Bury Me When I'm Dead

by Cheryl A Head

  James and Agent Goodman arrived minutes later, accompanied by Grant Freeman, Jr. and Joyce, who wore an arm sling and a smile. Abrams beckoned the new arrivals to the conference table and greeted Joyce with a hug. He had remained with her at the pavilion, covering her body with his own until the paramedics arrived, and then traveled with her in the ambulance to the hospital where he stayed until she drifted off to sleep.

  James had been transformed. His hair was cut short, his beard was gone, and the blue suit he wore with a striped tie and white shirt gave him the appearance of a diplomat more than an FBI agent. He nodded at Charlie and gave Judy a wink, which elicited a full blush. The night before, after handing over the bashed and groggy Walter Barnes to an agent, Don had given James a piece of his mind. This morning they shared a cordial nod while Gil exchanged handshakes with James and Goodman.

  “I guess your undercover stint is over,” Charlie said by way of a compliment to James.

  “Yes, until the next time.” He smiled and then got down to business. “Mr. Abrams, thanks for allowing us to use your space. I know you all still have a lot of questions.”

  Goodman lifted the top of a slender Apple laptop and next to it placed a small, rectangular box which turned out to be a video projector. Don leered at the contraption in the way he’d eyed the Danish moments before. A PowerPoint appeared on the screen and the first page had an embedded video of the gunfight from the night before. The room was rapt with attention as they watched the action.

  Abrams and Joyce could be seen talking on the deck of the pavilion when a shadowy figure came into view below them.

  “That’s Barnes,” Goodman said.

  A white light flashed when the first shot was fired and Joyce slumped to the ground. Abrams crouched beside her. There was the sound of a second shot and a flash of light and Charlie stopped and dove forward. A muffled shot and a third burst of light came from a different direction and Barnes was seen retreating.

  “And that’s one of our agents firing from the lake,” Goodman added.

  “Where’s Owens at this point?” Gil asked.

  “He can’t be seen in this view,” Goodman explained.

  The sound of two shots and their muzzle flashes came from the right of the screen, east of Barnes’ position. Then there was a steady burst of gunfire from three directions. While shots were being exchanged, Charlie got to her feet and ran, in a crouch, out of view. The video ended there.

  Charlie noticed Joyce trembling as she watched the video. Freeman, who was next to Joyce, moved his chair closer and was patting her hand. Judy, meanwhile, watched the entire scene with a gaping mouth.

  “That was terrifying,” she said.

  “There were three dozen shots fired in all,” Goodman explained moving to the next slide which was a side-by-side mug shot of two African-American men.

  “The majority of gunfire came from these two,” James said, picking up the narrative. “This is, or I should say was, Frankie Curtis and on the right, his associate Reuben Bud Jones. They were at the pavilion to kill Walter Barnes. One of them had an automatic weapon and wounded one of our agents. Curtis was declared dead at the scene.”

  “Owens hired them, didn’t he?” Don asked.

  “That’s right,” James said. “Barnes probably would have taken another shot at Charlie but bullets were coming at him from two sides.”

  “Is Barnes talking?” Don asked.

  “Oh yeah. When I showed him the photos of Jones and Curtis, he knew Owens had set him up for a hit. He confessed to the attempted murder of Joyce and Charlie and said Owens was paying him. Owens tells a different story, of course.”

  “Owens is alive?” Charlie was surprised.

  “Yes. Badly wounded but he’s in stable condition and able to talk.”

  “Did he admit to killing Paulie?” Joyce interjected.

  Charlie looked across at Freeman who stared defiantly at first, then broke eye contact.

  “Well, I do have information for you on that,” James replied to Joyce. “That’s why I invited Mr. Freeman to our debriefing. But, if you don’t mind, I’d like to come back to your question.”

  Joyce nodded.

  “Play the next video,” James said to Goodman.

  Goodman tapped on his laptop and new footage appeared. “This piece doesn’t have any audio,” Goodman explained.

