Wake Me When It's Over

by Cheryl A Head

  “Ty is taking Don and Gil there now. Is there a way to get in?”

  “I’ve been working on that for a while. It has one of those retina scan units, and I’m not allowed access. If push comes to shove, you could just cut the power and ram through the door. There are security cameras that Heinrich monitors from his phone, so if Tyson takes your partners there, he’ll spot them.”

  “Got it. I’ll warn Don. Is there any other place Heinrich might take Lin?”

  “Maybe his house; it’s in the New Center area.”

  “Right. Mandy told me about that house.”

  Another dark feeling came over Charlie. She put both hands on the wheel and took a deep breath.

  “Charlie, are you still there?”

  “I was thinking about killing Heinrich.”

  “Hmm.”

  “You warned me, Cynthia. You said Lin could find himself in danger . . .”

  “You can’t blame yourself . . .”

  “Oh, but I do.”

  Charlie pulled the Corvette up to the garage entry in her condo building, pushed the opener mounted on her windshield, and watched the door slowly glide upward. She drove one level up to her reserved parking space and took the stairs. Lin had left food boxes on the coffee table, and her expensive shampoo was overturned and oozing onto the shower floor. But everything else seemed normal.

  She rode the elevator to the lobby, but the front desk guard was away. She sat on one of the gray leather couches and stared at the wall of large black and white photographs of the world’s iconic landmarks. Clearly, the building’s interior designers thought the Golden Gate Bridge, Big Ben, the Eiffel Tower, the Empire State Building, and an aerial view of Detroit’s riverfront area flanked by the Renaissance Center and Cobo invoked sophistication, prestige, and power. Charlie was impatient and stood hovering over the security desk. A small radio behind the counter was turned on low volume. The meteorologist from WWJ, the all-news station, was giving the weather report. Today’s temperatures would reach the upper thirties and, like yesterday, it would rain much of the day. Tonight and tomorrow would be colder with snow.

  Charlie leaned over the counter to look at the five monitors. One showed the parking garage entry she’d just passed through; another, the small shipping dock in the rear of the building. There was a full view of the rooftop; another camera rotated between the building’s eight hallways; and the final monitor showed the front sidewalk of the building, including the doors leading into Grant’s lounge.

  “Hi, Ms. Mack. Can I help you?” The guard had come through the lobby door of the lounge with a brown paper bag in his hand.

  Patrick Dresher was a middle-aged white man working a second-career job after being laid off fifteen years ago from his assembly-line job at Ford Motor Company. He wore the blue blazer, white shirt and black tie that, like the wall posters, announced the affluence of the building.

  “Hi, Mr. Dresher. Were you on the desk this morning?”

  “I sure was,” he said, settling into his desk chair and looking up at Charlie with a pleasant smile. “I started duty at 7 a.m.”

  “Did you happen to see a houseguest of mine this morning? A tall, skinny kid. Asian-American?”

  “Sure. I saw him. He left about eight-forty-five, eight-fifty. He was looking for a cab and I pointed him in the direction of the cab stand.”

  “Did you see him after that?”

  “No.”

  “Maybe on one of the security cameras?”

  “No. I just watched him leave and head down the street.”

  “Do you keep the footage from your cameras?”

  “We recycle it every thirty days. You want to look at this morning’s video?”

  “I sure do. Do I need permission from somebody?”

  “In this case, only me. Let me call the building engineer. He stores the tapes in his office downstairs.”

  Twenty minutes later, Charlie was peering over the shoulder of the building’s maintenance supervisor at time-stamped surveillance footage from the front entrance. At 8:47, Lin Fong stepped outside of the condo building, covered his head with his hoodie, and adjusted his jacket collar. He wore khakis and had on a backpack. He leaned into the wind as he strode down the street and out of range of the camera.

  “Was that him?” the engineer asked.

  “Yes. Do you have a camera that shows the street corner?”

  “The camera mounted in front of the parking garage does a one-eighty scan. Maybe we’ll be lucky.”

