Find Me When I'm Lost

by Cheryl A Head

  “Wasn’t there any footage from the vestibule itself?”

  “Too dark to see anything.”

  Don wasn’t buying the coincidence. “That light was fine when I was there yesterday.”

  “See what I mean? They fixed it.”

  “How far back did you look at the elevator and vestibule footage?”

  “A few hours before the medical examiner’s official time of death. We checked the front desk sign-in. No one else had visited Peter’s apartment that day.”

  “What about after Franklin left?”

  “Why would we do that?” Wallace asked.

  “Maybe somebody else saw or heard something and went to the apartment.”

  Wallace shook his head. “We interviewed the tenants on the floors above. No one saw anything. Or heard loud noises. The security guard on duty said except for Peter and Franklin, nobody came in or out of the building between 8:45 p.m. and 9:30 p.m.”

  Don looked skeptical. “Not exactly a gold-star security team in that building.”

  Wallace nodded his agreement.

  “Let’s see the footage from the parking lot.”

  At 8:45 p.m. Peter Fairchild’s 2006 Porsche entered the gated parking lot. The car was parked in a spot near the back of the almost-full lot. Two men, one steadying the other, walked toward the front entrance. The footage continued running.

  “Did Franklin have a car?”

  “He left his car in the lot near Club Lenore. According to the bartender, Peter was too drunk to drive, and Franklin took his keys.”

  “That’s also what the bartender told me,” Don offered.

  “Franklin’s car has been impounded.”

  “Wait. Look,” Don said, pointing.

  “Where?”

  “There’s someone going around the side of the building. Where’d he come from? Wait a minute; roll that back, Wallace.”

  The detective toggled the footage backward at double speed, then slowed the image. A figure slipped out of the front entrance and, staying in the shadows, moved quickly to the corner of the building. The timecode read 9:10 p.m. Don and Wallace looked at each other.

  “Who the hell was that?” Wallace said.

  “You’re asking me?” Don responded.

  “We missed that.”

  Don shrugged. “Let’s watch it again. Can you roll it in slow motion?”

  The figure barely opened the front door, before sliding through the narrow opening. He was wearing a hooded jacket and was carrying a bag. The man walked fast, not quite crouching, but hunched and staying close to the shrubbery. At the far side of the building, he hesitated just a moment before turning toward the loading area.

  “I don’t think that’s the security guard,” Wallace said.

  “Me either. If it is the guard, that means the desk lobby was uncovered for a while. If it isn’t, that means someone left the building before Franklin. Can I get a coffee, Wallace? I think we need to look at a lot more footage.”

  # # #

  Charlie helped Ernestine into the bucket seat of the Corvette and stretched the seatbelt into the socket. “You good, Mom?”

  “I’m fine. I’m so used to being in the van I forgot what it feels like to sit so low. You’ll need to help me out of the car.”

  “I will. We can be in Bloomfield Hills in a half-hour.”

  The Reverend Percy and Sylvia Rogers lived in a Tudor-style home on a lovely block with mature trees, green lawns, and side drives. The home had a terraced landscape ending in a low retaining wall. Charlie remembered the front of the home ablaze with color in spring and summer. But there was nothing tranquil about today’s scene. A police car idled in the driveway, and across the street, three TV news trucks sat parked. Two reporters headed their way as soon as Charlie got out of the Corvette.

  “Stay in front of me, Mom. We want to avoid them,” Charlie said, pushing the car seat back so her mother could swing her legs out of the car. Once Ernestine was up, they moved swiftly to the front porch.

  Sylvia opened the door on the first ring and pulled them into the house. Percy stood behind his wife with his hands on her shoulders.

  “I apologize for all that,” he said. “They’ve been out there for two days.”

  Charlie hadn’t spent a lot of time with her former in-laws, but they’d always been supportive and cordial and had borne her no ill will after the divorce. Ernestine greeted Sylvia warmly, and they went off to the kitchen for coffee. Charlie and Percy Rogers sat across from each other in the living room.

