by Frans Harmon
“Allah appoints the hour, we await his call. Jirair instructed me to prepare.”
“Jirair, my son, he’s here? You told me he was in Syria, trapped by the fighting. When did he get home? I must see him.”
Sar left his cup and table and led Dadua across the courtyard to the gray door of his residence. The one-room apartment had a bed next to the door, a sink, hot plate, and a small refrigerator across the room. A high window shed a fading light revealing a wheelchair and figure in tan slacks, brown shoes, and a white shirt on the opposite side of the bed. His head wrapped in a turban, its tail obscuring his face.
Dadua moved around the bed. “Jirair, my son, I did not know.” Dadua reached for his shoulders, then repulsed back, his hands still raised, his eyes bloomed large as he stared at Jirair. Then Dadua looked at Sar and rushed over to him, hands grasping for his neck. “What has happened to him?” He screamed, “what have you done, you monster?”
A sharp pain stabbed through his head. Sar picked up Dadua and threw him against the wall over the sink. Dadua grabbed his chest, his eyes clenched, he fell rolling off the sink onto the floor.
Sar walked behind the wheelchair. “Sorry, my Ulama, but as you saw, it was necessary. We must leave now. He rolled the turbaned figure out an exterior door opposite the bed and into a van equipped with a chair lift. He buckled in the chair. “A few minutes, my Ulama, I take care of the others, and we will leave.”
* * * *
In their cell, Sharlene paced away from where Coria and Trina were sitting. Losing her daughter’s phone to a courtyard roof built a wall of cold distrust between them. Sharlene saw her plight as nearly hopeless, but she wasn’t giving up. Their meager meal, baked eggs in tomato sauce, Shakshuka, overtaken by hushed conversations about her.
Sharlene turned toward them. Coria still poked at her Shakshuka between nods and head-shake responses to Trina, who appeared to have lost interest in food. Walking away, images of her daughters, her constant worry, consumed her thinking. She sat down on her bed. Sar would be coming for Trina soon; it was a daily occurrence. Sharlene focused on every departure, searching for any clue of sight, sound, or time. Was it their morning or evening meal? She didn’t even know that. But she had to keep searching for anything that would expose a flaw in Sar’s thinking, anything that could lead to a way out. Trina began fidgeting with her clothes. A ritual precursor to her leaving. She said it was to clean the kitchen, but by the look on her face every evening, she seemed to be cleaning more than his kitchen.
Footsteps, his heavy footfall, signaled his approach. They were quicker than usual. The heavy metal door groaned open, and Sar simultaneously called for Trina. The door closed with a heavy thud, and Coria slumped down on her bed.
Sharlene tried to break through the chill. “Sean is going to call the police. He’ll figure it out, my Sean is smart.”
Coria said nothing.
The door opened again. “You,” Sar said, pointing at Coria.
Sharlene had never been left alone before. A change in the routine, an opportunity, or bad end? Sharlene decided anything different was a good thing. The light went out. In the pitch, the air seemed heavier. Sharlene’s breath came deep and fast. What is happening?
The door opened. “Out.”
Suddenly the pitch-dark lost its foreboding. “Why?”
“Perhaps, I want you to sing,” Sar said, his voice saturated with sarcasm.
Sharlene stood and walked to the threshold of the door. A bear paw sized hand yanked her forward. She didn’t see the other women in the room. “What have you done with—"
An arm wrapped around her waist, then a hand, small and bony, covered her mouth and nose with gauze. She struggled, a gasp of breath, and she surrendered to the floor.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Anstice in black Kevlar vest, hair knotted on her head, stood out like a beacon. She stood at the farthest end of a Fourth Precinct gray metal conference table. Emmitt was to her left. In her mind, that was a good and bad thing.
The SWAT team, led by Sergeant Cunningham, entered from behind her. Cunningham, a large man whose size belied his considerable agility, was a good cop who diligently followed protocol. That was comforting, but the man following him wasn’t.
“Good seeing you again, Ants.”
