Grosse Pointe Pulp

by Dan Ames

  Talk about your dual income.

  Without a moment’s hesitation I pulled right into the big driveway, thankful there was no gate.

  I parked, and walked up to the massive set of front doors. I rang the bell and waited.

  A young woman opened the door.

  “Hello, my name is John Rockne and I would love to talk to Michael Vaughn, Claire Vaughn, or both of them if they’re available.”

  She gave me an odd look then said, “Wait just a minute, please.”

  She shut the door and I was sure it automatically locked.

  A full five minutes passed before the man in the photo opened the door. He was huge. At least 6’5” with broad shoulders and a massive head of silver hair.

  Put a cowboy hat on his head and the bastard looked like John Wayne.

  He stared at me and I could see an almost bemused expression on his face. But there was something else.

  I decided it was fatigue.

  Michael Vaughn looked very, very tired.

  “What can I do for you?” he said.

  “Answer some questions about the disappearance of Kierra Cotton,” I answered.

  There was no way in hell he was going to let me into the house. I knew it with every fiber of my being. All of my years as a private investigator helped me to prepare for either a punch or an outright attack. He was going to tell me to get my ass off his property. I knew it. One hundred percent sure.

  And then he almost smiled.

  “Come in, Mr. Rockne,” he said. His voice was deep and powerful. Not a man to be trifled with.

  He walked me through the palatial foyer into a sitting room that looked casual but was adorned with several oil paintings that were clearly old and expensive. I recognized the woman sitting on the white couch to be Claire Vaughn.

  “Hello,” I said, not sure if I should call her the Judge, Mrs. Vaughn, or Your Honor. So I just skipped it.

  Michael Vaughn sat next to her and he gestured toward a chair across from them. I sat, and realized I was about to address a high-powered attorney and a judge all at once.

  “I’m investigating the disappearance of a young woman named Kierra Cotton,” I said.

  “What does that have to do with us?” the woman snapped. Her face was rigid and she had red hair piled high on her head. And she had crazy eyes. I would not want to be seated across from her in a court.

  On the contrary, Michael Vaughn looked totally relaxed.

  It occurred to me that not only would I have to be really careful with what I said, but that it probably didn’t matter because if they wanted to they could probably get me locked up and then hauled in front of her.

  “Mr. Vaughn, does the name ring a bell?”

  “No,” he said. But he had a twinkle in his eye.

  Why was he enjoying this? I wondered.

  “I’d like to show you a photo if I could,” I began.

  “Mr. Rockne, you are on dangerous ground here,” Judge Vaughn said, in a voice that I was sure she used to intimidate lawyers and their clients. “If you so much as breathe a word that would constitute defamation of character or slander, we will sue you and you will lose everything you have.”

  The ferocity of her words took me back, but only slightly.

  “So do you want to see the photograph or not?”

  “I want to know exactly why you’re here,” Michael Vaughn interjected. “Why you think this girl’s disappearance has anything to do with me?” he said.

  I understood that’s why he let me inside. He only wanted to know what I knew. That was fine with me.

  So I used my words carefully, but I really figured it wouldn’t matter. But I did know enough about the law to use certain words.

  “There is a possibility that you were at the same auto convention as Kierra, and then also at the same party at the mayor’s mansion as Kierra,” I said. “Since those were the last two places she was seen before her disappearance, and I have a photograph that clearly shows you standing very close to her, I thought you might be able to provide some additional information.”

  “Julie!” Claire Vaughn called out abruptly, getting to her feet. The young woman who answered the door appeared immediately in the doorway, her face obviously frightened.

  “See this man out, now,” the Judge said.

  We sat there in silence. I looked at Michael Vaughn and he seemed to be looking over the top of my head to somewhere in the distance.

  Julie, the woman who had let me in, hurried into the room. She looked at me, panic on her face.

  I got to my feet and nobody said a word. I took out my business card and placed it on a table that held a Tiffany lamp. Original, I was sure.

  “Here’s my card if you think of anything.”

  Nobody answered as I was escorted out of the house.

  36

  “Yo, Chief,” I said, dropping into a chair across from the Chief of Police in Grosse Pointe.

  My sister Ellen looked at me.

  “Sorry, I’m not looking to hire a personal assistant,” she said. “Besides, I don’t think you’re qualified.”

  This is how things work in the Rockne family.

  “My hazmat suit is at the cleaners anyway,” I said. “So I wouldn’t be available to start.”

  She sighed and looked over my shoulder as a couple of Grosse Pointe cops walked by.

  “What can I do for you, sir?” she said, her snark in full effect.

  I filled her in regarding what I’d learned about Kierra Cotton and my meeting with the Vaughns.

  “I’ve heard of them,” she said. “Or I should say her. A few cops have gone up before her. They say she’s tough but unpredictable.”

  “I’m surprised you two aren’t friends,” I pointed out.

  “Seriously, do you need something?” she said. “I’ve got work to do and the taxpayers are always watching. If you paid taxes, you would know what I mean.”

  “Clay Hitchfield,” I said.

  “Who?”

