Catch Me When I'm Falling

by Cheryl A Head

  “Reggie was in bad shape. He knew Carla fairly well.”

  “You said that when you called, but why bring him here?”

  “We talked last night, and I didn’t think he should be alone.”

  “Okay, so he’s feeling sorry for himself. But like I said before, he made the choice.”

  “He acknowledges that, and he says that makes him no better than the priest who assaults children, or the dealer who sells drugs to people in pain.”

  “Wow. He is beating himself up,” Don said.

  “I spoke to Carla. She was disfigured, and odd, but she wasn’t crazy. A man threatened to burn her. She told me about him, showed me the tattoo he had on his cheek, and now she’s dead. We need a different game plan, Don. These murders are definitely connected to the L2D gang, but we’re going to need a couple more days to make the case to the police.”

  “Two more days? Mack, I’ve made family vacation plans. As I recall, you’ve got a few plans of your own.”

  “I know, I know, I know.” Charlie felt guilt rise in the hollow of her gut.

  Don poured coffee in both their cups, and retrieved a carton of half-and-half from the refrigerator. Charlie poured freely from the dairy and added a couple of sugars. Don sipped his coffee black.

  “When’d you start adding sugar?”

  “Since the auto show. We drank so much damn coffee that I started experimenting, and I decided I like it a little sweet.”

  “You’re getting soft, Mack.”

  “Maybe.”

  “What do we do next?”

  “Today and tomorrow Gil will be keeping an eye on Monty’s house.”

  “So, you’re out of it?”

  “Well, no. I had another idea. I took a job in the Corridor.”

  # # #

  So far, Charlie’s absence from the packing schedule had set them back only half a day. After a few hours of sleep, Charlie completed packing up her master bathroom. Afterward, she and Mandy visited the bank to set up a joint checking account. Mandy had just accepted one of three offers on her one-bedroom apartment in Grosse Pointe; and Charlie’s agent was holding an open house tomorrow at her condo. They’d had a productive, joyful day.

  Tonight’s task was packing Mandy’s books, movies, and music. “I count fourteen packed boxes, and I have ten at my house,” Charlie said, looking over Mandy’s shoulder at the packing diagram Judy had created for the movers. Each room in the new house had been assigned a color, and the boxes themselves were labeled with round, colored stickers. Charlie sent up a silent thank-you prayer for Judy’s help.

  “Are you done with the Corridor investigation?”

  “Not quite.”

  Mandy’s mood shifted. She sat on a stool in front of her bookcases and swiveled toward her books. She pulled two at a time from the shelves, dusting them with a white rag and putting them into a medium-sized box made especially for books. Charlie moved over to the bookcase, and sat on the floor.

  “Let me help.”

  “You sure you have time?” Mandy said icily.

  Charlie felt Mandy’s stare as she pulled a Deepak Chopra book from the shelf and dusted the cover with the tail of her shirt. Mandy had two shelves of self-help and philosophy books ranging from Marianne Williamson to Detroit’s own Wayne Dyer. Charlie paused to thumb through a tome by Joseph Campbell.

  “I know you’re upset.”

  “We see things differently.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Obviously, I’m much more gung-ho about our move than you are, and I can’t help showing it. You, on the other hand, seem to have shifting enthusiasm.”

  “That sounds like something from one of these books.” She packed the Campbell book and picked up another, called Calling in “The One.” “Are you saying I don’t know how to follow my bliss?” Charlie quipped, trying to lighten the mood.

  “Maybe you don’t.”

  Charlie changed the subject. “One thing I do know how to follow is a lead. Just another couple of days, and I think we can interest the police in these immolation murders.”

  Silence.

  Charlie looked at Mandy. “I thought we’d be done by now, but there have been complications. Please, honey, just bear with me.”

  Charlie reached for Mandy’s hand and kissed it. “You are my bliss.”

  They finished packing for the evening, shared a pizza, and relaxed watching a movie on DVD followed by lovemaking. Mandy’s hurt feelings were soothed, and Charlie forgot the Corridor for a few hours. She drifted off to a satisfying sleep.

