Corktown

by Ty Hutchinson

  Before I could stand, a smiling man approached us. He had a cocky smirk that he wanted to pass off as a smile.

  “You must be Agent Kane.”

  He knows my name? Should I know his? I don’t recall seeing him in the briefing or ever meeting him. “Yes, I am.” I extended my hand. For a quick second, it looked as if he were going to kiss it but had second thoughts. Thank God for second thoughts. “Have we met before?”

  Lieutenant White spoke then. “Agent Kane, this is Stevie Roscoe. He’s the chief of staff for the mayor of Detroit.”

  Mayor? How does he know me and why is he talking to me? “Mr. Roscoe, I wasn’t aware we would be meeting. I’m sorry if I look surprised.”

  “Please, call me Stevie,” he said through his smile. “You’re probably wondering how I know about you. It’s my job. You’re the hotshot agent sent out here to rid us of our problem.”

  “You mean the two psychos running round slashing throats?”

  “Two?”

  I smiled and looked over at White and then back at Stevie. “Didn’t you know? We discovered there are two of them. They work in a team, and that’s why they’ve eluded capture for so long.” I dragged out the word “long” to see how he would react. Did he know about the cover-up?

  “I did not know that.”

  I barely knew the guy, but I already didn’t like him. His demeanor didn’t sit right in my gut. Icky seemed to describe it best.

  “Well, I assume you’re getting close to capturing this duo, with your highly praised background and all.”

  What was with these people? They all seemed to be preoccupied with pointing out my background with a sense of ill regard. Never before had I met a bunch of city officials who needed so much help but made the help feel so unwanted. “Like I told Lieutenant White, we’re making progress. I have to get back to work.” I stood up and smiled at the two men before turning and leaving.

  62

  In my opinion, wearing sweats was the best way to get work done. I headed straight back to my hotel. There, I had air conditioning, as much green tea as I could possibly want, and silence. Oh, and chocolate.

  The humidity had taken its toll on me. I was halfway through the lobby, mentally undressing, when my phone alerted me to a text. I hoped it wasn’t White. I’d have to ignore him. It wasn’t. It was Lucy.

  “hi mommy,” the text read.

  “Hi, Lucy. Mommy loves you.”

  I waited for a response during the ride up to the fourteenth floor, but none came. Hmm, weird. As soon as I entered my room, I peeled off my slightly damp shirt and jeans, unhooked my bra, and settled into a fresh T-shirt, avoiding my sweatpants for now. I checked my phone once again. Still no text from Lucy. Must have been a text-by.

  A moment later, my phone rang and I picked it up, thinking Lucy decided to call.

  “Agent Kane, this is Agent Ton. We spoke a few weeks ago.”

  “Yes, of course. What can I do for you?”

  “Did you still need information on those surviving hostages from the bank robbery?”

  “Anything would be of help.” I sat down at the room desk and grabbed a pen. “Go ahead.”

  “One of the hostages is a professor at Oakland University.”

  I wrote it down. “Where is that?”

  “Auburn Hills. Do you know the area?”

  “I’ve been there once. What’s his name?”

  “All I have is a first name. It’s Preston.”

  Preston. Not a typical name, I thought. “What about the other hostage?”

  “Nothing yet, but if something comes up, I’ll get a hold of you.”

  “Can I reach you at the number you’re calling on?”

  “I prefer you didn’t. Like I said, if I get my hands on any new information, I’ll get a hold of you.” He then hung up.

  I looked at the name I’d written on the notepad. All right, Preston. What can you tell me?

  63

  Located near the center of the Oakland University campus was the unmistakable mirrored building named O’Dowd Hall. Preston Carter had spent a large part of his life in the building, teaching students the ins and outs of biology. His students liked him for his open door policy and his hands-on approach to teaching. They said he didn’t teach them—he showed them.

  On the second floor, about thirty students had their heads lowered as they crafted the perfect essay answers. Some mumbled, while others took moments to ponder in between sentences. The class was human biology, Preston’s favorite to teach. It was also his last class for the day, so he had already mentally checked out.

  He sat quietly in a corner, tapping away on his laptop, occasionally glancing up at the class to make sure eyes didn’t stray from their own papers. Preston couldn’t stand cheating, mostly because he didn’t understand why someone would cheat in his class. It was such an interesting subject. How could one not want to know that stuff? The students seemed focused. Thirty pens scratching across paper, so he went back to his hobby.

  Preston scrolled across a map of Corktown. That’s where it all started. He loved Google Maps. It was the perfect way to reminisce. He absolutely loved retracing his steps and re-familiarizing himself with the areas. And with street view, he could literally reenact a kill. How special.

  The rattle of plastic rang out from the cheap timer sitting on a counter next to him. “Pens down, everyone,” he said, looking up briefly. “If you haven’t answered the questions by now, you don’t know the answer.”

  One by one, the students got up from their seats with their belongings and made their way to the front of the room, where they placed their exams on the desk.

  “Please go over Chapters 42 and 43,” Preston called out. “We will be discussing them in our next class. Also, bring your lab tools with you.” He didn’t bother to look up from his laptop that time. Not until he heard someone call his first name—a big no-no for students.

