“Hello. Mrs. Wilcox, I presume?”
Madelyn, who was barely five feet tall, held out a small, incredibly soft and manicured hand. She was a tiny woman with flawless sable skin that conveyed no indication of her age. Her eyes were large, slightly almond-shaped, and such a deep brown that from certain angles, they looked midnight black. Her sharp, strong nails caught the edge of my palm on the release of the handshake. She wore a thin smile and avoided all attempts at eye contact, and her small frame gave off a hint of vulnerability as well as a strange air of caution and comfort.
“Thank you for meeting with me, Ms. Price.”
“Of course. We can talk in my office,” Madelyn said.
I followed her through the pastel pink studio into a moderately sized, neat and clean space that had probably served as a washroom at one time. A large desk, free of office trinkets, was in the left-hand corner of the room. Madelyn Price didn’t have any personal items in her office: it was clean and professional, and two red-cloth-covered seats sat adjacent to the desk. Without turning her head, Madelyn caught my curious glance and creased eyebrows.
I could see her eyes flicking around. Intense peripheral vision…A relic of criminal behavior lying just beneath the calmness, or had I been doing this job too long?
“My office is different, I know. I want my students to feel like we are all on the same level, so we sit side by side when they come to talk with me.”
“Interesting. I like that approach,” I said.
“Thank you. I hope it creates a sense of welcome.”
She smiled and sat down, folding her hands on her blue leotard-clad lap.
“Thanks again for meeting with me. I’m interested in what you can tell me about Liza.”
“Yes. I know,” Madelyn answered with the tone and composure of Buddha. I attempted to make eye contact, but she continued to avoid my gaze.
“What do you think happened to Liza?”
“It’s hard to say. She was my student and associate, but I don’t think I have any information about Liza’s murder. I can tell you a little about our connection.”
“Okay. Anything you can tell me would be helpful.”
“We met years ago, when we were both living another type of life.”
“Was she also your best friend?”
Madelyn looked taken aback by the question.
“We were acquainted, and she was my student. I first met her in high school when we were, as I said, living a different type of life.”
Student and acquaintance? That was a little different than being best friends.
“What other type of life were you two living?”
“Drinking, partying…we were reckless, uninhibited. Our boyfriends were friends. There was a time when we bickered over a loser, but you know how teenage “love” is. We only came into contact with one another a few times. After that, we, fell out of contact, and then came across one another years later. We exchanged information and…well, you know how it is. Old acquaintances promise to reconnect and keep in touch. Most of the time that doesn’t happen, but this time it did. We emailed, met for dinner a few times, and became friends. When I opened the studio, I invited her to take classes for free, as I did all my friends. Liza was one of the few that took me up on the offer,” Madelyn said
“Carson told me that you would come over for dinner often, and watched the kids now and then. You and Liza must have been close.”
“I guess we were friends. I still do those things with Carson and the kids, even though Liza is gone.” An absentminded hand smoothed hair that was perfectly sculpted into a bun.
“It sounds like you and Liza were very good, or best friends. She trusted you.”
“Yes, and I trusted her.”
“I’m trying to get a feel for Liza as a person. Anything you know could be helpful.”
Madelyn nodded her head, but remained silent. She wasn’t going to give anything I didn’t pull out of her.
I said, “Carson says that an affair is out of the question.”
“He’s right. There was no affair. Liza loved her family more than anyone I know.”
Edgy voice, troubled face. She had turned in her chair to face me.
“You sound sure,” I said.
“Absolutely.”
“Really? No doubt that there might have been something she didn’t tell you?”
“No—not about that. She was not having an affair.”
There was too much certainty in her voice, and her hands were gripping the sides of the chair. How could she be so sure that Liza wasn’t having an affair? Her small fingers applied enough pressure to lose color. I decided to change the subject.
“Can you walk me through what happened that day you and Liza were supposed to meet for coffee?”
“Sure. Liza called me the night before and asked if we could meet for coffee. Said she had something to talk with me about. No, she didn’t give me any hints, and it was late, so I just agreed to meet. We decided on three the next day, Sunrise Café in Farmington.”
“What was her tone? Did she sound nervous or agitated?”
Madelyn thought for a moment. “I would say she sounded cautious.”
“Any idea why she would need to be cautious?”
“No. Liza was a private person. So am I.”
“What happened the day you two were scheduled to meet?”
“I got to the café around two fortyish. Sent Liza a text telling her I had arrived and was going to grab a table.”
“Did she respond to that text?”
“Not directly. I sat there until three thirty before I ordered a coffee and a croissant. I ate slowly and enjoyed the weather on the patio. At ten past four, I received a text message from Liza that said, ‘Running late, but still coming…’ I continued to wait until five thirty. At that time, I was a little annoyed and decided to leave. After I hopped in the car, I thought, ‘What if something happened?’ I sent Carson a text asking if he’d heard from Liza. I didn’t hear from him for several hours. He’s a surgeon, so I expected as much, but during that time I called Liza twice, and sent a few text messages. When Carson responded telling me that he couldn’t get in touch with her, I called him and explained how she’d stood me up. We were both at a loss.”