  When the phone alarm sounded at three-thirty Monday morning, Charlie sat up and remained for a few minutes on the bed’s edge, massaging the daze from her head. She felt Mandy’s hand on her back.

  “You have to go now?”

  “Yeah. I start my new job in an hour. The good thing is, I don’t have to fix my hair, shower, or pick out an outfit to wear.”

  Charlie dressed quickly, and leaned over Mandy to kiss her on the forehead.

  “You don’t smell that good.”

  “It’s the clothes. They haven’t been washed in four days.”

  Mandy sat up against the pillow to pose a question. “How will you fool anyone that you’re a man, especially if you’ll be working near people?”

  “I’ll keep my cap and my flannel jacket on. I’m just unloading trucks and cleaning up. I think I can blend in.”

  “Please be careful.”

  “I will.”

  # # #

  Charlie parked her car on John R, not far from where Gil had parked two nights earlier. She would have to remember to move the car before the weekday parking restrictions started. She walked west, crossing first Woodward, then Cass, and arriving at the Avalon Bakery at 4:10 a.m. A produce truck idled in the alley, and Charlie stepped to the open back door.

  “I’m here to work,” she said to one of the men inside the cargo area.

  “You Charlie?” The man turned out to be a woman dressed in coveralls.

  Charlie nodded.

  “You’re late. I had to help the driver, and I’ve got other things to do. Here, take these boxes into the pantry.”

  Charlie followed the bakery manager into the side door and placed the boxes of tomatoes where she pointed. Then Charlie made another dozen trips between the vehicle and the pantry, carrying peppers, lettuce, limes, strawberries, asparagus, sweet onions, beets, and mushrooms. When the truck pulled out of the alley, another pulled in and Charlie unloaded cases of ground coffee, flour, sugar, and yeast. By 5 a.m. she had helped unload three trucks from local farmers and other distributors. Since she’d missed her morning gym time for several days, this workout was a pretty good substitution.

  Inside, the bakery’s kitchen was a bustle of activity. A half-dozen employees prepared the fresh pastry, breads, rolls, focaccia, and cookies that would be sold starting in an hour when the café opened.

  “Okay, Charlie. Next, I need you to do cleanup. Pick up outside in front. It’s too wet to sweep, but use that bucket right there for a bleach and soap mix to swab down the tables, then put up the umbrellas and dry off the furniture. You good?”

  “I’m good,” Charlie growled to keep her voice register low.

  She completed her outside cleaning just as a few people lined up, anxious for the Avalon doors to open. She emptied the trash into the dumpster, then stood in the vestibule of the open alley door, inhaling the fragrance of baking bread. The manager stepped out of the kitchen with cash, a hot cup of coffee, and a wrapped breakfast sandwich.

  “You seem like a cream and sugar man, so that’s what I put in the coffee.”

  Charlie nodded, keeping her head low.

  “You did a good job. I like the way you work,” the manager said, smiling and handing Charlie the cash. “We close at 6 p.m. Can you come back then for more of the same?”

  “Yep.”

  “Okay. See you then. Be on time.”

  Charlie walked up Cass in the misty rain, sipping the coff
ee and taking bites of the delicious sausage sandwich. Monday’s dawn was a half-hour away yet, and the Corridor was a lady of the night in a shiny black raincoat. Ahead, a bright orange Camaro—its fog lights illuminated—idled in the lot of an auto parts store facing the street. Charlie could hear the strains of a contemporary Spanish-language ballad. She ducked into the doorway of a small boutique to watch the car. It looked like the one she’d seen outside the Temple Bar three days before. Her coffee was now cool enough to slurp, and when she’d finished, she shoved the empty cup into her jacket pocket and wrapped her arms tight against her. It was cold.

  A dark sedan, heading north, passed her position and slowed near the lot. The Camaro’s parking lights snapped off, and the other car, maybe a Ford, pulled into the lot. Charlie moved from her waiting perch, and inched along the street to get a closer view. Trying to stay in the shadows, she finally ducked behind a bench across from the lot. The cars were parked window to window, the two drivers having a conversation.

