Find Me When I'm Lost

by Cheryl A Head

  “Who did you tell about our conversation with Sturdivant?” Li asked.

  “Nobody but my two partners. I called them last night. Who’d you tell on your end?”

  “Well, you heard my call with the Detroit police. What’s the detective’s name?”

  “Wallace.”

  “Right. Then the chief prosecutor in Wayne County and of course my superiors. Oh, and my wife.”

  “She’s probably not our leak,” Don said sourly.

  “Nope. But there’s a leak somewhere. This can’t be coincidence.”

  “Don’t believe in them either.”

  “I guess your guy, Fairchild, must have a very long reach.”

  “He’s got power and money to buy all sorts of muscle. You’ll need to find a safe house for Sturdivant, and he’ll need protection at the hospital.”

  “I’ll make those calls as we drive,” Li agreed. “You still think he’ll be extradited to Michigan?”

  “Probably. But the first order of business is to get him locked down. The second is to hear what he has to say. I really hope he’s ready to talk. Maybe we can get a deposition out of him before somebody else tries to bump him off.”

  Chapter 16

  Pamela asked Charlie to accompany her to the first meeting with attorney-at-law Serena Carruthers. The firm had swanky offices on the twenty-first floor of Tower 600 in the RenCen complex.

  They stepped through the glass doors and were directed to a private seating area and offered coffee, tea, bottled water, gourmet cookies, and chocolates. The posh suite was evidence that even during an economic downturn for Detroit, good lawyers were still a sought-after commodity. They waited less than ten minutes before being escorted to a conference room with floor-to-ceiling windows, and decorated with more live flowers than usually found at a funeral.

  Carruthers, two of her associates, and an assistant rose when Charlie and Pamela entered the room. Charlie had first met Serena ten years ago at a fundraising event for the Charles H. Wright Museum of African American History. Charlie owned a public relations firm at the time, and Serena had been recruited to a prestigious law firm where she was on a partner track. Later, they served together in Leadership Detroit, a networking initiative for the city’s rising influence leaders. Their social networks included a few shared acquaintances, but they’d never hung out or pursued a friendship.

  Serena greeted Pamela. Her employees followed suit. Then she turned to Charlie.

  “It’s been a long time. We don’t seem to move in the same circles anymore,” she said, giving Charlie a hug. “But I hear you’re doing well.”

  “Yes, things are okay for me. But I see you’re doing very well.”

  “It’s not true what they say,” Serena said with an eye twinkle. “Crime does pay.”

  “Speaking of paying, I’d like to get our business underway,” Pamela said, interrupting the reunion.

  “Of course. You’re right,” Serena said without a missed beat, pointing to two seats at the table. “We do have serious matters to discuss.”

  The Peter Fairchild murder and the manhunt for Franklin Rogers had been well covered by the newspapers and local broadcast stations in the region, but Serena’s thoroughness required a fresh retelling from both Pamela and Charlie. Of course, Charlie left out the most volatile information—Franklin’s allegations against his father-in-law. Serena asked about the additional suspects being investigated by the Mack Agency and the attack on Franklin.

  “The attack is odd, don’t you think?” Serena asked Charlie.

  “It’s hard to say.”

  Serena gave Charlie a puzzled look. “What’s your line of inquiry around the shooting?”

  “I didn’t get the license plate, but the police are securing the camera footage.”

  “That’s not what I’m asking. Why would someone shoot at Franklin? That’s what I want to understand.”

  “It’s like I said. He felt he was being followed.” Charlie weighed her words to tell most of the truth. “Franklin told his mother it could be someone trying to collect the reward for finding him.”

  “Well, that’s a possibility,” Serena said, making a note. “Is that what you think?” It was her third attempt to get a straight answer from Charlie.

  Charlie shook her head. “I think Peter’s real killer is trying to keep Franklin quiet.”

  “Well. Now that’s a theory I can work with. Do the police accept that argument?”

  “Not exactly.”

  “Why not?”