  “Thanks for agreeing to see me, Reverend Rogers,” Charlie began.

  “You can still call me Percy, young lady.” He smiled.

  Charlie gave a strained smile and a nod. “I can only imagine how distraught you and Sylvia must be.”

  “She hasn’t slept much the last few days. Me either. I’ve decided to let the associate pastor handle duties at the church this Sunday.”

  Charlie nodded. “As I said on the phone, I’ve met with Pamela. She’s sure of Franklin’s innocence, just as I am.”

  “We both appreciate that,” Percy said.

  “I’ve been trying to reach Franklin. I can’t help him unless I talk to him. Do you know where he is?” Charlie asked directly.

  Percy shook his head, but his continued silence and darting eyes may have told Charlie the truth. Sylvia had prepared a tray of coffee and cookies for them, and Charlie lifted a cup to her lips. This was going to be tricky. She’d need to gain the trust of this man of God. She figured truth was the best way.

  “Franklin probably told you that I’m in another relationship now.”

  “He did.”

  “Percy, I want you to understand that I loved Franklin when I married him, but I also knew at the time that I was gay.”

  “Isn’t lesbian the correct term?” Percy’s eyes had reconnected with hers and, unlike the judgment she expected, they were bright with curiosity.

  “Yes, I guess it is. I’m not much into the labels.”

  “Neither was Jesus.”

  “I guess I thought most black ministers are adamantly against the gay lifestyle. You’re not?”

  “The Bible is sprinkled with acts, and omissions, that are considered sins. As members of my church come to me for counsel and guidance, I try to point them in the direction of Jesus’s actions. From my reading of the Bible, there were more acts of love than judgment.”

  Charlie was pleasantly surprised and relieved. Franklin had talked a lot about growing up as a preacher’s kid, and apparently his father’s views had softened over the years. Eight years of Catholic school had left Charlie more spiritual than religious, but she certainly believed in God, faith, and miracles. Franklin would need a few miracles now, and maybe Charlie could work with his father to make them happen.

  “Look, Percy, the police have pretty much decided that Franklin is guilty. I know he’s not. Or, if he did shoot and kill Peter, at least there must be an extenuating circumstance. But the police are getting a lot of pressure from very high places for a quick conviction. If I’m going to help Franklin, he needs to talk to me.”

  “Are you familiar with the parable of the lost sheep?”

  “It’s something about a shepherd leaving the whole herd of sheep to go after one that’s strayed.”

  “Exactly. It is Jesus’ way of speaking about redeeming a lost soul. I think about the numerous families I’ve counseled who struggle over how, or if, to reconnect with an estranged family member. Those losses can be the most devastating and hurtful.” Reverend Rogers removed his glasses and rubbed a finger against the wetness in his eyes. “I have a whole congregation that needs me, but all I can focus on right now is my son.”

  Charlie listened to the pain in this father’s voice. Stanford Fairchild likely carried this kind of pain at the loss of his own son. She took another sip of coffee.

  “Something occurs to me, Percy, when you use the lost sheep parable. The Fairchilds have referred to their son as a black sheep. I kno
w it’s different, but similar. Two families with two lost sons. One of them dead. The other, I pray, still alive.”

  Charlie shared a long glance with Percy Rogers before he slowly dipped his head.

  “What do you counsel people when they tell you their loved one doesn’t want to be found?”

  “Sometimes you just have to sit in faith.”

  “The Fairchilds embraced their wayward son and brother for a long time. They tried very hard to bring Peter back into the fold.”

  Percy watched the dark liquid in his cup for a moment before putting it on the tray and with his elbows on his knees he leaned toward Charlie. She mimicked the posture.

  “Charlene, uh, Charlie. Will you tell me why you resigned from the Department of Homeland Security?”

  “Yes sir. During the three years I was an agent, racial profiling of Muslim Americans became a standard practice. I understood the rationale. People in the country were very afraid. But as a black person, I couldn’t watch the singling out, and sometimes harassment, of American citizens with Muslim surnames. The policy was unfair, and it wasn’t going to change. So I had to leave DHS.”

