Find Me When I'm Lost

by Cheryl A Head

  “Sylvia called me today. We chatted a long time. We haven’t been close friends before, but she needs someone right now and doesn’t want to talk about her situation with people at church.”

  “How’s she doing?”

  “Still not sleeping. She told me you spoke to Franklin.”

  “She knew that? Mom, tell her she has to be careful with her phone. The police can intercept her calls.”

  “Okay. I’ll tell her. Charlene, you know it’s supposed to snow tomorrow.”

  “We already talked about that, Mom, remember? There won’t be much accumulation.”

  “Oh. That’s right.”

  # # #

  Don returned with the food and drink to accompany their scanning of video. Monday morning at eight-thirty the security cameras picked up Peter, dressed in business attire, exiting the front door of the Crowley Lofts. He walked to his car parked in the second row and drove out of the lot.

  At nine-thirty an ostentatious Hummer entered the lot, and a woman resembling the photo Judy had distributed of Karen Scanlon got out. She carried a small package and entered the building. Charlie’s lobby footage showed her signing in at the front desk. A few minutes later, on Peter’s vestibule camera, she entered his door. The video showed her leaving the building two hours later.

  “I guess Scanlon does have a key. I keep forgetting to tell Wallace,” Don said.

  That evening, Peter came home alone around nine o’clock. Charlie watched him ride up the elevator. His tie was loose, and he looked like he’d been drinking. There was nothing of further interest on Monday’s video.

  “Ready to start Tuesday?” Don asked.

  “No. But let’s get it over with,” Charlie said.

  Before they could organize the Tuesday files, Detective Wallace burst into the storage room. “We’ve got Rogers holed up in a building on the west side. Come on!”

  “Oh my God. They’ll shoot him!” Charlie shouted.

  # # #

  Charlie and Don rode in the back of the unmarked sedan. The radio squawked with information about the hunt going on for Franklin in an empty building on Grand River near West Grand Boulevard. The suspect was seen entering at 6:30 p.m. Approach with caution. The suspect is considered armed and dangerous.

  The scene was chaos. A dozen police cars were skewed across four lanes with lights flashing. This was a busy intersection, anchored on the south by two large churches. The east and westbound traffic was being diverted in the direction of the churches. Grand River traffic was being halted and turned around. Curious residents lined the police barriers, and spotlights were aimed at a boarded-up building with fluorescent graffiti. A few minutes after Charlie and Don arrived, light snow began to fall.

  “Who saw Franklin enter that building?” Charlie asked.

  “It was a call from one of the neighbors. His picture is all over the news. And after old man Fairchild offered a reward for any information on Rogers’s whereabouts, the phones haven’t stopped ringing.”

  “He did what?” Charlie shouted.

  “I thought you knew,” Wallace said. “There’s a fifteen-thousand-dollar reward for Franklin.”

  “We didn’t know,” Don said as Charlie gripped his arm.

  “Well, this tip seems credible.”

  “I’m coming with you,” Charlie said reaching for the door handle.

  “No you will not. You two stay in the car,” Wallace ordered. “We’ll be right back.”

  A SWAT team had been called in to enter and clear the building. Wallace and his partner joined the fray. Additional patrol cars arrived, and the crowd was beginning to surge behind the police line. Four uniformed officers worked to make sure no one breached the perimeter. Charlie and Don watched a six-man special weapons team break down the front door. The plainclothes and uniform cops stood behind the safety of patrol cars with weapons drawn.

  “You think Franklin’s in there, Mack?”

  “I hope not. I don’t think he’d be in this neighborhood, nor sleeping in an abandoned building. Last night he wore clean clothes. He looked tired and stressed, but he wasn’t hungry. He’s getting some help. My guess is he’s holed up at his father’s church or in one of the properties the church owns.”

  “Well, he better be careful. If DPD considers him armed and dangerous, he could be shot by some overzealous rookie.”

  “Yeah. I hope he knows that. I also pray he’s heard about that reward Stanford is offering. I’ve got to get him to turn himself in, Don. The only way to do that is find something that corroborates his story. Anything that will help.”

