Ken Melchek stepped forward, slid his fingers gingerly past the scorched and blackened metal and touched the union coupling. As he placed his fingers around the metal, it moved. "Jeez, it's loose!"
"Not only is it loose, the explosion was almost certainly accelerated. Look," the fire investigator instructed, "Obviously there ain't much insulation left on the wiring after a fire like this, but let me show you somepun else we found. This wire here," pointing to a multi-strand lying across the back top of the framework, and ending in a small puddle of fused glass, "this wire should not be here, and it definitely should not be attached to this," pointing with a pencil at the glass, "I think this is, or rather was, a flash bulb; it lay on some cloth or rags, see the strands there and there; underneath the leaking tank. Our friend, who only wanted a 'hit', got a little more than he planned for. Someone wanted serious damage done to the owner! We've seen this method maybe five times in the past six months. No clues, no arrests."
The two police officers stood back, after quietly thanking the fire investigator, who promised them a fast report once he got the vehicle back to his workshop. "You know what this means, Brad," asked Melchek of his partner, "it means someone set that car to blow when our Miss Crickell turned that ignition key. Someone wants her dead, and I am going to stop them."
"Ken, we should drop this one firmly in the lap of the Squad commander, and Homicide! You know what O'Leary is like on personal crusades. Let's do it by the book, and report it to the precinct, and give all the details to the Lieutenant; and he can make his mind up, O.K., Ken?"
"At least we gotta go back, and warn that girl that someone is out to get her. If that fire guy is right, the 'bang' was set by a professional, and she has gotta be aware, O.K., Brad? Look, you call in, and tell base that we are just about ready to end shift, and we are wrapping up here; and I'll go back and inform Miss Crickell that we think someone has got her in their sights. Then we can go back to the precinct, and hand it over to the Lieutenant, like you say, O.K.?"
"She has definitely crawled under your skin, Officer Melchek! Okay, you go back, and renew your acquaintance with the lovely lady, and I will sit here and remember all the other times you didn't even make first base, partner!"
Ken Melchek left the car, and headed towards the apartment block with his partner grinning as he got in to call their base. He jogged up the stairs, and along the outside walkway, ending up outside Claudia's front door, knocking on the panel. He heard the girls' voice, "Is there another problem, Officer?" before answering.
"Yes, Miss, there seems to be. May I come in, and speak with you, Miss Crickell." The locks came off, the door swung back, and Claudia stood, gesturing for the policeman to enter. Ken entered the apartment again, and went on through to the kitchen, where Claudia had been setting up some breakfast. "Thank you, Ma'am, and I apologise for disturbing you once again. There's two things that I need to touch base with you, and I hope that everything will be clear. The fire to your little car, well, when we; that's my partner and I, got down to the street after speaking to you, we were informed, that is, someone, er.."
Claudia twinkled a smile at Ken Melchek, which sent his blood pressure up by two points. "You were told, what, Officer?" she prompted.
"The first reports from the fire officers seemed to suggest that the fire was an attempt on your life, Miss Crickell. The Investigator on duty was fairly certain that there was a scenario set up so that, when the ignition key was made, the petrol tank would explode, or at least catch fire very quickly. We think that the guy who got killed, just happened to break into your car, and paid with his life for his efforts." The New York policeman, as he spoke, watched the young woman's eyes widen, and the smile disappear from her lips. "We are gonna have to turn this case over to the Homicide squad at our precinct, but we thought that it may be the better for you to know what we think is happening. There will be two detectives assigned to your case, and they will want to interview you, if you can think of anyone who might wish you harm, that sort of thing. It might turn out to be nothing, with a nutcase doing a random action, but we would rather go into things deep, rather than make a mistake, Miss Crickell!"
The first reaction to the policeman's speech had started to fade a little, as the young black woman started to come to terms with a threat, so she quietly asked, "The second thing you wanted to ask me, Officer Melchek?" Claudia watched as the young policeman coloured to the roots of his hair with embarrasment.
"Well, maybe it ain't the right time to mention it, so I'll leave it be, if you don't mind, Miss Crickell!"