  They were lucky. Although from a bit of a distance, the camera clearly showed the hooded Lin at the corner as a light-colored van stoped abruptly in front of him. Then a bearded man in dark clothes leaned out the side door, yanked Lin into the back, and the van sped off.

  “Damn,” the engineer said with an open mouth. “Should we call the police?”

  “I’ll call them,” Charlie lied. “Can I see that one more time?”

  Don steered the golf cart down a one-way paved road. After days of rain, the snow had been pummeled into grotesque black knolls resembling a terrain you might see in a Harry Potter movie. The rain was coming down hard, but the plastic curtains on the front and sides of the cart protected its passengers from the blowing volley. Following Ty’s directions, Don ended up on West Jefferson.

  “When did Heinrich have this storage area built?” Gil asked.

  “It must have been within a few months of Spectrum getting the security contract. I remember there were arguments about the cost, and people wanted to know if Cobo staff would have to maintain or service the site. But Heinrich said his people would do all the service work, and DADA approved the budget and paid to have the garage built, so once that was settled nobody thought much more of it. I only know as much as I do about the place because Spectrum paid to lay in underground wiring, and I know all the major electrical contractors in town through my dad,” Ty explained.

  “Who at Cobo sees Spectrum’s expenses?” Gil asked.

  “As far as I know, Cobo only bills Spectrum for utilities and the costs associated with cleaning their office space. Our regular janitorial staff does their cleaning. Everything else is paid for by DADA.”

  The golf cart handled the wet road surface well. They were running parallel to Fort Street and passed the main post office, and then the distribution center for the Salvation Army. “I bet they don’t get many tourists back here,” Don said. When West Jefferson turned into Rosa Parks Boulevard, Ty led them south along a chain-link fence separating a parcel of undeveloped land from a set of railroad tracks and the Detroit River. The Ambassador Bridge stretched out ahead of them. “It’s just ahead, over there.” Ty pointed to a gravel access lane. The bunker-like building had a single, galvanized steel door. The 30-by-30-foot structure was concrete with no windows and a flat roof, trimmed in razor wire. Globed cameras were mounted on each corner. Don pointed out another camera mounted on a pole inside the fence line of the train track. The knob-less door operated with an ocular-scan entry system. The reader was enclosed in a plastic cover that opened with a key.

  “Hmm. Doesn’t look easy to break into,” Don said after walking the perimeter of the structure.

  “I suppose you could climb to the roof, go over the wire, and cut through,” Gil said. “But I bet there are pressure sensors up there that set off some kind of alarm.”

  “I wouldn’t take that bet,” Don said.

  “Look at this,” Tyson called out. He was holding up something he’d found near the front tire of the golf cart.

  “What is it?” Don asked, looking quizzically at the black wire dangling from Ty’s hand.

  “It’s part of a phone headset,” Gil said. “Is it for a Berry?”

  “Yep,” Ty said, slipping the tip of the broken earpiece into his own BlackBerry.

  “It looks like Lin has left us a bread crumb,” Gil said.

  While Tyson and Gil stooped to look for the other end of the headset, a stony-faced Don walked again to the rear of the building.
Four shots, first two and then quickly another two, startled Gil and Tyson. Gil drew his gun and ran fast toward the building. He stopped short when Don came into view.

  “It’s all right, Acosta,” Don shouted before firing four more shots, two into each of the cameras mounted on the front of the building. “I’m just scattering some bread crumbs of my own.”

  “Glad you phoned,” Don said. “We’re at Heinrich’s weapons garage. Fong was definitely here, but he’s not here now.”

  “How do you know he was there?” Charlie asked excitedly.

  “He left a piece of his phone headset for us to find.”

  “Smart boy.”

  “Gil used a favor with a judge friend to get a search warrant, and we broke through the door. We found weapons and ammunition, boxes of disposable cell phones, lithium batteries, and a shitload of bleach.”

  “Bleach?” Charlie asked.

  “Yep. Where are you?”

  “I’m leaving my condo. I just saw a video of Lin being snatched into a white van. Any sign of a van?”

  “No.”

