“If I had missed, do you honestly think I would be in this car sitting next to you?”
Wilkinson looked at me and smiled. “Damn, you really are the shit.”
We both exploded into more laughter.
Okay, so we do really get along, but we’re professionals. We respect one another, and that’s as far as whatever this will go.
8
We reached the station at nine sharp. Before exiting our vehicle, we cleared ourselves of the giggles and restored our professional demeanor. We expected to meet with the commanding officer that morning but it turned out that wouldn’t be the case.
Shortly afterward, we entered the building, a stocky gentleman in a dark suit needing tailoring greeted us. Clothing aside, he seemed pleasant and had a nice smile.
“Agent Kane. Agent Wilkinson. Welcome to Detroit. I’m Lieutenant Roy White.”
We shook hands and smiled. “Thanks for inviting us out, Lieutenant White,” I said.
“No, thank you for coming.” He then turned around. “Follow me; everybody’s waiting.”
Everybody?
White kept a fast pace as his shoes click-clacked on the tiled floors. “We’ve heard a lot about you, Agent Kane. Hong Kong’s loss is our gain.”
“Thanks, but I just did my job.”
The precinct was housed in a fairly old building with lots of beige. It did, however, appear to have a buzz to it. The public had started to trickle inside, filing complaints, mostly about neighbors or getting booked. Memories from my early years with the force flooded my head. I smiled, but I didn’t miss it.
We followed the lieutenant through two large, wooden doors. Inside I saw a long rectangular conference table surround by suits that weren’t smiling. I didn’t do a headcount, but it looked like twelve grumpy men sitting around a table. We were directed toward two open chairs in the middle.
A clearing of a throat captured everyone’s attention. I looked at the man who sat at the head of the table. His face was a look of fierceness, hardened from years of wearing the uniform, I supposed. He introduced himself as Chief of Police, Reginald Reed, Detroit Police Department. I was a bit surprised by his presence in the room actually, and slightly impressed. But the surprises didn’t stop there.
The introductions continued around the table. The chiefs of police for Birmingham, Royal Oak, Grosse Pointe, Madison Heights and many more were all in attendance. I didn’t expect their best. Were we in the right room? As the chiefs continued, I felt a buzzing in my pocket. I pulled out my cell. Lucy had sent me a text. “Ryan call me dog face.”
Ever since I taught her how to text on Po Po’s phone, it had been nonstop. I sent Ryan a text. “Stop calling your sister dog face.”
I tucked my phone away just as the last chief started to introduce himself.
“You got someone else you want to text before we continue?” he asked, glaring.
I had made a new rule for myself when we moved to the states—I would always take the time to respond to my kids; call it Operation Better Mother. “Sorry, classified stuff. Your name?”
The chief stared me down for a moment longer before continuing. His intimidation tactics had no effect on me. I had once worked for Hong Kong Police. I glanced at Wilkinson; he looked confused, probably wondering the same thing I had—why the grumpy order of police chiefs had gathered for us. But I suspected the reason was that we were about to be thrown into a hornet’s nest.
9
The chiefs looked uncomfortable in the oversized leather chairs. No good trying to hide the mood in the room. It was serious, bordering on gloom, and apparent no one wanted to be there. I started to think I didn’t want to either.
“If I could have everyone’s attention,” Reed spoke up. The leader of this shindig was about to start the briefing. He looked at Wilkinson. “Agent Kane.” And then me. “Agent Wilkinson.”
Wilkinson beat me to the punch and corrected the chief. “I’m Agent Wilkinson. She’s Agent Kane.”
The silence and the flat look on everyone’s faces told me they expected Agent Kane to be tall and broad-shouldered. What they got instead was a short, green-eyed firecracker looking up at them from across the table. I was used to it. So long as I wasn’t publically denied any ride at an amusement park, my height never bothered me.
Reed cleared his throat and then shifted in his seat for the third time. “I’m sure you have questions. I can start by answering the ones I know you’ll ask.”
This should be good.
Reed looked to be in his fifties—still young, but the worry lines across his forehead told another story. He clasped his weathered hands together and looked around the room before settling on Wilkinson and I.
“We are facing a grave situation—one we all would like to resolve quickly and quietly. What we discuss today must not leave this room. Is that understood, Agent Kane and Agent Wilkinson?”
We both nodded. “It’s my understanding that we’re here to consult on a possible serial killer,” I said. “I’m not sure what’s so secretive about that. You’ve only had your third body last night, which officially qualifies it.”
Reed didn’t blink, didn’t move… but only stared until he spoke again. “About seven years ago, we had a serial killer terrorize the city of Detroit and many of the surrounding towns. This went on for five… long… years.” Both hands helped him emphasize his point. “Forty-five victims, most of them in Detroit. Do you know what that does to a city, to the people?”
I wasn’t sure I wanted to speak up. The seriousness with which Reed had delivered the information only filled my head with more questions seeking answers. “Our understanding is you caught him.”
Some of the chiefs shifted in their chairs as they looked toward Reed.
