The Greeks of Beaubien Street

by Jenkins, Suzanne

  “I would have cleaned up if I knew company was coming,” Mike Ahmed said with sarcasm. “Isn’t it normal to notify someone of a visit?”

  “We didn’t think you would be home,” Albert said. “Gretchen’s mother and father told us you were an engineer at Ford and I thought you would be at work. I was just going to leave my calling card. Are you ill? Or is this a regular day off for you?” Albert got out his notepad and turned the recorder on. “Do you mind if I record our talk?” he asked. Mike seemed confused for a moment, and then recognition crossed over his face; he’d been caught.

  “No, I’m not ill and yes, you can record.” He was thinking fast and decided the best thing to do was come clean right away about his work situation; they would surely be checking up on him and it was best not to lie about stupid stuff. “I don’t work for Ford. It was a lie I told Gretchen.” Stick to the facts, he reminded himself. Albert didn’t say anything, he was intently writing in his little notebook. He drew a picture of a dove first, and then a cat. He watched Mike Ahmed out of the corner of his eye, biding his time, giving him a chance to say something else. When he didn’t add anything more, Albert began his questioning.

  “Where did you meet Gretchen?” He watched Mike carefully again, and could see he was fabricating his story as he went along. There was something about the way he told it, sing-songing almost, that didn’t read true.

  “We met at Miller’s Bar. She was sitting with her friends, and I went up to her. She gave me her phone number. That is really all there is to it.” Hardly, Albert thought.

  “Did she introduce you to her friends?” Albert asked. The wheels turning in Mike Ahmed’s head were almost visible. He was thinking when did she introduce me to Leah?

  “Not that night,” Mike said. “Later. A few weeks later her friend Leah met us at Dino’s. We ate and then went to a movie. The three of us did a lot together after that.” His stomachache got worse; had Gretchen told Leah the truth about him following her home from Miller’s? And then showing up at her job? He hoped not. “I have to go to the bathroom.” He stood and walked toward the back of the house. Albert and Aaron Barry sat in silence. Aaron leaned over and whispered to Albert, “He’s lying.”

  “Did he recognize you from somewhere?” Albert asked.

  “I’ve seen him at mosque,” Aaron said. Albert lifted his eyebrows to the young cop and cocked his head. Mike returned in a few minutes, pale and sweaty. Albert noted that fact; the man was reacting to the news of Gretchen’s death, unless it was a coincidental stomach virus.

  “Are you okay to continue?” he asked. Mike shook his head no.

  “Can we do this another time?” he responded. “I feel sick. I want to go lay down.” Albert and Aaron stood up together.

  “You have my card, correct? When you feel better, give me a call,” Albert said. The two walked to the door and let themselves out. They didn’t speak until they got to the curb. Albert thought a prolonged conversation in front of his house with a uniform might increase Mike Ahmed’s fear.

  “What do you think about making some passes tonight?” he asked Aaron. There was nothing more intimidating than being involved in a crime and having a cop car go by your house every half hour.

  “I would be happy to. Anything else we can do let us know.” The two men shook hands. Albert had a list of people he needed to see: the friend Leah, Gretchen Parker’s co-workers, and anyone else those conversations would reveal.

  But first, he wanted to go see his Nana.

  Chapter 14

  Alex Kazmerek kissed his girlfriend Jill goodbye as she left for work early Monday morning. “I’ll be right behind you,” he said. He made her coffee to go, the first of many cups she would drink during the day. It was the one thing he could do for her: make sure she had coffee and food before her day began. Everything else between them seemed to radiate from her. They were at her place most of the time because it was bigger than his apartment. She had the money, mainly her detective salary, but also wise investments from a loving father, which made her comfortable life one he was honored to share. He was an assistant in the morgue. His income was just enough to pay his room rent, buy a few groceries and clothes, and pay for beer.

  They would never get married. He had too much baggage. They were in love with each other, but their history made no legal tie necessary to hold them together. Jill Zannos proved over and over again that she loved him unconditionally and that almost nothing he could do would drive her away. Almost.