  Pamela intercepted. “Because my father has them convinced Franklin is guilty.”

  “Is that so?” Serena said, squinting her eyes.

  She placed her $500 Montblanc ballpoint on top of her monogrammed legal pad. She shifted her gaze between Pamela and Charlie, then at her assistant and junior lawyers, with a “watch this” look. They dutifully kept their pens poised over their notebooks.

  “Pamela? May I call you Pamela?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  Charlie noticed a strand of blond hair had escaped Pamela’s perfect coif and dangled at her forehead. In the car she’d described the huge row she’d had with her father about hiring Serena. He thought it a waste of money. Pamela had countered that she’d spend all the money at her disposal to prove Franklin’s innocence.

  “I believe every single person deserves the best defense possible. I’ve defended clients I knew were guilty, and ones I believed innocent. But I like to know the difference. Do the two of you believe Franklin’s story?”

  “Yes.” Pamela spoke up right away.

  Charlie finally answered, affirming Franklin’s innocence, and Serena noted the hesitation.

  “Do you have doubts, Charlie?”

  “No. But there are complications.”

  “What complications?” Carruthers asked.

  Pamela twisted in her chair leaning toward Charlie. Her anxiety filled the distance between them, and Charlie didn’t dare look her way. Pamela wouldn’t like the decision she’d made last night after talking to Don. It was the only way Charlie could feel comfortable going forward in a case where she had to lie to her client. While everyone waited for Charlie’s response, she stared at the luxurious grain in the oak conference table, mentally arranging and rearranging the facts, questions, and speculations. Then she switched from her investigator hat to the lawyer hat.

  Charlie turned to Pamela. “I hope this doesn’t disappoint you, but I think it’s best I resign from the case.”

  “What? . . . you can’t do that . . .”

  “Wait. Hear me out. I have a proposal. I still absolutely believe in Franklin’s innocence, but I think it makes sense, now that you’re hiring Serena, to have the investigation run by Serena, with me reporting to the Carruthers firm. Think about it. It was your father’s suggestion to hire us. Now that he’s on the fence about Franklin, it makes things cleaner. We can report all our findings directly to Serena.”

  Pamela shook her head, loosening more hair onto her forehead. Her face was getting splotchy, and her chin quivered. “No, I don’t like that. We have to work together. I know you believe in Franklin. I need your support to keep the police interested in the case.”

  Charlie knew things looked promising with Sturdivant’s deposition. Don had reported he might be an eyewitness to Peter’s murder. That would keep the police interested.

  “I’m positive we can keep the police engaged in the case,” Charlie said. “But since Serena will be representing Franklin, she’ll have more leeway with privileged communications. Technically, anything the Mack Agency discovers now should be shared with the police, whether it works for, or against, Franklin. If we’re working for Serena, we won’t be obligated to share our information.”

  Charlie scanned those around the table. Pamela looked confused. Serena skeptical. The associates were waiting for Serena to tell them what to think. Charlie figured there was just enough truth in her reasoning for Pamela to agree to the plan. But she could see from her stare t
hat Serena wasn’t buying the ploy.

  “We have a team of investigators we usually work with,” Serena finally said. “Of course, we’d make an exception if Pamela insists the Mack Agency continue to work on the case.”

  Pamela was still dubious, but reluctantly agreed to the arrangement and left the conference room with Serena to work out their agreement for legal representation. Charlie stayed to work with the assistant on the mechanics of a work-for-hire contract with Mack Investigations. There were clauses on permissions before expenditures, the release of information gathered to date, and a clear understanding that the expenses related to Don’s round trip to Canada would be directly billed to Pamela Fairchild Rogers. It was Wednesday, and the new working arrangement would be effective Friday.

  # # #

  Charlie left Pamela at Serena’s office and hailed a cab. She called Don, and when he didn’t answer, dialed Judy.

  “I’m done with my meeting.”

  “You okay?”

  “Yeah, but I was thinking of heading home unless there’s work for me there.”

  “Nothing that can’t wait. Go home.”

