3 Buried Leads

by Amanda M. Lee

“What are you thinking about?”

  Apparently Eliot wasn’t asleep. “How warm you feel,” I said honestly.

  “I would have preferred you calling me hot,” Eliot teased.

  “I don’t want your head to get any bigger than it already is.”

  Eliot and I showered together – which took longer than it probably should – and then we had a quick breakfast of toast and juice standing up at the kitchen counter.

  “What are you doing today?” I asked him.

  “I’m going out to the Frank house to check in and see if I can get the au pair to talk to you. I’ll call you on your cell if I work something out.”

  “Thanks.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “I have my now daily briefing at the sheriff’s department. After that, I’m not sure.”

  Eliot walked me downstairs, giving me a quick kiss on the street in front of the pawnshop. “If you’re spending all your time with Brian Frank, who is running the shop?”

  “I have employees for that,” Eliot smiled.

  A loud car horn blared on the street in front of us. I looked up to see Duncan parked in the slot next to my car and eying me impatiently. “We have to go,” he yelled.

  “Who is that?”

  “The office tool.”

  “Why is he here?”

  “That’s a really good question.”

  I walked to the side of Duncan’s car. “What are you doing here?”

  “Making sure that you make it to the press conference on time,” Duncan said dismissively.

  “I know how to do my job,” I countered.

  “Not everyone thinks that,” Duncan scoffed.

  Eliot moved to my side and regarded Duncan with a serious expression. “Can I help you?”

  “Who are you?” Duncan asked.

  “Eliot Kane.”

  “The private investigator working for Brian Frank?” Duncan looked incredulous. “You’re interviewing him without me present? I’m telling Fish.”

  “I wasn’t interviewing him,” I argued.

  “Then what were you doing?”

  Eliot slid me a sly glance. I pretended I didn’t notice. “That’s none of your business. How did you even know I was here?”

  “I saw your car. It’s not like anyone else has Star Wars stickers on their car.”

  “I’ll be over at the sheriff’s department in a few minutes. Why don’t you go on without me?” I prodded.

  “What are you going to do?”

  “I’m going to get a coffee and then head over there,” I blew out a sigh.

  “This is the idiot with the camera,” Eliot said suddenly. “The one with the camera strapped to his head at the candlelight vigil.”

  “I’ll have you know that’s a state-of-the-art piece of equipment,” Duncan shot back.

  “You got it at Radio Shack for $100,” I pointed out.

  “When I win an award for this video, you won’t think it’s so funny.”

  “I’ll always think it’s funny.”

  “Is this the guy that filmed you fighting with the Channel 7 reporter?” Eliot asked.

  Speaking of that. “By the way, Duncan, if that’s still up on YouTube when I get back to the office this afternoon I’m going to tell everyone that your wife left you for a Central American drug lord.”

  It was common knowledge in the office that Duncan’s wife, a beautiful Hispanic woman, hadn’t been living with him for several months. After sending money to her mom in Central America every week for a year, she had went down to visit her mom three months ago – and hadn’t returned.

  “That is not true!” Duncan practically shrieked.

  “And not only did she leave you, but you’re spending your time watching gay porn to deal with your abandonment issues,” I continued.

  “I’m not gay!” No, Duncan isn’t gay. He is a rampant homophobe that owns Brokeback Mountain, though. Make your own conclusions.

  “When I’m done telling the story, you’ll be one step away from dancing naked in that homosexual Cabaret revival in Ferndale,” I threatened.

  Duncan jumped out of the car and moved towards me. His face was red with rage. Eliot stepped between us smoothly.

  “You clearly have issues,” he said to Duncan.

  “And she doesn’t?”

  “I don’t care about her issues. If you touch her, though, you won’t be touching anything again for a very long time – and that includes yourself when you’re watching your gay porn.”

  Eliot has a funny sense of humor sometimes.

  “Are you threatening me?” Duncan was incensed.

  “Yes,” Eliot said simply.

  “I could report you to the police,” Duncan whined.

  “You could. That will only make me angry, though. And you wouldn’t like me when I’m angry.”

  You’ve got to love a guy that quotes The Incredible Hulk. Well, at least in my world.

  Duncan opened his mouth to unload what I’m sure was a ridiculous retort. Instead, he snapped his mouth shut.

  “Good boy,” Eliot poked him.

  I turned to Duncan. “There’s no sense of you going to the sheriff’s department. Why don’t you go out to the neighborhood and see if you can get any of the neighbors to talk on the record?”

  That was a fruitless endeavor. The neighbors were agitated with the constant media presence and had started putting signs up on their windows warning the press to stay away. I figured letting them take their angst out on Duncan would be a lot more fun – for me at least – than spending time with him at the sheriff’s department.

  “Fine,” Duncan nodded curtly. I noticed him shoot another venomous glance in Eliot’s direction. Like a typical bully, though, Duncan was too scared to actually confront someone like Eliot.

  Eliot and I watched as Duncan got back in his car and sped away. “That guy is a total douche.”

  “He knows. Everyone knows.”

  “How is he still employed?”

