“Involved in what? Liza’s murder? Mrs. Wilcox, Maddie is a great gal. She would never do anything stupid like that.”
A man who looked like the Ken doll for an aging Barbie, a.k.a. Mrs. Abernathy, stepped into the foyer. He wore a pale green polo with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and a pair of khaki Dockers. A neat crease ran down each leg of his pants. Liza had inherited his ability to look almost perfect. Something was missing, but just like his daughter, he was still very attractive. I took note of his sad aqua eyes, leathery, artificially sun-kissed skin, and two thin slits where lips should have been. He smiled and greeted me with a friendly, but meek wave before taking a seat next to his wife.
“Mrs. Wilcox, I apologize for not joining you sooner. It’s hard…but I want to thank you for investigating Liza’s murder. We do miss her terribly, but I don’t know how much we can help you,” Mr. Abernathy said.
“Well, whatever you can tell me will be helpful.”
“Liza kept secrets from us. I’m sure the same was true for her marriage.”
“I don’t like you saying that, Ralph,” Mrs. Abernathy said in a sharp tone.
“Honey, it’s the truth. You know—”
“I won’t have you throwing our daughter under the bus. Yes, she had issues, but Carson killed her, and you know it!”
Mrs. Abernathy bounced off the couch in a fit of anger and stared down at her husband. She had gone from zero to one hundred in no time.
“I just want to tell Mrs. Wilcox the truth. We didn’t know Liza that well.”
“She was murdered! It wouldn’t have mattered if we knew her inside and out—we couldn’t have stopped that. Why can’t you accept that?”
Mr. Abernathy sighed and glanced in my direction, pleading with his eyes.
“Mrs. Abernathy, would you mind telling me what Liza was like? It would help me to get a feel for who she was,” I said, attempting to get Mrs. Abernathy to calm down.
Liza’s mother cast a dark stare my way before composing herself and taking a seat. Ralph Abernathy laid his hand on her knee and began to speak.
“Liza was always a bit of trouble. Peter was angry at times, but he was usually an okay kid…easy to deal with most of the time. Initially, I thought it was because she was a girl, and I never had any sisters, but over time, it became clear that gender was the least of the issues.”
“Were you in touch with Liza when she lived in Detroit?”
The Abernathys looked at one another, eyes wide with shock.
“Um, Liza lived in Detroit for a while…We lost contact with her for a few years. It was her choice. She wanted to be with her boyfriend more than she wanted to be with us, so we just let her be,” Mr. Abernathy said.
Liza had been sixteen years old when she lived in Brightmoor. The most likely way for her to get to Brightmoor was by being a runaway. It was sad to hear how nonchalant the Abernathys were about their daughter.
“Was she reported missing?”
Mr. Abernathy sighed. “Well, we reported her missing the first couple of times she ran away. After that, Mother and I decided that we shouldn’t do that.”
Strange. Runaways aren’t found if they aren’t reported missing.
“May I ask why you didn’t continue to report her missing?”
“You have no right to judge us. We didn’t want her in the system! Doesn’t that make sense?”
I wasn’t comfortable with the way this interview was going, but I had to forge ahead, even if Mrs. Abernathy kept behaving like a madwoman.
“I understand that this must be difficult, but it is important for me to find out if there was something in Liza’s past that led to her murder. Since she was murdered in Brightmoor and she once lived there, something that occurred in the past might be relevant.”
“Well, I seriously doubt it. I mean, wouldn’t she have been killed back then?”
“Not necessarily. Sometimes people hold grudges for a long time. They wait for the right moment to strike.”
“No. We didn’t report her missing. We had our reasons,” Mr. Abernathy said in the same soft, quiet voice he’d used on the answering service.
Most teenagers wanted to do things that their parents disagreed with, but the children weren’t allowed to just have their way. Why wouldn’t two seemingly upstanding citizens file a report when their daughter ran away to a dangerous, drug-infested neighborhood?