  Wallace and his partner returned to the car. “False alarm. You okay, Ms. Mack? You look pale.”

  “I’m okay. Just worried.”

  “There were signs of activity inside the building,” Wallace reported. “But it’s empty now, and there’s nothing to suggest Rogers was even there. We’ll take you back to headquarters.”

  “Wallace, I’ve been meaning to tell you there’s an interior designer with a key to Peter’s place,” Charlie offered. “We’ve been in touch with her and she wants to get some of her personal items from the apartment.”

  “The Fairchild family told us they don’t want anyone in the apartment except police. So we have a guy posted there now. By the way, you were right about the broken light in the vestibule. It’s one of those motion-detector lights and connected to the cameras. If the light doesn’t come on, the camera doesn’t come on. That would be a very good reason to break out the bulb. How’s the security screening going? Have you seen our mystery man again?”

  “No. Not yet,” Don answered. “We’ve found nothing of significance from Saturday through Monday. We were just about to tackle Tuesday’s footage when you grabbed us.”

  “We really appreciate your willingness to keep us in the loop, detective,” Charlie added.

  “No problem really, Ms. Mack. The sooner we have things under wraps the sooner we can go back to the rest of the crime in the city. This case is a huge personnel suck. As you can see from tonight. We like to get crimes involving VIPs in the closed file as soon as we can, so we’re happy to have your team’s scrutiny, and we’re happy to collaborate.”

  “Wallace, what’s your sense of this Fairchild guy, the father?” Don asked.

  “Self-important. Used to having things done his way. Appreciates loyalty and rewards it. He doesn’t mind using his connections to pull strings. In fact, he kind of gets off on it.” Wallace paused in his assessment. “Why do you ask?”

  Charlie warned Don with a touch on his arm. “I haven’t met him yet, so I was just wondering,” Don said. “Sounds like he could be a pain in the ass.”

  “It’s tough work being rich, Rutkowski. Not everyone’s up to it.”

  # # #

  It was almost ten o’clock, and Charlie and Don were dragging. Wallace had gone home, and Charlie suggested watching the footage together rather than divide up the tapes. “When you’re this tired, it’s easy to miss something. At least it is for me.”

  They were toggling through midday Tuesday exterior footage when they got lucky. A man entered the picture from the back of the building. The time code read 16:26.

  “What’s back there, Don?”

  “Loading dock. Wallace was going to request the footage. Let me see.” Don peered at the desktop for the folder. “Yep. There it is.”

  “Okay. We’ll look at that next.”

  The medium-height man dressed in black jeans and covered in a fur-trimmed, hooded black jacket sauntered to the entrance, staring at the parking lot. He paused, completed his scan of the lot, and went inside the building.

  “Okay. He’s in at 4:30 p.m. on Tuesday,” Don said, toggling the footage forward at double speed.

  Charlie and Don concentrated on the front entrance. Don slowed the footage when anyone went in or out. There was a lot of coming and going between four and six o’clock. At 6:30, Peter’s Porsche entered the lot and they watched him park and go into the building. The
man was still inside, or at least hadn’t exited the front door. An hour later Peter came out dressed in sweats, sneakers and a parka. He exited the lot through the pedestrian turnstile. Two hours later, at 9:30, Karen Scanlon’s Hummer entered the lot. She stepped down from the driver’s side and Peter exited the passenger seat. They disappeared into the building. The mystery man never reappeared.

  “I don’t think I can watch anymore tonight,” Charlie said, massaging the ridge of her nose.

  “We can probably zip through the loading dock footage in fifteen minutes,” Don said.

  “Okay. Okay. Let me go to the ladies’ room. Would you call Scanlon and ask if we can meet her?”

  When Charlie returned to the storage room, Don had the elevator footage cued. He had an annoyed look on his face.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “The dock footage is too dark to see much. So I’ve loaded the elevator tape. Why don’t they have a working light in the rear? What kind of luxury building is this? Their security sucks.”