  Although they weren’t what you would call high school sweethearts, they were constant companions. Jill wasn’t the type to go steady. Even in high school, she was driven and independent. She rubbed off on the people around her: do your best, test yourself, set the bar higher and higher. One of the things that first drew her to Alex was his desire to practice medicine. However, not everyone had the same discipline that Jill did. Alex was a pre-med major in college; Jill studied criminal justice. But she loved science too and minored in biology. Having that background definitely later helped her in homicide investigations. Jill went on to get a Masters of Criminology, and Alex went to medical school. They saw each other every weekend. She was patient, helpful, and encouraging.

  Alex graduated and started his residency in emergency medicine, but there was a problem: he hated to see people in pain. He couldn’t set up a boundary between sympathy and empathy and suffered right along with his patients. He began self-medicating. It got bad so fast they threw him out of the residency program with the promise that if he got help, they’d consider allowing him to reapply. Jill was devastated. Alex was relieved. He drank and drugged himself into a stupor for two years. When he pulled out of it and got some therapy, he knew he would never go back. He didn’t want to be a doctor. What he wanted to do was so obtuse that he didn’t share it with Jill for a long, long time: he wanted to paint.

  He was a mediocre talent, but improved with art classes. He got a job, which provided minimal financial support, and painted when he had the free time. He saved a little money here and there and took the classes whenever he was able. Then Jill found out that the pathologist was looking for a science major to help with dissections in the morgue. She gave Sam a brief synopsis of Alex’s experience without outing him too much, and he was hired sight unseen. It turned out to be perfect for him. The job was a good fit; the patients were already dead so he didn’t have to see them suffer or worry about harming them further. He saved his imagination for his paintings which were becoming quite good.

  Despite his newfound stability, Alex still struggled with substance abuse. Jill stuck by him because she loved him, but also because he tolerated her strange, mystical personality. He supported her spell casting and candle lighting, reminding her when the full moon was on its way so she could cleanse the crystals she used in her prayers. He never laughed at her. Her aunts were mortified when Gus let it slip that Jill did white spells even though she was taught by their mother, but he smoothed it over by saying what she was doing was really just prayers with props.

  Jill prayed for Alex, too. He felt as though the pull to drink lessened when he was in her presence so he took advantage of it. Since she didn’t drink more than an occasional glass of wine, there wasn’t the temptation to drink at her apartment. They didn’t enjoy the bar scene except for one favorite place that had great pizza and wonderful music. They drank Coke when they went there. Rarely, when he was alone, he would tie one on. There was nothing Jill could do about it, so she ignored it. It was the unsolvable in the middle of their life together. Alex functioned, never missed work, didn’t see her if he was drunk, but this meant time apart. He would often lose a couple of days of creativity to a hangover and wouldn’t paint. During the school year when he had the money to take a class, he would go for months without drinking. And then something would happen. He’d see something that triggered a deep and unforgiving sadness he just couldn’t deal with. He’d hold out until Friday, then go to the corner packaged goods store and get a case of whate
ver was on sale. He’d call her first and say simply “I’ll be off the grid for a day or two,” and she would say, “Okay, I love you.” And that would be it until he called her when it was all over. The Greeks; her family, couldn’t condone public displays of drunkenness. But what was done in private was another matter.

  When they were young, she would ask if she could help him in some way and he always allowed it. Jill bought special vitamins, lit candles, burned sage sticks around his apartment, anointed him with essential oils, gave him Reiki treatments, and fed him healthy food from her father’s deli counter. He did binge less but like a smoker, he couldn’t throw away that last cigarette. After ten or twelve years of interfering, Jill finally decided to leave Alex alone about his drinking. She rationalized that he only did it a couple of times a year and it didn’t hurt anyone but him.

