Corktown

by Ty Hutchinson

  “I’m Agent Kane. This is Agent Wilkinson. We’re with the FBI. May we ask you a few questions?”

  She looked at us as if she had a choice, like there were options to consider. Eventually, she turned around and walked away, leaving the door open.

  I entered the house first. I wished I hadn’t. The smell of cat urine nearly destroyed my nose. I didn’t bother to hide my reaction either. Wilkinson had a bit more self-control. By my count, there were eight furry felines either walking or lying on the furniture. Our host had already taken her seat in front of the television.

  “Are you Lisa Bass?” I asked. She didn’t respond, so I picked up the remote and shut the television off.

  “Hey, I was watching that.”

  The strong stench of urine had fouled my mood and left me with little patience. I tried once again, with a little bitch sprinkled in the tone. “Are you Lisa Bass?”

  “Hell, no,” she said, yanking her head back. I could count the chins.

  “We were told she might be living here.”

  “She ain’t lived here for over fifteen years. We used to be friends, but we haven’t talked since she moved. Why you looking for her?”

  “Do you know where she is Ms.…?”

  “You can call me Michelle, and no, I don’t know where she is. Shit, I ain’t seen Lisa since she left.”

  A black and white cat swirled its body around my leg. I could feel the feline’s affection vibrating against my calf, but still the animal repulsed me.

  Wilkinson spoke up. “It’s important we speak with her, Michelle. Any information you have about her whereabouts would be appreciated.”

  She picked up a cat and scratched it behind the ears. “Well, when she left, she said she was going to school.”

  “What school?”

  Michelle looked at me. “Why do you guys need to talk to her? Is she in trouble?”

  “No, she’s not. But we believe she has information that can help us with an investigation,” I said in a soothing tone, topped off with a smile. I realized nice might be the way to go with Michelle if we wanted any more information. Suck it up, Abby.

  “Well, she mentioned Oakland, but I don’t know if she finished.”

  We still didn’t have a positive ID on Lisa. Claire Bass came up empty. I hoped Michelle wouldn’t. “Do you have a picture of Lisa?”

  “I might. It’ll take some time for me to find it, though, if I do.”

  I looked around the living room. Michelle was well on her way to being a candidate for the show Hoarders. I believed her when she said it might take some time.

  “By the way, that ain’t her name no more. She changed it to Katherine.”

  “Katherine Bass?”

  “No. Katherine Carter.”

  42

  With a little more prodding and some smiling, I pried Katherine’s address from Michelle. Turns out the two talked, but not often. Michelle admitted they had grown apart over the years.

  Katherine now lived in a small neighborhood near downtown Detroit. The welcome sign read, “Corktown, Detroit’s Oldest Neighborhood, 1834.”

  “Hmm, I think this is the place Detective Solis was talking about that night,” Wilkinson said.

  “Impressive,” I said as I looked around. The homes might have been built in the early 1800s, but they all looked renovated to their proper glory.

  When we pulled up to the two-story, Federal style home with a Range Rover in front of the garage, I understood why Michelle and Katherine had lost touch. Her friend had moved into a higher financial bracket.

  I rang the doorbell. We didn’t hear dogs yapping, nor did the smell of urine permeate the air. The front steps were peaceful and quiet. A second later, the door opened, and a beautiful woman stood pleasantly in front of us. She wore a white blouse, tucked neatly inside a knee-length black skirt with matching heels. Her hair shined, and her makeup appeared fresh.

  “Katherine Carter?”

  “Yes, that’s me.”

  I held up my identification. “I’m Agent Abby Kane. This is Agent Trey Wilkinson. May we ask you a few questions?”

  “Is something wrong?”

  “We’re investigating a case and thought you might have information that could help us.”