  “Did you talk to Scanlon?”

  “I left her a message asking for a Monday meeting.”

  # # #

  The camera in the elevator showed a wide view. Most people seemed not to realize a camera was trained on them. Some started checking themselves in the mirror as soon as the door closed. Others scratched in places they wouldn’t in public, or picked their noses, and more than a few couples used the ascending compartment as an opportunity for foreplay. They watched Peter arrive and leave and arrive again with Karen. Peter and Karen grabbed at each other until the elevator stopped. The vestibule light came on as soon as the doors slid open. Peter used his key to open the apartment door.

  “The light was working Tuesday,” Don didn’t need to say. His phone rang, and he pushed the speakerphone button. “Rutkowski. Who’s calling?”

  “It’s me, Mr. Rutkowski. Karen Scanlon.”

  “Oh. I was just thinking about you.”

  “Oh, really?” she said flirtatiously.

  “We need to meet.”

  “So your message said. But I can’t meet on Monday. I have something else to do. Your message said it was important.”

  “It is. Let’s make it Tuesday morning.” Don looked at Charlie and pointed to his watch. Charlie shrugged. “How about nine-thirty?”

  “That’s fine,” Scanlon said. “Could we meet at Peter’s apartment? I understand there is a patrolman on guard now, but I left a couple of, uh, personal items there I’d really like to retrieve.”

  “I guess that could be arranged.”

  “Well, good. I’m looking forward to putting a face to your voice. I guess you’re curious about me, too.”

  “Uh. Sure,” Don said, looking at the paused image of Peter’s hand on Karen’s breast. “I’ll see you Tuesday morning.” Don disconnected and looked over at a smirking Charlie.

  “I can’t wait to put a face to your voice,” Charlie mocked with singsong exaggeration. “I bet she’s put her face a lot of places.”

  “Jealous, Mack?”

  “Ha! Just tired.”

  “Let’s zip through the loading dock footage to see if we can figure out where that guy was coming from,” Don said, clicking on the tape. “It’ll only take a few minutes.”

  They both leaned forward to peer at the grainy footage.

  “There are a few cars back there, but it’s too dark to make them out,” Don said. “I wonder where they came from?”

  “There must be a rear entrance. Some of these buildings have hidden drives for their VIP tenants. Usually the ones in the penthouse. Go ahead. Keep going in fast forward.”

  “Okay, there’s the guy with the fur coat,” Don said. “But, I still can’t tell where he came from.”

  Don rewound the file, then he enlarged the view on the monitor to look closely at the blurred noses of two cars. The man suddenly appeared between the two vehicles.

  “Pause it!” Charlie ordered. “Okay, go back ten seconds and roll it very slowly. There. See that quick glow? That’s the interior light of a car just before the guy appears. He must have gotten out of one of those cars.”

  “I’m going in reverse until we see a car drive into the loading dock,” Don said.

  They saw a dark sedan pull down a rear road at 4:15 p.m. and back into a parking pad. The footage was shadowy, it was impossible to see a tag. There was no movement at the car until the man with the fur collar exited and moved out of view. They watched as the car left the loading dock the way it had arrived.

  “Well, at least we know where the guy came from,” Don stated the obvious.

  “That’s an expensive-looking car,” Charlie said.

  “Yeah. Maybe a Lincoln or a Mercedes. Too bad we can’t see the plate.”

  “Does it look like the same guy you saw leave the building before Franklin?”

  “No way to know for sure. He moves like the guy, but he’s wearing different clothes.”

  “Maybe it’s a custodian,” Charlie said.

  “Who knows. Let’s call it a night and get out of here.”

  # # #

  Charlie and Mandy lounged on the couch. The New York Times and Detroit News were scattered on the table and the floor. Hamm snoozed on the carpet, and the Sunday news shows added background to their easy morning.

  “You want another cuppa?” Charlie asked, sliding socked feet into her slippers and reaching out for Mandy’s cup. Hamm lifted his head from his paws.

  “Don’t mind if I do.”

