Admission of Guilt (The detroit im dyin Trilogy, Book 2) (The Detroit Im Dying Trilogy)

by T. V. LoCicero

  “So his mother wasn’t home either?” she asked now.

  “Yeah, the neighbors said they were up north, renting a cottage for a couple weeks.”

  “They have a phone number?”

  “Nope. So I let myself into the house through the back door, and made sure no one was there.”

  “He could be anywhere, up north, any place. When will you tell the Monellis about him?”

  “I don’t know. I mean even with what we heard tonight, we’re still just guessing.”

  “I’m not guessing, Charlie. That’s him.”

  “Yeah, but when you come right down to it, I really don’t have anything solid yet.”

  “But if you told the Monellis about him, they might have other ways to find him.”

  Charlie pushed down his shorts and stood naked in front of her. “And then I’d forfeit any chance at enough cheese to keep us comfortable for the next couple of years.”

  In spite of herself she glanced at his cock, so soft and, yes, vulnerable now compared to the way it got when they made love. With a matter-of-fact sarcasm she said, “You’re a helluva team player, Charlie Watts.”

  “I was never a team player. It always seemed like a dumb thing to be.”

  “That’s because you grew up in a house full of women who absolutely adored you. All those sisters and your mother and your aunt, they all made you lazy.”

  The affection in her voice made Charlie smile. “Yeah, I can’t help that. I am what they made me.”

  “Well, I hope you don’t find the girl until all this comes down on Monelli’s head.”

  The phone rang on the nightstand. Charlie, surprised, sat on the bed. “Here we go. He must have seen it.” He let it ring one more time and picked up the receiver. “Yeah?”

  The voice on the line spoke softly. “Mr. Watts, this is Catherine Monelli. I was wondering if you had any news.”

  He glanced at Susan and shook his head, “No, I’m afraid not, Mrs. Monelli. Nothing solid yet, but I’m still working on it, even at this hour. Maybe I’ll have something for you tomorrow.”

  “All right,” said the woman. “I’ll be waiting for your call. Good night.”

  “Good night.” He hung up the phone and, after a few seconds, slipped under the sheet and released a deep breath. “Jesus.”

  “That poor woman,” said Susan.

  “I thought you wanted to see her husband burn.”

  “I do, but I still feel sorry for her.”

  “That’s the trouble with you professional good-doers. You got so much sympathy it ties you up in knots.”

  “I’m not tied in any knots. I want that little girl safe and sound, but I also want to see her father locked away for the rest of his life. I just hope if you do find her, you think about those two little boys of yours, Charlie.”

  Chapter 75

  Except for Anna, alone in this big house, Catherine reached to snap off the lamp next Megan’s bed. In the dark she laid there thinking about the black man she had somehow decided to trust.

  All day and all evening, ever since their meeting this morning at the fountain, she had been wondering, torturing herself, really, thinking that she might have done something horribly stupid in giving the tape to this man about whom she knew next to nothing. Even as she had walked away from him, moving to the BMW, the thought had occurred that once he had listened to it’s shocking demands, he would take it straight to Steven, betraying her to ingratiate himself. For hours she had half-expected a frightening call from her husband, or his sudden angry appearance at the house.

  Beyond his own financial gain, what could possibly motivate this fellow with the card that said private investigator, a guy who looked like he always took care of himself first? He could sell the tape, maybe, to someone who would certainly decide that expediency dictated the elimination of Steven and probably his father as well. How would she feel if that were to happen, if someone took the lives of her husband and father-in-law? Her answer two days ago would have been very different, but now, as long as she got Megan back safely, she wouldn’t care what happened to them.

  Could that really be true? Did she suddenly no longer care about the man she had married and spent all of her adult life with? She thought about that moment last night when he had struck her in the face and threatened something worse, and she knew the truth.