A cold chill cramped her gut. It was Trayn. Clenching her eyes, she questioned how he became involved, but he was here now. Dorian, Gavin, Helyn, and Mace entered and flowed around the table. Trayn, staring in her direction, held a constant smirk on his face and then nodded. Anstice avoided eye contact and wondered to whom Trayn was nodding. She happened to glance to her left and caught Emmitt’s return of the gesture. A block of ice dropped into her already knotted gut. She pulled her Kevlar vest tighter around her. What have I gotten into? She focused on the conference table. Cunningham spread a floor plan out on the table.
“Salpmore complex,” Cunningham said, “consists of the funeral home proper, a courtyard, a crematorium on the right, and an outbuilding, used for storage, at the rear. There is basement structure under the first-floor rooms, here and here, and the outbuilding, here. We will hit both simultaneously. Bob, you and Mike will enter from this access door at the outbuilding’s rear. Ray, George, we will enter from the front.”
“Lieutenant Robers, DPD, has perimeter, “Dorian said, “I’m assuming overall command of this situation, SIT-COM, Emmitt you’re tactical commander, TAC-COM. You and Sergeant Behrenhardt will accompany SWAT at the front, Gavin, at the rear. Our civilians here, Mace and Helyn, will remain with me in the command bus until the complex is secure. It goes without saying, our first objective is to secure the hostages. DPD will apprehend anyone attempting to escape. Any questions?”
Dorian looked around the table, everyone remained stone face silent. “Good, gear up, we move out in ten.”
* * * *
The convoy of vehicles raced up Lawndale heading for Vernor Highway. Trailing the SWAT’s converted MRAP vehicles, Trayn led three blue and white DPD patrol cars, all with silent sirens but with blue lights flashing. A black FBI SUV, Emmitt driving, and Anstice in the front passenger position. She sat nervously focused on the task at hand, juggling thoughts of Trayn and Emmitt, two men appearing to be colluding against her. The command bus was the last in convoy.
“You are going to help me, aren’t you, Emmitt?”
“If you’ve got something on Mace.”
“I do. I think it’s what you wanted.”
Emmitt nodded as he wheeled the cruiser right onto Vernor. “Better be good.”
“I’m starting tomorrow. Trayn already has something lined up. You’ve got to be fast.”
Emmitt glanced at Anstice. “Don’t push, Ants, it’s already starting to smell.”
“Okay, what’s the plan. You tell me.”
“Drop by One Woodward after this wraps. We’ll go from there.”
* * * *
The sun just breaking the horizon, Cunningham’s MRAP jumped the low curb and crossed a grass challenged median stopping a few feet from the door. SWAT team members, Ray and George, took up positions on either side the MRAP engine compartment, Cunningham in front. Bob and Mike scurried to the rear of the complex. Gavin was running behind them. The front door SWAT team was joined by Emmitt and Anstice. “TAC COM in position,” Emmitt said.
* * * *
“Stand-by for team two,” Dorian said. A technician brought up the images from the SWAT teams helmet cameras. The second team, accompanied by Gavin, took up positions at the mouth of an alley leading to the back of the complex. Mace noticed a van parked near where the rear entrance should be.
“DPD perimeter secured.”
Dorian scanned the screens before him. “Okay, looks like we are set.” Dorian glanced at Mace. His focus was on the van. “Execute, execute, execute,” Dorian said. The views from the head cams rocked from side to side as team two ran toward the rear entrance.
“TAC- COM, breached, we’re in.”
“Dorian, I see a wire,
tell team two to stay away from the van.”
“Team two, SIT-COM, avoid the van, acknowledge.”
The team-two video stopped swaying. They replied, but their words were garbled with static. Dorian spoke into the microphone again, but now they were on the move.
Mace jumped up and headed to the door.
“Mace, where are you going?” Helyn said.
“There’s a bomb,” he replied and tossed open the door. “Bomb,” he shouted, “there’s a bomb in the van.”
* * * *
The SWAT team swept the office and two of the viewing rooms. Each room had a closed casket. Emmitt remained in the main corridor. Anstice checked the coffins, one contained the body of a young woman, the other an elderly man.