“Mrs. Wilcox, Liza was murdered long after her teenage years. I don’t think the past matters as much as you think.” Mary Abernathy continued to fume in the background as her husband spoke in a calm, quiet voice.
“Mr. Abernathy,” I said, making a point of focusing on Liza’s father and ignoring her mother’s pouty face. “I believe that Liza’s murder had something to do with her past. By all accounts, she was living a good life, and there aren’t any clues that point to infidelity or wrongdoing on her part, so I want to know if someone from the past came back for some type of revenge.”
“Really? Very interesting, Mrs. Wilcox. Now I understand the line of questioning.”
“That doesn’t make any sense. The cops would have investigated her past if there were clues pointing that way. She was a cheater who got caught, and Carson lost it. You know he has a lot of guns, don’t you?” Mrs. Abernathy asked.
There were more questions to ask, but I thought that Mrs. Abernathy might blow. Detective Cole had warned me about how uncooperative the family could be, but he’d also suggested talking to the sister-in-law. That might be delicate, since Peter and his wife had just gotten divorced, but the ex-wife couldn’t be as angry as Liza’s mother. I decided to test the waters.
“Mr. and Mrs. Abernathy, I’d like to know more about the rest of the family. What can you tell me about Abigail, Peter’s ex-wife?”
“Nice girl. It’s sad that they didn’t hang in there,” Mr. Abernathy said, a sorrowful look coming over his face.
“She’s okay, but she is a quitter,” Mrs. Abernathy added.
“Was she close with Liza?”
“They got along well…better than Liza and Peter. We’ll miss having Abigail in the family,” Mr. Abernathy said. He gave his wife a stern look before continuing. “Liza had some problems, but in all honesty, she had the perfect people in her life. Carson was good for her; so was Abigail.”
“Peter and Liza weren’t close?”
“Not at all. They were always competing…Peter more so than Liza. She wasn’t really up for a battle, but Peter was always striving to prove himself, don’t you think so?” Mr. Abernathy turned to his wife, casting her an interrogative look. She turned away from him and let the question go unanswered.
“Did Liza have cousins or close friends who may have more information to share?”
“Not really. We kept our family unit close. It was really just us and the kids. The extended family is spread out around the country, so there weren’t any cousins to spend time with.”
“Friends?”
“Madelyn Price,” Mrs. Abernathy said.
“Can you think of any reason why Liza would have been in Brightmoor?”
Mr. Abernathy shook his head slowly before closing his eyes. His wife remained silent. A distant sadness had slipped onto her face.
“Is there anything else you can think of that might help us find out who killed Liza?”
“No,” they both responded.
“Okay. I just have a few more questions. I’m wondering if you kept in touch with your daughter while she lived in New Orleans.”
“What?” Mrs. Abernathy said, her voice increasing in volume. Oh no, here we go, I thought.
“Excuse me?” Mr. Abernathy looked angry.
“In 1999, Liza was living in New Orleans. She moved there for a short time. Did you have contact with her?”
“What are you talking about? She lived her whole life here in Michigan.”
“It appears that she lived in New Orleans for a short time.”
“Mrs. Wilcox, I don’t think we have much t
o say about this. Liza is gone, and while I respect Carson’s desire to know who murdered our daughter—I mean, we want that too—but it has been almost two years since her murder. We’re just starting to heal. We don’t have anything to add that we didn’t tell the officers when it happened,” Mr. Abernathy said. His voice was shaking.
After his speech, both of the Abernathys sat in silence, staring at the floor. Their blank faces looked genuine. I felt terrible for taking them down this painful stretch of memory lane. The thick, heavy stillness in the room seemed to go on forever. When the Abernathys simultaneously raised their heads, and looked at one another for an extended amount of time, I knew I’d done enough damage for one day.
“Mr. and Mrs. Abernathy, thank you for your time. You have been a great help. I will be in touch.” I eased off the couch, shook both of their limp hands, and saw myself out.
***
Martin was at the office when I arrived, tapping away on his computer.
“How’d the meeting with Liza’s parents go?”