  Why had she not taken that tape to the police? She had actually been on the phone with them when Steven had walked in and grabbed the phone. But if she had managed to give them the tape, Steven would probably know soon enough and come after her with a vengeance.

  Most importantly, though, would the police really care about finding Megan? Not until the tape had done its work for them, not until they had given it every chance to force Steven to finally give in to it’s demands, admit his guilt and give then what they’d need to prosecute others.

  The fact was that she had not been able to think of one other person to whom she could turn. When she had met Charles Watts for the first time last night, there had been something in his eyes, a warmth, or earnestness, perhaps. What about the strange electric shock that had coursed through her at the fountain when his hand covered hers before he took the tape? And on the phone just now, while there had been a hint of evasiveness, of something held back, she had still felt a kind of basic human sympathy or connection.

  And that told her now she had probably done the right thing.

  Would she end up sleeping tonight? It seemed unlikely.

  Chapter 76

  He was trying to run the length of a football field under water, and, though breathing was somehow not a problem, his body was aching now with total exhaustion. Still, he could see those three little kids far ahead of him, and he could tell they were in fact drowning. He needed to get to them in time, but it seemed impossible that he would have the strength to do it. And now he felt swamped with fear and despair. Finally a ringing phone woke him.

  Reaching a hand to the receiver on the nightstand, he eyed the clock next to it: 4:44 am. “Yeah.”

  “Charlie, why are you sleeping?”

  The voice was Monelli’s, but to give himself a few extra seconds, he said, “Who’s this?”

  “What’d ya mean, who’s this? You know damn well who this is. Shake the shit outta your ears and give me a status report.”

  Status report. Piercing the fog in his head was the thought that if Monelli recognized the teacher’s voice on Channel 5 last night, he would not be asking for a status report.

  He said, “Nothin’ new to report, man. I’m workin’ on some things but nothin’ I’d feel good enough to talk about yet.”

  “What’d you mean not good enough to talk about yet. Gimme something, goddamnit.”

  He moved the receiver away from his ear and quickly twisted his head, trying to lose the dull, fuzzy ache from his dream. He needed to be a lot sharper than he felt right now. “I told ya, I got nothing to talk about yet. I got something, I’ll call you.”

  “Yeah, well, don’t fuckin’ sleep. You can sleep all fuckin’ weekend, the rest of your fuckin’ life, for chrissake. Just find me what I need by 5 today and call me.”

  It crossed Charlie’s mind to tell Monelli what he knew about the ransom, but by the time he said, “Okay, you got it,” Monelli had hung up.

  Chapter 77

  With a two-day growth of beard he was stretched out on the couch, waking to a strange noise he could not place. After a while, as it came again and again, it began to sound like low moans, and they were coming from the bathroom. He opened his eyes.

  “Megan, what’s the matter?”

  The moans, yes, they were definitely moans, grew louder and more distinct. He moved to the padlocked door and put his ear to it.

  “Megan, is there something wrong?”

  Another moan and then another.

  “Megan,” he said sharply.

  “Please help me,” she gasped.

  He found the right key on the ring attached to his belt and slip
ped it into the padlock. “Just a second, I’ll get this open.”

  Before he cracked the door a few inches, he told himself to be wary. This girl seemed capable of anything. But when he finally got a glimpse of her, she was rolled up in a tight ball on the cot, her face to the wall.

  “Megan, what’s wrong?”

  She didn’t answer and moaned again.

  “Please, Megan, I want to help you.”

  “Sure you do.”

  “I do, so turn over and let me have a look at you.”

  She didn’t move. “It hurts, and I’m bleeding.”

  “What hurts? Com’on, turn over.”

  Slowly she unfolded her legs and rolled to her back on the cot. And now he could see a large red blotch in the crotch of her white shorts. “Please, help me!” The girl’s cry was louder this time.

  Finally he found his voice: “Christ, what is it? Maybe it’s your period.”

  She moaned and said, “No! I told you, I had my period last week. There’s something wrong with me!”