In her earpiece, Anstice heard the warning about the van. At the end of the corridor, the SWAT team confronted a door on the right. Storming through it lead to a basement stairway. Emmitt followed. Anstice, her Glock in one hand, held at arm’s length, in a shooting position, the other holding a high-intensity light took the door to the left.
“TAC-COM in the basement.”
“SIT-COM, Anstice, splitting off. TAC-COM proceeding to the rear of main complex.”
She opened the door. She anticipated meeting Gavin with SWAT team two, but their comms were silent. She was in a narrow corridor with two small windows. The first overlooked a courtyard and the second, the storage building. She took another step. “SIT-COM—”
A bright flash. She ducked. Window glass shot across the hall. A thunderous blast drove her to the floor. The building shuddered. Dust and debris fell to the floor. The basso reverberation assaulted her ears as if her head was inside a beating drum. She found herself covered in plaster dust wedged in the crease where wall meets floor. She dragged herself up. The only sound, a drone, like a hive of buzzing bees, in her ears. She checked the openings where the windows had been. The courtyard was littered with contorted sheets of white metal and black chunks of auto parts. Flames jumped from behind the storage building. The buzzing left her.
“SIT-COM, proceeding to explosion site,” Anstice said.
Not waiting for a reply, she ran past the door of a freight elevator. A quick glance through a small viewing window revealed the space behind vacant. She vaulted down the staircase, which ended at the level of the courtyard. A door leading there was blown open. To her left another door. Where’s team two?
She took a deep breath and pulled the door open. She swept the room. It was empty except for three cots, tossed blankets on the floor, a commode, and sink. She heard voices behind her and spun around, gun raised in firing position.
“Whoa, you okay?”
Anstice nodded. It was Gavin and the other SWAT team. “Furnace is back there, we have three bodies.”
Anstice lowered her weapon. “What was that explosion?”
“What? We were back in the crematorium room, thick walls, comms out… what are you talking about?”
Anstice sprinted through the courtyard door into the open doorway of the storage building. A figure in black ducked behind a shamble of boxes and furniture. “Police, show yourself.”
Anstice fired twice over the jumble.
“Stop it, Bear, it’s me.”
“Mace?”
A blast of flame shot across the ceiling. “Out of here, Bear,” Mace said, as he spun Anstice around and ran with her for the courtyard door.
“What were you doing in there?”
“We lost comms with team two, I came to warn them about the van parked behind the building. Guess they didn’t need it, they weren’t near it when I got here, so I ran inside, and the bomb went off.”
Wailing sirens closed on the complex as Gavin entered the courtyard. “We’ve cleared the complex. No sign of the women, but we have three bodies.” Gavin then ran a hand over his short-cropped hair, his facing cracking with emotion. “What if… oh God, Coria,” he said, and then collapsed onto the concrete floor.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Washing his hands, he splashed his face in the small command bus bathroom; he stopped and scowled at his glistening image. His hands slammed the sink venting his boiling frustration. He saw the cell Anstice had found, it was obvious the women had been there. They should have them, but somehow, someone must have warned Sar of the raid. The sudden movement spurred a sharp complaint from his bruised ribs and reminded him he may have been targeted once more.
Finished, he returned to the command center and found Dorian, lost in thought, contemplating blank video monitors. Mace leaned against cabinetry behind him, and Dorian rotated to face him. “SWAT secured and FSD is processing. Shing found fresh food, we just missed them, Mace.”
“We find Sar or Dadua, we still have a chance at finding the women alive.”
Dorian’s fist pounded the desk before him. “Two weeks frittered away when we should have been looking.”
“Dead is what the perp wanted us to think, Dorian. He had a plan with a long-time line, he had to hide what he was doing. Torching a toothless body was a good way to do it. But I think we have a bigger problem.”
Dorian swiveled around and faced Mace. “What are you thinking?”
“He was tipped, and it had to be at the same time you made the decision to raid.”
Dorian folded his arms. “Yes, yes, go on.”
“DPD was watching the home as soon as we got the warrant. They never reported anything, and it takes time to rig a van with explosives.”
“Someone could have slipped up, said something. It happens.”
“Don’t think so, Dorian. Takes time for the rumor mill. Someone called and warned them.”