  After a few minutes, an arm shot out of the Camaro and something passed into the hand of the Ford’s driver. The Camaro’s lights blinked on, then it moved out of the lot and turned north. The Ford didn’t move for a while, and Charlie remained hunkered down. The driver finally executed a three-point turn, and Charlie crouched lower as headlights flashed across her position behind the bench.

  While the Ford headed south on Cass Avenue, Charlie punched the plate number into her phone.

  # # #

  “Don, I’m telling you. I saw what I saw.”

  Charlie leaned back in her chair, her feet up on her father’s old desk, looking at the note Don had given her. She had discarded her baseball cap and army jacket, but she was still warm in the tights, baggy gabardines, and the flannel overshirt. “I’m opening a window. I’m baking in these clothes.”

  Charlie peered at the landscape. Downtown didn’t bustle the way it had when she was a little girl. She remembered the trips with her mother to J.L. Hudson’s, the tallest department store in the world, and the shoppers and workers who filled Woodward Avenue, moving in or out of the various stores in the heart of the city’s business district. Charlie watched a few people board a city bus, and one or two pedestrians exiting the underground parking lot where once thousands had parked before lining up to view the annual Thanksgiving Parade.

  The Mack partners didn’t normally get to work this early, but this case had taken a few twists, and an all-partner meeting was in order. Gil was on his way in with breakfast, and Don had arrived twenty minutes ago with strange news that the license plate was registered to the Detroit Police Department.

  “I don’t want to believe the police are involved with these guys,” Don said, shaking his head.

  “They’ve been under investigation for months. We know there’s corruption, and payoffs and criminal activity on the force. Why are you so surprised?”

  Gil came in carrying a McDonald’s bag. He went directly to the conference room, dropped the bag on the table, and grabbed a can of Diet Coke from the fridge. He was biting into a sausage biscuit with egg when Charlie and Don sat down.

  Don unwrapped a big breakfast platter. “Guess you must be hungry, Acosta.”

  “Famished. I’ve been watching Monty’s house since last night. All I’ve eaten was some peanut butter crackers and a package of Swedish Fish.”

  “Anything happening at the house?” Charlie asked.

  “Yeah. It’s all in there,” Gil said, shoving his notebook across the table.

  Charlie took a bite of hash brown, wiped her fingers on a napkin, and flipped the cover on the notebook. Gil’s handwriting was neater than her own, and he had carefully bulleted every movement at Monty’s house, complete with times. He had begun surveillance Sunday afternoon and continued, with only a few breaks, until this morning.

  “Last night was very busy,” Charlie said, turning the pages of Gil’s notes.

  “At one point I counted ten different guys entering the house one after another.”

  “Right. At 11:30 p.m.,” Charlie said, reading. “Then an hour later another flurry of foot traffic.”

  “It might have been like a shift change,” Gil said. “But people were coming and going all night.”

  “In the late afternoon, Monty went to church?” Charlie asked.

  “I’m speculating. But he left with two women, all dressed in their finery, and they were gone the rest of the day.”

  “It says here they were accompanied by two bodyguards?”

  “Yeah. Big guys. Not dressed up. Scanning the street before the car pulled up for Monty. Monty and the guys returned, without the women, at 7 p.m. carrying shopping bags.”

  “Here’s an interesting notation,” Charlie said, sipping coffee. “A navy Ford sedan stopped at the house.”

  Gil finished a long drink of diet cola before answering. “Yes. I saw the Ford a couple of times, but early this morning, the car pulled into the lot, circled it, then left.”

  “That might be the Ford I saw this morning doing a transaction with the driver in the orange Camaro.”

  Gil squinted his eyes. “That’s no coincidence.”

  Don and Charlie looked at each other and then away.

  “What’s going on?” Gil asked.

  “I got the plate number for the Ford. Don had a buddy run the plate. It’s a police vehicle,” Charlie said.

  “A rogue cop on the take,” Gil announced.

  “We don’t know that, Acosta. You two are undercover; maybe this guy is too.”

  “In a dark Ford sedan? Nice way to blend in,” Gil said.

  “Okay, okay. I’ll follow up on it with Captain Travers this morning,” Don said grumpily.

