Returning Fire

by Frans Harmon

  Mace looked over and explored her face. She believed in him with the same passion of a few moments before.

  “But could you make some coffee?” she said, “and then tell me what we have here, what we don’t, and what demons are rattling around in your beautiful head.”

  Mace smiled, reflecting the appreciation of one person caring for another. He busied himself in the kitchen, made coffee for each of them, and returning handed her a mug. He sipped his coffee while his mind, in a rutted loop, replayed his memories of that night on the roof.

  “Let’s start with how did you get there,” Anstice said, “what happened before the roof?”

  Mace rubbed his forehead and with an affirming nod, dug into the box, extracting several multi-paged file folders. Examining the tabs, he selected a file “November of 2016, Maggie Gordon, blond, Caucasian, twenty, identified via dental records.”

  He handed it to Anstice. She opened it and flipped through to the crime photos. Her face contorted, reflecting the repulsiveness. She continued, examining each macabre image, shaking her head as she did. She momentarily closed her eyes, and then placed the file down on the table. Her hand rose beckoning for another.

  “April 2017, Olivia Johansson, black, black hair, twenty-six; identified by the vehicle VIN. No other forensics found with either.”

  Anstice opened it, reacting as before. “Found on the Marygrove campus,” she noted, “near student housing. I know the Maxis apartments; they are quite upscale.” The last image was from the DMV. A realization quaked through her body. Her hand covered her mouth, stifling a cry. “I was twenty-six then, it could have been me.”

  A stab of anxiety passed through him. The next victim could be Anstice. Could be Helyn. “You’re right. Age wasn’t a criterion for his victim selection.”

  He held up a third folder. “This, now this one, I thought would nail him,” he said, waving it, “this one cracked the case.” He flipped the folder open. “September 2017, Yara Mazrui, light brown complexion, found in a burned-out stolen Mercedes. Her teeth removed, hands and body bound, like the others.”

  Mace handed it to Anstice. She opened it, this time skimming through the crime scene photos to the first responder’s summary. “How was she identified, if the vehicle was stolen?”

  “We got lucky. She apparently broke her ankle sometime before. She had a metal plate with a serial number on it. We were able to trace it back.”

  “His changing MO sounds consistent with what we see now. What makes this third murder so special?”

  “I found gum discarded under a tire. It had Jirair’s saliva and proved a DNA match. Lee Chung, senior SFD tech, had secured the site. Said he had checked under the tires and found nothing.”

  Anstice picked up her coffee mug. “And that was a problem because,” she said, then taking a sip.

  “I crossed Emmitt.”

  Anstice, choked on her coffee, spitting back into the cup. Mace patted her back, then grabbed some paper towel from his kitchen and handed it to her. Coughing and sputtering, she wiped her mouth.

  “You, okay?” He asked.

  She nodded, stifling her coughing with the towel. “Wrong pipe,” she squeaked.

  “Emmitt Loveland was AIC for Detroit, back then.”

  Anstice nodded and coughed again.

  “Anyway, before Yara, when we were looking for cameras around the Marygrove campus, for Olivia’s case, we found video, grainy, but good enough to show a wrist. That gave us Jirair’s ID. A camera caught him several times hanging around the Marygrove campus. The way he was acting, I had him for the perp.

  Emmitt dismissed the idea; said I saw suspicious behavior because that is what I wanted to see. Insisted I should forget him and try to keep an open mind.”

  Anstice cleared her throat, still dealing with the coffee. “You didn’t see it that way.”

  “No, I was right, and he was letting his bravado interfere. Emmitt was trying to impress some girl that had latched on to him. When I found the gum, Lee, who was lead FSD, wouldn’t accept it. He knew I had gone over hard on Jirair and that Emmitt was a rising star. Lee thought he would side with Emmitt and hitch a ride. I was sick and out of energy. I couldn’t wait to argue, lives were at stake. Withholding evidence only helps him. I went public.”

  “That’s when Emmitt blew up,” Anstice said, staring across the room.

  “Yes, that’s right. How did you know? Wasn’t in the papers.”