“Bridle your paranoia, Mace. You’re forgetting we got a hit on Sharlene’s phone yesterday. Our perp is a meticulous planner, playing a long game, could be we got the hit because he was ready to be found, not warned.”
Mace grimaced and slouched against the cabinetry. Dorian had made a point.
The sun was up. Mace glanced out one of the bus’s few windows and saw Anstice talking with Lieutenant Robers. He remembered her talking last night. In the fog of half-sleep, he heard her voice but few of her words. Tangled with Emmitt and Trayn, was there a third? Today hadn’t gone the way he hoped. Am I helping Anstice or digging a deeper hole for myself? It just got more complicated.
Helyn climbed into the command vehicle. “Thanks to Dadua Salpmore, you can cancel the APB for him.”
She smiled as her words were met with silence from Mace and Dorian. “The body in the third retort was Dadua. Apparently, he neglected to pay his gas bill. They cut him off last night but not soon enough to save his life, although I’m not ready to rule on cause. Records in the crematorium indicate the other two bodies were legit deceased. Detroit ME already signed off.”
“The only other person we know was here is Sar. Without him, we are dead in the water again.”
“I’ll have Gavin check security and traffic cams in the area,” Dorian said, and then swept the room with his eyes, “by the way where is Gavin?”
Mace hesitated. He and Anstice escorted Gavin to the responding EMTs and later overheard they were taking him to Oakwood Hospital. Did Dorian know about Coria? “He got stressed out,” Mace said, “had to leave.”
“Gavin, stressed out, him?”
“Yeah, well, he’s Welsh, hard outside but all emotion on the inside. You should see him around puppies and babies, all weepy.”
“Huh, well, I’m glad he wasn’t taking this personal. Look, I’m heading back to Lansing. I need to tell Cassandra the bad news. Something I want to do face-to-face. Helyn, you staying?”
“Riding back with Dadua’s remains,” She said and stepped out of the bus.
Mace saw Anstice getting into a patrol car. “I’m good, Dorian. I’ll catch a ride with Sergeant Behrenhardt.”
* * * *
“Bum a ride?”
Anstice, stepping into a patrol car, tilted her head toward the vehicle. “Could you catch a ride back with unit two?�
� She asked of the uniformed officer sitting in the passenger seat.
Mace rounded the front of the car and took the patrolman’s place. “You talk to Emmitt?”
Anstice strapped herself into her seat. “Yeah, he’s suspicious, But I’m dropping by his office this afternoon.” She guided her cruiser out onto Springwells.
“Okay, take it slow with Emmitt. What did Trayn want?”
“Working tomorrow, Stem’s Tractor Supply on Six Mile and Livernois,” Anstice said and steered the patrol car onto Vernor Highway. “Trayn has set up a buy, a stolen back-hoe with traceable cash. We raid as soon as the deal goes down.”
“I wouldn’t have thought a business like that could survive on Six Mile Road. Been built up there a long time.”
“Yeah, explains why they might deal in stolen property.”
“So, let me guess, you bag the cash and hand it off to Trayn.”
“Yeah, all on camera.”
“Except, cameras off, Trayn says there’s been a mistake, and bagged cash a few grand lighter is returned to Stem. He gets a lesson on how to do business.”
Anstice pulled her vehicle into the Fourth Precinct parking lot, stopping behind Mace’s rental car. “What am I going to do about Trayn. You know he is setting me up. A tip to Internal Affairs and magically marked money turns up in my desk drawer, he’s got me again.”
“So, take your cut.”
“What?”
“Well, if he is going to set you up, you might as well have the money.”
“It’s marked money, and he will really be pissed.”
“Yeah, well, you know what he is doing, so lay it out for him.”
“He won’t believe me, Mace.”
“He will, long enough for this to work.”
* * * *
Emmitt was examining a file before him in his glass-walled office. Anstice didn’t bother to knock. She entered his office, closing the door behind her. “Didn’t hang around long, Emmitt.”
“It was a bust, I could feel it. What’d they find? Nothing, I bet.”
“Bodies, three of them.”
“Not the women’s, though.”