  “I’m going to grab a few hours of sleep,” Gil said. “Do you want me back out tonight, Charlie?”

  “Maybe. What’s Betti up to?”

  “I don’t know. I saw her for a couple of hours last night, and then she went back to work.”

  “Work,” Don said with disdain.

  “You don’t know her, Don. If she got some real help, she could make her way in the square world.”

  Don wasn’t buying it. “I’ve seen too many addicts like this Betti. They’ll talk you into a head spin if it’ll lead to a score. He can’t be trusted.”

  “She, Don. She identifies as a woman,” Gil said.

  “Whatever.”

  “What about Reggie?” Gil asked. “How’s he doing?”

  “Still shook up. I need to keep an eye on him.”

  “So, are we done with the social work part of this meeting?”

  Don had pushed back from the table and his arms were folded over his girth. Charlie knew he was a sucker for vulnerable children, but had little patience for adults who made bad choices.

  “I know you’re ready to move on from this case, Don. Believe me, I am too. If we can prove a connection between these killings and Monty, we’re done,” Charlie said.

  “So how do we do that?”

  “Let’s put all eyes on the L2D crew. That means all of us in the Corridor tonight. I want to utilize Reggie and Betti, too.”

  Gil began to object. “Charlie, you know I’m against using Betti as bait.”

  “We won’t use her as bait. But we need her on our side, and we’ll pay her.”

  Now Gil was also pushed away from the table with arms folded. Charlie didn’t often pull rank, and because this case was a personal favor to her mother, it felt even more shitty, but Charlie’s instincts told her they were on the brink of uncovering an insidious nest of murderers.

  “Don, I’m going with you to see Travers, and I want to talk again to the gang unit expert. We also need to shift Ernestine’s research from the victims to this Monty guy. I’m back to the Avalon at six to help with cleanup. Meanwhile, I’m going to get presentable. Gil, go get some sleep. We’ll meet you back here at five.”

  # # #

  Police headquarters at 1300 Beaubien always seemed to be busiest on a Monday. Charlie and Don
had to dodge uniformed officers, visitors, maintenance crews, and school tours as they walked up the main stairwell. The desk Sergeant announced their visit, and Captain Travers met them in the hall.

  “After I got your call, Rutkowski, I took your advice to get Detective Scott in on the meeting. If you have concerns about a plainclothes officer, we should hear the information at the same time.”

  “That’s good for us, Captain Travers,” Charlie said. “Scott is very knowledgeable.”

  The three walked along the crumbling marble floors to an office that had been turned into a meeting room. Alonzo Scott sat at the square table in the center of the room, and rose to shake hands. Two computer stations hugged the wall farthest from the window. A small sink filled a corner of the room, and a coffeemaker spewed its brown contents into an eight-cup carafe. Scott immediately recognized Don’s interest in the coffee, and moved to the twin cupboard next to the sink.

  “Anyone else for coffee?” Scott asked. “Other than you, Don?”

  “No, I’ll pass,” Travers said.

  “If you have cream and a little sugar, I’ll have a cup,” Charlie said.

  Don took a sip of the bitter brew and settled into the metal chair with a look of satisfaction. Charlie assumed it was an acquired taste for police coffee, because her cup had the opposite effect. The coffeemaker probably hadn’t ever been cleaned with a white vinegar rinse, and Charlie was sure she was tasting the residue of a dozen brews. The nondairy creamer did little to mask the acidic taste. She found solace in thinking about the magnificent Avalon coffee she’d had six hours ago.

  “The license plate you called in is signed out to our drug enforcement unit,” Travers said. “Where did you say you saw this vehicle?”

  The three men looked at Charlie. She warmed her hands around the hot cup, and recounted her story of the rendezvous between the Ford and the orange Camaro in the lot of the auto parts store.

  “Did you get the Camaro plate?” Travers asked, looking at two sheets of handwritten notes in front of him.

  “No. But, I’ve seen the car before.”

  “This undercover business you’ve been doing is out of character for you, isn’t it, Ms. Mack?” Travers was fishing for personal information again.