“Were you able to leave voice messages when you called Liza?”
“Yeah, but I didn’t. I was confused and angry. Wasn’t sure what to say, but I didn’t want be rude in a message, so I just called and hung up when she didn’t answer.”
“Did you speak to Carson again that night?”
“Yes. He called around two that morning.”
Two o’clock in the morning was within the kill zone. Could the two have collaborated and murdered Liza?
“What did Carson have to say at two in the morning?”
“It sounds strange that he would call me at that hour, right? But who else could he call? Liza’s family is estranged. They would not have been any comfort. I told him that he needed to file a police report the moment he got off work, which he did. He called me from the police station to tell me that the officers were arguing about filing a missing person report before the obligatory twenty-four-hour waiting period. I told him that wasn’t true. He just had to force the issue and the report would be filed.”
Smart lady. There is no law saying that twenty-four hours must pass before a missing person report can be filed. Somehow, that stipulation had slipped into the vernacular of police forces around the country, but it was largely a myth seemingly created in the 1970s, when people were apt to hitchhike, and take off without letting loved ones know where they were going.
“When did you hear about Liza’s murder?”
“That afternoon. Her body was found that morning, not too long after the police finally let Carson file the report. Carson called me around three that afternoon. Identification was easy, and the cops were at Carson’s door soon after the body was discovered.”
“What happened next?”
“I
rushed over to be with Carson and the kids. It was chaotic. His parents were there; so were Liza’s parents. I know all of them, so it was good to be there to lend a hand. I helped with the kids, made tuna casserole, and tried to comfort his parents and in-laws. Later that day, Peter—Liza’s brother—and his family came to the house. The rest is hazy.”
Liza had been killed between midnight and 3:00 a.m. Where had she been between 4:30 p.m. and the time of her death? Liza never cancelled her coffee date with Madelyn, which was interesting. She was either planning on making it and got sidetracked by the killer, or she had plans that overlapped. The last text Liza had sent said that she was running late but still coming, which supported the theory that she had run into her killer that afternoon. If the killer was a lover, perhaps they argued, made up, argued again, and the second time the argument ended in murder. Carson had told me that Madelyn called him at 5:45 p.m. asking if he had heard from Liza. They were originally scheduled to meet at 3:00 p.m. It seemed like a long time to wait for someone to show up.
“Why did you wait so long at the coffee shop?”
“Liza was always late. Whenever we were meeting, I knew to bring something to keep me busy while I waited for her to arrive. That time, I took my books from the studio. I was reviewing payments for my online subscriptions and payouts to my assistant teachers. The time flew by.”
“Any idea why Liza wanted to meet at Sunrise Café?”
“We meet there often…Good coffee and friendly faces, and it’s just a nice, quaint area. We started meeting there when she lived with her parents in Livonia. Back then, we would walk around downtown Farmington—solve all the world’s problems.”
“So, this particular coffee shop holds a special place in your hearts: would that be fair to say?”
Madelyn thought for a moment.
“You could say that, but we were just meeting for coffee. It isn’t inherently a special place. It is nice that they know us there…Kind of makes meeting for coffee even more inviting.”
“When was the last time you received communication from Liza?”
“There was a text message at twenty past four. After that, nothing.”
The murder file hadn’t explained the gap between the time they were supposed to be meeting and the inquiry from Madelyn. Liza had sent Madelyn a text message just before 4:30. That was the last time anyone had heard from Liza. Carson and Madelyn both called and sent text messages to her phone throughout the evening. When Liza was not home by the time Amelia’s shift was over at 6:00 p.m., Carson begged the housekeeper to stay with the children until Liza got home. At 6:00 that morning, after Carson’s shift was over, he headed straight for the police department to file a missing person report.
“So, how’d you get into yoga?” I asked.
“Remember the other type of lifestyle I mentioned? Well, yoga helped me relax when I was changing my life.”
“I understand. Got into it myself after my husband died. It was very helpful.”
“Yoga is great for many things. I began about fifteen years ago. Got tired of cardio—wanted something that I would get more out of.” Madelyn paused and then said, “I am sorry about your husband. Carson told me that was why he chose you.”
I was surprised by the comment but managed to maintain a poker face. Carson Stark had done research on me, that I knew. It was strange that he’d conducted research about my dead husband, but it was even stranger that he’d told Madelyn about me. The fact that she was bringing it up felt odd as well—like she was trying to throw me off the scent. But what scent did she think I’d picked up? I pondered the point while she chatted away.
“He said you had all the right credentials; you also know what it’s like to lose a spouse. You’re a woman, so you would respect his need to know what happened, even though the leads are nonexistent. And you are a chameleon.”
“A chameleon?” I’d been called a lot of things in my day, but never a chameleon.
“You’re from Detroit. You're black, but you are your own person. You don’t fit into the stereotypes put forth for what some would call ‘us’.”