  64

  I had to wait until Monday to track down the professor, but it didn’t take long to pin down the name Agent Ton fed me once I got to the university. He was Preston Carter, professor of biology, and the class I was about to enter was his last one for the day. Rather than interrupt, I waited in the hallway. The students looked as if they were taking an exam. School was important, and college was expensive. If my kid had his test interrupted by someone like me, I’d be pissed.

  In the meantime, I got to talk with Lucy via text. I answered ten “why” questions in a row. My favorite was why she shouldn’t fart in class to draw attention to herself. Now that’s a call every parent looks forward to receiving from their child’s school. Even though I enjoyed the texting with Lucy, I hated being away. Last night, Lucy had cried throughout our entire phone conversation. It tore at my heart and pissed me off at the same time. I looked at my phone for another ‘why’ question but none came. We were done talking.

  A chime sounded, and students poured into the hallway a few seconds later. I entered Professor Carter’s classroom after the last person walked out. It looked like your typical school lab—long rows of black countertop tables with mixing faucets and gas cock valves. There were fish tanks filled with sea anemones and glass cupboards packed with jars housing dead mammals.

  I thought for a second the professor might have slipped out with the students, but then I spotted a man in the corner sitting in a student’s chair. It looked two sizes too small. He seemed to be really occupied with his laptop, because he didn’t hear me clear my throat.

  “Preston… Preston Carter?”

  The blond man looked up from his laptop. His forehead wrinkled as his eyes sharpened their look on me. “Yes, that’s me. Do I know you?”

  I pulled out my badge as I walked over to him. “I’m Agent Kane, FBI. I’d like to ask you a few questions. Do you have a moment?”

  “What is this about? Did one of my students get into trouble?”

  “No, it’s about you. If my information is correct, you were one of the two surviving hostages in the
Comerica Bank hold-up seven years ago.”

  He let out a noisy breath before slamming his laptop closed. “Look, I spent hours answering questions for the authorities back then. All I want to do is forget and move on, and I can’t do that if you guys keep coming back to ask the same questions over and over,” he said in a raised voice. I watched the color on his face grow warm and his lips press tighter together.

  “Has someone else come by recently to question you?”

  The professor was agitated. He ran his hand through his hair continually. “I know they were watching me. They didn’t believe what I said, so they watched me. Guess what? Nothing. I was telling the truth.”

  Had I known he would get upset over a few questions, I would have brought a shiny red apple. “I know this is difficult but it would be extremely helpful for me—”

  “You! How is this helpful? They solved the case. The man is behind bars. What exactly are you doing?”

  I’m investigating a crime, a-hole. I gritted my teeth. “First off, I’m asking the questions. Your only job is to answer it. It’s like a test. You know what a test is, right?”

  His head jerked back. The professor wasn’t expecting that answer.

  “We believe the man arrested was not responsible for all the murders that took place at that bank robbery or any of the murders that happened beforehand. You were there, Professor. Did you see Michael Garrison kill all those people?”

  His shoulders relaxed and his voice calmed as he gave in to my questioning. “Yes, he killed them. He shot them. So did his girlfriend.”

  “Girlfriend? She killed some of the hostages?”

  “Sure. She killed two bank tellers.”

  That was news. Nowhere in the investigation notes did I see mention of the girlfriend killing anyone. Nor did I recall any mention of another gun. “Why did he kill his girlfriend?”

  “I don’t know,” he said, shrugging. “The man didn’t appear to have all his marbles. I sensed he was bipolar. Okay one minute—batty the next.”

  “What about the victims that had their throats slashed? Did you see Mr. Garrison kill those people?”

  He threw his arms up in the air. “Of course I did. We all did. The man was a psycho.”

  I kept my professional composure, but inside I felt like someone had just socked me in the stomach. Could Garrison have been lying to me that day we spoke? If so, that would mean Detroit had captured the right guy. And I needed to catch a copycat. How could my instincts on the case have been so, so wrong?

  I stared absent-mindedly at my notebook, trying to comprehend what the professor had just told me. It was gut wrenching to say the least.

  “Well, if that’s all the questions you have. I must be going.” The professor stood up and walked over to his desk to gather his things. I was still lost in a confusing haze as I followed him. He put his laptop into his briefcase. When he slipped his brown sport coat on, something metallic slipped out and landed near my shoe. I bent down and picked up a single Mercedes key on a key holder. I looked up at the professor, realizing for the first time his height and his long blond hair that reached his shoulders.

  He stared back at me and held out his hand. “Thank you.”

  I looked at the key I held and then back at him before asking what kind of Mercedes he drove.

  65

  “Excuse me?” Preston asked, accentuating the wrinkles in his forehead.

  “Your Mercedes. What model do you have?”

  He gazed at me a bit longer with his confused look before shaking it off and snatching the keys out of my hand. Before he turned away, I grabbed him by the arm. “Professor, I asked you a question.”