  Anstice turned toward Mace, her eyes searching above a thin smile. “Uhm, social media, Mace. You’ve got to join the new millennia.”

  Mace eyed her for a moment. “Yeah, right. Anyway, bureau had a cow over the infighting. They cut me loose, saying my illness made me unfit for duty, Emmitt kicked back to Special Agent, and Helyn filed. After the FBI and I parted, I went dark for four years, off the grid until Dorian found me a year ago.”

  “Ouch, okay, then what, days, weeks later you found Jirair?

  “My last morning at the bureau, I received an anonymous tip, placed Jirair at a bar, the Bookie’s Hideaway just hours before I got fired. Never passed it on. Waited all afternoon outside that joint in a cold rain. He came out, and I shadowed him north on Clifford Street to Henry and then into the Eddystone.

  What happened there, Mace, what’s got you standing on roof ledges that is bothering you?”

  “No body. I cornered him on the roof. Jirair standing next to a low wall at the roof’s edge, and I was just outside the stairwell facing him. I tried to talk him in. He laughed, implied I needed him, and he was enjoying it. Said he already picked out his next victim, she was fifteen.”

  Mace stopped and stared across the room. His mind’s eye replaying the scene: his charging, then falling, lunging, his hands stinging from the black roof gravel.

  “Mace?”

  “I charged, I had to stop him.”

  “Do you remember grabbing him? When I saw you standing on the roof-wall, you had your arms over your head.”

  A flock of pigeons shot into the air. “No, I fell.” Did I get up?

  He shook his head. “Everything else is fuzzy. Really, the next thing I remember is waking at the base of the wall. Jirair was on the ground in the alley. I just left, figured someone would report it. I went to my hotel on Jefferson, waited, nothing happened. No one reported a body. Later, I went back, going to report it myself, but nothing. The alley was clean.”

  “It didn’t happen, ever think of that?”

  “What, what are you saying, Anstice?”

  “You said it, no body. You charged, he pulled you down into the wall, you cracked your head or something, and he got away.”

  “You saying I am imagining this?”

  “No, you blacked out. Your sub-conscious carried out what you intended. By the time you got your thinking straight, that is what you believed. Makes more sense than a dead body walking away.”

  “Possible, but the thought, just the thought of killing someone in cold blood…” Mace lowered his head, ran a hand through his tight curls, and remained holding his head.

  Anstice reached over and kissed Mace lightly on his cheek. “Not what happened. You need to put it out of your head, let it go, Mace.”

  Mace lifted his head. He felt better, safe, even though he knew he had all but confessed to murder. “I’ve never told anyone this, tried to forget, but how can I?”

  Anstice slid close to him, a hand cradled the side of his face. She kissed him on the lips, then backed inches away, her eyes searching his. He brought his arms around her and kissed her, deep, probing with passion.

  “You will forget, starting tonight,” she said, sitting back on her haunches. She shed her blouse and bra, releasing her ample breasts. “By thinking about me.”

  Mace stared at Anstice, drinking in her body. “God, I’ve never seen so many freckles.”

  Anstice laughed. “That’s all you see. Mace, I beginning to really worry about you.”

  She stood and slipped off her pants and panties. He stood
, and she took his head in her hands, drinking in the vision, and planted a probing kiss on his mouth. “Think about this? What you are going to do to me, and how many times.”

  Their eyes held each other, and then slowly Anstice crouched down, straddled Mace, worked on his belt, and pulled down his pants. “Well, I see I got your attention.”

  “You are ravishing from your heart to the last freckle.”

  Mace stood, pulled her up off the floor. “Let’s go to bed.”

  They embraced, sensuously locked in a probing kiss. Anstice turned, pulling him toward the bedroom, then pivoted to drink in every detail of Mace’s hard body. “Looks like we are pulling an all-nighter.”

  * * * *

  Anstice could hear Mace in the shower; thought of joining him, but the bright lights behind the blinds reminded her of her meeting with Lieutenant Robers. Smiling, she grabbed a shirt from Mace’s closet and went to the kitchen to fix some coffee. She still needed to drive Mace someplace to get a car. A buzzing in her jacket prompted her to retrieve her phone. She frowned, it wasn’t good.