  We waited in the sitting room while Katherine went to the kitchen for some bottled water. The décor was vintage yet modern, with lots of warm neutral tones. I wonder if she hired a designer or watches HGTV. Pictures lined the mantel above the fireplace. I walked over for a closer look. Most of the pictures were of two little boys, but some included her. Where was the husband? Katherine had a ring on—a nice one, too, I might add. Mental note: Schedule a family portrait.

  I was still at the mantel when Katherine paraded back in with her back straight and her long slender neck holding her head at the perfect angle. “Are these your boys?” I asked.

  She gently placed the bottles of water on ceramic coasters. “Yes, Lorenzo is eight, and Jackson is four. I’ve been trying for years to include my husband in our annual picture taking, but I haven’t succeeded yet.”

  “You have beautiful children. My two are similar in age. Ryan is eight and Lucy is five.”

  Katherine smiled and walked back to the sitting area without saying anything about my children. Isn’t that parent etiquette? I suddenly didn’t feel like drinking her water.

  I then watched her sit across from Wilkinson. She crossed her legs, allowing her skirt to ride up high enough to catch Wilky’s eye. I immediately cleared my throat. “Are you Lisa Bass, daughter of Eddie Bass of Flint, Michigan?”

  Katherine didn’t answer us right away. “I’m sorry. It’s been awhile since I’ve heard that name. I’ve always liked the name Katherine, and—”

  “Katherine, we’re not here to question you about your name change,” Wilkinson said. “We want to talk to you about your father, Eddie.”

  “My father?”

  “Did he ever mention the Redline Rogues or RRs to you?” I asked.

  Katherine stared off into the distance before shaking her head. “No, I can’t say that I heard him speak about that. Is it the name of a company?”

  “The RRs were a group of young executives employed by GM back in the eighties. They were very influential at the time. Some believe they were responsible for having the plant shut down.”

  “What does that have to do with my father?” She asked, crinkling her nose. “He worked at the factory, on the line.”

  “A lot of people knew your father. He was a well-liked person—always talking, especially about GM. So much, people called him The Motor.”

  A smile appeared on Katherine’s face. “Yes, he loved the company, until…”

  “Until the plant he worked at shut down.”

  Katherine nodded slowly.

  “With your father knowing so much about the company, we thought he might have heard about the RRs and maybe mentioned them to you.”

  Katherine placed her bottle on a coaster. “If he did, why would he tell me about them? I was just a little girl.”

  “They were responsible for shutting the plant down in Flint. It’s a big topic for conversation.”

  “That plant was the livelihood of that city. Shutting it down ruined the lives of many families in Flint.”

  “Including yours?”

  Katherine shot me a look. “It killed my father.”

  The tension in the room had suddenly gone up a notch. “I’m sorry. It must have been tough.”

  “It was. I still don’t know what this has to do with my father.”

  “We believe someone is killing the RRs. Three of them are already dead. We’re trying to locate the rest before it’s too late. Claire Bass told us he mentioned the RRs to her. We were hoping he said something to you.”

  “Claire Bass is a liar. She only encouraged my father by continually talking about the plant; it made him angrier. He drank more because of it.”

  Katherine had become visibly upset. I figured our chances of getti
ng more information from her were quickly becoming a long shot.

  “I have nothing else to say. Now if you don’t mind, I’m busy.” She stood and held her arm out to the door.

  We thanked her for her time, and I handed her my card. “If you think of anything, call me.”

  43

  Katherine peeked from behind the window curtain as the two agents returned to their hideous yellow car.

  Preston Carter also kept an eye on the two visitors as well, except he watched from a basement window. Behind him, a naked young woman lay on a wooden table. Her arms and legs were held in place by straps attached at each corner. Duct tape covered her mouth, and tears ran down her face.

  Preston put his scalpel down on a counter and removed the clear plastic apron he wore. “I’ll be back, my darling.” He kissed the woman’s forehead before heading upstairs.

  “Katherine!” he called as he burst into the hallway.

  She appeared from the kitchen. “What is it, dear?”

