“Yeah, but I have a lifelong friend who is a cop, and he knows that we are both fighting for truth and justice, so he’s going to hook me up.” We shared a laugh.
“Okay, what do you need?”
“You aren’t going to believe this.” I slid the picture of Liza throwing up a gang sign, and wearing her red bandana with pride across to him. The baby, who was wrapped in a red blanket, was being held by a lanky man with a matching bandana.
“What? I can’t believe this! Hey, listen Sylvia, you can’t pursue this. The gangs in Brightmoor aren’t like they were when we were at the 8th. They’ve morphed into something much uglier and more dangerous than what we dealt with. The Feds are handling most of the gang stuff around here because it’s gotten so bad. You gotta back down.”
“I just need a little update on the gang situation. I’ve been paid a hefty price, so I will be continuing the case. With caution, of course.”
Charles sighed, but recognized that I wasn’t going to stop conducting the investigation, with or without vital information.
“Okay. I’ll tell you what you need to know, but you must be very careful. These kids are ruthless. Some of the gangs have turned into hybrids; you can’t pinpoint the Folks or the People. Sometimes, there are gangs that have mixed Crip and Blood aspects. The gang thing, the way it was in the 1980s, has gotten old for a lot of the kids coming up now. They want something new, so they’ve upped their recruiting strategies and tactics. Honestly, they run the gang like a business. Recruitment videos on social media, open-air drug deals, intimidation and murder of witnesses, and a cache of guns and money. I don’t know what the victim had to do with those boys, but if it was anything, she was an idiot. How did you make the connection?”
“A little help from my friends.” I winked at Charles.
“There you go making friends again; you always were good at that. Well, you’ve uncovered quite a turn. This lady had a secret life. Are you going to tell the husband?”
“Yes, but I want to wait to see if it’s relevant. I mean, at this point, I don’t know what the connection is, but because she was murdered in Brightmoor, I’m sure there is one. I just want to wait until I have more information. The poor guy is already suffering. Finding out that the woman he married had a secret life isn’t going to make things better.”
“True. Okay, what’s your next move?”
“I know it’s a long shot, but I’ve got to try to find anyone on Dolphin Street who remembers her and knows more about what went on when she lived there. Do you have any informants in the area?”
“Yeah, there’s one guy.”
“You think he’ll talk to me?”
“Probably. His name’s Don. He’s still a small-time dealer. Great informant. Has three kids and a house on Dolphin Street. He’s one of the few second-generation Brightmoor residents. Too poor to leave; not motivated to do more than collect social security and casually sell drugs. He just got out of jail on small-time drug charges. I don’t know if he’ll remember anything from that long ago, but I’ll set something up.”
***
I left the precinct, headed to the office, and searched online for more information. Why had Peter decided to provide me with information about Liza’s past? What was his angle? Sure, I appreciated the tip, but what was his motive? I began searching for clues.
Peter Abernathy was an upstanding citizen except for the three DUIs he had acquired over the past ten years…That explained his new-found sobriety and his recent divorce from Abigail Abernathy. One area where Peter had been consistent and reliable was at the Michigan State Forensics lab. He’d been employed there since graduating from Michigan State University with a degree in forensics. The excessive DUIs had not affected his employment at the lab, which seemed very odd, but some people pay a higher price than others. Perhaps he had connections of some sort. The rest of the public info was standard.
Peter and Abigail had three children, and they had been married fifteen years before the divorce, which had been finalized two months ago. They’d originally filed for divorce two months after Liza had been murdered. It would be interesting to hear what Abigail thought of her former sister-in-law and her ex-husband. I found Abigail’s current address in Plymouth Township, not far from where I’d met Peter for lunch. I wasn’t sure if the phone number listed was current, but I decided to give it a try anyway. A phone call should suffice—no need to drive back to Plymouth.
“Hello?” Abigail answered on the second ring. Her voice sounded thin and stressed.