  “How about another piece of toast?” Charlie asked over her shoulder.

  “No, but Hamm wants some.”

  “Hamm wants any food being prepared in this house. Don’t you, boy?” Charlie scrunched her face at the dog. “I think he’s ready for his walk, too.”

  Mandy followed them into the kitchen and sat on a stool. She rubbed Hamm under the chin. “He’s been out once this morning. He’s okay. I’ll walk him when you leave.”

  Hamm endorsed the idea with several tail wags.

  “I’m sorry I have to work today . . . and had to last night.”

  “And don’t forget the night before,” Mandy reminded. “It’s okay.”

  “Is it really?” Charlie poured coffee in their two mugs and walked over to the counter.

  “Yes.”

  Charlie put an arm around Mandy’s shoulder and buried her face in Mandy’s lush hair.

  “I think your hair is my favorite part of you.”

  “It’s not my brain?”

  “Oh yes, it’s your brain. Your hair is second to your brain. Oh, and your breasts, especially the left one.”

  Hamm always wanted to be part of the kissing action, and he stood on hind legs to lean on Mandy’s leg. The three of them were held in a love knot for a few seconds.

  “Have you spoken to Franklin again?”

  “No. I guess I can call his father if I need to speak with him.”

  “Do you have any evidence of Fairchild’s involvement in the murder?”

  “No. Nothing we can prove.”

  “Who are you meeting today?”

  “The manager of a woman Peter was dating. She’s a pole dancer and a law student.”

  “Well, good for her,” Mandy said after a pause to reflect on the idea. “Does the manager have something to do with Peter’s murder?”

  “I doubt it. But this guy had a couple of run-ins with Peter, which turned physical. Don and I want to ask him about it.”

  “Well, I really hope the father didn’t do it. That would be horrible. What’s that called anyway when a parent kills a child? It’s not fratricide. That’s killing your brother, right?”

  “Right. It’s called filicide. The deliberate act of a parent killing his or her son or daughter. Judy looked it up the other day.”

  “Nasty word.”

  “Yes. And if it’s true, even nastier business.”

  # # #

  George Burston had been in and around show business for four decades. Framed eight-by-el
even photos on the walls of his untidy office bore the greetings of entertainment and sports celebrities who were household names in Detroit. While Don schmoozed with the guy, Charlie scanned the pictures. Gordie Howe, James Brown, Madonna, Jackie Wilson, and Dennis Rodman had all scribbled their thank-yous to George. Apparently, he had once been a real player in artist management.

  “I know you must be busy,” Charlie started the meeting. “So we won’t take much of your time, Mr. Burston.”

  “Lainey said I should speak with you. I like her. She’s a talented young lady.”

  “Not quite Gordie Howe, though,” Charlie said, attempting humor.

  Burston gave Charlie a hard stare. Shifted his eyes to Don. Then back to her.

  “We did a little research and found out you spent two years in prison,” Charlie stated.

  “Oh, I get it. He’s the opening act, and you’re the headliner. Or is it good cop, bad cop?”

  Charlie ignored his comment. “Tell us about your relationship with Peter Fairchild.”

  “I didn’t have a relationship with him.”

  “But you knew the guy,” Don said. “He hung around your client, didn’t he?”

  “He hung around Lainey all the time. He was an asshole.”

  “So you’re glad he’s dead?” Don asked.

  George looked amused. He pushed back from his desk and crossed an ankle over his knee. “You guys are great. You kind of remind me of Esther and Barry Gordy. They came to my office once to give me some grief about one of their singers. God, that was a long time ago. I think I was only twenty years old.” George smiled, reminiscing. “They put a good scare into me that day, but I’ve been around the block a few times since then.” George uprighted himself and aimed his next words at Charlie. “And you’re right. I did spend a few years behind bars. On a trumped-up extortion charge. I didn’t get out for good behavior, so you two don’t scare me at all. Let’s get to the point. I didn’t have anything to do with Peter Fairchild’s death.”

  “Lainey told us you fought with Peter,” Don said.