  “Who were those two people? What did they want?”

  Katherine could see that her husband was flustered and becoming increasingly agitated. She cleared a few strands from his left eye. “There’s nothing to worry about, dear. They wanted to talk to me about my father.”

  “They’re the police, aren’t they? They’re on to us. I knew it. We should have taken a break. There wasn’t enough time between kills—”

  A large cracking noise emanated from Katherine’s open hand as it slammed into Preston’s face, sending his head off to the side. It was the only thing that worked when he slipped into a panic.

  Preston held his left cheek, his head still turned to the side, looking down.

  “I told you not to worry. You must trust me, darling. I have a plan. You do want to help me with my plan, don’t you?”

  Preston nodded slowly. He did want to help his beautiful wife—anything for his queen.

  He had first noticed Katherine in his freshman biology class. He was a tenured professor and she was first year student, twenty at the time. The day she first entered his lab, her hair was pulled loosely back into a ponytail, and she had a horrendous orange backpack slung over her shoulders, but she looked as if angels were carrying her in. Her sweet smile was infectious. Her eyes could calm the most cantankerous of people. Preston watched her search for a seat, but didn’t stop there. He continued to sneak peaks throughout the entire class period. By all accounts, she was the most beautiful woman he had ever laid eyes upon.

  During the second quarter of her first year, Preston noticed a difference in Katherine. In ways, she was a lot like him. She had tendencies, as he liked to describe it. She once took a lab frog and sliced it horizontally from head to toe—a total of two hundred eighty-five slices. Preston knew, because he counted each one. She did the same with a frozen dog using a surgical saw. He continued to push her young mind. After a year and a half, he felt she was ready. He gave her a body. She didn’t ask who it had been or where it had come from. She didn’t care. She went right to work.

  When the two started to date, that had been the turning point, and Katherine accompanied Preston on a kill. It was the start of a wonderful partnership. The Doctor had taken on an apprentice. For the next two years, Katherine learned from him. So much so that she started advising him on how to continue forward with his hobby without getting caught. Preston had hoped they could become a duo, but Katherine was much more comfortable with the planning. Though she had developed an affinity for scalping people.

  “I’m worried,” Preston finally mumbled.

  “Don’t be, sweetie. I haven’t failed us yet, and I don’t intend to.” Katherine slipped her hand down the front of his pants and fondled him. Preston shut his eyes and let out a breathy growl. “Now go back downstairs and finish up with your play date. When you’re done, you can tell me all about it.”

  44

  Later that afternoon, we met Solis and Madero at a Coney Island restaurant in Birmingham. They had spent most of the week interviewing executives at GM and Ford and making sure Archie Becker didn’t end up dead.

  Both detectives were eating chili dogs when we arrived. I looked at Wilkinson; his eyes lit up like a dog eyeing a large soup bone. He had become addicted to chili dogs. What is it with guys and chili?

  “Agents,” Solis said. “Please, have a seat.”

  We sat opposite them in the booth and placed our orders immediately. As soon as the waitress left, Solis wasted no time brushing off his hands and updating us.

  “We interviewed every top-level executive at GM. Either there are no other RRs working there or someone is holding back. Same with Ford. We’re heading over to Chrysler tomorrow.”

  Not what I wanted to hear. “How’s our guy doing?”

  “Nothing’s changed. He goes to work and comes home. We tried talking to him again, but he insists he doesn’t know what we’re talking about.”

  “He’s got interesting nighttime habits though,” Madero added. “We took over the night shift and discovered our guy sneaks out near midnight and spends time at Belle Isle.”

  “How long has this been going on?”

  Solis shrugged. “He’s done it twice on our watch. We park down the street so he thinks no one is watching.”

  “What’s down at Belle Isle?” Wilkinson asked.

  “It’s a popular late-night hangout for young people, like a make-out area, except our guy hangs out where there aren’t any women.”

  “Why are you letting him leave the house?” I asked.

