Bury Me When I'm Dead

by Cheryl A Head

  “How do you figure?” Don asked.

  “Think about it. Joyce is on the run, she couldn’t come out of hiding to buy a house in Forest Park or lease a car, or set up a power of attorney with a company like Haldeman. Someone with local business connections would have to do those deals. If we’re right about Freeman, and he believes we know his secrets, he’ll see us as a threat.”

  “That’s a fair point,” Don conceded.

  “Where’s the meeting?”

  “A restaurant near the old neighborhood.”

  “I think you should be direct with him,” Charlie advised. “Tell him we’re investigating for Abrams. Tell him about everyone we’ve interviewed, and then tell him we think he’s hiding Joyce because of his relationship with Anna Stringer. Then see how he reacts.”

  “What if he reacts badly?” Gil asked.

  “Tell him we’re not interested in revealing his secrets, that we just want to meet with Joyce.”

  “Once we get a meeting with Joyce, are we done? Do we try to convince her to turn herself in? Do we sic the police on her? What’s the end game?” Don asked.

  “I’m not sure about the end game to tell the truth. All I know is we’re getting close and we can’t stop now,” Charlie said.

  “Did James give you any idea how close the FBI is to arresting Owens?” Gil asked.

  “No. They really want the people above Owens, and they’re looking for leverage that will make him testify against his bosses.”

  “But you don’t think James would protect Owens over Joyce, do you?” Judy asked.

  “I think he’s already proven he’ll do just that,” Charlie said dourly.

  The second line in the Mack office rang, and Judy dashed to the reception area to answer. In thirty seconds she returned, gesturing excitedly to Charlie. “It’s a woman calling for you. When I asked, she wouldn’t give her name. I think it could be Joyce Stringer.”

  “Guys? You heard that?”

  “We heard,” Don said. “We’ll hang up. Call us back after you talk to her.”

  “Good luck,” Gil added.

  “Hello, this is Charlene Mack.”

  “Ms. Mack, it’s Joyce Stringer.”

  Charlie paused to gain her composure. Even though she had hoped for this call, it was startling to finally be speaking with the subject of her missing person case. Charlie nodded a confirmation to Judy.

  “Thank you for calling. May I call you Joyce?”

  “Yes. Why are you looking for me, Ms. Mack?”

  “We were hired by Leonard Abrams to find you. He’s an old friend of mine, and he’s your friend too, Joyce. He’s angry at you, but also hurt. He thinks you betrayed him but I know you didn’t have anything to do with the inventory theft.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “An FBI agent told me.”

  Charlie’s stomach felt hollow, a sign of nervousness. Joyce had a strong voice, no sign of nerves. Her enunciation spoke of education and manners.

  “Your partner left a message that the FBI is interested in my brother, Paul.”

  “Yes, they think his death is related to what he knew about the Reliable inventory theft.”

  “They’re trying to catch the people involved?” Joyce’s voice went up in pitch betraying either hope or revenge.

  “Yes, but the FBI isn’t willing to intervene for you if it means jeopardizing their case.”

  “Hmm,” Joyce murmured. “So I’m better off just staying out of sight.”

  Neither Charlie nor Joyce had mentioned Owens. Joyce was probably gauging whether or not to trust Charlene Mack, and Charlie didn’t want to say anything that would drive Joyce deeper into hiding. The phone started its static noise.

  “I think I can help you,” Charlie said.

  “How is that, Ms. Mack?”

  “Please. Call me Charlene. I know you were set up by Owen Owens. For reasons of my own, I want to see that man get what’s coming to him.”

  Charlie waited for a response. After a moment she decided to give another prompt.

  “I think, with your help, we can set a trap for Owens.”

  “How long have you been a private investigator?” Joyce asked, changing the subject.

  “For a few years. Before that I was an agent at Homeland Security, and before that I was a small-business owner.”

  “That’s kind of an unusual path for a Black woman,” Joyce stated.

  “Uh huh. But I like to think that all my work has been about helping people.”

