Who She Was

by Braylee Parkinson

  “I haven’t heard anything about an affair,” I said. Hoping that my lie sounded convincing.

  “Well, there might be something you need to know…”

  “Did you mention this to the police? If not, why have you changed your mind?”

  Abigail thought for a moment before saying, “Because what else is someone going to shoot you five times for? Right? It’s either love or money, and she wasn’t robbed, so I guess I just realized that I was hoping that she wasn’t having an affair. Besides, the police drew the same conclusion, and I didn’t want to sully her name even more than it already was.”

  “Do you think it’s possible that she was being blackmailed by someone? Maybe a guy from her past had some dirt on her?”

  “Oh, that’s definitely possible. Like I said, Liza wasn’t the brightest, so she could have gotten wrapped up in some type of porn thing or taking nude pictures. I could see her being blackmailed.”

  “What else did she tell you about the guy she was seeing? Anything stand out?”

  “She let him come to the house once.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes. Amelia could probably tell you more.”

  I thought about the conversation I’d had with the housekeeper. She’d said that a woman came over to the house, but not a man. Was Abigail overreaching with the assumption that Liza was having an affair? Was the affair with a woman? Since Abigail was freely giving out information, I decided to take a shot in the dark.

  “Do you know Madelyn Price?”

  Abigail’s brow creased. “Yes, I know her. She’s a weird one.”

  “She was Liza’s best friend, right?”

  “Hmm. I don’t know that they were best friends, but they were associates. Well, I guess you could say they were friends, but I wouldn’t say that they hung out all the time, or anything like that.”

  Carson had pegged the women as best friends. I wondered if that was due to lack of perception, or had Liza and Madelyn convinced Carson they were closer than they were? What purpose would they have had to fake the strength of the friendship? The idea that Liza and Madelyn were best friends hadn’t been how Abigail saw it. Nor had Madelyn’s mask of calm and happiness fooled her.

  “Why do you think Madelyn is weird?”

  “It’s the way she avoids ever really talking about anything personal. She’s like a mystery, and that’s the way she wants it to be.”

  “In her defense, being a mystery is not a crime, and it could just mean that Madelyn likes her privacy.”

  “What did Peter tell you?”

  I hesitated long enough for Abigail to let the question die.

  “Did he tell you anything about the past?”

  “A bit. Is there anything substantial I should know about the past?”

  “Peter knows more than I do. I don’t know for sure, but I think it might be important.”

  I waited. Abigail’s eyes told me she had something to share. Interviewees often want to give investigators information, but they fear the aftermath. It was best not to push, and I didn’t want to betray Peter’s trust. He’d given me the pictures of Liza in confidence.

  “Madelyn and Liza seemed to be associates, like people who work together, but wouldn’t hang out for the heck of it—you know what I mean?”

  “Yes. People you might see together from time to time, but they wouldn’t have a girls’ night. Did they ever work together?”

  “No. Madelyn is one of those smarties. She is very determined and successful. Liza was never really into the career thing. They would do things together, but they seemed distant. Kind of the way you are with people you work with but aren’t friends with.”

  “More like associates,” I interjected.

  “Yeah. Not besties by any means.”

  Chapter Eight

  I spent well over an hour at Abigail Abernathy’s place, and was rather sad to leave. She made spiced chai tea and continued providing the best information I’d received on Liza so far. By the time I left, it was clear that Madelyn Price would have to be paid another visit. She was hiding something.

  If Madelyn and Liza were not close friends, if there was distance, it seemed strange that Madelyn was the last person to speak with Liza before she died. I needed to find out why they were meeting the day she was murdered. I was sure Madelyn had more information than she was sharing. Perhaps Liza and Madelyn had worked together in some type of business, but why would that need to be a secret? Also, why would they meet in Brightmoor? Abigail Abernathy had been very helpful, but I had more questions than answers.

  The next morning, I was out of bed by 5:00 a.m., and behind the wheel headed to Madelyn’s by 7:15. I managed to avoid snarls on US-23 by starting out before rush hour was in full swing. It was cold and brisk outside, leaving a frosty layer on the back roads around Ann Arbor. I cautiously maneuvered over what may or may not have been black ice and slowed to a crawl as I approached Madelyn’s driveway. I was back at her converted barn by 8:00 in the morning. The Taurus rolled over the frozen dirt roads with ease, but as soon as I stepped out of the car, a frigid wind hit me in the face.

  The door was unlocked and the “We’re Open” sign was dangling in the door. A little bell alerted Madelyn to my entrance.

  “I’ll be with you in a moment,” she called from the studio. Within a few minutes, she walked out into the foyer and stopped short.

  “What brings you by, Mrs. Wilcox?”

  “This.” I pulled out the picture of Liza, the unidentified man, and the baby. Madelyn flinched.

  “What is that?”

  “A photo, Ms. Price. Is this the type of different lifestyle you were living when you met Liza?”

  “I don’t think that is any of your business.”

  “Do you know who the man is? Speaking of business, did you and Liza have some type of business? I’ve heard that your meetings weren’t exactly the typical girls’ night out.”