“Hello. May I speak with Abigail Abernathy?”
“You’ve got her. How can I help you?”
“My name is Sylvia Wilcox, and I’m investigating the murder of Liza Abernathy.”
“Oh! The detective! I believe my husband recently spoke with you. I hope he was helpful. I told him to be nice and do his best. How can I help you?”
I hadn’t asked any questions, but I was sure that I’d hit the jackpot. Rarely, if ever, were people excited to help a private detective. Generally, people saw a PI as a false detective who was meddling in police business. Abigail’s attitude was refreshing. This could be a great opportunity.
“I’m trying to get a feel for Liza as a person and learn more about her family and background. Would you mind sharing your opinion and perception of Liza?”
“Well, I knew Liza for about twelve years. Peter didn’t mention her when we were dating, and she wasn’t invited to our wedding. Sounds strange, but I didn’t know that she existed until after we were married. Of course, I was pissed—oh—excuse my language, but really, I was far beyond mad when I found out that I had a sister-in-law I didn’t know existed. Can you imagine not telling your spouse about your sibling? Weird, right?”
“Yes, that is odd. Did Peter explain why he didn’t tell you anything about her?”
“He said that she was dead to the Abernathys. She had run away and after an extensive search, it was concluded that she must be dead—but that’s weird, right? I mean, families search for decades for their missing loved ones. I’ve got three pigheaded brothers, but geez, if one of those yahoos goes missing, we’re searching for them “til the day we die, right? No abandoning your family, right?”
“I agree.” I thought of Simon, my twin brother who was abducted over twenty years ago. The first thing I did after becoming a police officer was to get his case file and try to find him. Every two years, I revisit the case. There will never be a time when I stop looking for him. I shook off the memories and focused on the conversation with Abigail. “Why do you think they stopped looking for her?”
“The Abernathys think that everything has to be perfect, but that isn’t possible, so they pretend, lie, and create stories until they have the perfect world. Liza was a wild one. She broke their story, so to speak, when she ran away. There was no hiding the fact that they had a teenage daughter one day, but not the next, you see? She wasn’t doing what they wanted, so they ex’d her outta the whole deal.”
“I see. So, what was it like when Liza returned?”
“Omigosh, it was like she had never left. The parents loved her again, but Peter was upset. He felt like it was so fake to act like nothing had happened. He was…hurt that he was no longer the only child. He’s not a monster, but up to that point, he’d bought into everything his parents had tried to sell him, you understand?”
“I believe so. What was your relationship with Liza like?”
“Oh, I just loved her. She was the sister I’d always wanted but never had. I’m the oldest of four, like I told you, with three brothers, so I never had that sisterly thing. When Liza came around, I finally had a chance to experience that. She was a great sister-in-law. I loved her dearly.”
The quiver in Abigail Abernathy’s voice was the first genuine expression of intense feeling for Liza that I’d heard, apart from Carson. The way her voice caught in her throat; the unexpected emotional response involuntarily elicited even though years had passed. The unwavering pain of losi
ng a loved one. This unlikely source of information warranted a meeting. The bitterness of divorce wasn’t there, and even though she was technically no longer part of the family, Abigail spoke kindly about Liza. I needed to hear more of what she had to say.
“Mrs. Abernathy, would it be okay if I stopped by to speak with you in person?”
“Oh, yeah—anything to help. Liza deserves justice. I’m free today.”
Abigail Abernathy lived in a sprawling new condo complex on the edge of Plymouth Township—spacious units with pale-colored brick veneer, cobblestoned sidewalks, and a wrought-iron fence surrounding the property, which was bordered by large swaths of greenery on all sides. Abigail lived at the end of a cul-de-sac on a street called Devonshire.