  “Not about getting paid?” Joyce’s voice took on a lighter tone.

  “That too.” Charlie laughed. “What about you, Joyce? What drives you?”

  “Protecting my family.”

  Charlie and Joyce shared bits of personal history, and laughed about the things they had in common: mothers, ex-husbands, working hard to be the best. Under different circumstances, the two could have been girlfriends. Finally, Joyce probed for more information.

  “Have you learned anything more about Paul’s murder?”

  “We’ve gathered bits and pieces of information from the Birmingham police and I think our questions have made them interested in revisiting the evidence.”

  “Well that’s a plus.”

  Charlie gave Joyce time to think about what she wanted to say while Charlie prayed the call wouldn’t disconnect.

  “Why do your partners want to speak with Grant Freeman?”

  “He told you about that?”

  “Yes.”

  “We have some loose ends to tie up.”

  “May I ask what?”

  Charlie debated what and how much to reveal to Joyce about her theories.

  “Actually, Joyce, I’d like to tell you everything but I think that should be done face-to-face. Would you be willing to meet?”

  Joyce hesitated. “Just you and me?” she asked.

  “If that’s the way you want it.”

  “Would you come here? To Birmingham?”

  “Yes. I could be there tomorrow morning.”

  Charlie gave Joyce her mobile number with the understanding that Joyce would call in the morning to confirm a place to meet. Charlie also promised not to notify the police, FBI or Abrams about their meeting.

  “Should I get you a flight?” Judy had been listening in.

  “Yes, and I want to fly out tonight.”

  “Are you up to traveling?”

  “I have to be. I’ll just go home, pack a bag and get a taxi to the airport. Oh, and reserve a room for me where Don and Gil are staying.”

  “Our expenses for this case are going through the roof,” Judy muttered, returning to her desk.

  Charlie lifted the receiver to call Don and Gil back, then replaced it.

  “Judy. Please make sure the phone company will be here early tomorrow. Our lines are bad.”

  Chapter 27

  “Sitting in a tight airplane seat for two hours is not going to help your ribs much,” Mandy said across the table.

  “I know. Thanks for the ride to the airport.”

  “Well, it was a way to get some time with you. We haven’t talked much this week.”

  Charlie replenished Mandy’s glass of pinot noir and poured the remainder into her glass. “This was a pretty good bottle, wasn’t it?”

  “Delicious. And the steak was good. I wasn’t expecting this kind of quality at an airport restaurant.”

  The two sat in an awkward silence. Charlie looked at her watch. She had plenty of time. Mandy took a sip of wine and savored the taste. They stared at each other for a while. Neither flinching.

  “I really, really like you Charlie.”

  “The feeling is very mutual.”

  Mandy reached for Charlie’s hand and their fingers intertwined for a few seconds before Charlie pulled away.

  “No one cares about two women holding hands, you know,” Mandy said with irritation.

  “I’m not like you. I’m self-conscious about public displays of affection.”


  “Would you be if I were a man?”

  “Maybe not,” Charlie admitted. “I’m going to need some help with that.”

  “I’m certainly not your first woman.”

  “No. But those were never more than, encounters. This is different.”

  Mandy had accepted Charlie’s admission of bisexuality. She’d known other women who described themselves as bi-, but she believed it had more to do with being afraid to come out of the closet than ambiguity. She took another sip of wine. “Is it different, Charlie? To tell you the truth, that’s a surprise to me.”

  “It can’t be that much of a surprise.”

  “You’ve been distant lately. Not returning phone calls. I thought maybe you wanted to break things off.”

  Charlie fidgeted in her chair, looked at Mandy, looked away, then held her in an earnest stare.

  “I’m afraid of what I’m feeling. But there’s no denying that I’ve fallen in love with you.”

  Charlie waited for Mandy to respond in kind. When she didn’t, Charlie pushed her dinner plate aside, perched her fingertips atop the placemat and stared at her hands as she talked.