Madelyn had taken my decision to change the subject and turned it against me. Her eyes were minuscule, haunting slits of darkness. I wasn’t entirely comfortable with her, but she had something to tell me and I needed to find out what it was.
“What about you, Madelyn? You aren’t a stereotype either. Tell me a little bit about yourself. I want to get a feel for the person that Liza Stark called her best friend.”
“Born in Detroit, Michigan; left the city when I was eighteen, and rarely return. I moved to New Orleans for a brief period, but missed living in Michigan. I attended U of M and have a master’s in counseling. I teach yoga and do therapy on the weekends. I don’t drink, smoke, or eat red meat. I say my prayers to Buddha, Jesus, Allah, and anyone else up there that should happen to listen. Don’t own a television…”
“That’s it, eh? Where did you live in Detroit?”
“Westside.”
“Oh yeah? What neighborhood?”
There was a long pause before she said, “I don’t see how that matters.”
Standoffish. Irritated by the question.
“Just curious. I grew up around Schoolcraft and Livernois.”
“I grew up on the west side of the city.”
Extremely vague. It was clear that this was not something Madelyn wanted to discuss.
“Well, what can you tell me about Liza? What was she like?”
“Kind, caring and giving: all the things women want to be, but rarely are. She had found a way to be those things.”
“Interesting. And how did she manage to do that?”
Madelyn smiled and shook her head. “Detective, if that answer was easy to come by, I’d be a millionaire.”
My interview was starting to go places I didn’t want it to go. Madelyn Price was an enigma, one of those people who had a riddle or philosophical conjecture for every question.
“Where did you meet Liza?”
“We met through a chance encounter in the city, close to my high school.”
“Where did you go to high school?”
“Why?”
“Just curious…I grew up in Detroit too.”
Madelyn hesitated. I saw a crease in her jaw. The past wasn’t something she was comfortable with.
“Redford,” she said after some hesitation.
Redford High School was closed now, but it had been located a few miles away from where Liza’s body was found. Madelyn knew I would pick up on that and start to wonder if she was familiar with the area. Even so, the hesitation had been obvious.
“Where did you live?”
“Around Telegraph.”
Another vague response, but not so vague that it would be strange. But because Liza Stark’s body was found a few blocks from Telegraph, it was strange.
“I know that area well,” I said. “‘Poor Brightmoor’, we used to call it. Had some friends who lived there when I was a kid. It was also the beat I worked as a cop. What street did you live on?”
Madelyn took a quick glance at her hands before answering, “Dolphin Street.”
I hadn’t been to Brightmoor in quite some time, but I remembered the area well. I’d been placed in the 8th Precinct fresh out of the police academy, and quickly learned that Brightmoor was a great place to disappear or die. Children were expected to fall prey to drugs, pregnancy, or death, so no one was watching for wayward youth. Sex and drugs flowed freely through those blood-drenched streets, and women like Madelyn rarely emerged from that part of town. Graduating high school was virtually unheard of, and finishing college was a miracle. Seemed like an odd place for someone like Madelyn to grow up.
“When did you move from Dolphin Street?”
“Mid-nineties.”
“Where did you move after that?”
“Louisiana.”
“Nice. I love it there. How long did you live there?”
“A few years. Then I tr
ansferred to the U and moved to Ann Arbor.”
“Ann Arbor is a great place to live. Do you ever go back to New Orleans to visit?”
“Sometimes…Not as often as I would like, but a few times every year.”
“I spent some time in New Orleans after I graduated from college—great place to visit,” I said.
Madelyn nodded. The interview was starting to wane. I decided to ask a few more questions and wrap things up.
“Liza was into yoga, but she pretty much seemed like a soccer mom in practice. Homemaker, red meat eater, Northville Township address…seems like her life was much different from yours. What was the connection?”
Madelyn pondered the question for a moment and smiled. It was the first time her lips had curled into condescendence.
“It just so happens that different people who live different lifestyles can be friends, Mrs. Wilcox. How long were you married?
It was an odd question to tack onto the end of her statement. I hesitated before responding.
“Not long enough.” The struggle to keep the pain out of my voice failed.
“Ah. For that I am very sorry, Mrs. Wilcox.” This time she was sincere and concerned—the counselor in her coming out.
“I met Derek when I was five. We married in our mid-twenties and Derek died a few months after his thirty-fourth birthday.”
“Your one true love…”
“Correct.”
An awkward pause hung in the air. My thoughts drifted away from the interview.
“I have a class in ten minutes; I must prepare,” she said, pulling a business card off the desk.
“Thanks for your time,” I said.
“I know I haven’t been terribly helpful, but if you need to speak to me again, feel free to call or email.”
Madelyn stood up and handed me the card. She was so small, but there was a certain sense of power emitting from her. I couldn’t put my finger on what it was.
“Thank you again, Madelyn.” I shook her tiny hand and smiled, catching a nervous smirk on her lips before I turned to leave.
“I hope you find out what happened to Liza. She was a good person and Carson deserves to know,” Madelyn said as I headed for the front door. I noticed that her warm, calm tone had returned.
Who She Was Page 7