  “He’s a chronic complainer. Plus, we have a union.”

  Eliot nodded briefly. “I figured it had to be something like that. The guy has no people skills.”

  “Most people think he’s normal for the first three days, or so. After that, he can’t hide that he’s a total tool.”

  “I think that’s the problem,” Eliot said.

  “What is?”

  “He’s got a really small tool.”

  I’d often thought that, too.

  Twenty-Three

  The press conference was nothing short of boring. All of the media was in attendance – again – but the police had no new information to give us. Why were they holding press conferences when they had nothing to report? The only answer was that they were desperate to keep it the lead story in the area news. My guess was, to put pressure on Brian Frank. I couldn’t prove that, though.

  Shelly kept a wide berth between us for the press conference – which I encouraged. I caught her shooting me dirty looks from across the room a couple of times, though. I resisted the urge to shoot her the finger. I couldn’t get in another fight with her – at least not two days in a row.

  “You’re showing great restraint not going over there and ripping her hair out and feeding it to her.”

  I turned to see Derrick standing beside me watching Shelly with a critical eye. “I promised Fish I wouldn’t get in another fight with her.”

  “You just don’t want to end up on YouTube again.”

  This was true.

  “Do you think your mom has seen it yet?”

  Crap, I hadn’t even thought of that.

  “He’s taking it down this afternoon.” I was almost 100 percent sure of that.

  “How did you manage that?”

  “Eliot,” I said simply. I didn’t bother mentioning the blackmail.

  “You got Eliot involved?”

  “Eliot just happened to be there when Duncan showed up and picked a fight on Main Street this morning.”

&nb
sp; “What were you doing on Main Street? Getting coffee?”

  “I spent the night at Eliot’s.”

  Derrick looked surprised. “You’re doing sleepovers?”

  “Don’t you do sleepovers with Devon?”

  “Yeah. I just didn’t realize things were moving so fast between you.”

  “It’s not all that fast. We’ve known each other for months.”

  “You didn’t decide to date him until a week ago,” Derrick pointed out.

  “It’s been a good week.”

  “Even though you’re still squabbling with Jake’s girlfriend.”

  “I’m not squabbling with Jake’s girlfriend,” I countered. “I’m squabbling with a pain in the ass television reporter.”

  “She is a real bitch,” Derrick conceded. “I don’t see what Jake sees in her.”

  That made two of us.

  “Except that she’s really hot.”

  I cast a disdainful glance in Derrick’s direction. “She’s not that pretty.”

  “Compared to Halle Berry, no. Compared to people around here? She’s smoking.”

  “Better looking than Devon?”

  Derrick cast a quick glance around to make sure that Devon wasn’t within earshot. “Devon is beautiful. Shelly is gorgeous.”

  I grimaced. I so did not want to hear that. I decided to change the subject. “Why are you guys doing daily press conferences when you have nothing to report?”

  “It’s easier than answering twenty different phone calls from reporters every day.”

  “That’s not why,” I countered. “You’re trying to keep this case out there for a reason.”

  “And why do you think that is?”

  “I think you’re trying to rattle Brian Frank,” I said honestly.

  “What if we are?”

  “Is it working?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Derrick moved away from me and over to the other side of the room where Devon was standing. I hate being lied to. It drives me to the brink of insanity, I swear.

  I watched as Jake broke away from Shelly and headed towards me. “Can I talk to you?”

  “It’s your building. You can do whatever you want.”

  “Can I talk to you in my office?” Jake’s tone was grave.

  I followed him soundlessly to his office. I saw that Shelly was giving me a smirk. I had a feeling this conversation wasn’t going to have anything to do with the Frank case. She’d better hope I didn’t see her in the parking lot when this was over.

  Jake ushered me into his office, shutting the door behind us. Through the two open doorways, just before Jake latched the door, I could see Shelly frowning. Obviously she thought she was going to be able to see the showdown.

  I turned to Jake expectantly. “What have you uncovered?” he asked. Never what you think.

  “Not much,” I said honestly. “I know that Sarah Frank was sleeping with her boss. I know he’s in the Bahamas, and no one has been able to track him down. I know that you guys are purposely hiding the information about the au pair. I also know you guys are keeping surveillance on Brian Frank.”

  “Is that all?” Jake was watching me curiously.

  “Isn’t that enough?”

  “I’m just surprised you told me.”

  “I didn’t think it was a big secret,” I admitted.

  “You know more than the other media does, and yet you haven’t printed it. Why?”

  “It’s all conjecture right now,” I said with faux responsibility.

  “Or you don’t want to tip your hand to the other reporters.”

  There was that, too.

  “Why did you bring me in here Jake? I know you don’t want to talk about the case.” There it was.

  “Shelly told me what happened between you two yesterday.”

  “Apparently you can see it on YouTube, too.”

  “I know. Derrick showed it to me when I went to talk to him.”

  “What do you want me to say?” I looked at Jake helplessly.

  “I want you to say that you’re going to stop picking fights with Shelly.” That was rich.

  “I didn’t pick the fight. She did.”