"Well, it must have been important, otherwise you wouldn't have mentioned it," declared the curious Claudia.
"Uhh, I was gonna ask, if you were free, sometime, that is; if you would like to, maybe, er,..."
"You were going to ask me for a date?"asked the girl, half ready to hit him, and half ready to fall on her back laughing. "You carefully inform me that you think someone is maybe trying to kill me, and then you ask me out, is this what you call full police service?"
"As I said, Miss Crickell, I didn't think it was the right time, so I was gonna keep my big trap shut!"
Her eyes softening, Claudia reached over and captured the suddenly nerveless fingers of the young patrolman. "I have received many compliments, and some suggestions that I wish I didn't get, but you are a first! I, well, maybe I would like to see you again, once this mess gets sorted out, Officer Melchek, and thank you for nearly asking." Claudia gently smiled at Ken, while leading Ken Melchek to the door of her apartment. Just as Ken was about to open the door, she leant forward and very lightly, kissed him on the cheek. "That=s for being kind enough to come back and tell me of your worries, Officer. It's nice to have someone like you worried about me!" She smiled at him again, thus sending the patrolman out, along the walkway and down the stairs without recognising where he was going. He got into the police cruiser, and Brad Davis nearly ruptured himself trying not to laugh when he saw the look on his partner's face, as he started the big car moving back to their precinct base.
The statistician closed the door behind the patrolman with a smile on her lips, but the smile did not last very long. She had the television turned on, but the sound off. She hit the remote to bring the volume up again, just as the next item on the morning news programme came up on the screen. It featured the stark burnt timbers of what obviously was a big house, and as the camera panned across the frontage, she heard the voiceover from the reporter identify the names of the owner. "The family who occupied this house all died early this morning, in what has been described as KingsBurgh=s worst disaster in maybe fifteen years. Howard Klein, his two children, and his wife, Allison Klein, were all asleep in the house..." Claudia's mind blotted out the rest of the commentary as she realised that coincidence was not that great. She had been speaking to Allison just the previous evening, Allison and all her family were dead, and someone had just missed sending Claudia Crickell to a fiery ending less that four hours ago. she grabbed the phone, and was just about to ring the precinct number when she paused, changed her mind and dialled her mother instead.
"Eudora Crickell here, who's calling, please?" came the voice of the person Claudia loved and respected more than anyone in the whole world.
"Mom, it's me, Claudia, I gotta talk! I think maybe..."
"Hold on a minute, child. Stop gabbling, slow down, and tell me why you are in such a rush!" As Claudia slowed her delivery down, she explained to her mother what had happened the previous evening, during the night, and early in the morning. Finally, her mother broke in, as Claudia paused to draw breath. "Honey, I don't know what you got caught up in, but someone has put a finger on you, and the first thing you must do is disappear. Now I know that the cops are gonna be a little pissed off at you, but it ain't their necks on the line, so don't hesitate. Grab some clothes, as much as you can carry in one grip, pull as much money out of your bank account as you can, don't use any credit cards, and vanish. Don't even tell me where you are going! Give me t
he name of this cop you spoke to, and I'll talk with him. Now remember the pay-phone in the drugstore, you used to use it all the time when you were shining that boy from Flatbush? Use that to call me; I'll be there at seven on an evening for ten minutes, every day. Don't ever tell me where you are, all you need to do is tell me that everything is still okay, and I'll try and get you clear. Remember, don't say where you are, and trust only in the Lord, child. Bye, Claudia."
Chapter 10
Detective Lesley Jordan, and her partner, Detective Moses O'Rourke, sat in a plain, unmarked surveillance Cadillac, which was parked at the top of the hilly street in Grosse Point where Joe Kozcinski 's house sat. Moses sat puffing on a cigarette, and every time he exhaled smoke, Lesley ostentatiously waved it out of the open car window. "O.K. Lesley, you made your point, I'll not light up another smoke in the car, okay?" Jordan, a small, calm woman who had an impressive collar rate within the section, glared back at O'Rourke; but simply could not keep a straight face as she gazed at the face next to her in the car. Moses O'Rourke was six foot five tall, weighed two hundred twenty five pounds, and was black as the ace of spades. She had been assigned the change in partners only that morning, and had never met her new colleague before.