A push of the doorbell set off an array of barks that rang out in a calculated manner, telling me that the canine presence was manufactured. Almost immediately, the door opened. Abigail Abernathy was a short, portly woman with an attractive and warm face. She wore a blue flannel shirt, inexpensive stretch jeans, and brown steel-toed work boots. Her hair, bright red and curly, seemed to be fighting its way out of a loosely tied bun. Her big blue eyes were nearly translucent, and they sparkled with feverish energy. The freckles on the bridge of her nose wrinkled when she smiled, and her cheeks were fat and rosy. I took her meaty, gnarled hand in mine and gave it a firm shake before stepping into the condo.
“Hey there. Can I get you some tea or coffee?”
“No, thank you. I appreciate your willingness to talk with me.”
The condo was cozy. It was decorated with an antique slant, but hints of nature rounded out the decor. The oiled brass fixtures in the kitchen sink and the hardwood floors gave the place a rustic, but Victorian look. The large, simulated wood stumps that lined the staircase complemented the cast-iron grate. A substantial collage of photos, showing three rosy-cheeked teens and Peter, was displayed on the wall. It was interesting that Peter still played a prominent role in all the photos, which reminded me that Abigail had called him her husband on the phone. I glanced at a photo of Peter in front of Mackinac Island’s Grand Hotel. His face was beaming with pride as he hugged his three daughters close. He looked so happy—nothing like the man I’d recently met.
“Yes, we were a very happy family…except when Peter was drunk. Unfortunately, I had to finalize the divorce for him to stop drinking. Now he is sober. I just wish he could’ve done that before any of this mess, you know?”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Well, he’s always been stubborn. Who knows what will happen now,” she said, but her face struggled to hold back a burst of optimism.
“I wish you the best,” I said, and even though I had only just met her, I meant it.
“Okay, so here’s my concern about your investigation. Liza and Peter were not on good terms most of the time, and there are some red flags you’ll probably come across.”
“Like what?”
“Like the fact that there was a fight at Thanksgiving three years ago about my father-in-law’s last will and testament.”
“What can you tell me about the argument?”
“He wanted to add Liza back into his will. I have no idea why my mother-in-law decided to announce it at Thanksgiving dinner, but she did. Peter was very angry, because up to that point, he stood to inherit everything his parents had.”
“Do the Abernathys have a fair amount of money?”
“Oh, yes. They live modestly, but they have several real estate investments. My mother-in-law loves to travel, so they’ve stayed in the Livonia house because it’s allowed them to purchase a few vacation homes, and to travel to Europe on a regular basis. Real estate is their thing.”
“They’re actively maintaining properties at this time? Or are they just buying personal properties?”
“Both. Back in the early 1980s, when the prices of homes in Detroit plummeted, they started buying low-cost homes and renting them. They have since sold most of them, but they still have a few that bring in a monthly income. My father-in-law is a great businessman and money manager. That, on top of the freelance work he does, has made them wealthy.”
Real estate in Detroit. I wondered where those properties were located. Pretty sure I already knew the answer.
“Do the Abernathys own houses near Old Redford?”
“Uh, I’m not too familiar with the area where they own houses, but I can tell you it’s just below Telegraph Road, on the other side of Redford Township.”
Abigail’s words were laced with a long, deep inflection on certain words that reminded me of a Canadian dialect, but it was rounded out with the Michigan tendency to drop consonants at the ends of words, indicating that she was probably from the Upper Peninsula. The odds of her knowing what and where Brightmoor was were slim.
“Peter wasn’t happy with the idea that Liza would be added back into the will? Any reason in particular?”
“Oh, it’s nothing like you think. I just told you that because you’re gonna hear about it and I don’t want you to think it has any weight, you know? He was just mad, but that’s natural, you know? When you talk to my in-laws, I know they’re going to throw my husband under the bus. I just want you to know going in…”
Strange. Why would Peter’s parents try to implicate him in a murder, especially the murder of his sister? Not to mention, they hadn’t actually done that. In fact, in a roundabout way, they’d painted Peter as the good child.
