe we can flush out the other two that way.”
We cut the detectives and the patrol car loose and did a drive around the block before parking farther down the street. With only three of the RRs alive, I wanted to make sure it stayed that way.
39
It had been a while since I’d taken on babysitting duty. I had forgotten how slow the hours could drag. Thankfully, Wilkinson could hold a conversation. I remembered being in a similar situation with someone who didn’t speak much, and it was painful.
A patrol car had relieved us about an hour earlier and took their position in front of Becker’s place. We were four houses down the road, but we were so enjoying our conversation that we stayed put.
Wilkinson and I had chatted all night about everything and anything. I remember there being a lot of silly laughing, and then suddenly his lips were on mine. I don’t recall the time or what sparked it, but I didn’t pull away. I kissed him back. He had very tender lips that caressed me just so, and he was mindful about not shoving his tongue down my throat right away, either. He worked his way up to it—earned it. When he ran his hand along my cheek and into my hair, I canceled my rule against dating coworkers. It was stupid.
We were like two kids on a date making out in his parent’s car. The windows fogged in no time, affording us the privacy we wanted. Soon after, Wilkinson’s hand found my breasts. I don’t know why, but I tried to play it cool. I didn’t want him to know I was already a pile of mush, and as far as my body was concerned, my heavy breaths meant, Don’t stop. Hurry. Do everything. I want it all.
My body was an open house, each part waiting for its inspection. I was in desperate need of a good ravishing. When his fingers caressed my belly button, I remember letting out a premature moan. Who lets out a moan over a belly button touch? Anyway, it made my body shiver. I felt safe in his arms and wanted him even more.
He unbuttoned my blouse, and I went to work on his shirt. Undressing in the car wasn’t easy. It’s nothing like the movies, but it was worth it. It didn’t help that we were in a MINI. Thankfully, we had the larger four-door model, and I was tiny. Hooray for short people. Wilkinson lowered the parking break and shoved the stick shift into gear in order to climb over to my side. In one move, he had my seat fully reclined and pushed all the way back. Wilkinson lay against me. His naked pecs pressed against my perky breasts. I didn’t mind chest bumping with my partner. Hopefully he would high-five my butt. I pushed his head down and introduced his warm mouth to my tatas. Lick it. Lick it good.
I was fully aware of what I was doing. I had given in to Wilkinson. He could do with me whatever he wished. We had crossed the line, and I loved the naughtiness of it.
It didn’t take long before the rest of our clothing lay strewn around us. Wilkinson sprung out of his pants against my thigh. I couldn’t see the animal, but I swear it felt like another hand having its way with me. He wasn’t the only excited one. Moist didn’t even come close to capturing what was happening between my legs.
Once again, I thanked the height gods for my shortness; it would have been weird to thank my mother right then. There’s no way two normal-sized adults could do what we were doing. He had both my legs pinned back so they rested on his shoulders. I didn’t know I had the athleticism in me to become a pretzel. I liked it. I felt exposed, with Wilkinson in complete control. I couldn’t stop him from penetrating me—not that I wanted to. From that point on, we were like that bumper sticker. If this car’s a rockin’….
• • •
The next morning, we were running late for our meeting with White, so we didn’t have time to address what had happened the night before. It didn’t feel awkward, though. We were both in good moods.
As soon as we entered White’s office, I brought him up to speed on what we’d learned from Hardin, and what had happened to him.
“So your real lead came from your conversation with this reporter, not any of the old cases?”
Why is he making this an old case versus new case thing? “Yes. That is, until he was found shot to death. He fed us the names of four RRs. Three of them are dead and we can’t get the other to talk, but we’ve got eyes on him. We plan to follow up on another lead from Hardin: Eddie Bass’ daughter.”
White conveyed his disapproval with a head shake and a tongue cluck.
“Look, Lieutenant, if Eddie talked to his sister about the RRs, he might have said something to his daughter.”