  They worked out a schedule that suited them. His place was tiny and in a bad neighborhood so she rarely stayed there. He spent the night at her apartment when she was on call so that their dog Fred could be with both of them and Alex would be there to walk him if Jill was called out, which happened regularly. She and Albert shared the call responsibility with two other homicide teams. They’d have a run of murders and then nothing for weeks.

  Jill was an enigma; she was compassionate to a fault, yet stupid people drove her crazy. She was impossible to manipulate, except by Alex and Fred, and maintained a steady state of mind, no matter what was happening. She didn’t flinch at the most devastating circumstances. Tough as she was though, the one thing Jill couldn’t tolerate even slightly was bad odor. Stinky trash, dog poop, guts; all things that caused bile to rise in her throat. Those childish forays in the gutter forgotten, she kept a small vial of menthol camphor ointment in her purse to combat the worst decomposition smells. But nothing else got her down. She was empowered by her intense and often horrifying job rather than depressed by it. And Alex’s weaknesses only increased her compassion for him.

  They spent the weekends together at Jill’s unless Alex wanted to be alone. Once a month they drove out to Plymouth to see Chris at his group home. It was always emotional for Alex. Here was this innocent man, more child than adult, who loved seeing his sister Jill with such fervor that he jumped up and down, clapping his hands. Alex fought tears most of the visit. Jill told him that he didn’t need to go with her, but he insisted. Here was reality. It gave him a chance to exercise his over-sensitive emotional side. And a reminder to himself of how goddamned lucky he was. Jill loved Chris and they spent the few hours in laughter, playing games, talking, and walking around the neighborhood. His houseparent was an unconventional woman who wore her blond hair in dreadlocks and had a pierced nose. The families of her residents worshiped her because she took good care of their loved ones, providing them with safety and a socialized life. When it was time to go, Chris never begged Jill to stay; he was happy to get back to his stable life with his arranged family. Jill left in peace. Gus always said the same thing; he was sad to go, but so happy that his son was satisfied that leaving wasn’t difficult.

  Gus liked Alex. He was resigned to the fact that his only daughter would probably never leave this sad and broken man. The aunts and uncles all had plenty to say about him, from the first time they met him when they were dating in high school.

  “What does your girl date that Polack for?” Aunt Maria said. “She’s so skinny that no Greek boy wants her? Why don’t you force her to find a boy from the church?” Aunt Maria never made a comment that wasn’t a question. That way, it wasn’t really her opinion. When Jill was a child and Aunt Maria critiqued her appearance or behavior, Jill’s mother told her to mind her own business.

  “Your own brother’s daughter and you talk about her like a dog,” she said. Maria’s answer was, “What? I can’t ask after my own brother’s child?” So it went for years. When Alex lost his residency, it was the first time anyone in the family acted as if they cared about him. No one criticized him, no one gossiped behind his back. They spoke in whispers around Jill, worried about her, tried to feed her. It was a testimony to the family she came from. They talked trash about Alex because he was Polish, but then acted like he was an accident victim when he got thrown out his residency for being a drunk. The aunts showed up at Jill’s apartment with food for days after the news got out. She blamed her cousin Andy for that; he and Alex became close during college. Andy wanted to rally around Alex, get him into rehab, and make it right. But the truth was, and Jill knew this, that Alex was better off out of there. He was a gentle soul. His father was the one who wanted his son to be a doctor. The poor man was heartbroken when Alex came home in the middle of the week with his duffle bag.

  “I got kicked out,” he said when his mother asked him what the story was. “I’m an alcoholic and evidently that’s not allowed when you are learning to be a doctor.” But Jill knew the truth. The drunkenness was just an excuse. It was easier to admit failure due to alcoholism than it was to tell your street-cleaning father who spent his life working overtime to put you through eight years of school that you really want to be a painter. Once Alex had the courage to do what he wanted at the insistence of Jill, his parents stopped talking to him. So far, he sold one painting at a gallery on Jefferson. He had them send the check right to Mr. and Mrs. Kazmerek, and the last he heard, they had cashed it. He would pay them back eventually and hoped they would be able to forgive him when that happened.

