Returning Fire

by Frans Harmon

  “Then who do we call?” Sharlene asked.

  “Sweetie, that’s easy, nine-one-one.”

  “And we tell them we are where?” Trina asked.

  “Trina’s right, cell phones don’t have a location built-in, you have to register it. If we called nine-one-one, they would just go to my studio in Ann Arbor.”

  Trina wrapped an arm around Coria and another around Sharlene. “But, hey, we have a plan. Decide who to call, and find a way to get a signal. More than we had before.”

  They shared a quiet laugh and placed the beds back against the walls. The sound of the lock turning in the door sent them scurrying to their beds. Sar’s imposing size filled the doorway. He motioned to Trina. She stepped to the door and, for an instant, Sharlene thought, stared at Sar, Trina left the cell, the door pounding shut behind her.

  Then Sharlene sat down on her mattress. What did she just see? Her face stiffened to stone.

  Coria laid down on her bed but noticed Sharlene’s concerned look. “What, Sharlene, what is it?”

  She looked over at Coria. “We haven’t got much time. I remember something else Ulama said a week ago: ‘the day draws near.’”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Anstice departed for her office in DPD’s Fourth Precinct Station. Intent on returning the Tuller file to his desk, Mace took the government center tunnel to his basement cold case office. He felt the slip of paper in his pocket. We are looking at abductions, not murders, not the Vulcan. What else could be hidden in Coria Brien’s file?

  It was late afternoon on Wednesday. The door to Mo’s office was locked. He punched in the code Mo had given him, swung the door open, and found the office empty. Through the interior windows, he could see the archives were dark. He placed the Tuller file on his desk and took the slip where he recorded Coria Brien’s case file ID into the stacks. Motion detectors switched on the lights. Mace found the bin and tapped the screen with the information to retrieve the case file box. Six months old, it was still striped in red, an active file.

  Returning to his small desk, he popped the lid on the box. On the top of the box was an enlarged picture of Coria sitting on a stone wall that triggered a pain of sadness. She had a heavily freckled face, small nose with a slight ski-jump curve at the tip, slender green eyes, and small mouth gathered into a teasing pout. A river of silky red hair fell in blossoms of curls on her shoulders, completing a picture of a vibrant woman enjoying life. The bio sheet listed her as a twenty-two-year-old graduate business major from Ireland attending Wayne State University.

  Mace’s face furled questioning why Coria would travel four thousand miles from Ireland to attend a locally known state college.

  Photos of the crime scene depicted a burned-out Audi A4 with Coria’s splayed body across the front seat. Her luggage in the Audi’s trunk had survived the fire, and from that, they determined she was on her way back to Ireland at the start of spring break. The missing person’s report was filed forty-eight hours after her failed scheduled arrival in Belfast. The responding patrol to the nine-one-one call filed the crime scene summary, dated the sixteenth of January. The weather was listed as a factor obscuring the burned-out Audi’s discovery.

  An oddity caught his attention as he flipped between the filed complaint, missing person’s findings, and crime scene summary. A name kept reappearing on all three.

  “You, color blind?”

  Mo was in the office doorway, his intimidating size inches away, affirming the look of displeasure on his face.

  “We had a break in the case. I thought there might be something here that could confirm what we found.”

  A smile, more of a grimace, flashed across Mo sullen face. He reached for the box and with a smooth motion, ripped the red masking tape from the container, crumpled it, and slapped it into Mace’s hand. “Don’t do that again,” he said.

  Mo wheeled past Mace, who caught the back of his chair, stopping him. Mo wheeled around. “What?”

  “You’re starting to grow on me, Mo.”

  Mo grunted. “Big break, huh, until it’s not, leads down a blind alley.”

  Mace told Mo about the chip, body size discrepancies, and potential to determine the age of the bodies. “You’re right it looks good, just don’t put too much faith in it.”

  “Got it, but now what do you make of this,” Mace asked, pointing to a name on one of the three documents he had been reviewing. “I can’t search overseas databases, but I imagine that is not a problem for you.”

  Mo’s eyes widened, flicked from the paperwork to Mace. “You think there is a relationship?”

