You Sang to Me

by Beverly Jenkins

  “At the hotel waiting on the shuttle.”

  “Good. Get out of line and report to the local office there.”

  “What?”

  “Big fire there last night. Since you’re on the ground, it’s yours.”

  “Hank,” she whined.

  “I love you, too.” He gave her the name and number of the person she was to contact. “Call me later and give me an update.”

  “Okay. I’ll be staying with my aunt and uncle. Be in touch.”

  “Ciao.”

  Eve closed her phone and sighed aloud. Damn.

  * * *

  Driving home, Leyton was blue. He had Miles on. It was a little past dawn, and the sky was still gray—a Miles kind of morning. As the horn fed his soul he wondered where she was. Home in Detroit somewhere, or at the airport getting ready for a flight out. He could still taste her lips, hear her voice and feel the warmth of her skin under the slide of his hands. Who is she? The memories of her would be haunting him for some time to come. She’d been regal, commanding and totally uninhibited in bed. Not the kind of woman a man would easily forget. According to the briefing on the party, the attendees had come from all over the world. Finding her again would be like finding the proverbial needle in a haystack. During his law enforcement career, he’d found murderers, arsonists and every other kind of bad guy the city could offer up, so surely he could find a woman with a butterfly tattooed on her back. Right, he told himself sarcastically. There were millions of butterflies on the backs of women all over the world. What were the chances of him running into her again? Suppose she was from Africa, or France or some other foreign country? But he didn’t care. He’d find her.

  Keeping one eye on the light morning traffic, he fished his phone out of the glove compartment. It and his weapon had been locked inside while he he’d been at the party playing centurion. He hit the speed dial to connect himself with dispatch. Joyce Ingalls, the head clerk, answered. “Hey, Joyce.”

  “Where’ve you been?”

  “Morning to you, too.”

  “Get yourself over to the new Morgan’s complex.”

  “Why?”

  “Sucker burned to the ground last night. We’ve been blowing up your phone since two a.m.”

  “What?”

  “Just go. Everybody’s already on the scene.”

  “Thanks.” Damn.

  He reached across the seat, grabbed his emergency light and slapped it on top of the car. With the blue light flashing, he turned the vehicle back the way he’d come and roared off in an easterly direction.

  He smelled the smoke six blocks away. It wasn’t the thick, acrid smoke of a fully engulfed fire but the fainter type associated with mopping up. The side streets leading to the complex were littered with hoses and uniformed firefighters moving with the slow, measured steps of having been in a long fight. Fire trucks flashing lights lined the way. The shields on the sides identified them as from station houses all over the city. Only something big would require such a strong show of force.

  He flashed his badge at a uniformed cop and was allowed to drive into the parking lot. What was left of the multimillion-dollar shopping complex was a smoking hulk of charred brick and not much else. Firefighters in full gear were on the roof wielding axes. He parked and got out. “Glad you could join us, big brother.”

  His brother Keith’s smiling brown face was black with smoke and sweat. He was in full gear also and had his ax and helmet in hand. He and a couple of his crew appeared to be on their way back to their engine.

  “You okay?”

  “Just the usual burns and bruises. Mom said you went to a costume party.”

  Leyton ran his eyes over the small army of police and firemen swarming the scene. He was looking for his crew. “Don’t ask. You seen any of my people?”

  “Yeah. Saw Chief Sawyer over with the mayor. Neighbors said the place went up like a match.”

  “Great. I’ll see you later. Let Mom know I’m here.”

  “Will do. Take care of yourself.”

  Seeing his brother alive and well gave Leyton one less worry, but hearing that the building had gone up fast and hard meant he was in for a long day.

  * * *

  Wearing her shades, an ATF jacket, baseball cap and T-shirt, Eve was introduced by one of the local ATF agents to the other people in the room. This was a meeting of the task force being put together to investigate last night’s fire. “Glad to be on board,” she said and took a seat in one of the empty chairs.