"How the hell do you answer to the name O'Rourke? Hell, you even talk like a Mick, and that=s what fooled me when we spoke on the phone. What gives, Moses?"
The big black detective eased himself sideways in the front seat, and grinned at his little partner's face. "It's my real name, Lesley. I was adopted by an Irish family when I was three, and I took their name straight away. They were straight out from Ireland, so accounting for the brogue, blarney and the rest. I learnt that I should never really trust an Englishman, and always go to church on Sunday, just about the same time. My pop was on the force in north-east Detroit, until he had to take retirement; some clown fired a pistol at him, and all pop wanted was to give him a ticket for speeding. I took the exam, sat in uniform for four years, got lucky with a couple of high-profile collars, and when I applied for transfer to detective, I got accepted straight away." Moses sat forward, and waved to Lesley to wind the engine up, as he spotted the dark green Stiletto rolling back down the drive from the big house. "Okay, we're ready, let's go!"
"Now, let's remember what we are here to do, Detective. Let him get going, and then we gotta see if there is a tail on this particular taxpayer. He's gonna vary his speed, and swop lanes regularly, so we should spot any follower in good time."
The surveillance vehicle showed up in Joe's driving mirror, and he registered the unmatched paint of the off side wing of the following vehicle as being the police trail car, and blinked his fog lights twice in acknowledgement, before resuming his drive towards work. The big Cadillac sat back and the two occupants scanned the cars around them as they swung around the turns on the wide freeway which lead into central Detroit. As Joe's Stiletto steadily changed lanes, seemingly to gain an invisible advantage, the two detectives watched for a corresponding change in driving patterns in the cars which accompanied them. A grey Corvette, about three cars back from Joe, as he changed lanes once more, changed simultaneously; and the two police officers saw the move at the same time. "Get that, Corvette, licence number, can you read it, Moses?"
The big detective picked up a microphone, and spelt out the tag plate on the Corvette, then asked for a run-down on the owner. On receipt of the call, the comms officer keyed in the tag number, hit 'enter' and replied that the vehicle was currently registered to a Charles Whitley, at an address in West Detroit. They tucked in behind the Corvette, and followed as the driver conformed to Joe's movements. The off-ramp came up, and Joe peeled off the traffic flow, as he headed towards the Continental head office. The Corvette stayed behind, until Joe's car turned off onto the approach road, when the tail car moved off towards downtown Detroit. Lesley Jordan moved the Cadillac into the centre lane, eased the speed up, and moved alongside the Corvette. The siren came on at the same time as the flasher, and the big detective's arm swung out and motioned the driver to slow and stop in the Emergency lane. The Corvette stopped rolling, and the surveillance car rolled up behind him. The two police officers took up position behind the rear end of the Corvette, drew their service revolvers, then called out, "Out of the car, hands on the bonnet, this is the police!"
The door opened, and out moved a Latino, about five foot three tall, shabbily dressed, with a fixed smile on his face. "How can I help you, officers?"
"Is your name Charles Whitley, because if it ain't, we have reason to believe you are driving a stolen car. Hands on the bonnet, spread 'em!" Lesley clipped the words, ever aware of the need to secure the suspect, before it went pear-shaped. The Corvette driver shrugged, placed his hands on the bonnet of the car, and inched his legs apart.
The black detective swung his head inside the Corvette, then stared in puzzlement at the short wave scanner which was clipped to the dash, beside the steering wheel. He was still gazing at the equipment when Lesley glanced inside after cuffing the driver, and reading him his rights. "What we have here, Moses, is a scanner, and I think if we drive straight to Continental, we can check if Mr. Kozcinski's car is fitted with a radio bug. That would be why this guy has been following our taxpayer so closely, because most bugs are short range only."