  “Okay. I’m on my way back, and I’m calling Cynthia to meet us there.”

  “She’s already here, Mandy is too, and also Spectrum security folks.”

  “And that means Heinrich knows the place has been compromised,” Charlie said. “I’ll see you in ten minutes.”

  “There’s been a breach of the weapons vault, and I can’t get a visual,” Heinrich said into the mouthpiece.

  “I know,” Cynthia responded. “I’m here now. I’ve been trying to call you.”

  “What happened?”

  “The police forced the door; they had a court order.”

  “A court order? For what?”

  “A search. The Mack team thought Lin Fong might be in the garage.”

  “Fong? Why are they interested in him?” Heinrich fished, testing Cynthia’s loyalty.

  “It turns out he was spying on us for Charlene Mack. And he’s missing.”

  There was a momentary pause while Heinrich sorted a couple of thoughts.

  “Why aren’t the cameras working at the vault?”

  “They were shot out,” Cynthia hesitated. “By one of the Mack people.”

  “Which one?”

  “Don Rutkowski.”

  “Ah. Ms. Mack and her people are becoming quite the nuisance. Where are they now?”

  “Back at Cobo, I suppose,” Cynthia lied. “Are you coming to the office?”

  “I may be in late this evening. If not, first thing in the morning. Keep me posted on the situation with the weapons vault, and get someone out right away to repair the cameras and any other damage.”

  “Okay, but what about Fong?”

  “What about him?”

  “Charlie, uh, Ms. Mack thinks maybe he’s been the victim of foul play.”

  “And what do you want me to do about that?” Heinrich dripped disdain.

  “Well, he works for us, so I thought you’d want to know.”

  “Actually, he works for the Mack people. If he shows up, fire him.”

  Charlie watched Cynthia put her phone in the pocket of her coat and shove her hand in after. Then she lifted the other hand to the back of her neck. Charlie walked over to her.

  “Does Heinrich suspect we’re on to him?”

  “I don’t think so. I did what you said and told him Lin worked for you.”

  “Did he seem surprised?”

  “No, annoyed. He said if I see Lin, I should fire him. Maybe he has nothing to do with the boy’s abduction after all.”

  “No. You were right the first time. He has everything to do with grabbing Lin. That’s why we need to check his house.”

  “Get over to the weapons storage. Someone has broken into the place. Pack up the phones and the other materials we need,” Heinrich said. “And bring them to my place.”

  “How could anyone break in?” Dudiyn asked.

  “That doesn’t matter now. We only need two more days to keep things from unraveling. Go get the stuff and bring it to the house.”

  Dudiyn considered Heinrich the strangest man he’d ever worked for— hard to get to know, and even harder to like. He was ruthless, but with refined tastes. There were also rumors he was some kind of sex freak.

  “What about the Chinese kid? Should I take care of him?”

  “Let me worry about him. He’s not going anywhere. Go. We need those supplies.”

  Heinrich grabbed his workout bag and his keys from the kitchen counter. At this time of day, the gym would be busy, but he needed to release the tension building in his core, and he didn’t have time for his usual pleasures. On an impulse, he picked up his phone.

  “I’m headed to the gym, and I thought you might want to join me for a workout.”

  “Uhhm. I’m not sure I have time. We have a crisis . . .”

  “Yes, I’ve heard. I don’t know about you, but a good workout usually helps to clear my head. I get some of my best ideas doing a weight routine, and it helps to have a good spotter.”

  While Heinrich talked, Mandy waved Charlie and Cynthia over and mouthed, “Heinrich. He wants me to meet him at his gym.” After whispering to Cynthia, Charlie nodded a “yes” and gestured a thumbs-up.

  “I guess a good sweat couldn’t hurt. Okay, I’ll meet you, but I have to retrieve my bag. Where’s the gym?”

  “So, what’s the plan?” Mandy asked, after disconnecting.

  “If you’re with Heinrich at the gym, it gives us a chance to check his house. Try to keep him busy for at least an hour,” Charlie said.