“We don’t want a repeat. Every chief of police you see here today represents a city that had victims the last go round. Some of them, including me, even have the pleasure of participating in the second go round. We’re all in agreement; we don’t want this to turn into another massacre. We believe we have a copycat on our hands.”
“Well, if you think it’s just a copycat, seems like you could throw enough manpower at it to put this to bed quickly.”
“Agent Kane, we were told by your superiors we would have your full cooperation. Did I misunderstand this?”
Note to self: Check with Special Agent Reilly on why we were sent. “You do have our cooperation. I’m sorry if I led you to believe something else.” Why is he so sensitive?
“We’re giving you and your partner full authority on this case. No matter what city a body pops up in, if it has the same M.O., you two will be the senior investigators on it.”
Take on every case? Oh, that sounds like fun. What else can I do around here? Hand jobs for the table? “What about the other detectives?” I asked.
“They’ll still work the case. Look at them as extra pairs of eyes and hands. Don’t be afraid to use them. Everyone here is behind this. Any resource you need, case files, access to evidence—Lieutenant White is your go-to guy, but feel free to reach out to any of us. Agent Kane, you come highly recommended. We’re looking to you to nip this in the bud.”
Don’t forget about the white male I walked into the room with; he’s helping too. I never thought I would see a room full of chiefs so scared of their own shadows. It worried me a bit. It’s not normal. Something isn’t right here.
As usual with briefings like that one, I had been thrown into a situation where I had the full support of everyone, so long as I stuck to the support they were comfortable giving. I also had complete control, so long as I stuck within the parameters of what they felt warranted enough control. Lastly, I had access to all the information they thought I needed to solve the case, not a file more. I knew the routine. It was bull, but I had never let it get in the way in the past and I wouldn’t this time.
Wilkinson and I thanked them with smiles long enough to carry us out of the room, not a step further. My partner leaned in and whispered, “What sort of clust
erfuck did we just get handed?”
“The worst kind,” I said. “There’s more going on then the chiefs are letting on. That’s another case we need to crack. I have a feeling it’s the answer to catching our guy.”
10
White led us down a corridor away from the public areas of the precinct. “I’m gonna set you guys up near me. It’s quieter over here.”
Is that so you can keep a close eye on us?
He opened the door to a small office. We peeked inside and saw two desks, two chairs, and a large board for posting or writing on.
“This was an old storage area but we cleaned it out and use it for interrogations every once in awhile.”
I guess the cleaning didn’t apply to the cobwebs hanging from the ceiling?
“It’s your office now,” he continued. “My humble abode is just around the corner, past the men’s bathroom. Don’t be afraid to stop by if you need anything or have questions.” White took a step but stopped and turned back. “You guys have an idea on what kind of information you need?”
“Case files for all the previous murders and current ones to start with,” I said. Just then my cell rang. It was Po Po. I asked Wilkinson if he could continue as I stepped outside the office and walked a few steps away.
“Po Po, is everything all right?”
“Yeah, everything is fine. I’m calling to see when you’re coming home.”
“Wait, there’s a lot of static. Hang on.” I walked toward the front of the building. Much better. “I think I’m going to be out here for a while. I’ll see what I can do about coming back for a visit.”
Po Po grunted and then said, “Lucy wants to talk.”
I could hear the phone exchanging hands and then the sound of heavy breathing. “Hi, Mommy. I miss you.”
“Mommy misses you too, Lucy. Are you getting ready for school?”
“Yes.”
“Good. You’ll have to show me what you did today when I get home.”
“When are you coming back?”
“Mommy doesn’t know yet.”
“Oookay.”
Before I could say anything else, I heard rustling and then silence. I walked back into the office. It smelled of turpentine. Wilkinson had already taken a seat at one of the desks. “The lieutenant is having all the case files delivered here. He said to give it an hour or two. Oh, and I cleaned off your chair.”
“Why? What was—”
“You don’t want to know.”
• • •
We spent the next few days holed up in the tiny office. I started to feel like a regular at the precinct—punching the clock and getting to know the vending machines. I even kept a stash of green tea in the break room.
A couple of uniforms had delivered a mountain of stuffed banker boxes to us that first day. Every single one of them filled with files from the previous and current case, so we were told. Without an obvious starting point, we just grabbed a file and started to read.
We dubbed all the victims before the Comerica Bank heist “pre-bank” murders. Anyone killed after that we called “post-bank.” It made it easier since there seemed to be no rhyme or reason to how the files were organized. I assumed all the information we needed was there; we just had to make sense of it.
It wasn’t until the third day that we found what we were looking for, something we should have had from the very start of the investigation.
“Got it,” Wilkinson waved a file in the air.
We had been searching for the original killer’s case file from the moment we got the boxes. Up until that point, we had developed a good grasp of who the victims were, but we didn’t know much about him.
“Michael ‘Blade’ Garrison,” Wilkinson read aloud. “Grew up in Sterling Heights. Did a year at Oakland Community College—”
“No med school?”
“Nope, not that I can tell.”
“Strange, you’d think this guy would have had a medical background given the way his victims died.”