  He looked back at me with a smile. A moment later, the back of his hand connected with the side of my head. The force sent me flying through the air like a china doll. I landed on a lab table and then rolled off onto the floor. It happened so fast. My head ached and my equilibrium was off, making the room tilt to the side. I sat down and closed my eyes for a few seconds. When I opened them, I felt better and could stand again. I forged ahead, out of the classroom and into the hallway. It was empty save for a few students.

  “Where did he go?” I called out. “Professor Carter, did anybody see him?”

  “He went down the stairs,” a student called out.

  “Are you okay?” another asked, coming up to me.

  I brushed him off and headed down the stairs as quickly as my legs could muster. When I reached the bottom, most of my senses had returned, and moving had gotten easier. I exited the building only to be faced with a large campus full of crisscrossing students, and the professor was nowhere to be seen. He may have escaped, but I knew who our killer was.

  I quickly put in a call to Detective Solis. “Detective, it’s Agent Kane. I’ve identified one of the killers.” I told him where I was and why I had come in search of the professor.

  “You were right,” he said. “One of the surviving hostages was the other killer at the bank.”

  “Had to be, or why would the professor run? We got a name. It should be easy to track down an address.”

  “I’m on it,” Solis said.

  “We need to be careful of how we take Preston Carter down.”

  “I’ll get the tactical unit involved and start preparations. Still can’t believe the nickname for the hostage had stuck. If that’s the case, the other hostage should be a student.”

  “I doubt that person is still a student today,” I said.

  “You’re probably right about that. I wonder if they knew each other or if it was just coincidence.”

  “Well there are two killers, so my guess is there were two back then. I think it’s safe to say they knew each other.” Preston must have thought a mind was a terrible thing to waste.

  66

  I met up with Solis and Madero back at central precinct. It didn’t take long for them to get an address on the guy. At first, I didn’t make the connection until they mentioned the Corktown neighborhood. Preston Carter was married to Katherine Carter, the beautiful brunette Wilkinson and I had talked to a few weeks ago. I had her pegged as an intelligent woman with her life together. I guess I was wrong. Maybe Preston was really smarter than he appeared. A sicko with a wife and kids… How is it she has no idea what her husband was up to? Or did she?

  I’ve come across my fair share of husbands who led secret lives, but Preston Carter took the cake. The wives always swore they knew nothing. “How could we know?” they would say. How could you not?

  With the latest information, the situation had escalated. Not only did we need to take the professor down, but we also needed to make sure we got the wife and kids out of the house and into our custody before he did something stupid, like take them hostage. I also had to make sure she wasn’t a part of it. We knew there were two. I needed them both in custody and separated, in case Katherine was innocent. I didn’t want to jeopardize her or the kids by having them in a place that Preston could get to them.

  Within two hours, we had mobilized a block away from the Carter’s residence. We had sent a team ahead inside a cable van to survey the property. Our suspect had not returned home yet, but they reported the wife had just returned with the two kids. It would be a perfect time to grab her and the kids and remove them from the picture.

  Solis handed me a flak jacket with the word ‘police’ stenciled on the back. “You might want to put this on.”

  We were following the tactical team in the front door. Madero entered the house from behind with the rest of the team.

  We got into our position, crouching near a hedge in the front of the house and out of sight of the front door. A member of the team dressed as a cable guy approached the house. A few moments after Katherine answered the door, we got the signal and everyone mobilized on the house. We had the home cleared and Katherine and her two children in an SUV on their way to a safe location all in under five minutes.

  I rode with Katherine and the kids. The youngest cried the entire time, an
d Katherine kept asking what was happening and insisted on calling her husband; we had confiscated her cell. I dreaded having to tell her. It wasn’t a good idea to have that conversation in front of her children. I told her that, as soon as we got to our location, I would explain everything and answer all her questions.

  I insisted Lieutenant White secure clearance for a suite at the hotel I had been staying at. Any place but Central Precinct would do for now. I didn’t think we could keep them safe at Central, mainly because I trusted no one there. Preston was too good and too smart. Plus, I wanted to keep Katherine close by. She would be key to catching Preston.

  • • •

  It didn’t take long for Katherine to put the boys down for a nap; the experience had them worn out. She closed the door to the bedroom and took a seat in the sitting area next to me. Solis and Madero were also in the hotel room.

  Katherine looked frightened. I could see it in her eyes, but she tried hard to hide it. Though she had no idea what was coming her way. She was about to find out who she really married.

  “Did something happen to Preston? Is he… dead?”

  “No,” I answered. “We don’t know where your husband is, but it’s important we find him. Katherine, there’s no right way to say this, so I’m just going to say it. Preston is a suspect in the rash of recent murders.”

  “What?” Katherine reeled back. “You have got to be kidding me.” A half smile appeared on her face but disappeared quickly when no one answered her.

  “You’re serious, aren’t you?”

  “We are,” I said. “Katherine, your husband attacked me this afternoon when I tried to question him at the university.” I pulled my hair back and showed her the bruising near my ear.

  “Preston is not a violent man. Are you sure you haven’t mistaken someone else for him?”

  Solis removed a picture of Preston from an envelope. “Is this your husband?”