  “Look. When I regained consciousness in that lot I felt completely vulnerable. I think the only other time I’ve felt that way was the day my father died.” Charlie glanced up at Mandy, who sat very still, her green eyes impassive. “As an adult I’ve been careful to avoid situations where I couldn’t control my circumstances or at least protect myself. That’s driven most of the decisions I’ve ever made.”

  “So, what does that mean?”

  “A couple of times, under that sofa, when I could barely move, couldn’t take a deep breath and couldn’t see, I . . . I believed I was going to die. But I fought back. It wasn’t just a survival instinct. It was a longing to live.” Charlie took a sip of water. “I saw your face and sensed your presence. I could feel a future life. One with you in it.”

  Mandy listened but didn’t respond. Charlie called for the check. They walked through the terminal. Charlie wore flat shoes and had discarded her cane but she was still stiff so they moved together, slowly, Mandy gallantly carrying Charlie’s bag. They were an attractive couple, drawing appreciative and curious glances. When they reached the security line, Mandy turned to go but Charlie took her hand and drew her in for a long hug and a kiss on the cheek.

  “How’s that for a PDA?”

  Mandy smiled. “You’ve got a ways to go.”

  “I’ll call you tomorrow night.”

  “Why don’t we just take a break from the calls until you get back?”

  Charlie tried to read Mandy’s look. It was hesitant, distrustful. “Why? What’s wrong?”

  “I want to think about what you said tonight. And you should think some more about it too. You may just be reacting to your near-death experience. I got all sentimental myself when I was shot and lying in the hospital.”

  Mandy fought back tears as she drove away from the airport, pushing sixty on eastbound I-94. Charlie hadn’t confessed to her recent liaison with Franklin. Mandy knew about Charlie’s past affairs. They both understood it was important to be up-front about one’s sexual practices and during one of their freewheeling dinner conversations had openly discussed their previous bed partners. But in the last couple of months, they’d also acknowledged the exclusivity of their sexual relationship. It hadn’t been stated formally, but at least in Mandy’s mind, it was implicit. Apparently, Charlie didn’t agree.

  She hadn’t really meant to spy on Charlie, but after two unreturned phone calls, Mandy had instructed her partner to drive the patrol car across the Harper Woods border for the short ride to Charlie’s downtown Detroit apartment building.

  “You going to see your friend again?” Mandy’s partner had asked.

  “Uh. No. I just thought we’d get a couple of sandwiches at the bar and grill. You want to go somewhere else?”

  “No. This is good.”

  Mandy spotted a gray Jaguar parked near the corner. The restaurant was busy with Saturday evening diners, but the end booth was just being cleared. Mandy scanned the room for any familiar faces but saw none. After ordering sandwiches and soft drinks, her partner excused himself for the men’s room. Mandy took the opportunity to run the license plates of the Jaguar on her tablet and it confirmed the vehicle was registered to Franklin Rogers, Jr. She had resisted the urge to go upstairs to Charlie’s apartment, but she had called. There had been no answer and she hadn’t left a message.

  Now she’s expressing all this love, Mandy thought angrily. She wants to be with me. But when she got back to town all I got was a text while Franklin, apparently, got more than that. Mandy shifted gears from teary to pissed, and activated her car speaker phone.

  “Call.”

  “Please say the name or number,” the automated female voice instructed.

  “Charlene Mack.”

  “Home or mobile?”

  “Mobile.”

  “Calling.”

  Mandy knew Charlie might not be able to answer her phone. She didn’t want a confrontation but needed to fully release the frustration she was holding. When the phone beeped, Mandy spoke, deliberately controlling the quiver in her voice.

  “Charlie. I know you’ve been with Franklin. I waited all evening for you to tell me yourself. I thought you must have a good reason for seeing him when you couldn’t even bother returning my calls. Since you didn’t tell me tonight, I can only surmise you have something to hide. I haven’t asked much of you, that’s the way we both agreed to handle our relationship. But one thing I do expect is honesty. If I can’t have that from you, I don’t want anything else.”

