Corktown

by Ty Hutchinson

  “So why keep the tostada if it’s just a flat hard-to-eat taco?”

  “Hey, the Italians do the same thing. What’s difference between a straight noodle and a curly noodle? They taste the same, but they pretend like they got different dishes.”

  “It’s the sauce that makes it different.”

  “Every sauce is made from tomatoes.”

  “No, they’re not.”

  Madero finally reached the menu and focused his attention there. He turned to Solis. “You know what you want?”

  “Yeah. One beef burrito supreme, two steak taco supremes, and a large Coke.”

  Madero turned back to the menu board. “Okay, give me two beef burrito supremes, one seven layer burrito, four steak taco supremes, one gordita, an order of nachos, some cinnamon twists, and a meximelt. Oh, and two large Cokes.”

  “Are you ordering enough food for all your people, too?”

  “I like the variety,” Madero shrugged.

  “Same four ingredients.”

  “Why are you hating? You’re Mexican just like me.”

  “Actually, I’m Spanish. Spaniards have different food.”

  “Whatever.”

  • • •

  When Madero and Solis pulled into a Taco Bell, Katherine Carter got exactly what she counted on; the two detectives had treated their surveillance detail lightly. It was like they were on her side, helping her win.

  She promised herself, and Preston, that as soon as they got rid the RRs, they would go into hiding again. They were so close. But with pressure from law enforcement increasing, she would have to speed things up to stay one step ahead.

  On the drive over to Ellen’s house, Katherine weighed her options. The obvious was to take out the tramp herself. With the detectives busy at Taco Bell, she had a small window of opportunity. What joy it would bring to watch her suffer, to make it clear to Ellen how much she’d hurt her father by making her death an extremely painful one.

  Katherine’s other option was to transport Ellen back to her house so Preston could have his way with her—a bit more effort, but doable. She had the tools. Plus, her husband’s needs were real. Hers were simply spite. Decisions, decisions.

  Katherine parked one house down and got out of her Rover. She fondled the retractable baton in her hand on the walk to Ellen’s front door. She knew her husband would love it if she brought Ellen to him. Plus, of all the RRs, Ellen was the most deserving of Preston’s ways. She would tell him to give that woman extra attention and to draw it out for as long as he could.

  She knew all about Ellen’s trysts with her father and how she had easily toyed with his emotions. He would often babble about Ellen when he had too much to drink. Katherine didn’t understand much at the time, until he started telling her aunt about it. That’s when she learned how Ellen had led him to believe she liked him, that she wanted a life together. All she told were filthy lies. Katherine’s father died from his drinking, but he also died with a broken heart. That woman tormented her father in his weakest moments, and for that, Katherine wanted to see her punished.

  Standing at the front door, Katherine glanced back at the neighborhood. All was quiet. There were no approaching cars or pedestrians nearby. She rang the doorbell and waited.

  58

  The first thing I noticed when I arrived at the Belle Isle crime scene was the absence of police tape. It was a visual reminder I didn’t want to see. I parked a few stalls away from where I remembered Becker’s car had been and exited my vehicle. I took a deep breath and surveyed the area. Returning to the crime scene had made my skin prickly.

  The walk to the parking spot felt incredibly long. It also didn’t help that the emptiness in my stomach felt like a heavy weight. I spent fifteen minutes circling the two stalls where their cars were parked, hoping something on the ground would jump out at me, but nothing had. Even though I had covered the area pretty well, I kept at it.

  Stop stalling.

  I wasn’t ready to face the area where Wilkinson fell. But I had to. It was on the other side of the lot near the grassy edge. I walked until I got to the exact same spot where I had stood that night. Like clockwork, images of Wilkinson lying at my feet flashed across my eyes. I did what I could to flush them from my head, until I realized I needed to see them. I had a case to solve. No matter how hard it got, I had to pull it together. And it got harder, especially when I noticed the reddish brown stains on the grass. Wilky, you didn’t deserve this.