  “Mrs. Wilcox, I am sorry that you are having trouble finding information, but that is why this is a cold case. There are just some things we don’t know about Liza’s past.”

  “Ms. Price, I’m trying to get closure for a man who lost his wife, the mother of his children. If you have information that will help me do that, I need it. I just want the truth.”

  “I’ve told you everything I know.”

  “Do you know this man in the picture?” I shoved the photo into her line of sight.

  “No, Mrs. Wilcox. This is my business. If you have more questions, feel free to call, but don’t stop by unannounced. If it happens again, I’ll be forced to call the police.”

  The Achilles heel of being a private detective. You don’t have the right to continuously show up and question a witness or suspect. They have to be willing to talk with you.

  I put the picture back in my pocket. “Thanks for your time,” I said, turning to leave.

  It was clear that Madelyn was lying, but I needed more data to push her over the edge. Back at the office, Martin and I discussed the possibilities.

  “Madelyn is doing well, but maybe her business is a front for running drugs,” Martin said.

  “I don’t see Madelyn and Liza as needing to run drugs. Why do it, if not for the money?”

  “There’s the gang connection. They’re both tied to this Demario character. He’s in prison, but he might have someone on the outside giving orders. He could have them doing his bidding while he’s locked up.”

  “Are you going to take this to the husband?’

  “Not yet.”

  “Yeah, hearing that the yoga teacher or trophy wife lived a torrid life in the worst slum in Detroit would probably be pretty shocking to the doctor.”

  “Not exactly the profile you’d expect for either one of them.”

  “What’s the deal with the guy they have in common?”

  “It looks like Demario Masters was just a high school fling kind of thing for both of them. I’m pretty sure he’s the father of Madelyn’s daughter, but he probab
ly has children all over the city. It’s not uncommon for Brightmoor babies to have deadbeat dads. Liza probably just got caught up in the mess. I bet that was Madelyn and Demario’s baby in the picture with him and Liza.”

  “It could be a different guy. Regardless, it seems so weird that Liza and Madelyn were friends,” Martin said.

  “It definitely seems like an unlikely friendship. Then again, I feel the same way about Liza and Carson. I don’t see the connection.”

  I thought about the picture of Liza, the man in the bandana, and the baby. I pulled up the image of Kara Price at the spelling bee and held it next to the image on the computer. Similar wide-set eyes. The toddler’s eyes were darker than they’d been as an infant—if they were the same child. Of course, that was not uncommon. Infants change so much before they make it to the toddler stage.

  “What’s our next move?”

  “I don’t know, Martin. Think. Search what we have and find out what we’ve missed.”

  “This job doesn’t work the way it does on TV.”

  “I know. The sidekick usually drops a brilliant clue right about now.”

  Martin gave me a smirk before grabbing his laptop and heading to his desk. We searched for random online tidbits on Liza and her connections for the next half-an-hour. I was getting ready to give Martin the rest of the afternoon off when the office phone rang.

  “Sylvia Wilcox.”

  “This is Archie Paladoski.

  Paladoski’s voice was deep, his tone careful and calculating. A hint of hesitation was evident in his voice.

  “Mr. Paladoski. Thank you for calling.”

  “No problem.”

  “I am working on Liza Stark’s murder. The murder book is slim, and I’m wondering if there is anything you might know that isn’t in the file.”

  Paladoski was silent for a few seconds before saying, “You talked to the storeowner.”

  “Yes. I spoke with Ali Mansu and he told me that there were problems with gangs before the body was found, but the issues stopped after Liza was murdered. He also said there were surveillance cameras, but I didn’t find any tapes.”

  “Mrs. Wilcox, you worked for DPD, correct?”

  “Yes.” He’d looked me up before calling.

  “Then you know that there are some leads the boss won’t let you pursue. For whatever reason, the chief didn’t want us to work the gang angle. It was strange. They were gang members, so if we were able get those guys on anything…even if it wasn’t related to the murder, it should have been good, right? But we were cockblocked. No idea why.”

  “Were there other leads you were told not to follow?”

  “Well, we never had an interview with the victim’s in-laws.”

  Strange. The first thing you had to do in a homicide like this one, was rule out family members.

  “Were you told not to interview the Starks?”

  “No. They refused to meet with us and we didn’t really have any evidence that pointed to them, so the boss told us to leave it alone. We did, but there could have been something there. The families, Starks and Abernathys, don’t like one another.”

  “Mr. Paladoski, I hope you don’t mind my asking, but I am wondering why this case caused you to leave the force.”

  Paladoski sighed a few times, as if he was fighting with whether or not he was going to answer the question.

  “We took a lot of flack for not closing the case. First, we were being pushed to close the case fast, but after we started getting somewhere, or at least trying to formulate theories, we were stopped from investigating the crime.”

  “Did you think this was a gang hit of some sort?”

  “There was an inclination to draw that conclusion because in the months following the murder, there weren’t any attacks on the store. Seemed like that was a viable avenue, but as you know, gangbangers are not just gonna stop. And, rich people don’t do anything for themselves, so I thought Carson might have paid the gang members to kill his wife because she was unfaithful.”