  “Clay Hitchfield. He was one of Judge Vaughn’s cases and he got off with a fairly light sentence.”

  “So?”

  “Well, I had to run up to Birmingham to interview a possible lead in the case and I had this weird feeling I was being followed,” I said. “And then when I read about this guy, I got to thinking that maybe I had seen him on that trip. Like maybe he’d been following me. And if so, I was wondering if he had anything to do with my case.”

  Ellen sighed again and leaned forward and tapped on her computer.

  She waited a bit and then nodded.

  “Yeah, he’s not exactly an upstanding citizen,” she said. “Multiple arrests that go way back. Grand theft. Assault. Burglary. More assaults. Possession.”

  I watched her scroll down the list and then her brow furrowed.

  “Does seem like he got off pretty easy for the last thing,” she said. “Aggravated assault.”

  “Any address for him?”

  She shook her head. “You could try his parole officer but I doubt they’d give it up to a private investigator, or whatever it is you’re calling yourself these days.”

  This was true. The part about parole officers not giving out addresses like candy. I had a few ways to get that kind of information, though.

  While I was pleased I had connected a couple more dots, now I was really afraid for Kierra. If the Vaughns had decided to get rid of her, they had the perfect guy for the job.

  I got to my feet. “Thank you for your help, Chief. I’ll be sure to let the city know they’re in good hands.”

  “If you’re messing around with Clay Hitchfield I hope you’re being careful,” she said. “I’d say that I hope you’re being smart but we both know that’s not an option for you.”

  Letting Ellen get the last word was my idea of charity. My good deed for the day. Because amongst the smart aleck stuff, I could have sworn that she told me to be careful. I was downright touched.

  Almost.

  37

&nb
sp; In the parking lot outside the police station, I got behind the wheel of the minivan but didn’t turn the ignition.

  Various scenarios were going through my mind.

  What was Michael Vaughn doing with Kierra? Had he set something up with her for Mayor Horny Mahorny? Was she one of the mayor’s girls and Vaughn was basically a pimp? But if she had a pimp, then why did she need an escort service?

  It didn’t make sense.

  And would the husband of a judge really be working on the side as a pimp? That was ridiculous. The Vaughn estate was worth millions and it was highly unlikely they needed any extra money.

  Nix.

  What about Nix?

  He, too, had most likely been at both events. But he hadn’t been pictured with Kierra. Was Nix a pimp? Was he the one who had arranged for Kierra to be at the auto convention and the mayor’s party?

  Was Vaughn one of Nix’s clients? And Nix was the one running Kierra? Did Kierra’s gender have anything to do with her disappearance?

  It felt like there was something else I was missing. Something that brushed up against a couple of other ideas but that resisted being formed into a complete thought. It was frustrating.

  I turned the key and started the engine, put the van in gear and pulled back out onto Jefferson. Home was only about a forty-second drive from the police station and when I was halfway there my phone rang.

  The caller ID told me it was Lace.

  Now that was a surprise.

  “Hello?” I said.

  “John?” she asked. I had a strange moment of hesitation where I was wondering if she got me confused with one of her johns, as opposed to actually remembering my first name.

  “Lace?” I answered.

  This time, she hesitated. “This is Rockne, the private investigator, right?” she said. She sounded sober, which was good. And her voice was totally different. Not the breathless words of someone stoned out of their mind.

  “Yeah, what’s up?” I asked.

  I turned onto my street.

  “Um, well I think I just got a message from Jade,” she said. “You know, Kierra.”

  Holy shit.

  I pulled into the driveway, parked and shut off the car.

  “What did the message say?”

  “That she was fine. And not to worry.”

  Could I believe her? She seemed sober and in her own garbled way, she had tried to tell me about Grandmaster D.

  “Was it a voice message?” I asked. “Or a text?”

  “It was a text,” she said. “That’s why I’m not so sure.”

  Hmm. I thought about that. Hope flared up as I asked the next question.

  “So you have the number, then, right?”

  “Yeah, that’s what’s kind of weird, too,” she said.

  I had gotten out of the car and was about to unlock the back door to the house. I was already thinking of the notepad and pen Anna always kept in the little drawer by the part of the kitchen countertop we used as a desk.

  “What?” I said.

  “It’s a California area code,” she said.

  California? Was she there? Or was she using a cell phone belonging to someone from out there?

  “Okay, why don’t you forward the message to me and I’ll check it out,” I said.

  I opened the door and stepped inside.

  Lace ended the call so she could send me the text and I called out to see if Anna was home or if she was still at school picking up the kids.

  The message from Lace popped onto my phone and I saw the number for myself.

  “California,” I said. “Who would have thought–”

  A shock of pain erupted at the back of my neck and a bright flash of light exploded across my vision. I took a step forward and then felt myself falling. There was a loud noise and the last thing I remembered was the idea that it was probably the sound of my head hitting the floor.

  38

  I smelled coffee.

  Felt water on my face and opened my eyes.

  Clay Hitchfield stood before me, our glass coffee pot in his hand. I realized it wasn’t water on my face, but leftover coffee that he’d poured on me.