  All eyes were on the screen again but it was difficult to make out the scene. James pulled a laser pointer from an inside pocket and began circling the points of interest.

  “Mr. Acosta, you and Ms. Novak should recognize this. This is video of the satellite feed you were watching from your office. That’s me, Goodman and Agent Montano exiting the tactical mobile unit. Up here is you, Ms. Mack, and that’s Owens, here, moving in and out of the trees.”

  “Your audio became garbled and you couldn’t hear Agent Griggs,” Gil remembered.

  “Right. An unfortunate time to lose the audio signal.”

  “A lot went wrong.” Don couldn’t resist revisiting the criticism he’d offered before.

  “I concede that,” James said. “With all our technology, we’re still at the mercy of Mother Nature.”

  “You also couldn’t anticipate that Owens would try to take out his own man,” Gil said.

  “We figured that out too late,” James admitted. “A successful operation is always a matter of preparation, good luck and inspiration. Your phone call idea was an inspired one, Ms. Novak,” James said, turning his attention to Judy.

  “I thought we could use a backup plan,” Judy said.

  “It was a good thing. I really couldn’t see two feet in front of me,” James offered. “I wasn’t sure where Charlie, uh Ms. Mack, was. And then I heard the cavalry charge,” James said, smiling. “That’s the second time I’ve heard that sound, you know.”

  “And the second time it’s saved my life,” Charlie said.

  Charlie took a few minutes to explain to Joyce and Abrams, her run-in with Barnes in Birmingham.

  “He’s a bad man,” Judy said.

  “He’ll pay for it,” James said. “We’re not cutting any deals with Barnes but we don’t need to because he’s eager to get even with Owens. Oh, and by the way,” James said turning to Don. “Barnes is claiming police brutality. Seems he might have been hit with a pistol a few times when he was captured. But, I explained to him the person who nabbed him wasn’t the police, just an outraged citizen trying to help the FBI.”

  All eyes turned to Don, who looked like the proverbial bird who’d eaten the canary. “The grass was very wet and he hit a tree branch and fell off his bicycle.”

  “We thought it was something like that,” the usually stoic Goodman said, giving Don an approving look.

  “Now, back to Owens,” James said. “He’s under twenty-four-hour guard at Receiving Hospital. We’ve already started laying out the evidence we have against him, including the murder attempts on Ms. Stringer and Ms. Mack, as well as the homicides in Birmingham. He’s admitted his role in the restaurant scheme here in Detroit, Mr. Abrams, and cleared Joyce of any involvement in the theft or the larger crime ring.”

  “I’m relieved to hear that,” Abrams said.

  “Owens hired Paul and another of your employees, Nate Sparks, to help him in the trafficking ring. They helped to hide the money and keep track of people and inventory. Sparks is now assisting us with the case against Owens. Paul, we believe, was an unwitting accomplice. However, Ms. Stringer is charged with several crimes including bribing and colluding with others to cover up a felony.”

  Abrams looked from Charlie to Joyce. “I wish you had just come to me right away,” he said.

  Joyce began to sob quietly. Freeman again covered her hand with his.

  “She’s guilty of poor judgment, Leonard,” Charlie defended Joyce. “She couldn’t always protect Paul, but this time she thought she could.”

  “Since Ms. Stringer has agreed to cooperate with us, and if Mr. Abrams decides not to press further
charges, I believe she will be able to return to a normal life in a year or two,” James said.

  Joyce looked at Freeman with tears in her eyes. Judy was sniffing and Charlie wanted to move to another subject.

  “James, don’t you have more you want to say to Joyce?” Charlie asked.

  “Yes. And this is where Mr. Freeman can help. He’s been extremely useful to us in Birmingham.”

  “Well, I don’t know where to start,” Freeman said, clearing his throat. He placed his palms down on the table and splayed his fingers, staring at his gold wedding band.

  “My son, Grant, was one of Owens’ informants.”

  “What? Why would Grant do that?” Joyce was incredulous.