  “That’s why you wanted more access to the Stark family.”

  “Correct. I just thought, them gangbangers would only stop if they had some type of incentive. That was my original theory, but we had to handle the family with kid gloves. It was sickening. The families despise one another, and the husband is an only child. His family has had money a long time. The Abernathys-not so much. Carson was this golden boy hero type that had everything. His parents had him after they’d given up on having kids, so he’s kind of a miracle. He’s used to getting his way. What happens if his wife steps out on him?”

  Due to Carson’s status, his union with Liza was even more strange. Golden boy meets failing girl. His parents hire a hit man to off failing girl, getting their golden boy back. Was that a realistic scenario? Carson seemed genuinely distraught over losing Liza. It was hard to imagine that any parents would deliberately cause their son so much pain.

  “Seems harsh. Were you able to learn anything else about the Starks?”

  “Just the stuff we found online. Things are pretty tight lipped about them.”

  “What about the friend Lisa was going to meet? Did she ever make the suspect list?”

  A long uncomfortable silence filled the phone.

  “Mr. Paladoski, are you still there?”

  “Yes. I just…Yes and no. Madelyn Price made our suspect list, but she was quickly removed.”

  “Because you and Cole cleared her, or did the brass tell you to remove her?”

  Another pause before he said, “We removed her because there wasn’t anything there. She’s not terribly forthcoming, but that has nothing to do with her guilt or innocence. Just seems to be who she is.”

  I caught a hint of defensiveness in his voice. Perhaps he had developed a fondness for Madelyn Price. What was it with this lady? She seemed to be able to cast a spell on men.

  “Mr. Paladoski, this is a bit of a personal question, and I understand if you don’t want to answer it, but why did you leave the force?”

  This time he answered as soon as the question was out of my mouth.

  “DPD was not what my dad and his buddies told me it was. I wanted to fight for justice. Not politics and corruption. There are a lot of people doing a lot of good outside of the force. This case just got things all twisted and it was hard to see straight. I decided I’d had enough of the city and DPD. I quit and headed west. Got a little farm out here. Get to go surfing often-just decided I’d had enough. You know how it is.”

  “Organic farming. That’s quite a change.”

  “It is. A necessary change.”

  “Anything else you want to tell me?”

  “Just…Don’t mess up anything you don’t have to mess up. If you stumble on something good, even if it is strange, let it be.”

  “I’m sure that will mean something in time. Thanks for taking the time to speak with me.”

  “Sure thing. Just keep my name out of things.”

  “Yes. I promise to do that.”

  ***

  The phone call with Archie Paladoski didn't expand any of my working theories. The gang angle was interesting, but since Carson had hired me, it didn’t make any sense. Not to mention, there still was no evidence of Liza having an affair-except for Abigail’s assumptions. There did seem to be some type of gang connection, based on the picture Peter Abernathy had given me. I stayed up half the night wondering about a myriad of possibilities before falling asleep on the couch. The next morning, I headed out to meet Detective Cole.

  We met at a tiny café in Redford Township. Cole had deep bags under his eyes and his stripped tie was crooked. He looked disheveled.

  “Hey. Rough night?”

  “You have no idea. Archie might’ve had the right idea. Pull up stakes, quit this job and move west. Speaking of Arch, I heard he called you.”

  “Yeah, he did. I appreciate you passing on the message. He had a few cryptic tips that will probably mean something later.”

  “Everythin
g means something eventually. No coincidences in this world. If this job has taught me anything, it’s that. Nothing is a coincidence.”

  “What can you tell me about Demario Masters,” I asked. Shifting gears.

  “I recommend that you reconsider working this case. You’ve stumbled upon a member of one of the most notorious crime families in Detroit,” Detective Cole told me.

  “Really? Tell me more.”

  Cole shook his head and fished a small envelope out of his back pocket.

  “I can tell you he’s a dirty bastard. Born into a low-grade crime family, but the Masters are crafty. They make money, but they blow it on stupid things, which is why I call them a low-grade crime family. The Masters have been killing and selling dope since the late sixties. None of them have ever done time for either one of those offenses, and only Demario has done hard time. Demario’s father was a supplier of heroin at an automotive plant, his brother has served time for identity theft, and his pseudo brother-in-law allegedly killed his dad. The Masters are Detroit at its worst.”

  Cole dumped the contents of the envelope onto the table and spread out pictures of a tall, wiry man with long, smooth braids cascading down his back—the same man who was in the pictures Peter had given me. In one photo, the man was posing with a sawed-off shotgun. In another, he was flanked by a man and a woman— his siblings presumably, based on the matching high cheekbones and slanted eyes. The trio held up wads of cash as proof of the family fortune.

  “This dude is smart…Almost won his most recent appeal, but he’s insane—that’s what lost it for him. The prosecutor exposed his psychopathic tendencies; proved that he was just as unstable as we'd speculated. Generally, he had been unable to hold down a job, was a known abuser of women and children, and he came off as calculating to the jury. There was no way he could have been innocent in the jury’s eyes. And it’s a good thing that they felt that way: this guy is a pariah.”

  “I think he might be tied to the Stark case I’m working.”