  “Could explain some things. You would be working an active case, though.”

  “Yeah, I would, wouldn’t I.”

  Mo snatched the papers and rolled behind his desk. He dropped the papers there, covering the only bare spot in front of him. A smile stretched across his face as he stroked his double chin. “You better bring that box over here. Put it on top of that dusty one,” he said, pointing to spot behind him on the floor.

  “What about Trina Burkett. She was the second victim, happened about, I’m guessing six months ago.”

  “What? I’m working for you now.”

  “Active case, just saying.”

  Mo gave Mace a narrow-eyed look, but nodded and typed a query into his work station. A few seconds later, a printer, buried inside an empty case file box, sprang to life.”

  Mo swung around and retrieved the print out from the box. “Not supposed to have that either. Get this file box and put it with Coria’s I’ll take a look-see in the morning.”

  Mace snatched the paper with the data to retrieve the evidence box from the stacks and also the Tuller case files. He refiled the Tuller box and extracted Trina’s case-files. He removed the red tape from the container and stacked it behind Mo’s desk.

  “By the way,” Mo said, “What did you find out about Tuller?”

  “His sister was murdered the day he disappeared.”

  “Yeah, I remember. How did you come by that? Not in the file.”

  “Sergeant Anstice Behrenhardt, DPD. First case she worked.”

  “Yeah, never forget those. Better hold onto her.”

  “So, what do you remember about his sister’s murder?”

  “Found her in her car. A Mercedes, Vernor and Fifteenth. She was bound in the back seat, a five-gallon can of MEKP next to the open door.”

  “What MEKP? You sure.”

  “Yeah,” Mo said, “had to call the bomb squad to get rid of that stuff. I just made detective, and you know, you always remember your first case.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Thursday morning, six days after the explosion that had sidelined him, Mace felt confident someone was trying to make a statement, but it wasn’t the Vulcan. That was his thinking as he sat in his kitchen, sipping his morning coffee and browsing the internet news web sites.

  An impulse of curiosity prompted him to check the house listing he had in mind to share with Helyn. It sat on a knoll overlooking a lake in an old golfing community. Zillow listed it as pending. His heart sank. Lousy timing that is the real reason behind what happened to us. Helyn is dealing with the pressure of her position, and I had to get some answers. When things settle down, we’ll get back on track. Which brought him around to wondering what Anstice uncovered from the chip. His phone chirped. Hmm, like minds. It was a text from Anstice:

  Got ID + GPS trace meet 502 Congress, Ypsie, one hr.

  That was only twenty minutes from his townhouse on Ford Lake. Mace bolted upstairs for a quick shower. Now maybe we will get some real answers. He was out the door in a half-hour.

  * * * *

  He was parked in the lot for a Grove Mini-Mart gas station waiting. A deep blue BMW pulled out from the Timber Ridge townhouse complex and headed west on South Grove. The GPS track confirmed it was the vehicle he was waiting for; it was Mace. He pulled his black flatbed recovery truck onto Grove and followed five cars behind him. For what he needed to do,
there was no reason to get closer.

  * * * *

  Grove was a tree-lined scenic drive following Ford Lake west and then curving with it north to the lake’s source, the Huron River. Mace was relaxed, enjoying the view, and looking forward to learning what Anstice had found. He didn’t encounter any real traffic until East Michigan Avenue, the north-south dividing line for streets in Ypsilanti. His phone, integrated with the entertainment system in his car, rang just as he began his left onto Michigan. Recognizing the number, Mace tapped the phone answer button on the steering column. “Anstice, five minutes, almost to the Michigan cut out. What’s up?”

  * * * *

  That was just what he needed. Now just a car behind Mace’s BMW, his practiced fingers typed the keys to a laptop mounted above his trucks center console. The display depicted the forward and reverse sensors, speed, steering, and braking status. He had control.

  * * * *

  Mace heard only static after he answered the phone. Then a scream, then another. “Anstice, you in trouble?” No response, just static.

  He pressed down the gas pedal, intending to speed up a bit more. The pedal plunged to the floor, leaving his foot hovering above. Mace punched on the hazard lights, no response. What? Mace pounded on his horn. The beamer was now doing fifty-five in a thirty-five and accelerating.