  “She’s insecure around you.”

  “Why?”

  “You know why,” Jake said evasively.

  “How is that my problem?”

  “It’s not,” Jake conceded. “I don’t know how to fix this situation, though. I was hoping you would just lay off.”

  “It’s not my job to fix your relationship.”

  “Of course not. You wouldn’t even try to fix our relationship. Why would you try to help me with someone else,” he shot back bitterly.

  What is that supposed to mean?

  “I don’t know what you want from me Jake. She picked a fight with me. I’m not going to let her run roughshod over me just because she’s sleeping with you. That’s not my job. It’s not my business.”

  “Fine,” Jake said shortly. I could tell he was angry with me, but I was beyond caring at this point. No, really.

  “Anything else?” I raised my eyebrows as I regarded him.

  “No, I guess we’re done here.”

  “I guess we are.” I turned to walk out of his office, but Jake’s voice stilled me.

  “Be careful, Avery.”

  “Of what?”

  “Of everything. Things are going to start happening soon.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “I don’t know it,” Jake countered. “I just feel it.”

  “Well, thanks for the warning.”

  “I don’t want you to get caught in the middle of this if things take a . . .turn.”

  “I’ll take that under advisement,” I said stiffly.

  “There’s something else,” he said.

  “What?”

  “I’m never going to like you dating Kane,” he said.

  “I know that.”

  “He can keep you safe, though,” Jake sighed. “If you feel you’re getting close to something, take him with you.”

  The statement surprised me. “I’ll be fine, Jake.”

  “Good,” he said. “As much as you drive me crazy, I wouldn’t exactly be happy if something happened to you.”

  “You just don’t want to have to tell my mom I’m dead.” I was shooting for levity. The sentence came out as hollow, though.

  “I don’t want you to be dead,” Jake said simply. “You make the world more . . . interesting.”

  “Jake . . . “ I started. I had no idea what I was going to say. It didn’t matter. Jake turned his back on me.

  This whole situation was too much for me to deal with. “Good luck, Jake,” I said finally.

  “You, too.”

  “I don’t need luck,” I scoffed.

  “All you have is luck,” Jake laughed. He still wasn’t looking at me, though. “Luck and an absence of self preservation.”

  I didn’t say goodbye when I left Jake’s office. There was nothing left to say. The goodbye was implied – in a lot of different ways.

  Twenty-Four

  After the press conference at the sheriff’s department, I was fairly keyed up. I didn’t feel like going to the office – especially since I wasn’t sure what angle to take with the story. A third day of nothing new in a row equaled a big old ten inches of nothing in the print product. That wasn’t acceptable to me.

  I still hadn’t heard from Eliot, and I had no idea if he would be able to finagle an interview with the au pair. He was pretty charming when he wanted to be, but if something was going on with the au pair and Brian Frank she was probably trying to keep a low profile.

  I decided, instead, to check out Brian Frank’s dad’s property in Mount Clemens. A cursory search of property records had revealed that his dad owned a machine shop in town – a machine shop that Brian Frank had worked at when he was a teenager. I was hoping some of the workers there would have some insight into Brian Frank’s past. In other wo
rds, I was hoping they would tell me he was a douche who would have no problem killing his wife. What? That would totally make my life easier at this point.

  I drove to the area where the machine shop was supposed to be located. Even though it was close to The Monitor’s office, I had never actually been on the street before. It was an industrial area that was full of different car repair shops and smaller manufacturing plants. There were no coffee shops or decent shopping options in sight.

  When I parked outside of the machine shop, I double-checked my notes to make sure I had the right address. The place looked totally deserted. Once I was sure I had the right address, I exited my car and looked around. The building was open to the front of the street, but there was a fenced in area along the back. The parking lot, which was only big enough to house about ten cars, was completely empty.

  Was this place still in operation?

  I walked over to the front door of the facility. It looked dark, but I couldn’t be sure it was truly empty. I pulled on the handle, but it was securely locked. I tried to peer in through the glass window at the front of the building, but it was too dark to see anything.

  I wandered over to the simple fence on the side of the building. There was no lock on the gate, so I opened it and walked towards the back of the building. Sure, it’s technically trespassing, but there were no signs warning people off – so that’s a gray area in my book.

  As I walked behind the building, I couldn’t help but marvel at how grimy it was behind the facility. It’s not like I expected a machine shop to be clean – but this was just gross.

  The backyard area of the machine shop was pretty desolate. It was completely empty, except for some paint cans propped up by the back door and an industrial dumpster at the back end of the property.

  Since the dumpster was closer, I walked to it first. I lifted the plastic lid and looked inside. It was filled with various discarded metal parts and a handful of plastic garbage bags. I picked up the first garbage bag, pulling open the drawstrings so I could glance inside. I wasn’t expecting to find anything, so I was surprised when I saw a dirty rag inside of it. The rag was stained with various dark liquids – and one surprising red one. It looked like blood.

  I felt my heart start to race a little bit. I tried to calm myself. What were the odds that it was really blood? I figured I was just psyching myself out. It was probably oil or something.