  “Look, Agent Kane, we can’t stop him. He’s a free man.”

  “Yeah, well, we’re tagging along tonight.” If Becker insisted on endangering his life like this, I didn’t want to rely on these two to keep him safe.

  45

  Solis radioed us around midnight. Wilkinson and I were parked five houses down from the Becker residence. Solis and Madero were at the opposite end of the street, two houses away, so they still had eyes on his front door.

  “Our guy is on the move,” he said. “He’s in a black Ford Explorer and should be passing you any second.”

  “All right. Hang back and let us pick him up,” I answered.

  Wilkinson waited until the Explorer rounded the corner before pulling onto the road, fearful Becker might recognize the Yellow Jacket. It wasn’t the best vehicle for surveillance.

  The traffic was light on the highway, so we kept our distance, maybe a hundred yards or so behind. Solis and Madero tailed us. We weren’t worried about losing Becker. We knew his destination. Thirty minutes later, we crossed MacArthur Bridge.

  Belle Isle was literally a nine hundred acre island park in the middle of the Detroit River. During the day, people picnicked and swam, visited the zoo and the botanical gardens, and just enjoyed the outdoors. However at night, the action took place inside their vehicles.

  We kept our distance from Becker, blending with the other late-night visitors cruising the scene. There seemed to be a lot of young people hanging in and outside of their cars, mostly college students from the look of it. Farther down the road, though, I could see that the area got desolate.

  Becker drove at a parade’s pace. I was not sure what he was looking at; women didn’t seem to do it for him. Maybe he liked young men.

  “It might be a good idea to follow by foot,” I said. “The crowd’s thinning and he might pick up on us.”

  “Good idea.”

  We parked near the end of the crowd. I radioed Solis and Madero that we had feet on the ground and told them to sit back for a bit.

  I moved swiftly along the trees. I didn’t bother to look back; I could hear Wilkinson in step behind me. There was little chance Becker could see us where we were. Unfortunately, the dark afforded Becker the same advantage. He had parked under a large tree, making it nearly impossible to see inside his vehicle. It didn’t help that scattered clouds prevented most of the moonlight from reaching the ground.

  We moved in as close as we could, maybe fifty y
ards away, and watched. Fifteen minutes passed before a slow-moving vehicle pulled into the stall next to Becker. A man exited and quickly entered the passenger side of Becker’s Explorer.

  “Did you get a good look at him?” Wilkinson asked.

  “Not really, but I have a pretty good idea of what’s about to go down.” I looked around for a closer vantage point. Becker’s safety concerned me more than his sexual escapades. For all we knew, that stranger could be the killer.

  “I don’t feel comfortable sitting back. I’m going to move up to that tiny bush near the car.”

  “It’s out in the open. They’ll see you.”

  Advantage #23 for someone with my height: I can squat at night and look like a bush. “Don’t worry; I’ll blend. If I still can’t see what’s going on, I’ll radio you and we’ll break up Becker’s party.” I gave Solis and Madero the heads up on the plan.

  “I’ll be right here,” Wilkinson said as he sent me on my way with a pat to the butt.

  I made my way around a few trees and a couple of tall shrubs. I lost sight of the car for a few seconds, but I picked up a visual soon enough. I crouched, waited a beat, and then scurried to the tiny bush near the car. I was now one with the shrub.

  From my low angle looking up into the vehicle, I had an unobstructed view. A faint glow, probably from the entertainment system, lit them up enough to know what they were doing. It was make-out city all right.

  • • •

  Wilkinson stayed put and watched the car. He had lost sight of Abby until she reappeared, running to the bush. She did indeed blend in. From what he could see, it looked like she had an eyeline into the vehicle. The agent raised his radio, ready to ask her for an update, when a twig snapped behind him. He spun around and reached for his weapon at the same time. That’s when he saw her.

  “Agent Wilkinson, it’s me, Katherine Carter.”