“He could have gotten his information in a public library or online.”
Self-taught? “What else is in the file?”
“No previous arrests until he was caught robbing the bank.”
“You’re kidding me, right?” How did he get so good at being a bad guy without slipping up? “This guy terrorizes the city for five years, and it’s not until he robs a bank that they catch him. That make any sense to you?”
Wilkinson threw his hands up. “Why on earth would a serial killer suddenly want to rob a bank? It’s not like the skills transfer over.”
I listened as he continued to read out loud. “In a nutshell, he tried to rob the main branch of the Comerica Bank. Things went wrong. The police showed up. He took hostages and ended up killing fourteen people by either shooting them or cutting them before SWAT stormed the bank. He was found guilty of those murders, attempted robbery, and a slew of other stuff. Looks like that’s how they put him away. Sounds like amateur hour if you ask me.”
“What about the other murders?” I asked.
Wilkinson continued. “Well, it says he confessed to them.”
I picked up a file on one of the victims. “This one says, “Closed. Case solved.” I grabbed another. “Hmm, says the same thing here too.” It appeared as though Garrison did indeed confess to all the murders.
“Sounds like the dream case,” Wilkinson said. “Talk about caving in.”
My gut didn’t agree with what we had discovered. The guy they arrested for robbing the bank and killing the hostages turned out to be the serial killer they’ve hunted for five years. Talk about miracles.
Wilkinson looked at his watch and stood up. “You want the same thing?”
I looked at my watch; it was noon. “I’m sorry. I like chili dogs as much as the next guy, but I can’t eat another one of those things. It’s making me constipated.”
Wilkinson pulled his face back. I knew he hated it when I talked about bodily functions. He somehow had it in his head that there were only two things that ever came out of a woman’s body: babies and pee.
11
We took a two-block walk to the Coney Island restaurant where Wilkinson had been buying the chili dogs. Turns out they sold salads, too. Wish I knew. There were a couple of open booths, so we parked our butts in one.
“What are you thinking so far?” Wilkinson asked.
I scrunched my lips together before answering. “It’s like they took whatever they had and stitched the case closed.”
“You saying the stitching’s crooked?”
“That’s what I’m saying.”
“He did confess. Whether it was coerced, who knows? Does it matter if corners were cut on his case?”
“Good question,” I said with a head tilt. “The case against Garrison may not have been airtight, but everyone around here bought into it. He’s in jail.”
Wilkinson nodded at me. Just then, the waitress arrived and took our order. I waited until she was out of earshot before speaking again. “Let’s come at this a different way. All of the previous victims died from excessive bleeding, but not all of them were cut the same way. Some only had incisions to the carotid artery while others included the femoral artery as well.”
“You thinking there’s a reason for that?”
“Well, they bleed faster.” I sat back in the booth and flipped through a couple of case files I had brought along. “Hmm, just as I had suspected.”
“What?”
“Based on the sampling I have here, the victims that sustained three cuts were found in secluded areas, like a house or an alley. The victims that were found in public spaces had fewer cuts.”
“So Garrison didn’t always have time.”
“The more public the venue, the faster he had to be.”
“One cut, two cuts at the most.”
I nodded as I took a sip of my ice tea. “He needed to know exactly where to hit them. An incision elsewhere wouldn’t kill the person. Might even end up being
a superficial wound.”
“And that’s where the medical training comes into play.”
“Exactly. Garrison had to be skilled. Which means our copycat is as well. Either that or he’s just some lucky nut slicing people up.”
Wilkinson looked at his notes. “Well, everyone of our post-bank victims had three cuts. The house and alley are secluded. They found the fisherman’s body on the shore of Lake St. Clair. It might have been a secluded area. But where does this theory lead us? This guy is a bit more selective?”
I shrugged, not sure if that angle took us anywhere either. “One thing is true; whether it’s one cut or two or three, he still has to know what he’s doing, because the incisions are so precise.”
The waitress placed a plate with two chili dogs and fries in front of Wilkinson and a fried chicken salad in front of me. His plate had more chili than bun and dog, like a big pile of slop. I watched him pick up the bun, and the chili poured off of it in glops. Yellow cheesy strands kept the chili in the plate connected to the chili on his hot dog. He opened wide, but still the thickness of that cylindrical meal was wider than his mouth and left a ring of chili around his lips. If he wasn’t so damn good looking…
I dug in to my salad. As I chewed, another thought replayed itself in my head. I tapped my fork at the edge of my bowl. “You know what keeps striking me as motive for Garrison?”
Wilkinson eyed me as he shoved the remaining half of his chili dog into his mouth.
“’He had to enjoy watching people bleed to death. There wasn’t any connection between his victims except how he killed him. He had to be getting off on the blood.”
“Makes sense,” Wilkinson managed as he finished swallowing. “So what does that mean?” Wilkinson asked. “That our current killer likes the blood version of Old Faithful? Also, why are we spending so much time figuring out a case that’s been put to bed?”
“Trust me on this one. The more we understand Garrison, the more we’ll understand our copycat.”
Corktown Page 3