  When I finished, I let my brain serve up happier thoughts, like Wilkinson driving me around. I immediately let out a burst of laughter, sending a flock of geese grazing nearby off into the winds. I don’t know why I thought of that. It irritated him that he had to drive. But he was so cute when he pouted. I had a big smile. I couldn’t help it. If he saw me driving a three hundred horsepower vehicle… Sheesh, the fight we would have had. Honestly, I looked forward to Wilkinson teaching me to drive. I was prepared to fake it.

  I removed a tissue from my purse and wiped a tear from my eyes. I liked to think it was a happy cry.

  By the time I made it over to the area under the trees, I had regained most of my composure. Being emotional about the situation wouldn’t help. The best I could do for Wilkinson was to catch his killer.

  I crouched in the spot where I’d left Wilkinson that night. A fair amount of dried leaves and twigs covered most of the ground. I placed my purse down facing the direction where Becker’s car would have been and then backed up about ten feet.

  Each step I took made a fairly large crunching noise, even with the large lawnmower nearby. There were no trees behind him. No place to hide if someone wanted to. Whoever approached him had to have come up from behind. But if that were the case, he would have heard them, right? He had to have. What happened, Wilky?

  59

  Madero pointed to Ellen Scott’s car in her driveway. “See, she’s home. We’re all good.” He pulled his car to the curb opposite the house and parked. “Well, what are you waiting for? Pass me my food.”

  Madero and Solis dined al fresco in their department-issued car. For twenty minutes, the two men slurped and chomped on the mix and match of four ingredients. Madero came up for air first. “You think we’re close to catching the killer? Wait,” he held up a hand, “killers?”

  Solis shrugged as he always did. It was a tick. “We’re certainly making progress. This FBI chick—she knows her stuff.”

  “Makes you realize how much better we could be at our jobs,” Madero said before draining the last of his soda.

  “Speak for yourself,” Solis shot back.

  For the next couple of hours, the detectives continued their discussion on Mexican and Spanish food, which prompted Solis to spend a half hour explaining to Madero how Spaniards were different from Mexicans. They went on to talk about the Detroit Lions and the temperature outside until Madero brought up Agent Kane again.

  “Would you fuck her?”

  “Kane? Hell, yeah. She’s hot. A little short, but I bet she’s a spinner,” he said laughing. “What? You wouldn’t?”

  “Eh. She’s got a pretty face and all, but she’s too skinny for me. I like big butts. Plus, she’s bitchy.” Madero remained silent for few moments. “I’d probably let her blow me.”

  “You’d let her? Sheeeet! Like you got a choice. I can’t imagine you turning down anyone who wanted to touch your prick,” Solis said, waving off Madero.

  “Fuck you.”

  Another hour passed while Solis and Madero talked about the women they wanted to have sex with. That’s when Agent Kane called.

  “It’s her,” Solis said looking at his cell. “Agent Kane, what can I do for you? Yeah, we’re parked right outside her house… She hasn’t left since we got here… No, we haven’t… We could… Okay, we’ll take a look.”

  “What did she want?”

  “She’s on her way here but she wants us to check on Ms. Scott, see how she’s doing.”

  Madero shifted in his seat in an ef
fort to exit the car, but Solis stopped him. “Stay here. I got this.”

  “Fine by me.”

  Solis got out of the car and crossed the street. He looked up at the sky. The sun had started to set. From the walkway on his way to the door, he could see that the drapes on the front windows were drawn. A quick look around didn’t reveal any light from inside the house showing through the uncovered windows. I wonder if she’s in the shower.

  He knocked on the front door and waited fifteen seconds before ringing the bell again, multiple times. He turned back to Madero and shrugged. Again, Solis rang the bell. “Ms. Scott, It’s Detective Solis,” he called out. “I want to check on you, make sure you’re doing okay.”

  Solis checked the knob on the front door; it was unlocked. He quickly motioned for Madero as he drew his service revolver. A few seconds later, Madero stood next to him.