  Chapter 28

  Owens nursed a gin and grapefruit juice while Kitty rattled on about the wardrobe she’d picked out for next month’s trip to Vegas. He only half listened as he enjoyed the sunset from his balcony perch. This crib cost him three grand a month but included 24-hour security, cleaning and concierge service, free parking, meeting space and executive rentals. It was the perfect setup to monitor the restaurant and parking lot action, and to host the monthly business audits by the suits in Atlantic City. But the main reason he’d leased this luxury waterfront condo in downtown Detroit was its access to a Canada escape across the Detroit River. He knew the Feds were investigating him, but he had no intention of going back to prison. He’d drop out of sight before he let that happen. The phone rang and Owens gave Kitty a head wag to answer the call.

  “Yes, he’s expected. You can send him up.”

  Kitty tightened the belt on her peach satin robe and stood to leave the balcony.

  “Barnes is on his way up. I wish you wouldn’t have him come here. He doesn’t really fit into the ambience.”

  “Ambience? What the hell do you know about ambience? I guess you forgot about that strip joint I found you in. Spilled drinks, cigar smoke, tits and hard-ons. Don’t let my money go to your head.”

  Owens’ tone was angry. When he got like this, Kitty gave him a lot of space, but she was miffed. “Well, you can let your associate in yourself,” she said, pouting and closing the distance to the bedroom in five strides.

  Owens thought about the call from the snooty concierge. He likely shared Kitty’s opinion of Barnes and had no doubt added him to the list of questionable people who visited apartment 702, and who met in the small conference room for four hours on the second Tuesday of every month. Owens fumed at the thought of the supercilious little man, who raised one eyebrow and adopted a patronizing tone every time they crossed paths. “Why hello Mr. Owens, I hope the day finds you well.”

  “Little punk,” Owens said aloud.

  He yanked open the door before Barnes had a chance to knock. Kitty was right, in this building Barnes stood out like a hyena in a flock of sheep.

  “Who you calling a punk?” Barnes scowled.

  “Not you. Come on in.”

  Barnes stepped over the threshold and walked straight to the sliding door of the balcony to look outside. He wore a Kang
ol cap and a black sweat-suit with expensive black sneakers. He had a large diamond stud in each ear. He spun and walked to the kitchen, paused for moment to scan the room then looked into the formal dining room. He stared curiously at the closed bedroom door.

  More like a big cat than a hyena, Owens thought. “Do you realize every time you come here you walk from room to room?”

  “Whatcha mean?”

  “You pace around looking in every room.”

  “No, I don’t,” Barnes said.

  Owens had known Walter Barnes a long time. In prison, he was given the nickname “Converse” because he was always sneaking around. He was observant—saw things other people didn’t see, and Owens exploited him for that quality.

  “I’m sitting outside. Let’s talk there.”

  Barnes peeked over the balcony rail holding on tightly.

  “Man I couldn’t live this high up,” he said stepping back from the railing and reaching for the chair behind him as if some unseen force might lift and propel him over the side.

  “It’s only seven floors. You should see it from the roof.”

  “No thanks,” Barnes said, grasping the arm of his chair.

  “What are you drinking?”

  “I’ll have some Hennessey.”

  “Help yourself,” Owens said, pointing to the bottles under the glass cocktail table between them.

  Barnes poured two fingers of cognac and before the liquor could resettle in the bottle he’d drank half. The crease between his eyebrows disappeared quickly and he lessened his death grip on the chair’s arm.

  “So how did you come up with the Belle Isle skating rink?” Owens asked.

  “Well it’s easy to see anybody coming in, and there are lots of places to hide. There’s not a lot of room to conceal a car. So, I would probably park up the road and come in on foot or a bike.”

  “That’s not a bad idea.”

  “How do we want to handle her? Do we need to find out what she knows, first?”

  “Joyce already knows plenty. I know she approached some of the kitchen staff at two of my restaurants and asked how they got their jobs. It made them skittish and they reported it to our guys. A few days later Paul took off.”