Find Me When I'm Lost

by Cheryl A Head

  “That’s good.” Serena hesitated, but didn’t take her eyes from Charlie’s. “I was kind of surprised to hear you were also with a white woman. I’m not judging, believe me,” Serena hurried to say. “Just curious. I didn’t know you were gay.”

  “I guess I’ve known since college that I was attracted to both men and women,” Charlie began. “I didn’t mean to fall in love with Mandy; it just happened. But all the time I was with Franklin, I wasn’t completely fulfilled. Now I am.”

  Charlie watched Serena formulate more questions, then decide not to ask them. Part street fighter, part diva, and all political operative, Serena could easily move from Detroit to Washington, DC, and be a force in the halls of Congress. Charlie wondered, after all this was over, if they could be friends.

  “Well, good for you, Charlie,” Serena said. “Now tell me, before Gary comes back in, why you wanted to sever your working relationship with Pamela. All that bullshit you were shoveling the other day was laughable.”

  Charlie smiled. “I’m trying to remember why we never became running buddies.”

  It was Serena’s turn to smile. “I was doing my thing. You were doing your thing. But yeah. It’s good to have a chance to work together now. So, what’s up with this case?”

  “Serena, I have every reason to believe Stanford Fairchild paid to have his son killed and to have Franklin set up for the crime.”

  “What?” Serena sat upright so suddenly her chair moved backward. “Please tell me you’re kidding.”

  Charlie shook her head. “Believe me, I wish I were. It’s a hot mess.”

  “How do you know this?”

  “Franklin suspected it as soon as he regained consciousness at Peter’s apartment. He found a money clip belonging to his father-in-law. He was so surprised and confused he took the clip with him. He didn’t know what to tell Pamela. That’s why he didn’t call her. When he read in the papers the police had found his gun at the scene, he knew he was being set up by someone with access to his safe.”

  “He didn’t suspect Pamela?”

  “I don’t think he ever suspected her. He just wanted to protect her from the truth about her father. And old man Fairchild knows Franklin suspects him.”

  “How?”

  “Franklin sent a letter telling him he had the money clip.”

  “That was bright,” Serena said sarcastically.

  “He wasn’t thinking straight. He was on the run by then. Maybe he thought Fairchild would just confess to the crime.”

  “Fat chance,” Serena said. She absentmindedly tapped her desk with her pen, then turned to stare through the window toward Detroit’s near-east suburbs. Finally, she swiveled to face Charlie. “There’s more, isn’t there?”

  “Remember the person of interest my partner followed to Canada?”

  “I do. He’s a prisoner, right?”

  “He was. He died in a Toronto hospital early yesterday of wounds he suffered in an attack while he was in his cell. We think Fairchild put a hit on him. Someone also took a shot at Don while he was in Canada.”

  “All this happened since I saw you?” Serena was honestly shocked.

  Charlie answered with a grim face. “Some of it was already in play, but I didn’t know at the time we met.”

  “And Pamela doesn’t know any of the suspicions about her father?”

  Charlie shook her head.

  Just then the junior associate entered the room with more folders, stopping short at the sight of his boss’s face.

  “Gary, Ms. Mack and I are going to need a couple of hours before we do a hand-off on the case. Please go ahead and set up the electronic and hard copy files. I’ll buzz you when we’re ready. Oh, and would you ask Jenny to bring us a pot of coffee.”

  They moved to the sitting area—Charlie on the sofa, and Serena in one of the overstuffed leather chairs. Charlie gave Serena another account of the case, this time starting with Pamela’s late-night phone call to her ten days ago and ending with yesterday’s meeting with Detective Wallace. Serena made a few notes and asked a couple of questions. By the time Charlie was done, they’d finished the coffee.

  “So, what do you think?” Charlie asked.

  “I think this case will either elevate our careers, or we’ll never work in Detroit—or Michigan—again.”

  “At this point, I’d settle for just coming out alive.”

  “Don’t forget about getting paid.”