  “They say coffee helps you wake up,” Hitchfield said and he laughed. His teeth were horrible and crooked, his skinny arms covered with tattoos and in his other hand was a gun.

  He swung the coffee pot and hit me on the side of the face.

  It hurt a little, but I still felt kind of numb and my neck wouldn’t move.

  I knew this, because I wanted to see the kitchen clock, above the sink.

  How long had I been out?

  Whatever was causing my neck to freeze suddenly unstuck and I caught a quick glimpse of the clock. Anna would be getting home any minute, unless she had stopped to chat with the other Moms. Sometimes she did that. I prayed that’s what she was doing now.

  I struggled to move, but realized my hands were taped, too.

  He threw the coffee pot across the kitchen and it landed in the sink where it shattered.

  I had to get this bastard out of here.

  With his other hand, he grabbed my cell phone off the kitchen counter.

  “What’s this message mean?” he said. “I’m fine. Don’t worry. And then a phone number.”

  He used a singsongy voice to imitate the message. Like it was a bratty teenager who had left the text.

  “It’s from Jade, she’s back in town,” I said. “I’m supposed to meet her but if I’m not there in ten minutes, she’s going to disappear again.”

  He squinted his beady little eyes at me.

  “You can’t bullshit me,” he said. “Others have tried. All have failed.”

  He walked over and opened the door to the fridge, pulled out a plastic dish full of chicken tenders and started eating them. Hitchfield tore at the chicken with an animal savagery.

  “Fuck I’m hungry. I love chicken nuggets,” he said. “Your nice lookin’ bitch make these? Where the hell is she at?” he said. He licked his lips.

  “She’s at her parents with the kids, they’re having dinner there and sleeping over.”

  He laughed. “I think you’re full of shit. I liked the look of her and I haven’t had a clean woman in awhile.”

  Hitchfield looked at my phone, still in his hand.

  “So where are you supposedly meeting her?” he asked. He threw the rest of the chicken across kitchen into the sink.

  I thought as fast as I could seeing how my skull felt like it was wrapped too tight around my brain. Like it was going to explode. A sharp pain kept pulsating between my eyes. It made me squint.

  “I’m supposed to go to a bar where she’s going to call me and where she can watch me,” I said. I tried to make my voice sound as assured as possible. “If there aren’t any cops around then she’s going to talk to me. But I have to be there in less than five minutes. ”

  Hitchfield used his fingers to pick pieces of chicken from between his teeth. He licked his lips again and looked around the kitchen. His beady eyes bore down on me and he smiled. With those messed up chompers, though, it looked more like a ghastly grimace.

  He made his decision and put my phone into his pocket, grabbed my arm and hoisted me to my feet.

  “If you’re lying, I’m going to blow your brains out,” he said. “And then I’m going to come right back here and fuck your wife’s brains out.”

  39

  It was hard to believe in broad daylight I was being led out to the sidewalk and marched down the street with my hands bound.

  But Hitchfield had put a kitchen towel over my hands to hide the tape. I knew it looked strange but I had my doubts if it looked weird enough for someone to call the cops. Hitchfield was a weird-looking guy, though. I wondered if my nosy neighbor Mrs. Ratcliffe might be watching out her window. Maybe she’d turn off Wheel of Fortune or whatever the hell she watched all day and call the damn cops. Call my sister, Ellen.

  Even as I imagined the scenario I knew it wouldn’t happen.

&nb
sp; Hitchfield prodded me forward and when we crossed the next street I saw his vehicle. And as soon as the big Ram truck came into view, I knew where I’d seen him. In Birmingham. I’d spotted that truck twice and must have seen his face. And then I had a quick flashback to when I’d staked out the trap house looking for AJ.

  Oh my God, AJ.

  I suddenly realized why no one had heard from him in a few days.

  Goddamnit. I should have listened to my instincts.

  I thought of all the times I complained about how everyone in Grosse Pointe loved to get into everyone else’s business, but right now, I wished to God someone would see that I was walking awkwardly down the street with a guy who looked like he just walked out of prison.

  Nope, it wasn’t gonna happen.

  But God help it if I put the yard waste out a day early and Anna’s phone would be ringing off the hook by crotchety old folks saying they’d call the city if I didn’t bring the garbage cans back. Code violation!

  Hitchfield walked me to the passenger side of the big truck, opened the door and pushed me inside.

  “Make a move and I’ll shoot you right now,” he said.

  He walked around the front of the truck, keeping his eyes on me the whole time and then got behind the wheel. He slammed his door shut and locked both of our doors.

  “Where we going?” he said. “And let me remind you. If this is all bullshit I’m going to put a bullet in your brain and come right back to your house and head straight into your wife’s britches.

  Britches?

  “Cadieux Café,” I said, a plan coming together in my mind. Not much of one. But it was all I could muster. “Turn right up here, then left on Cadieux. It’s only about six blocks away.”

  “Thought you said you were meeting her at a bar.” His beady eyes focused on me. It was his attempt at intimidation. I didn’t have the heart to tell him that it wasn’t working because I was beyond that point.