  Charlie also wanted to tell Mandy to be careful, not to go too far with this unpredictable man in the name of duty. But Mandy read her thoughts.

  “No worries, Sherlock. I’ll keep everything on the queer and narrow.”

  Cynthia stared at the two of them, making no attempt to hide her curiosity about their locked eyes and veiled conversation. Charlie turned to Cynthia.

  “Can you come with us?”

  “What? Oh, to Heinrich’s place. Uh, no. I have things to do here.”

  Charlie consulted quickly with the assembled team, and they went off in three directions: Gil and Tyson back to Cobo, Mandy to meet Heinrich, and Charlie and Don to Heinrich’s New Center area townhouse.

  At four o’clock, Amy called Kwong’s personal cell again, and left her third voice message. Kwong was a methodical man. He would never be late for a call with his bosses, and he would never ignore calls. She returned to the inner office and flipped through the Rolodex on his desk looking for the emergency number she knew was there. She hesitated only a moment to organize her thoughts and determine what she would say before picking up the phone. A male voice answered in Chinese. “Wéi.”

  “Uh, hello. This is Amy Wu. I’m calling from Mr. Kwong’s office in Detroit.”

  “Why are you calling, Ms. Wu?” The answerer quickly slipped into perfect English.

  “Well, Mr. Kwong hasn’t come into the office today, and he’s not returning my phone calls. So I didn’t know what I should do. We have a teleconference with the directors tonight.”

  “You did the right thing to call, Ms. Wu. I’m transferring you. Hold on.”

  Dudiyn rushed back into the room and glared down the table at Lin. He cut the plastic tie on his hands and handcuffed Lin’s right wrist to the back of the chair.

  “Stay put and be quiet, or I’ll kill you,” he said with feeling.

  Dudiyn searched his pockets for his keys, and hurried through the anteroom to the outer door. He looked back, stepped through the door and doused the fluorescent lights in both rooms. Lin was shrouded in total darkness and shaking with fear. He waited only a minute, to make sure the man wasn’t returning, before standing. He began dragging his chair in the direction of the door before he banged into another chair, knocking it over and falling on top of it. He was frantically untangling from the chair legs when he rubbed against the BlackBerry in his back pocket. He sat upright and with his free han
d retrieved the phone, but immediately dropped it. He heard it skid. He groped at the floor, the chair scraping along beside him, but he couldn’t find the phone. His heart raced. Why hasn’t the phone rung? Maybe they aren’t even looking for me. Maybe I turned off the Berry when I was sitting on it. I need to find it. He flopped around a bit more in the dark, scooting on his butt, the chair scraping along the floor with his movements, his head occasionally hitting something— the table leg or another chair or a box. Frustrated and hurting, he held his head. It had been at least an hour since he last cried. Now seemed like a good time.

  Don passed the two-story houses, driving slowly. The complex had done a pretty good job of snow removal, and the streets were ashy with salt. “I think it’s the corner house,” Charlie said, looking back. “It’s hard to see the house numbers.”

  “I’ll turn around.”

  “Wait, that’s the one. The number is on the garage. Do you see any way to get to the backyard?”

  “No, but maybe there’s some kind of alley access.”

  Don turned the corner to circle the block. This was a housing development that mixed new homes with existing stock. In the section where Heinrich lived, the houses had attached garages.

  “No car in the driveway, and I don’t see any lights,” Charlie reported. “Let’s go up the street, park, and walk back.”

  They parked a couple blocks from Woodward Avenue and approached the house on foot. It was a quarter after four and freezing. Charlie tightened the scarf around her neck and was glad for her boots. Don wore his old trench coat, with no hat, scarf, or gloves. His only concession to it was winter was wearing corduroy pants instead of khakis.

  “Aren’t you cold?”

  “Nope.”

  The temperature had dipped to near freezing, and the wind was gusting. There were no other pedestrians, but a dog taking care of his business in his fenced yard spotted them and couldn’t wait to finish before charging the fence, barking ferociously. Charlie saw the dog’s owner peek through the curtains to see the source of her pet’s agitation.