  “She’s not responding,” Solis said. “Front door is unlocked.” Solis slowly pushed the door open while Madero radioed for backup just in case. They didn’t want a repeat of what had happened at Belle Isle.

  The two detectives entered the living room, guns drawn and pointed in front of them. Solis motioned for Madero to go left while he went right, into the dining room. Everything was neat, not a placemat astray. Solis continued through another doorway and into the kitchen. He placed his hand above the burners of the stove. Maybe she hasn’t eaten yet. There were no dishes in the sink or half-filled glasses on the counters. He thought it odd that she hadn’t snacked on something upon returning home. He exited through another doorway and into a hallway. At the other end, Madero appeared.

  “Clear,” Madero whispered.

  Solis nodded and then pointed up the steps. The barrel of his Smith & Wesson M&P 40 led the way. On the second level, Madero checked the bedroom to the right while Solis kept watch on the hallway.

  “Clear,” Madero whispered again.

  The two made their way down the hall, passing two more rooms and a bathroom. All of the doors were open. One door remained at the end of the hall—the master bedroom.

  Backup had yet to arrive, but Solis didn’t see any point in waiting. He leaned in and placed his ear against the door, listening for a moment. He heard nothing. Solis held up three fingers and waited for Madero to nod before mouthing a count to three. He grabbed the doorknob and, on three, pushed the door open. They burst into the room with guns out in front. Solis couldn’t believe what he saw.

  “Shit! It’s empty.”

  Madero walked over to the bathroom. “Where do you think she went?”

  “Hell if I know. It doesn’t even look like she was here. Nothing in the house looked out of place.” Solis holstered his gun and walked over to her dresser. “When people come home from work, they eat or drink something. They head into their bedroom, remove clothing or jewelry… I didn’t see any of that.”

  “Yeah, it’s like she parked her car and left. I wonder if there’s a basement.” A beat later, the two detectives were making their way back down the stairs and looking for the entrance.

  “Found it,” Solis called out. Madero made his way over to Solis’ voice and saw him standing in front of an open door, looking at steps.

  Solis flipped the light switch at the top of the stairs and headed down. “Basement looks finished.” Madero followed him. When Solis reached the bottom, he turned to the right and stopped.

  “What?” Madero asked. “She got bad taste?” When he reached the bottom, he, too, stopped dead in his tracks.

  60

  Blood was everywhere.

  The walls. The carpet. The pool table. Nothing was spared. The thick and sticky had pooled, splattered, and dripped.

  Ellen Scott lay naked, face up on the pool table, her pale skin smeared with blood. Her scalp, completely removed, hung on the light fixture above the table. Each arm and leg pointed to a corner pocket. Between her legs, pool balls were clustered, as if spilling from her vagina. Peeking out was the cue ball. Later, they would discover more inside of her. Solis let out a big breath as he ran his hand through his hair.

  For the first time in a long time, Madero shot a look of concern to his partner. “What are we going to tell her?”

  A moment later, they heard the doorbell ring.

  • • •

  I stood there defeated. It felt as if someone had ripped out my insides. The loss of Ellen Scott was unthinkable, and yet it had happened. Blood covered the entire basement. Rage was the motivator. I walked around the table, letting my eyes detail the scene. The body reminded me of a case I had seen back in Hong Kong. The victim had been severely tortured and then killed by Ling Chi, death by one thousand cuts.

  Ellen’s face had been scored like a piece of meat. Her arms, legs, and torso all suffered multiple lacerations as well. At closer inspection, I noticed the necessary incisions to the carotid and the femoral artery. Why the disfigurement though? This wasn’t the killer’s M.O. I turned to Solis and Madero after I finished. “Which one of you wants to explain first?”

  It took Solis fifteen minutes to walk me through what they did from the moment they left me to follow Ellen.

  “So let me see if I understand this correctly. After I told you to stick with Ms. Scott, you two proceeded to pull into a Taco Bell drive-thru—”

  Madero started. “Look, it wasn’t—”

  “Wasn’t what? I told you to stick with her, and you didn’t. Then, when you arrive here, you don’t bother to do a house search? For all we know, the killer could have been waiting for her to get home.”