"We can't drive to Continental straight from here, Lesley. We gotta book our friend in to the precinct, and allow him his rights, much as I would like to deprive him of the same. Then we can go visit Mr. Kozcinski, check his car out, and find out what sort of bug he has been carrying." Lesley got in behind the wheel of the Corvette, while Moses placed their prisoner in the back of the big Cadillac, then followed his partner down to their base at Central. They booked him in, leaving his name place blank, as he declined to speak, other than to demand his phone call. He was pointed towards a pay-phone, the coins dropped in, he dialled and spoke, "Carl, I got picked up on the freeway; they got the car, the scanner, and I'm charged with auto theft."
Carl's voice sounded in his ear, "Your attorney will be on the way in fifteen minutes. Say nothing, and we will get you clear within a short time; okay, José!"
The driver named José relaxed, turned to the two arresting detectives, grinned and said, "My attorney is gonna be here soon, my name is Martinez, I ain't saying anything until he gets here, okay?"
Moses reached forward, unlocked the handcuffs, and lead the arrested man forward to place him in the holding cage. The two police officers sat down to a half hour's worth of paperwork, before being able to go back out on the streets.
Meanwhile, the phone rang in the rest room of the garage and service complex which served the Continental executives. A head stuck out, and called, "Rocky, phone call!"
The mechanic named Rocky strolled along to the rest room, picked up the handset, asking, "Rocky speaking, who's calling?"
"Carl here. That clown José has got himself picked up. Clean the pick-ups out of the Kozcinski Stiletto, and do it fast, okay!"
"No sweat, Carl, I got it on the rack right now, so there won't be any delay. Leave it with me! Seeya!" He replaced the receiver, ambled back along the service bays, checked that no-one was taking any notice, and reached inside the dash area, and slipped two magnetized discs into his pocket, moved around to the passenger side, and unclipped a third disc from the base of the seat, and a fourth, slightly larger disc from the underside of the trunk. He returned to his duties, whistling quietly, content at his job.
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Joe's phone rang in his office, after the initial call had been fielded by Mrs. Grady, "Mr. Kozcinski, my name is Lesley Jordan, I am a detective with Central Division. We picked up some guy who seemed to be acting suspiciously, in closely following you this morning on your way to work. We got him on a stolen car sheet right now, and I just thought I'd let you know that your suspicions may have been confirmed. We would like your permission to check your car, if that is okay with you?"
"Sure thing, detective. If you drop arou
nd to the parking lot at the front of the Continental block, I'll leave word with the desk to let you have the keys. Thanks for the prompt action, Detective Jordan." Joe swung his chair around, able to put, as he thought, one problem to rest, while he concentrated on the pile of others looming on the horizon.
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The looks of the tall, elegant woman, carrying a deep red-shaded document case, who approached the duty sergeant in the Central division office were enough to gather all eyes upon her. "I believe you have a client of mine, held on a stolen auto rap; a José Martinez?"
"Certainly, lady. Your name, please? Just for our Blotter, you understand?"
"Alicia Devon. I am with LaCroix, Unity and Sender, in the Corporation Building."
"Thank you, lady. I'll just wheel your client out into the interview room, and you can see him in privacy." so saying, the Sergeant called one of the duty patrolmen, called "Martinez, room three," before escorting the attorney to the bare interview room. She sat, hand on knee, until her client arrived. The conversation between client and suspect was brief, with José asking when he would be able to get out on bond, and the attorney replying that his release was being sought at that moment. The woman called Devon opened her case, removed a printed sheet, and asked Martinez to sign, "It's just acceptance that you retain our services. I have to show this to the Sergeant before he will hear of a bond being talked about." She retrieved the sheet, slipped it into her case, but as she closed it, the base seemed to slip, and the side of the case bounced into Jose's shoulder. "Sorry, everything okay? Don't worry, José. We'll have you out of here in next to no time! A charge like auto theft, our defence is simple, you were trying the vehicle out for a day, the used car lot bought it in good faith; you walk!"
Continental Attack: Murder and Mayhem in Detroit's Auto Industry Page 9