  Charlie laughed. “Well yes. That would be good, too.”

  “Something else occurs to me, Charlie. Did the hit man in Canada confess to killing Peter?”

  “No. I forgot to tell you that part. Sturdivant made only a partial statement to police, but his attorney alleges Karen Scanlon killed Peter.”

  “The interior designer? Hmm. Interesting. Is she connected to Fairchild?”

  “We’re trying now to prove that.”

  “I’m not sure we can rely on the lawyer’s statement. That gets us into privileged communications territory,” Serena said. “And as you know, it survives a client’s death.”

  Charlie nodded. “Don and the Toronto detective were witnesses to some of Sturdivant’s confession. That might help.”

  “Yes. It might, and maybe we can win the point that revealing the one attorney-client conversation furthers Sturdivant’s interests by sparing his mother the burden of having her son labeled a murderer.”

  “Now I see why you make the money you do,” Charlie said.

  Serena laughed. “Thanks.” She quickly returned to the situation at hand. “Look, Charlie, I can appreciate you and your partners wanting to protect Franklin and prove Fairchild’s guilt, but I have a slightly different focus for you. I need to prove Franklin’s innocence.”

  “How does that put us at cross-purposes? It’s the same thing.”

  “Not exactly. It’s a slightly different emphasis on where to focus the investigation. For instance, I think we need to follow up on Franklin’s gun. I want to know who had access to it, what prints were found on it, and what the chain of possession was at the crime scene. It’s good you’re doing a deep dive on Karen Scanlon, that’s helpful. But I want to know more about Peter’s other associates.”

  “We already checked on a few of them,” Charlie responded.

  “I specifically want to know more about this Windsor distiller you mentioned.”

  “Why him?”

  “I’ve heard of this Madison. His name has come up before with some of my other clients.”

  “Okay. I’ll put Judy on the gun, and on this Madison guy. But I still think we need to involve ourselves in protecting Franklin at the hospital.”

  “Won’t the police do that?”

  “Yes. But we care about the guy, so we’ll be more conscientious.”

  “You mean you care about the guy. Okay. I agree. The best-paying clients tend to be the ones who are alive.”

  “What’s your thinking on how and when to tell Pamela everything?” Charlie asked.

  “To be honest, I don’t know. But I think you and I should do it together.”

  “And that will start the ball rolling at breakneck speed. Pamela will confront her father. He’ll call his friend, the police chief, and we’ll lose all cooperation from DPD.”

  “And if Fairchild really did conspire to kill his son,” Serena said, picking up the list, “he’ll feel like a caged rat. He’ll escalate his efforts to get rid of anybody he sees as a threat. That means Franklin, but also anyone else who supports the narrative that he’s a murderer.”

  “Like me and Don. That’s why I’ve started carrying my gun.”

  “I know. Our detector signaled you were armed.”

  “You have a metal detector?”

  “A very discreet one at the front door, and believe me, discreet costs money.” Serena rose from her chair. “I’ll call Pamela. Let’s get her in here this afternoon and lay the cards on the table. You want to warn Franklin first?”

  Charlie considered the question.
“I really think Franklin ought to be the one to tell Pamela his suspicions. The two of us can be there to provide moral support, but it feels like that’s his job.”

  Serena paused to give it thought. “That’s sound reasoning,” she agreed.

  “Why don’t we meet at the hospital? You can tell Pamela we want to go over the defense strategy with Franklin.”

  “Good idea. What time?”

  “Let’s say two o’clock,” Charlie said. “That gives me time to contact Franklin, get my people on the same page, and give Wallace a heads-up.”

  # # #

  Judy had been escorted by the butler to the front sitting room, but when Sharon Fairchild arrived downstairs, she suggested they meet in the conservatory attached to the rear of the home. It was a magnificent place. Flowers were in brilliant bloom, and even on a cold winter morning the space was delightfully warm. Sharon requested a coffee service, and they sat at a round garden table in comfy draped chairs.