“Not that great. It was very sad to see how little the Abernathys knew about their daughter. They had no idea she lived in New Orleans.”
“Really? Man…This lady had secrets.”
“You’ve got that right. I—”
Before I could tell Martin about the rest of the meeting with Liza’s parents, the phone rang, interrupting our conversation. He answered the phone, but couldn’t get a word out. Apparently, the person on the other end was in a hurry.
“Um…sure,” he said, holding the phone out to me.
“Hello, this is—”
“Mrs. Wilcox. Can you meet me in about twenty minutes?”
It was Peter Abernathy. He sounded nervous and rushed.
“Yes. I’m in Ypsi. Name the place and time.”
“You know that little coffee place right across the street from Liv’s Diner? Christ, I can’t remember the name.”
“No worries. I know it well. See you in twenty.”
I hung up and grabbed my laptop and notepad. “Peter Abernathy wants to meet.”
“Wow. He sounded like it was urgent.”
“I’ll be back later. Keep me posted on any info you come across.”
Amour is a coffee shop located in the back of a tiny storefront. It’s a dark, drafty place lined with old board games and jigsaw puzzles. I hadn’t been there for some time, but during graduate school, I had spent many late nights studying in the back corner. I arrived twenty-five minutes after the phone call from Peter.
None of the tables or chairs in Amour matched, and there were several dingy couches in the corners. Peter was standing at the counter. We shook hands and ordered our drinks. Peter went with a white chocolate mocha with extra whipped cream; I ordered a large black coffee. We headed to a dirty yellow couch.
Peter said, “Sorry ’bout the other day. It’s been hard. I feel bad about Liza, but I got my own shit going on, ya know?”
I nodded sympathetically and waited for more. Peter took a sip of his drink, sighed, and started up again.
“I don’t think this has anything to do with anything, and my parents like to pretend it didn’t happen, but Liza used to live in that neighborhood. It’s old stuff, but it’s weird that she was found dead in that area.”
“Really?” I said, pretending like it was the first time I’d heard this information. “It is strange that she lived there and was found murdered in that neighborhood. Please tell me more.”
Peter’s face was turning red. I could tell that he was about to reveal costly secrets.
“I appreciate you reaching out to me. I’m not here to judge you or your family. My only goal is to find out who killed your sister. Her children and husband deserve the truth, but Liza also deserves justice. We shouldn’t just let someone take her life and get away with it.”
Peter nodded and folded his hands on the table. He sighed, paused for a minute, and then began with a slow, barely audible cadence.
“It might be hard to find the official address for her. She had…an arrangement that kept it kind of secret that she lived there. There is something else. Mom and Dad said it wouldn’t be relevant—they don’t want to ruin her name, you know? People already think she was having an affair with some black dude, and this would just intensify that theory. I mean, this was a long time ago, and there’s no way this would play any part, but I think it might be good for you to know it. Liza lived in Detroit for a while and she didn’t live alone. There was this guy who lived with her. He was one of those dudes with the long braids, saggy pants, fucked-up family, and all that to boot. I’m sure he was a drug dealer, probably a gangbanger, and just one of those overall bad people. I can’t remember his name, but I know that he originally lived somewhere else on the street.”
“They lived on Dolphin Street? What else can you tell me about this guy? You saw him, I assume?”
“A few times. He was very nervous about coming to Livonia. Liza was dumb enough to bring him home for Christmas dinner one year…Idiot.”
“So, how tall was this guy?” I asked, trying to steer Peter Abernathy out of the realm of sibling hatred.
“He must have been about six feet…maybe a little more. I don’t know about weight, but he was smaller than I was, so I would say slim build. He had a full beard, and a great deal of hair—had it puffed out in a huge afro the time Liza brought him for dinner. She really thought he was the cat’s pajamas. To me he was a-"
“Okay,” I interrupted. “Tell me anything else you remember from that time about Liza, or her boyfriend.”
Peter ran a shaky hand through his hair. He was still withdrawing from the alcohol, I presumed, but to his credit, there hadn’t been any cigarette-smoking during this meeting.