  ~ ~ ~

  While Albert talked to Mike Ahmed and visited his Nana, Jill Zannos interviewed the employees who made the blood clot filled drain discovery. She was treating the building like a crime scene until the DNA reports came back. The entire third floor had been taped off, security videos aimed at the hotel room from the elevator retrieved, and ten employees who had worked Sunday night brought in for interviews. Room three forty-six was half of a double. A married couple from Manhattan occupied the rooms: Mr. and Mrs. Eric Archer. They paid cash, had an American Express card and a New York driver’s license. The driver’s license was a fake. So that was that. Until the lab reports came back, Jill wasn’t sure if this was even related to Gretchen Parker. Albert was convinced Mike Ahmed was involved in some way and Jill felt certain of it. None of the Sunday evening employees interviewed could tell Jill anything helpful. Next, they’d interview the Friday evening employees. The list was long and they would be talking for a couple of days. Finally, pay dirt.

  The housekeeper who was assigned to the third floor Friday night saw a dark haired man enter the room next door to three forty-six with a “drunk” woman over his shoulder. In this part of town with the Greektown casinos and the bars open late, it wasn’t so unusual a sight. The man even said to the housekeeper, “Too much to drink.” She remembered that the man trilled his r’s.

  “Did he have an accent?” Jill asked. The woman shook her head yes.

  “He was trying to cover it up, but the ‘r’ gave it away,” the woman explained.

  “Did he look like a tourist or was he local?” Jill inquired.

  “I don’t know if he’s a local or not, but he’s a regular. I mean, I’ve seen him here before. They come from New York most of them, to gamble.” Jill didn’t doubt that she had seen him before, but why would a New Yorker come to Detroit to gamble when they have Atlantic City? It didn’t make any sense. Unless there’s a prostitution angle to this. She needed to get an ID on the man.

  “If I bring you a picture, do you think you would recognize the man with the lady over his shoulder?” Jill looked the woman in the eyes and saw her expression subtly change from confident to fearful.

  “Maybe,” she said. “I’ve got to leave now, my babysitter doesn’t like it when I’m late.”

  Jill finished interviewing the rest of the employees but no one could tell her anything more. After she cleaned up her notes, she’d go back to the precinct to watch the video. She hoped there was an image of a man with a woman thrown over his shoulder.

  Chapter 15

  Nicholas Zannos came from
Greece to live with his Canadian relatives. His brother, George immigrated to Toronto and worked in a steel plant saving money for his own grocery store. Their sister, Anne lived in Windsor where she and her husband had a grocery. When Nicholas and Eleni moved to Detroit, they had two children, Nick and John, and she was pregnant with Peter. It made sense to open a grocery there as well. It wasn’t a problem to move supplies across the border back then. The Canadian family would help Nick get started by providing the stock needed until he had the money to open his own accounts stateside. Anything fresh they needed for the deli would come from the Eastern Market. The market overwhelmed Eleni. Cavernous spaces of rows of farmers with their bounty beckoned her in. The butchers were the most intriguing. The Zannos’ decided that roasted lamb would be on the menu daily.

  Greektown had already changed from a Greek residential community to a Greek commercial district by the time they moved in. The old neighborhood was mostly Polish and Lebanese, but the Greeks still living in the area were a tightly knit group who worshiped together and tried to uphold their own politics. The new family was heartily welcomed.

  Nick and Eleni’s grocery and deli with take-out was a new concept. It would give them an edge. As the children grew up, they worked alongside their parents, saving money for college or making plans to leave to go out on their own. Gus was the youngest boy. He spent his baby years riding on the hips of his older siblings. As soon as he could contribute, he was given jobs that a toddler could do. He swept floors, kept the table and chair legs of the few set up for customers to use sparkling clean, and dusted canned good that were stacked close to the floor. He loved canned goods. He would catch himself buying a product because of its beautiful label once he was running the store himself.