  “Have you heard from Don?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Yeah. Maybe I will go home. Listen, I need to tell you that we’re closing out the Fairchild case tomorrow.”

  “Oh? Pamela decided she didn’t need us after all?”

  “No. I quit.”

  Judy’s response was silence.

  “Don’t worry. We’ll have a new client on Friday.”

  “Who?”

  “Serena Carruthers. We’ll be working for her.”

  “Well, you have had quite the morning. I’ll call if anything comes up. Otherwise see you tomorrow.”

  # # #

  Charlie and Mandy had purchased a fixer-upper in Detroit’s Barry subdivision last summer, and after a setback a few months ago following a scary home invasion related to a case, they’d finally settled into a comfortable domestic coexistence.

  The sound of any car in the driveway brought Hamm to the front door as sentry. As Charlie entered, he stood on long hind legs to lean on her chest. They performed a pas de deux in the foyer for a few seconds before Mandy appeared.

  “He is a fickle dog. I thought he loved only me,” Mandy said.

  She wrapped her arms around Charlie’s neck, executing a kiss. They looked down at Hamm whose expression suggested the fickleness of love was not reserved only for his species.

  “I was hoping you’d be home,” Charlie said, nuzzling Mandy’s neck. “I couldn’t remember if today was one of your long shifts.”

  “I’ve only been home a half hour. I’m working on a roast for dinner. You want a cocktail? Or some wine?”

  “I’ll have a glass of wine, but first I want to put on my comfort clothes.”

  “Has it been that kind of day?”

  “It’s been that kind of day ever since I took this case.”

  “Is Franklin okay?”

  “As far as I know. I’ll fill you in on all of it after I change.”

  # # #

  With the combination of an oversized flannel shirt, sweatpants, and a few sips of pinot grigio, Charlie released some of the worries of the day. Perched on a counter stool, she watched Mandy finish the application of a cumin-mustard-sea salt rub onto a small chuck roast. She arranged a handful of red potatoes and chunks of onion around the meat, poured in a cup of vegetable stock, and placed the shallow pan into the oven.

  After shooing Hamm out of the kitchen a few times, Mandy now called to him and rewarded his good behavior with a chew bone. She poured another glass of wine and sat, their knees touching, next to Charlie at the kitchen island.

  “Is this case getting to you because it affects Franklin?”

  “No. It’s filled with land mines for everybody involved.”

  “You still believe Fairchild is responsible for Peter’s death?”

  “Yes. I really do. I just have to be able to prove it.”

  Mandy shook her head. “It gives me the shivers. Why would a father do such a thing?”

  “We can’t know for sure. Peter had always been the . . .”

  “Black sheep?”

  “Yeah, but I’m done using that analogy. Maybe the disappointing offspring. But really, if family members that disappointed was a reason to kill, I imagine the murder rate would skyrocket.”

  “You think Pamela’s involved?”

  “No. I don’t exactly like her, but I dislike her less than I did. I know it will be difficult for her to learn her father is responsible for her brother’s death.”

  “And is framing her husband to take the fall,” Mandy added.

  Charlie shook her head. “It’s family treachery on the scale of Shakespeare.”

  She held out her glass for another pour and admired how good Mandy looked in a red-haired ponytail and an apron over chinos. Mandy caught the look and smiled.

  “You really look tired.”

  “I’m drained. It takes a lot of energy to juggle so many half-truths and outright lies. Especially when you’re lying to your client.”

  “But you’re working for Serena Carruthers now.”

  “Starting the day after tomorrow. That’s when I’ll give Serena the full story, and she’ll decide when to tell Pamela. She has to be told sooner or later, and when it happens, she’ll be devastated.”

  “Will Don bring back proof of Fairchild’s involvement?”

  “I sure as hell hope so, and it will need to be indisputable. The police don’t want to go up against Fairchild either.” Charlie shook her head again. “Even when we prove Franklin innocent, I don’t see how his marriage will survive.”

  “Is that what makes the case so complicated for you?”