  “That’s what Franklin told me, and I always admired you for that.”

  Charlie’s face colored.

  “No need to be modest. It was the right stance. Justice is often denied when it threatens power. It was true in the days of Jesus. It’s the same now.”

  Charlie knew Percy’s curiosity was leading to something, so she waited.

  “I’m going to confide in you, Charlie. I am in touch with Franklin. He knows we’re talking today. I believe it’s important that he speak with you, but he’s very afraid and doesn’t want to pull you into his problems.”

  Charlie let out a long breath. “I’m just glad to know he’s alive. Can I meet with him?”

  “No. He won’t do that, but I’m sure I can convince him to call you.”

  “I don’t understand why he’s staying away. It’s one of the reasons the police believe he’s guilty. Why hasn’t he called Pamela?”

  “I’ll let him tell you that himself.”

  # # #

  “I never believed Franklin killed that man,” Ernestine said. She was strapped again into the Corvette.

  “I can’t say for sure that Franklin didn’t kill Peter. His father wouldn’t tell me. I guess I’ll know more after I speak with him. I appreciate your coming along, Mom. I think it really helped.”

  “Sylvia is a wreck,” Ernestine said. “I think it took all her energy to make herself ready for our visit.”

  “Percy’s very concerned about Sylvia. He’s putting on a calm front, but I think he’s a devastated man. He talked about lost souls, and he’s afraid Franklin will get a raw deal if he comes forward.”

  “Sylvia said Percy is being very secretive,” Ernestine said.

  “He probably knows where Franklin is, but doesn’t want her to know. Technically, he’s obstructing justice if he’s hiding Franklin.”

  “I’m really worried about Sylvia,” Ernestine admitted. “I’ll call her tonight to check on her. Will you remind me to do that, please?”

  “You’re a gem, Mom.”

  “Seeing Sylvia really helps me put my own situation into perspective. My worst fear about this Alzheimer’s thing is losing control over my life. Now I realize it could be so much worse. My child could be in terrible trouble.”

  Chapter 7

  Judy’s superb people skills and innate talent for research had quickly garnered her details on the two women who had been Peter’s regular companions the last few months. One of them, Lainey Pratt, was a full-time law student at Michigan State University and a part-time pole dancer. Her stage name was Cursory Brief.

  “Cursory Brief? Sheesh, you gotta be kidding,” Don said.

  “Did you speak with her?” Charlie asked.

  “Just briefly,” Judy said. “Uh, I didn’t mean that as a pun. I spoke to her about five minutes. She was quite shaken up by Peter’s death. When I told her we were assisting the police in the investigation, she asked a few questions. She’d been with Peter a half-dozen times at the Club Lenore but hadn’t seen him in a while. Actually, she seems like a nice girl.”

  “What about the other one?” Don asked.

  Judy turned the page in her notebook. “Karen Scanlon. A real estate agent and interior designer. She helped Peter pick out some of the furnishings in his apartment.”

  “When was the last time she’d seen Peter?” Charlie asked.

  “Earlier in the week. She’d delivered some artwork he’d purchased. But they had more than just a professional relationship. She said they were dating. She also said she left a few of her own things in the bedroom and asked if she could go to the apartment to get them.”

  “She has a key?” Charlie asked.

  “Hmm. I guess she does. She said she didn’t want to get in trouble by just showing up at the apartment.”

  “Better let Wallace know about her,” Charlie said to Don. “How was she reacting to Peter’s death?”

  “She said all the ‘too bad, so very sorry, nice guy,’ stuff, but she wasn’t torn up like the law student. She said Peter did mention the deal with the whiskey distiller and had already met the guy a couple of times. According to her, Peter needed some big money because he was planning to buy his loft apartment when his lease was up.”

  “You think we should meet either of them in person?” Charlie asked Don.

  “Maybe the pole dancer.”

  Charlie and Judy gave him the “really”’ look.