  Sharon’s face and eyes were puffy. Her only makeup was a light pink lip gloss. Her hair had gold clips holding back each side, and she wore a plum-colored sweater tunic over dark slacks and black flats.

  “I’m happy you called and wanted to meet, Mrs. Novak,” Sharon said as she poured coffee. “The rush of phone calls and sympathy cards are waning. I really welcome the opportunity to speak with someone about Peter.”

  “I understand that. I was very close to my grandfather, and I remember my entire family coming together for his funeral. We all grieved and supported each other during the time of his death, and the days leading to his funeral, but then everyone went back to their own lives. They forgot about Grandpa. But I never did, and I never will.”

  “You do understand,” Sharon said with welling eyes. “My friends try to hide their annoyance when I bring up Peter. Pam mentions her brother now only when she’s arguing with Stan about Franklin.”

  “We’re still trying to prove Franklin had nothing to do with Peter’s murder,” Judy said.

  “Yes, I know. I don’t really believe he’s guilty either.”

  “Your husband doesn’t seem to share that opinion.”

  Sharon shook her head. “I know.”

  “How was their relationship?”

  “Stan and Peter?”

  “Well, yes, I’d like to hear about that as well. But first, I’d like to understand why your husband is so ready to throw Franklin to the wolves.”

  “I wouldn’t quite put it that way,” Sharon said slowly. “I think he believes the evidence. Stan is a very logical man. He’s more moved by numbers and facts than feelings.”

  “Did he like Franklin?”

  Sharon hesitated. “He didn’t approve of Franklin at first. He didn’t think he was, uh, right for Pamela.”

  “Because Franklin is black?”

  “Oh, no. Nothing like that. Stan isn’t a racist. He works with a lot of black people and, uh, Mexican and Chinese people. He has a lot of employees. He knows how to get along with everybody.”

  “I guess he would have to,” Judy said, lifting her cup for a sip. “What kind of man is your husband? I mean, what’s his personality? I’ve always wondered what makes successful men like him tick.”

  “Stan is very ambitious. Driven.”

  “And used to getting what he wants?” Judy offered. Then she aimed her first lie at Sharon. “My husband can be like that. He doesn’t suffer fools lightly.”

  “Yes. Exactly. Stan admires men who have good business acumen and work hard to make something of themselves. Initially, he didn’t believe Franklin had the right prospects. He doesn’t think much of politicians, but Pamela knows how to wrap her father around her little finger, so he accepted Franklin.”

  “What about more recently? Did Franklin and Mr. Fairchild have any disagreements?”

  “I don’t think so. Why do you ask?”

  Avoiding the question, Judy turned a page in her notebook and looked around the nursery. “This is really a lovely room. Are you the one with the green thumb?”

  Sharon’s mood lightened. “Do you know about flowers?”

  “I know a bit. Grandpa was a gardener. I’d stay with him every summer in Queens. He had a vegetable garden and a large area for flowers in his backyard. We’d spend hours together fertilizing and planting and pruning. He had wonderful roses. But they certainly weren’t as beautiful as these.”

  “It’s my passion really. Gardening. At our place in Florida, I have a couple of people who work the garden, but I help the staff several times a week.” Sharon paused, and her face slackened. “I miss my garden.” She paused again, and when she finally spoke, her voice was pensive. “Peter used to help me with the care of the plants. He was very good with roses and orchids, all of it really. When Stan and I are in town, Peter and I would usually work together here.”

  Sadness overtook Sharon. Judy sat quietly for a while before asking her next question.

  “You say your husband admires ambition. Did he think Peter was ambitious enough?”

  Sharon fixed a gaze on her hands as she answered. “Peter never lived up to his father’s expectations. He tried to take initiative and worked hard to please Stan . . .” Sharon glanced up momentarily before her eyes dipped again. “But Stan is . . . a perfectionist.”

  “What was Peter like as a little boy?”

  Sharon’s face lit up a bit at this question. “Oh, he was a delightful boy. So full of mischief. He loved sports and music. He played on the basketball and soccer teams at school, and he had a lot of friends.”