  He glanced back at the office behind him, as if help might be waiting there. “Well, god, are you sure?”

  “What do you mean? Of course, I’m sure!” Her voice was seared with pain. “This isn’t that kind of bleeding. Please do something!”

  He finally reached in and took her hand. “All right, com’on. We’ll get you some help.” He helped her slowly up off the cot and out of the bathroom, but the girl appeared weak, to the point of fainting. After a few steps she stopped.

  “I don’t think I can walk.”

  “It’s okay, we’ll go slowly.” He grabbed the pink blanket from a chair. “Here, put this around you.” He tried wrapping it over her shoulders, but she pushed it away.

  “Get that off me, I’m burning up.”

  Her hand was warm as he helped her walk slowly across the office to the outside door. She leaned against the wall while he dealt with the lock.

  Emerging from the office into bright morning sunlight, they moved slowly, step by step, around muddy rain puddles on the ground to the Ford. He helped her into the passenger seat, then moved quickly around to the driver’s side. The engine ground for a while before starting, and he let it warm up for a few seconds before putting it in gear. Driving slowly around the front of the plant on the overgrown road that led to the front gate and the highway, he glanced at the girl, slumped in the seat, holding herself tightly and making a face.

  “Now look,” he said sternly, “I’m going to take you to a hospital, and we’ll tell them I’m your brother. But you’ve got to understand something. I’ve got a partner in this project. And his instructions are simple. If anything goes wrong with our plan, and I mean anything, he will put an end to your father. Like immediately. You understand?”

  He watched her as he approached the gate, and after a second or two she gave him a barely perceptible nod.

  “So don’t even think of saying anything at the hospital. Unless you don’t care what happens to your dad.”

  At the gate, he brought the Ford to a halt, put it in park and got out. He trotted forward, took care of the lock and swung the gate open wide. But as he turned to head back to the car, he swept his gaze up the highway and could not believe his eyes.

  A sheriff’s cruiser was bearing down on the far-side lane, maybe 100 yards away.

  Chapter 78

  With his heart beating wildly, he watched the cruiser brake quickly as it passed him, the same deputy who stopped to chat yesterday behind the wheel and looking straight at him. His stomach twisted in a knot as the cruiser came to a stop on the shoulder, then backed up until it was directly across from him.

  The deputy lowered his window and said with a friendly twang, “Back again, eh?”

  He managed to say, “Yeah,” but he was dying inside.

  The deputy’s eyes moved to the Ford where the girl was certainly visible in the front seat.

  His voice sounding strange, John somehow uttered four more words: “So how goes it?”

  The officer looked back at him. “Oh, same old same old.”

  So frightened he felt almost giddy, he plunged ahead and surprised himself. “Yeah, well, I brought my little sister along this morning. Thought I’d show her what it was like. Kids like that kind of thing.”

  “Yeah, I guess. Well, have a good one.”

  A nod and a even a wave seemed almost easy now as the officer started the cruiser forward, accelerating slowly on the sparse gravel shoulder. And then as John moved his gaze back to the Ford, he was stunned to find the girl getting out of the car.

  A quick glance back at the road told him the cruiser had moved just far enough forward so the deputy could not see the car door opening or the girl leaving. But now she was running full-tilt for the opening to the highway where she could surely catch the deputy’s eye in his rear view mirror.

  At first flat-footed, he felt almost rooted to the ground. As the girl raced through the open gate and past him, she was just steps away from the edge of the blacktop where she could flag the deputy. When he finally did move, it was just barely in time to grab her around the waist.

  Her scream was piercing, as he lifted her off the ground, her feet flailing to kick his shins. Shoving a hand over her mouth, he muffled most of the next scream, then carried her a few yards into the underbrush next to the gate, where, holding her tight, he dropped them both to the ground. Through a small gap in the bushes he watched the sheriff’s cruiser continue to roar off down the highway.