  A semi blocking his way. He twisted the wheel to the left into oncoming traffic, then pulled back to the right. His vehicle jerked but stayed on the left.

  Accelerating, he jammed on the breaks. Strained to steer right into his travel lane. The BMW wobbled but stayed left.

  On-coming traffic bearing down. Horns blowing. He clamped both hands onto the wheel. With all his strength, he wrenched it right. The wheel grudgingly moved, like a pole immersed in winter molasses. His car drifted across the yellow lines returning to the right.

  His beamer accelerated, jerked severely toward the curb. Mace braked with both feet, jammed the gearshift into park, and shut off the ignition. The beamer jumped the curb. Gas pumps feet away. Mace braced, steering to the left. Too late.

  * * * *

  Yards beyond where East Michigan Avenue separated from Congress Anstice stood outside slouched against her unmarked DPD Mustang pursuit vehicle. She hadn’t heard from Mace since texting him earlier. Looking east down the avenue, she thought she saw Mace’s deep blue BMW. It suddenly veered to the right into a Sunoco convenience mart. He was going too fast. Anstice snapped rigidly erect as a ball of fire exploded above the gas station.

  She scrambled into her Mustang and lit it up. Siren wailing and flashers blazing, she spun her car around and spurred her pursuit cruiser to the scene. She grabbed her communicator. “Sergeant Behrenhardt, flash Ypsilanti PD, fire and rescue, explosion at Sunoco just west of Michigan cut out, casualties expected.”

  Anstice tore down the street, noticing a black wrecker speeding past the scene. She slammed her vehicle to a skidding stop up the station’s driveway. A geyser of flame shot up from the pump, melting the roof overhead. The front of Mace’s car, wedged against the pump, engulfed in flames, doors still closed, and the trunk wide open.

  Anstice popped her trunk. “Mace, Mace,” she screamed. She could hear sirens responding to her call. The flaming geyser stopped. She jumped to the rear of her cruiser, pulled out a CO2 extinguisher, smashing the driver side window, she blasted the CO2 across the driver seat.

  Two arms wrapped around her and yanked her away from his car. “It’s going to explode.”

  Anstice spun to confront her attacker. “What the hell you do… Mace?”

  She tried to say more, but a lump caught in her throat and her eyes flooded with tears. She dropped the extinguisher and reached up, swatting Mace’s chest, What a cruel joke, she needed him. Didn’t he realize… of course not. Until this moment, she didn’t either. She had to hold him, and flung her arms around him, kissing his lips, his eyes, and then his lips again. Her arms coiled around him, drawing him to her as they kissed.

  “Hey, hey, easy there, Sarge, I’ve got to breathe. Is this how DPD rescues everyone.”

  She released him and examined his face, touching a scrape on his forehead and another on the side. It was a beautiful face, one she wanted more in her life. She took a step back while wiping tears off her cheeks. “Oh, God, I thought you were… wait, how did you get out?”

  Firemen approached, and Mace put a guiding arm around her and nudged her over to her DPD patrol car. “Soon as the airbag deployed, I released my belt and jumped into the back. Released the pass-through seat and popped the trunk. I was out seconds before you pulled up.”

  Anstice felt embarrassed. “Sorry for the emotion, but I thought you were—"

  Mace pulled her to him, she yielded her lips up to his, and they shared a long kiss. “I’m not. I didn’t see the connection coming, but I’m glad for it.”

  * * * *

  After the EMTs attended to Mace’s scrapes and the Ypsilanti PD took his statement, Mace settled with Anstice in her cruiser. Mace sat with his head bowed, a fist braced below his lips. He felt exhausted. Anstice had her head back, eyes closed, and her arms limp, holding the steering wheel.

  Anstice pulled herself up and focused forward. “Two car fires within a week,” she said, her face twisting towards him, “that’s no coincidence, Mace.”

  “Yeah, to say nothing of my car insurance rates.”

  They shared a chuckle. “What happened, Mace?”

  Mace told her about her call and his struggle controlling his car. “But I didn’t call you Mace.”