  Charlie shrugged.

  “After you prove Franklin innocent, and I hope you do, his marriage isn’t your business, Charlie.”

  “I know.”

  “Do you?”

  They shared only a brief moment of unasked questions and unspoken assurances before Charlie reached for Mandy’s hand.

  “I think after dinner I’ll take a bath,” Charlie said, taking a sip of wine.

  Mandy rose from her seat, picking up the half bottle of white wine. “Come on. The roast has a couple of hours to cook. Let’s get you that bath now.”

  # # #

  Mandy had drawn a wonderful bath of lavender salts. The bath was followed by lovemaking. Then they’d bundled up in bathrobes in front of the fireplace to eat their roast beef, drink a couple of glasses of red wine, and share a big bowl of dulce de leche ice cream. They’d just cleaned up the kitchen when Charlie’s phone rang.

  She stared at the phone. Thank God for good timing.

  “I wasn’t sure you’d be home. That’s why I called on your mobile,” Don said.

  “I’ve been home for hours.”

  “Must be nice. I’ve got to stay in Canada another night.”

  “Sorry, Don. I know you don’t like being away from Rita and Rudy too long.”

  “Yeah. But there’s been a complication.”

  “Another one?”

  “Yeah. This one is serious. Somebody knifed Sturdivant last night in his cell.”

  “Is he alive?” Charlie held her breath.

  “Barely. They operated on him this morning. His attorney says that Scanlon broad, or whatever her name is, killed Peter. Sturdivant was hired to take care of Franklin. But, get this, Fairchild himself paid Sturdivant in a wad of hundred-dollar bills.”

  “Wow. That’s the testimony we need to exonerate Franklin,” Charlie said.

  “Right. If Sturdivant is alive to give a full statement. It’s touch and go.”

  “What’s tomorrow’s plan, Don?”

  “I’m headed to the hospital in the morning to meet the attorney.”

  # # #

  Charlie and Hamm entered the master bedroom. Mandy was reading and glanced up.

  “If it isn’t my two favorite people.”

 
; “Officially, only one of us is a people.”

  Mandy laughed. “Shh. Don’t say that in front of Hamm.”

  When Charlie didn’t laugh, Mandy put her book down and gave Charlie her full attention.

  “Did Don have good news?”

  “Yes and no. He’s found our Canadian hit man, who admits Fairchild was involved, but last night someone tried to kill the guy, and he may not live to tell his story.”

  “Oh Charlie. I know you must be frustrated.”

  Charlie didn’t answer. She fell on the bed and curled up with her head on Mandy’s lap.

  Chapter 17

  At noon Don burst into the office. No matter how many times he made this drug-bust entrance it was startling. Tamela leaped to her feet at the front desk. Charlie and Judy appeared around the corner.

  “Do you always have to enter a room that way?” Judy yelled.

  “I’m not in the mood, Novak.” Don hung his trench coat on the clothes tree. “I need some coffee,” he said in Tamela’s direction.

  “In the conference room,” Tamela said, heart still pounding. She slumped into her seat.

  Don pushed past Charlie and Judy, heading to the coffee. They followed. He threw his overnight bag onto a chair and practically lunged at the coffeemaker. While he was pouring, Judy pulled out the basket of snacks she kept as an emergency supply for Don. He downed a cup of coffee, pulled the basket in front of him, and ripped open a can of Pringles. Judy made another pot of coffee.

  “It’s been a hell of a morning, Mack,” Don finally said. “Some asshole took a fucking shot at me.”

  “What?” Charlie and Judy responded in unison.

  “I’d just left the hospital and was heading to the highway when a car pulled up next to me and stayed there. I saw the window go down, so I gunned the accelerator, but a bullet shattered my back window. The car tried to follow me, but I lost him, of course.”

  “Damn. I’m glad you’re okay. That really pisses me off,” Charlie exclaimed.

  “Tell me about it. The window will cost me at least two hundred dollars. And this sucks,” Don added. “Sturdivant didn’t make it.”