White leaned forward and rested his elbows on his desk. “Let’s not get caught up in what happened in the past. Watch Becker, and our killer will eventually show himself—if what you said is true.”
“There are two other potential victims. They need to be warned.”
White gave us a halfhearted shrug. “It’s been on the news. I’m sure they’re aware of the situation. Sit on Becker. When our guy makes a move, we’ll grab him. Don’t go around looking into things you don’t need to. You’re not here for that, Agent Kane. Is that clear?”
My left eyebrow started to twitch. He’s not the enemy. He’s just trying to retire with a pension. I tempered my emotions as best I could. “With all due respect, Lieutenant White, I don’t work for the Detroit Metro Police. I’m a federal agent. I’ll investigate this case as I see fit.” I should have bitten my tongue, but I was tired of being told what I could and couldn’t do on this case. I was FBI. As far as I was concerned, I outranked every uniform there.
I stood. “I will catch this killer. And if there’s been a cover-up, I will get to the bottom it. You can be sure of that.” I spun around and exited White’s office without giving him an opportunity to respond. I didn’t care either. I had wasted enough time on this case. Abby Kane is going rogue.
Wilkinson caught up with me a few steps outside of White’s office.
“You want to tell me what you’re doing?”
“We both know we’re here to catch the original killer. They never caught him. Garrison took the fall. Who knew how high the corruption in that town went?”
“We can’t go it alone.”
I stopped and faced him. “We can and we are. I can’t trust what we’re being told anymore.” I continued walking past our office. “You got the car keys?”
“Yeah.”
“Good. We’re going to Flint.”
40
White sat quietly in the back of the dimly lit bar. He held a glass of whiskey with both hands and watched the liquid swirl around. He didn’t know what to make of the meeting he’d had with Agent Kane earlier in the morning. She was out of control, and there was nothing he could do. He tried, but it was out of his hands.
But that wasn’t good enough for Stevie Roscoe.
“Run me through it one more time,” Stevie said.
“I’ve already told you everything that happened this morning.”
“I don’t give a fuck,” he singsonged slowly. “Do you understand?”
Once more, White went over all the details of his meeting with Kan
e and Wilkinson.
“She knows there’s been a cover-up—that we never got the original guy.”
“Does she have proof?”
“Not yet, but she ain’t stupid. She’s going to figure it out.”
Stevie put a finger in White’s face. “That bitch ain’t figuring out shit.”
“I didn’t tell her anything,” White spit out. “I swear.”
Stevie relaxed and returned his hand to his side. He flashed the old cop his trademark smile. “Nobody said you did.”
White wasn’t buying it, though. Stevie was black rot and he didn’t trust him. “I just want to go on record; I did everything asked of me.”
Stevie placed a hand on White’s glass, stopping it from moving. “Then why the fuck does she think there’s a cover-up?”
White looked up from his glass and caught the glare of Stevie’s yellow-tinged, green eyes. It was like staring at the devil. White tried to avoid it whenever he could. It was impossible that day. Stevie liked having meetings in tight enclosures, never out in the open. He wanted the person to feel trapped, like there was no way out.
There wasn’t.
41
Flint was a little over an hour’s drive from downtown Detroit. Traffic was light, so we reached the city limits ten minutes faster. The GPS unit started yapping again when we neared the exit off the highway. Another ten minutes of maneuvering through the city and we found ourselves in a neighborhood where everyone’s front yard looked like a public dumping ground. Cars and kitchen appliances were the most popular for lawn decorations.
The small white house on Campbell Road had two cars in its front yard. Neither of them had tires or windows. The house had a tiny, screened-in front porch, overtaken by dead, potted plants and old electronics. I could hear the television before we made it to the porch steps. It sounded like a court case show.
Wilkinson had to knock twice before someone came to the door.
A white lady shoehorned into denim shorts and wearing layered tank tops opened the door. A cigarette hung from her mouth. “Yeah?” she said, adjusting her shirt.
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