  She found the coffee. Beans? Mace sure is old school. She located the grinder and loaded it, the loud pulverizing process sounding more like milling stone rather than coffee. When it finished, she heard a noise in the living room.

  “Mace, I’m making coffee.”

  No response.

  Anstice walked into the living room. A groggy mind saw a slender woman standing there in a deep-cut white silk blouse, and low-buttoned black jacket staring at the discarded clothing on the floor. The realization clicked in. Anstice blushed, pulled Mace’s shirt tight around her. “Helyn.”

  “Have a key,” she said, holding it aloft. “And yes. I left a few things in the bedroom bureau, but…” She scanned the floor again, flipping Anstice’s panties off a pillow. “I think I would rather not go in there.”

  “I’m… I’m sorry, Helyn, I…” She ran her fingers through her hair, scratching at the back. “We had dinner, drinks, and worked a case last night, and well…”

  “I get the last part.” Helyn said, “don’t feel too bad, this makes it easier.” She put a key on the mantel. “I guess I won’t need this anymore. Tell Mace…”

  “Helyn? Anstice… Helyn I…”

  Helyn looked over at Mace, standing with a towel around him. “If you are doing introductions, we covered that part. I’ve decided. I was going to talk about it, but this makes it easier. I am seeing someone else, a doctor. We got serious before the Ford event, I was going to tell you then. But, well, things happened. Here’s your key.”

  Mace stood with his mouth open. Helyn turned toward the door, then back again, and smiled before saying, “I’m glad you’re moving on, Mace, I really am. A detective might be a better fit for you. Anstice, good luck, and don’t shoot him. Believe me, at times, you will want to.”

  Helyn left.

  “Mace, I… I… I’m so sorry, I…”

  Mace came over, embraced Anstice, and kissed her on her cheek. “Nothing to be sorry about, Anstice. I wouldn’t change a thing about last night. You helped me face a demon.”

  Anstice, her hands on his chest, flashed a smile. “I made coffee.”

  “Thanks, I’ll grab some. Will you still be able to drop me downtown?”

  “Yes,” she said, “but we have to be quick, they paged me, something went hot, and I have a date with LT Robers.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Her guilt began to simmer as soon as she dropped Mace at a Ypsilanti Rent-A-Junker. His desire to reignite his relationship with Helyn was strong. Then why did she interfere? Would last night have happened without the fire? Did it matter? Her heart wanted Mace, had to have him, but could she hold him if he discovered the truth about her past. That could happen if she didn’t play it right with Trayn. He was trouble.

  Anstice made a left off Seven Mile Road into the parking area of Detroit’s Eighth Precinct. Parked, she sat back from the wheel, staring at a yellow cinder block wall. Anstice thought her past remained in Dearborn. She lied. Worse, she lied to herself that the past would stay there. Upon hearing Trayn had joined Detroit’s finest, Anstice should have done something then, but she hadn’t. She remembered her first assignment at the Dearborn PD, fresh out of the academy, young, pumped up on perfect policing, and very naïve. She was well-worked clay ready for molding by Sergeant Trayn Robers. Now he was Lieutenant Robers.

  Anstice entered the familiar building and navigated back through the maze of offices and interview rooms. The long yellow brick warehouse looking building was home to DPD’s North-Western Criminal Operations Center, Lieutenant Trayn Robers’ domain.

  In a rear corner, Trayn had a glassed-in office along the windowless outside wall. Anstice stopped in the bullpen area, a jumble of desks for the detectives working robbery and bunko cases. With the door to his office closed, Trayn was engrossed in a phone call. His gray metal desk neatly piled with folders and papers. A twenty-inch computer display occupied the desk’s center, and now, his attention. Talking to him was dangerous, not doing it even more so. She stood outside his door and knocked. He waved her inside.

  He hung up the phone. “Anstice, I knew you would come.”

  “Lieutenant.”

  “Anstice, don’t be that way, this is your old Sarge,”

  “How can I be of service, sir.”

  “Okay, Sergeant Behrenhardt, if that is how you want to play it, take a seat, let’s chat.”