“The guy always had a red bandana in his back pocket or tied around his head. I’m thinking he was a gang member, or wanted to be one.”
A Blood? I felt my adrenaline rising. If Liza had gotten mixed up in gangs at one time, she probably had other skeletons just waiting to fall out of the closet. The good news was that Detroit had a strange gang structure that discouraged thugs from other states from connecting with them. This unique gang structure was inspired by Detroit’s strong tendency to have neighborhoods separated by ethnic group, religion, and race. Gang colors are less important because you are your flag: skin color, religious garb, or last name defined a person. If there was some type of gang connection to this case, it would be easy to rule out people from out of town. Detroit has a special way of killing its own.
“So, he had a red bandana. Okay. That’s good. Anything else you remember?”
“They had a messy break-up. Mom and Dad were worried. I guess he got a little…physical with her. The summer they broke up—I think Liza was nineteen—my parents sent her to the UP.”
The Upper Peninsula is pretty far away from Livonia. If Liza agreed to go that far away, I would suspect that things had gotten very physical at some point.
“I think she filed charges against him…There might be a police record of that.”
A police record would bear a name, but I was willing to bet the perp was Demario Masters.
“This is very helpful. Anything else you can remember?”
Peter sighed and dug into his pocket.
“I had to smuggle these out of the house. Don’t know if Mom and Dad know these exist, but I remember Liza storing them in the garage. Please don’t tell them that I gave them to you. Just make up something, okay?”
I nodded, picked up the envelope, and thanked Peter for his time. I gave him my business card and left. On the way back to the car, I peeked inside the envelope. My jaw dropped as I stared at Liza, wearing a red bandana, her fingers curved into a gang sign. A tall, thin, light-brown man stood next to her holding a baby. “Folks down,” I said, recalling the gang lingo I’d heard screamed through the streets of Brightmoor when I was a cop. Liza was in a gang? It seemed unlikely, but there she was in a red bandana, and with a man who clearly, based on his abun
dance of red, was in a Bloods based gang, or pretending to be a gangbanger. Either way, it was shocking to see Liza mean mugging the camera. “Omigosh, what did this girl get herself into?” I muttered before sticking the photograph back into the envelope.
Gang involvement, even if it was just for show, opened a whole new can of worms. What if Liza had done something years ago and a gang member had found her and exacted retribution? What if Liza was had remained affiliated with the gang all these years? That might explain why she was in Brightmoor, but that theory seemed so outlandish. Mother of two, wife of a doctor, gangbanger on the side? Not a likely scenario, but then again, I hadn’t expected Liza to have any type of association with gangs.
“Who the hell were you?” I wondered aloud.
I climbed into the car and pondered this new information about Liza. Secret lives—a lot of us have them, and every now and then a demon we thought was dead and gone comes back to haunt us. If Liza had an abusive ex-boyfriend, there was a chance that he had come back to kill her, especially if she had pressed charges against him. Of course, a great deal of time had elapsed since that relationship, but abusive men rarely change. Now, I just needed to confirm his identity.
While cruising to the freeway, I considered the fact that the case might get dangerous. Martin was a great assistant, but now that gangs might be involved, I didn’t feel comfortable using him to gather information. I had dealt with the gangs in the Brightmoor area: they’re not to be played with. The ruthless nature of the young men and women in those gangs is incomparable to that of gangs in other areas. I would have to deal with this case without Martin, but I couldn’t handle it on my own. I needed help, but it couldn’t be from a civilian.
***
“Charles, I need a favor.” I’d stopped by the 8th Precinct on my way back to the office. This time, Charles was in and available. I would have to get an update on the gang situation in Brightmoor.
Charles was five foot seven and 180 pounds. He had smooth, coffee-black skin and was built like a mini tank, but he was gentle enough when he was out of uniform. He took my hand in his and shook it with vigor.
“What? Now, remember, Sylvia, you chose to go back to being a civilian. You could still have access to all these remarkable law enforcement tools…”
Who She Was Page 11