  “Because he learned your father’s secret,” Charlie guessed and Freeman nodded.

  “That’s correct. He found out Paul was also my son.”

  “I’m sure he was angry and, I bet, jealous,” Charlie said.

  James gave a silent direction and Goodman punched a few keys on his computer. Another image appeared on the screen. It was live video of the makeshift apartment on the top floor of the original Freeman’s Funeral. Paul was lounging in a chair; he appeared to be playing a computer game. Standing next to him was a smiling Anna Stringer.

  “That’s Paulie,” Joyce exclaimed, not understanding what she was seeing. “Where’d you get that video?”

  She looked accusingly at James.

  “What the hell is going on?” Her voice rose in hysteria and Freeman gripped her hand.

  “Paul is alive, daughter,” Freeman said matter-of-factly. “He’s alive and well in Birmingham.”

  Joyce stood to confront her father’s words, then collapsed on the table, exhausted and bewildered. Freeman lifted her by her good arm and Abrams wrapped his arm around her waist to move her to a nearby couch.

  Chapter 38

  “Your Birmingham case is finally over? You don’t have to go there anymore?” Ernestine asked.

  “We closed the case a week ago.”

  Ernestine studied her daughter. “You don’t seem satisfied about this one. Something’s bothering you.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, when you finish a case you usually want to celebrate. You come and take me out to dinner, or buy me a gift. Didn’t you get paid?”

  Charlie laughed. “Yes, I got paid but this case came with a lot of wear and tear on a lot of peoples’ lives.”

  “Did any good come from it?”

  Charlie looked at her very wise mother. A great deal of good had come from this case. Secrets that had been buried for decades were brought to light. Ruth and Grant Freeman III might still be suffering from the truth, but others, like Grace and Jennifer Meadows, could now move on with their lives.

  James had assured Charlie that Paul wouldn’t go to jail. “He didn’t understand the scope of his actions,” James had said. Joyce would remain in protective custody for a while, but would then be free to return to Birmingham to be with her mother and brother or come back to Detroit where Abrams had a job waiting for her.

  And, if not for this case, Charlie might have repeated the old patterns of fear and let Mandy slip away.

  “Yes, Mom, there was some good.”

  “Like what?”

  “Well, two very nice people I know are getting married. They have some challenges ahead, but I think they’ll be okay.”

  “Weddings are always happy events,” Ernestine said. “What else?”

  Charlie hesitated. She wasn’t sure she was ready to have a conversation with her mother about her sexual orientation.

  “I met a woman, her name is Mandy Porter, and I want you to meet her sometime soon.”

  Ernestine nodded. “Good. You need some friends, you’re too isolated. Although I hope I’ll always be your best friend.”

  Charlie put both arms around her mother. “I promise you will.”

  “I met some new friends, too. Remember Eddie and Reginald?”

  “I do. You were going to invite them to dinner.”

  “Well, I’ve thought better of that. I think, maybe, I can take them to McDonalds, they’re not pretentious people.”

  “I’d like to go along and thank them for what they did for you.”

  The shadows in Ernestine’s apartment were deepening so Charlie turned on one of the table lamps.

  “Should we go get something to eat, Mom, or do you want me to cook?”

  “Why don’t you cook? Will you make that eggs and potatoes dish I like?”

  “Sure. I’ll put in some of that chorizo we bought.”

  “We’ve had a good day haven’t we, honey?”

  “Yes, Mom. That’s another thing the Birmingham case taught me. We should never take any of the good days for granted.”

  About the Author

  A Detroit native, Cheryl A. Head now lives on Capitol Hill in Washington, DC, where she navigated a successful career as a writer, television producer, filmmaker, broadcast executive, and media funder. Her debut novel, Long Way Home: A World War II Novel, was a 2015 Next Generation Indie Book Award finalist in both the African American Literature and Historical Fiction categories. When not writing fiction, she’s a passionate blogger, and she regularly consults on a wide range of diversity issues.

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