  Mace bunched his lips, questioning her response. “It was your number.”

  Anstice shook her head. “Spoofed, someone faked their caller ID to make you think it was me.”

  “Then why the call?”

  “They needed you to answer. I bet you connect your phone through blue-tooth to your entertainment system.”

  “Yes, I do. Keep hands free.”

  She nodded. “And I bet you got all the bells and whistles on your beamer. Smart speed control, collision avoidance, hands-free parking, all of it.”

  Mace stroked his bandaged head. “Yeah, so?”

  She locked eyes with him. “They needed you to answer that call. Once you did, they took control of all those functions through your entertainment module, hacked your car’s computer. Someone is trying to kill you.”

  Mace slouched in his seat, his face blanched as a nauseous punch roiled through him. He started this day believing he would find proof Jirair was not involved, now nothing seemed further from reality.

  “You all right, Mace?”

  “No, but I’m good. I need to think of something else. What did you find out about the chip?”

  “Emily Dupree, eighty-five, family had it implanted in her after she wandered off in the snow. Home Care, Inc. took care of her and monitored the chip. Turns out family went for the high-end, they maintain a GPS track for sixty days.”

  “And they are at five-oh-two congress.”

  Anstice nodded. “You up for this?”

  “Yeah, but I need to clean up a bit and get rid of this suit. I look like a spent candle. Then a chat with Home Care. Someone wanted to stop me, Home Care could point to the reason why.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Returning from Mace’s townhouse, Anstice maneuvered her Mustang through the congested traffic snaking around the still smoldering Sunoco station. They parked in front of a gingerbread looking building on Congress Street, a section of old Ypsilanti, with retail space on the first floor and offices above. They walked up a long flight of stairs to the Home Care offices.

  The administrator, Kathy Farmer, a tall thin woman of visual extremes, large chested with cascading black curls framing a prodigiously featured face, greeted them with a toothy grin at her office door. She wore an above-the-knee length black dress exposing stick-like legs, fire red lipstick, and an abundance of eye make-up. Anstice introduced them as siblings. With a nervous laugh exposing Olympian sized teeth, she
invited them into her office.

  “Well, what can I do for you? You have a loved one needing in-home nursing care?”

  “Our Aunty Candace has Alzheimer’s, and her condition has reached the point with wandering off where we are considering a chip implant. Isn’t that right, Mace?”

  “Yes, dear Aunty… Candace? Home care was recommended by her doctor Bob, uh…”

  “Yes, Dr. Milson, Robert Milson, we’ve worked with him a lot, body battery,” she said, finishing with a cackling laugh.

  Mace and Anstice exchanged furrowed brow glances. “Oh, doctor Bob explained it, didn’t he? Body chemistry is a great battery, the chip, that’s where it gets its power. Satellites ping it every thirty minutes, our software records the location.” She laughed again, brushing her black curls back from her face. “Don’t ask me anything else, that is all I know.”

  “Yes,” Mace said, forcing a chuckle, “doctor Bob. So focused on dear Aunty, almost forgot. So, uh, what does that track look like? Any recent examples?”

  Kathy bunched her lips. Mace was surprised; it was the first time he didn’t see any of her teeth. “It is our premier service,” Kathy said, “clients expect their privacy.”

  “How much do you charge for your premier plan?” Anstice asked.

  “Three hundred a month with a ninety-day minimum.”

  Mace pulled out a leather-bound check book-sized folder and a pen. “We were thinking of a year, and doctor Milson has scheduled aunty for the out-clinic procedure tomorrow. However, as a businessman, I like to know, Mrs. Farmer, the data I’m paying for. Could you show us something now?”

  Kathy laughed again. “Of course, we have a recent pass, poor dear, Emily Dupree. I’m sure she won’t mind if I give you a look.”

  Kathy started typing on her keyboard, her eyes fixed on her screen. “How do you know she passed?” Anstice asked.

  Kathy laughed heartily, throwing her hair back. “Dead body, soon a dead battery, it stops transmitting.” She then spun her monitor around. On the display was a graph of changing latitude versus longitude. The plot’s lower left origin was labeled with a geographic location down to the seconds of a degree.