  “Did Peter and your husband spend time together around sports?”

  Sharon didn’t answer immediately, so Judy shared some of her own experience. “I have two sons. When they were boys, they were always throwing some ball with their dad.” Judy chuckled. “I also remember attending a lot of Little League and basketball games.”

  Sharon smiled and nodded. “I recall a never-ending stream of scrimmages, practices, and games. Stan traveled a lot for business back then, more than he does now, so I was usually the one who attended Peter’s sporting events.” Sharon couldn’t stop a blush of embarrassment.

  “What was their more recent relationship? I understand from our earlier interview that Peter had a position in one of the Fairchild businesses.”

  “Yes. Peter worked for the home office for a while. I’m not sure what he did there before he was assigned to one of the subsidiaries. I think he was a junior executive or something. He never really liked the work. Stan invested in a music company Peter owned once, and then there was a sports management venture. Nothing came of them, I’m afraid.”

  “What about a more recent investment opportunity? Franklin mentioned Peter asked him to invest in a Canadian distillery.”

  Sharon nodded. “Pam said something about Peter asking for a loan, but I don’t know any more about it than that. I don’t get involved in those issues. Pam has a head for it, but Stan is always saying I shouldn’t trouble myself with business matters.”

  “I see,” Judy said, turning a page in her notebook. She wasn’t sure how much more to dig on the father-son relationship, so she introduced another line of questioning. “How was Pamela’s relationship with her brother? I imagine the normal sibling rivalry, but I sense a sweet big-sister feeling for him.”

  “Yes. Yes, you’re right. They’re only two years apart.” Sharon turned inward, not moving or speaking. Judy didn’t press. She poured another coffee and sipped at it. After a few minutes of quiet that might have been awkward for two other people, Sharon returned to the room.

  “I’m sorry. I slipped away for a moment. I apologize.”

  “No need. This is such a pleasant room, and quiet is good for the soul.”

  “You’re very easy to talk to, Mrs. Novak. I’m sure you’ve heard that before.”

  “Grandpa would say you have two ears and one mouth, and that means God wanted us to listen more than talk.”

  “Your grandfather must have been a good man.”
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br />   Judy nodded.

  “You have just the two sons?”

  “I also have a daughter.”

  “Tell me something, Mrs. Novak. As a mother. Do you like your children?”

  Judy laughed. “It depends on the day and the circumstances. Sometimes one of them will do something that just exasperates me. My daughter is my joy, and my middle child, Tommy, makes me laugh. He’s the kind of person who just gets along with everyone. But my oldest son—he’s seventeen now—announced a few weeks ago that he wants to drop out of high school, buy a used motorcycle, and ride cross-country to California. He told me and his father he’ll work on a GED when he gets back. I thought my husband would kill him.” Judy winced, remembering the situation with Fairchild, but Sharon responded with a smile and a nod. Judy recovered and wrapped her hands around the warm cup before continuing. “The answer to your question is, I love all of my children. When they do or say things I don’t like, I try to remember they are individuals. They’re a part of me and their father, but also their own unique beings.”

  “It was always difficult for Stan to accept that Peter was never going to follow in his footsteps. At first, Stan thought he could groom Peter for the work. Then he tried shaming him, by comparing him to his sister or to the other young men in the company. When that didn’t work, well . . . he just turned hard toward Peter. After that, every kindness or consideration he showed Peter was because I asked for it.”

  “That had to be stressful for you,” Judy said.

  Sharon reached for a handkerchief in the sleeve of her tunic and brought it to her eyes. “I’m sorry. I don’t even know you. Please, forgive me.”

  “Really. There’s nothing to forgive. Mothers love their children in a way that’s different from their fathers. The vow we take at marriage—sickness and health, richer or poorer, for better or worse—might be more apt for the love we give our children than for our spouses.”

  Judy ended the interview, realizing she’d got everything she could from this grieving mother.