  Chapter 79

  A few minutes later, holding her firmly by the wrist, he swung her back into the office and sat her down on the couch.

  “Now just sit!”

  Closing the door to the outside, he locked it again, then turned back to the girl. “So it was instant recovery when you saw that cop.”

  She said nothing.

  He leaned down to look her squarely in the eye. “Look, I don’t blame you. If I were in your position, I’d probably do the same thing. But if you try something like that again, you’re gonna get hurt. And so will your dad.”

  She still said nothing, and he moved past her to step inside the bathroom. He came out with a wastebasket filled with toilet paper. Removing most of it, he finally pulled out the plastic ketchup bottle, turned it upside down and squeezed. A sputter delivered the last dribble of red stuff. With no expression on her face, the girl watched as he held up the bottle and nodded.

  Putting the paper and the bottle back in the basket, he turned back to her. “What size do you wear?”

  She made a face and stared at him before answering. “What size do I wear? What’s it to you?”

  “Well, just to show there’s no hard feelings, I’ll go out in a while and get you some new jeans.”

  She shook her head and looked away. “You are such an ass.”

  “Well, I bet if I get them, you’ll wear them.”

  She fixed him with the hardest look he’d ever seen from a 12-year-old. “I wouldn’t bet on anything if I were you. You’re a total loser.”

  Chapter 80

  In a cash register line in the teen girls department of the Sears at Lakeside Mall, he waited behind a woman and a girl about Megan’s age and size. He was holding a top, underwear and jeans, but his attention was directed across the aisle to another department where a large bank of TV sets all had the same picture—a head-and-shoulders shot of Frank DeFauw. The sound from one of the sets was just loud enough for him to hear what the man was saying.

  “Crime lord or model citizen? Steven ‘The Bank’ Monelli ‘Up-Front’ today at five on 5.”

  John caught the eye of the woman standing in front of him. “You going to watch him tonight?”

  “Who?”

  He gestured toward the TV sets. “Frank DeFauw.”

  The woman made a sour face. “Oh, I hate that guy. I think he’s a total jerk.”

  Her daughter shook her head and widened her big brown eyes. “Mom, you watch him all the time!”

  �
�So? I still think he’s a jerk.”

  John said, “Actually I’ve met him. He’s a pretty good guy.”

  The girl’s eyes widened again. “Really? You’ve met him? I just think he’s so sexy!”

  Now the mother’s eyes widened. “Junie!”

  Chapter 81

  Jimmy Long was on the same Fort Street corner he’d been working the last time John stopped to say hello. In a banged-up station wagon at the curb, a woman was negotiating with Chink hanging in the passenger-side window. As Jimmy watched the street he recognized the old black Fairmont approaching the intersection. From behind the steering wheel John gazed squarely at him, then looked away.

  Jimmy waved and yelled, “Hey, Mr. G, man, how you doin’?”

  He slowed the Ford long enough to look back at the boy and shake his head.

  Jimmy watched the car drive off. “Hey, Mr. G! Damn! What’s the matter with you, man?”

  Chink turned away from the station wagon to look at Jimmy. “Who that, man? Why you care ‘bout some head.”

  “That’s no head, man. Used to be my teacher.”

  Driving now on Mt. Morris, John decided his neighborhood looked somehow even more dilapidated and depressing in the two days since he’d been home. When his building loomed on the right, he move the Ford toward the curb and parked in a spot almost directly in front of the stairs leading down to his apartment.

  Chapter 82

  Food wrappers—McDonald’s, Burger King, KFC, Taco Bell—littered the passenger side floorboard. Gazing at them he thought they were the perfect reflexion of his fucked-up life. Sitting here in the Nova for the past four hours plus, knowing it was certainly all but pointless, thinking the guy’s a teacher and must have at least half a brain, enough surely to know that the last thing he should do was visit his own apartment. But what else was there to do but stake out this place from a block away and wait?