  I threw my arms up in the air, disgusted at the sheer level of incompetence these two men displayed. We had been making progress. I stopped my muttering and pacing and faced them. “Ellen could have already been dead by the time you two parked your fat asses outside. Think about that.”

  “We were ten, maybe fifteen minutes behind her,” Solis offered.

  “Look around. This guy is good at what he does. I don’t think he needs much time.” I walked around the basement and then pointed to some stained carpeting. “The blood coagulated and is starting to thicken. It’s very sticky over here on the table. It looks like she was killed soon after she got home. If you were with her and checked the house before letting her in, this might have been prevented.”

  I can’t believe I trusted those guys. I can’t believe I thought I could. I should have escorted Ellen Scott back home, checked the house, and then gone down to Belle Isle. Woulda, shoulda, coulda.

  The fact of the matter was, I still needed these guys. I couldn’t do it alone, and I didn’t want Reilly sending out an army of field agents. It was my case. “Look, guys. We need to regroup and pull together. We had a setback. What’s done is done.”

  The three of us worked alongside CSI the entire night. We were bound to find something if we looked hard enough. That I wanted to believe.

  61

  The next day Lieutenant White wanted to talk about the case. I wasn’t so sure I wanted to talk to him. To top it off, he asked me to meet him at the Woodward Dream Cruise instead of at his office. Great.

  I looked it up on the Internet and discovered that it was a parade of old cars that drove up and down Woodward Avenue at three miles per hour. Apparently, it was a weeklong event, and people lined up on the sidewalk to watch. Oh, the excitement.

  White said to meet him at Roy’s Custom Detailing at the corner of Vester and Woodward. Next time I’ll suggest the makeup counter at Macy’s.

  When I reached the location, I spotted White right away. He had on a brightly colored aloha shirt and white shorts. This is what happens when people who are used to wearing uniforms find they have to wear something else.

  The organization he was with, some car aficionado club, had a pretty nice setup for guests to watch the cars cruise by. Lots of shady space and chairs, something I appreciated since it was another blistering day.

  “Agent Kane, thanks for meeting me here.” White stuck his hand out and smiled.

  I shook his hand an
d smiled back. “I can see why you wanted to meet here. The cars look great,” I said, looking around, feigning interest.

  “Something to drink? Beer? Soda? Bottled water?”

  “Water would be nice.”

  White dug into the cooler filled with a slushy mixture of cans and bottles. A moment later he pulled a bottle of water out. “Here you go. Ice cold.” White motioned to a chair on the sidewalk. “Have a seat, Agent.”

  I sat and took a few sips of water, careful not to give myself brain freeze.

  “I heard about the latest victim.” White was direct, probably because he wanted to get back to looking at old cars and scaring small children with his outfit. He held up his hand and counted down with his fingers. “The Walters, Rick Tanner, Archie Becker, that reporter, and now Ellen Scott. Throw in your partner and that’s a total of seven on your watch.”

  I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. I thought maybe the sound of the engines revving in my right ear had distorted what he said, but when I inquired again, it sounded the same. He blamed me for those deaths. I nearly exploded at him but kept my tongue buried. “With all due respect, Lieutenant, I’m not responsible for those deaths. I’m investigating this case and working to catch the killer as fast as I can.”

  “The newspapers are having a field day with this.”

  “Lieutenant White, is this why you called me down here, to tell me how many people have died? Because it’s a waste of my time; I already knew the answer.”

  “We’re getting a lot of pressure from the top, not to mention calls from the big three. They’re losing their executive talent.”

  I had no interest in getting into a point-the-finger battle with White. He’s doing what he’s doing: being a distraction.

  “Look, Lieutenant, I appreciate your concerns. I’ve noted them. Now if that’s all you had to discuss—thank you for the cold drink and I’ll update you when I have something.”