  “Yes, really. She’s the one who feels bad about the guy. She’s the one most likely to open up about him and give us useful information. The other one sounds like she might want to get her hands on his stuff. He has a lot of expensive furnishings in that apartment.”

  “Don’s probably right about the Lainey woman,” Charlie conceded. “Judy, why don’t you try to set up a meeting with her for tomorrow? You can go with Don.”

  “I don’t need Novak to tag along.”

  “Judy’s spoken to the woman, shown her some empathy. She can help. Besides, this gives her more experience with field interviews.”

  Don saw the merit of the idea and answered by not answering. Charlie had already given her partners the highlights of her visit with Franklin’s parents. Now she recounted the details of her conversation with his father.

  “You really think the dad knows where Franklin is, Mack?”

  “I do.”

  Charlie looked up when there was a tap on the conference room door, and Tamela stuck her head in. “Ms. Mack. There’s a call for you on line one.”

  Judy’s new investigative duties had required bringing in a temp three days a week to do general office duties. Tamela Gite had worked with them before. She was efficient, discreet, good-humored, and patient. She’d mastered Judy’s convoluted file organization system and laughed off Don’s occasional political incorrectness. Don had even come to rely on Tamela’s note-taking skills when he held subcontractor meetings. Tamela didn’t normally work late on Fridays, but it was all hands on deck until they had some answers in this investigation.

  “It’s a man, but he wouldn’t leave his name,” Tamela added.

  Charlie jumped up from the table. “I’ll be right there.”

  “Mack, you should take the call in here. Put it on speakerphone. If we have to go to court, it won’t be just your word.”

  “When did you start thinking like a lawyer?”

  “I’m not. I’m thinking like a cop,” Don said.

  “Okay. I’ll take the call here, Tamela.” Charlie moved to the middle of the table and pulled the speakerphone closer.

  “Hello?”

  “Charlie. It’s Franklin.”

  “God, Franklin. I’m so glad to hear from you. Are you all right? Are you hurt or anything?”

  “No. I’m not hurting now. Not anymore.”

  “What does that mean? Why haven’t you returned my calls? Why haven�
�t you called Pamela?”

  “Do you have me on speaker?”

  Charlie looked at her partners. Don shook his head. Judy’s eyes grew wide. She seemed to be holding her breath.

  “Yes.”

  “I don’t want to speak in front of your partners. I want you to meet me. Tonight. I’ll answer all your questions then. I’ll just say this in earshot of Don Rutkowski and everyone else who’s listening: I did not kill Peter Fairchild.” Franklin paused for a few seconds. “But I think I know who did. Okay, pick up the receiver now, Charlie.”

  Don and Judy could hear only Charlie’s side of the conversation as she arranged to meet Franklin that evening. Judy slid Charlie her notebook to jot down the address and time.

  “I’ll come alone. Yes, I remember that place. You’re not calling on your cell phone, are you? Good. The police have a tap on your phones. Yes, yes. I believe you. I know you couldn’t kill anyone. Okay. I’ll be there.”

  Charlie disconnected and faced off with Don, who had been scowling and gesturing during the entire call. “I know you think it’s a mistake to meet Franklin. But I’m going. Alone.”

  “Mack. Not only is that obstruction, but maybe harboring a fugitive.”

  “You heard him. He wouldn’t talk on the phone.”

  “He won’t hurt you, will he?” Judy asked.

  “Of course not, Judy. He didn’t kill Peter.”

  “He sounded convincing, that’s for sure,” Judy said.

  “Mack, I’m coming too. You won’t see me, and neither will he, but you’re not going to some remote location late at night without backup.”

  “It’s not late at night. I’m meeting him at eight.”

  “It’s dark at eight, and I’m sure your gun is at home.”

  “I don’t need a gun.”

  Judy stood and planted her fists on the desk. She was shaking. She hated guns and any talk about them. She stared at Charlie with a stern look.

  “Judy don’t worry. I’m not taking a gun.”