“Is there anything else you would like to tell me about Liza, Peter, or the murder?”
Abigail looked around the quiet, still condo, as if someone else were there.
“Well, there is one more thing. I think Liza may have been having an affair.”
Shocked, but interested to learn why she thought that, I leaned in close and waited for more. “She told me there was someone she wanted me to meet. Begged me not to tell anyone. This someone was special, she said. I asked questions, but she wouldn’t answer them. Just told me to wait until she introduced us.”
It was good to know that Liza had felt close enough to Abigail to confide in her. Finally, there was a lead that might explain why someone felt strongly enough about Liza to take her life. This was a breakthrough!
“Okay, I need you to tell me everything you know about this man…Anything she told you might be helpful.”
This was the first indication that Liza may have been having an affair, and it was coming from someone who genuinely cared about her. This might be a credible source for the infidelity angle, so I wanted to get as much detail as possible.
“She didn’t give many specifics—just that he was from her past, and that he was upset about how they’d broken up. Well, let me try to remember how she said it…I think she said: ‘He’s mad because I never said goodbye. I just left.’ She said she just wanted to make things right. I told her not to play with fire. Peter had told me that she once liked…the wrong type of guys. I thought she might be talking about one of them, and that it could get dangerous. Besides, she was happily married; I was confused about why she felt she owed this guy anything.”
“Did she mention how long ago this relationship took place?”
“No, but it had to have been before she returned to her parents’ house, so that would have been in…Let’s see…I’m going to guesstimate that it was around 2000, because Peter and I had been married for a few years, and we already had Reagan. We got married in 1997 and had Reagan later that year. She was an ‘uh-oh’ baby, but she’s our happy little mistake. We were already engaged, so no harm or foul.”
“Why don’t you think it was someone she met after returning to her parents’ home?”
Abigail sighed and waited a moment before speaking. “You haven’t been to the Abernathy house yet, have you?”
“I was there yesterday.”
“How did that go?”
I thought about the strange visit. “Okay. I see what you mean. Mrs. Abernathy would have interfered.”
“Right. Liza couldn�
�t have met anyone nefarious after her return. My mother-in-law is very controlling: she knew Liza’s every move. Carson was a happy accident, and the only reason Mrs. Abernathy didn’t control that relationship was because he worked in a hospital, and she couldn’t gain access to spy on him.”
I thought about the conversation I’d had with Martin about Liza’s teaching position. She had been written up because her mother had shown up too often at the school. How many times had Mrs. Abernathy shown up for it to be insubordination for Liza? Liza would have been well into her twenties by that time. Why would her mother be showing up at all?
“That is interesting. Do you think it’s because Liza ran away? Possibly guilt for not keeping close enough tabs on her?”
“That could be the case, but Liza was an adult when she returned. Yes, she had her problems, and it was a good idea to look out for her just a little bit more than you would other people, but she was capable. It’s not like she needed a chaperon.”
“What would you say constituted her ‘problems’?”
“She didn’t have much common sense. Sweet woman, but she needed to be taken care of in that area. It was more of a thing where you would want to counsel her if she had a big decision to make. Odds were that she was going to make the wrong decision, or she was going to base her decision on some skewed logic that wasn’t logical at all.”
“What did you make of Carson and Liza’s relationship?”
“They seemed very happy. Carson was patient and kind, and he liked being her protector. That’s why he suggested that she may want to stay home with the kids. Liza was relieved because she wasn’t that great in the workplace.”
“They were happy, but Liza was having an affair?”
“Well, to be clear, I don’t know if it was a full-blown affair. She just told me that there was someone from the past that she wanted me to meet. I think she felt guilty for leaving the guy the way she did, but there was no mention of sex, or anything like that. And I kind of assumed it was a guy, but in her defense, she never said whether it was a woman or a man. Could have been an old friend…She also never complained about Carson. She loved him and the kids.”
Who She Was Page 12