  Anstice hesitated. Inside her head, alarm bells were going off. She knew Trayn would have all the exits covered, physical and political. She needed one he hadn’t planned on. She pulled back a chair from in front of his desk and sat down. Folding her arms across her chest, she wanted to scream and yell, cursing him for hijacking her life. But instead, she remained silent.

  “Back in the day, Ants, you were the best undercover cop I had, could sniff out a fence in a heartbeat.”

  “Until I figured out, I was just making you rich.”

  “No, no, now, you know that is not true. Leastwise, not by the paper trail. That’s all on you.”

  And she regretted it. Lips drawn tight below a cold stare, she remembered her play. She had alerted internal affairs to a Robbery play-for-pay kick-back scheme but avoided naming names hoping to duck being fingered as the source. The problem was Trayn figured it out and planted the evidence on her. It ended in a Mexican standoff. He squashed the IA probe, and she transferred out.

  “We had an agreement, Trayn.”

  “Still do, still do. But you see we have a new face in play, Lasher Tractor Supply, Lasher and Fenkell Ave, a guy there goes by the handle of Farmer Jack. We think he is dealing in stolen construction equipment.”

  “And what, Trayn, you want a cut.”

  “Watch your mouth, Ants, agreement, or no, you could still go down for taking those kickbacks.”

  “Never did, and you know it. And I still have my hold-back. IA would find it very interesting.”

  Trayn raised open palms above his desk in mock surrender. “Okay, okay, truce. We cleaned up, reassigned a couple of bad boys. No harm, no foul. The agreement just some insurance, that you would keep it that way.”

  “That was five years ago, so what changed, why do you want me volunteering for undercover?”

  “Oh, no, not volunteering, have none of that. I heard you were up for Lieutenant, like that, you deserve it. Thought I’d help you along, so I approved your transfer request back into C-Ops, effective immediately.”

  Anstice jumped up, her hands gripping the overhanging desktop. “What transfer, you piece of shit. I never put in for a transfer.”

  “You did, or we’re going to use that insurance policy.”

  Anstice sank back down into her chair. Her eyes filled with tears of anger. Not happening, I’m not going to be used again. I need time

  “Not so bad, Ants. It’ll be better than the body-bag-chasing the boys in the Fourth homicide are having you do. It’s something you are really good at,” Tray
n said, a bemused smile, half pout, half-mocking grin grew across his face.

  “What’s that, Trayn?”

  “Lying.”

  He was right on that point; she admitted to herself. Working undercover, she never had a problem being believed. Was it a talent picked up being the youngest, the sweet innocent, manipulating her brothers, she wasn’t sure? The fact that the MCS car fire turned into a real major crime was pure luck. If she agreed to work for Trayn, not that she could see a choice, he would, in time, frame her again. Her promotion would never see the light of day.

  “Won’t look good, Trayn. I’m doing a joint with the MBI. A sudden departure would raise questions. Better I take some time, wrap up loose ends, do a handoff.”

  “Bullshit, who you working with from the MBI?”

  “Captain Franklyn, Mace Franklyn. Ask around, you’ll see I’m telling it straight.”

  Anstice knew Trayn had a lazy streak a mile wide. Something she was banking on, and that he would not follow up about Mace.

  “Can’t change the date, Ants, that’s not something I can do.”

  “What the hell, Trayn? You forged the transfer paperwork, changing a date should be trivial. Say you got the week wrong. Give me a Monday start.”

  Trayn stroked his chin. “All right, don’t want to draw too much attention, but you’re working Saturday, best I can do.”

  Anstice rose to leave. Her insides were boiling with anger, but she kept a lid on the cauldron and a stone face.

  “Ants.”

  She stopped and faced the lieutenant.

  “Don’t pull any shit, Ants. I’ve got eyes.”

  Her fists clenched; she kept her composure until she entered her car parked behind the building.

  She sat staring out the windshield. Trayn wasn’t going to do this to her again. A plan formed.

  It would be a cliff walk on a rainy day, but her relationship with Mace, with the right people, could provide the leverage to rid her life of Trayn forever. And that person was her ex, Emmitt Loveland.

  Chapter Twenty-Four