  They were in a conference room in the city’s federal building. Local police and fire, a couple of FBI agents, Eve and the other agent from ATF, a young kid named McBride, were represented. McBride’s office had requested national task force help because the locals were undermanned. Two of the five members were in Ontario working with the Canadian Mounties on an illegal weapons sting; another member was recovering from gunshot wounds suffered in a confrontation last week, and another was in Kansas City burying her mother. That left McBride in charge. He’d been with ATF less than six months.

  The Detroit fire department was running the meeting, which was fine with Eve. The last thing she wanted was to come in and start throwing federal weight around. Usually, partnering didn’t go well when that happened. This was the city’s turf; she and her people were there to assist.

  “Okay, let’s get started.” In charge was one of the city’s fire chiefs, a man named Stan Sawyer. He also headed up the arson squad.

  According to him, the place that burned down last night was a multimillion-dollar development that represented part of the city’s revitalization efforts. It was to have been the first new shopping complex built within the city limits in twenty years. The ribbon cutting had taken place less than a month ago.

  “The initial canvass of witnesses said the place went up in minutes and was fully engulfed a short time later.”

  To Eve that sounded suspiciously like arson, and the chief seemed to concur. “With fires still to investigate from this weekend’s Angels night activities, we’re spread a little thin, so I’m going to appoint Chief Investigator Palmer as the point person, and I’m hoping Agent Clark will agree to assist.”

  “No problem,” Eve said. “Is he here?”

  “No, but he should be shortly. He’s at the scene.”

  She nodded and hoped she and Palmer got along. Even though it was the twenty-first century, some men still found it hard to work with a woman.

  The chief continued, “In the meantime, the mayor’s office is anxious to get this resolved. Having a prominent development like this go up in smoke gives the city just one more unneeded black eye. Any questions?”

  There were a few, and the chief answered them as best he could considering he was working with preliminary information. “Everything we have for now on the building’s value, its owners, developers and vendors are in the packets in front of you.”

  Eve flipped through some of the pages. A man entered the conference room. He was tall, brown-skinned and wearing a long, beat-up leather coat. Only when he walked past her did she see the battered cowboy boots on his feet, and note that he smelled like smoke. He nodded at the chief. “Sorry I’m late.” He took a seat and looked around the room. “I know everyone here except the ATF in the back.”

  Eve answered. “Clark. National task force.”

  “Thanks in advance.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  Eve judged him to be about six foot two, muscular but lean, short hair, with a clean-shaven face. His build brought to mind the centurion, but chastising herself because this was neither the time nor place, she refocused on the here and now.

  The chief was saying, “Captain Palmer, I’ve asked Agent Clark to partner with you.”

  “That’s good.” He turned her way as if seeking her opinion.

  “I’m okay with it,” she responded, shades masking her eyes. He held her gaze for a beat of a moment longer than she thought necessary before turning back around. She hoped he was
n’t planning on hitting on her. Fending off the wannabe charmers always brought out the rhymes-with-rich in her, especially when operating on no sleep, like now.

  By the end of the meeting, everyone had their assignments and was ready to roll. She and Palmer exited together.

  He asked, “You want to take a look at the scene?”

  “Yeah. Be a good way for me to get up to speed.”

  “Okay. Car’s across the street in the lot.”

  On the ride to the site, Eve looked out at the changes that had taken place in her beloved hometown. There was so much of it gone now, and what remained appeared tired yet still hopeful.

  “Where you from?” Palmer asked.

  “Right here. Eastside.”

  He looked surprised. “Really?”

  “Born and raised.”

  “It’s home for me, too. Westside, though. What high school?”

  “Cass.”

  “Ah, one of those brainiac girls.”

  She shrugged. “I did okay.” Eve decided they’d chitchatted long enough. “Tell me about the scene.”

  Leyton gave her a long look. He guessed she’d made all the nice she intended to make and was ready to get to work. “Heavy scent of gasoline. Real heavy.”

  “Point of origin found yet?”

  “Not yet. Place is still too hot. Once the engineers say the place is shored up and safe, we should be able to get in and look around.”

  “We’re talking tomorrow morning.”

  “At the earliest.”

  He watched her open up the file given out at the meeting and glance at one of the sheets inside.

  “Anyone talked to the corporate people?”

  “No. I’ve an appointment with a district VP later. You’re welcome to ride along.”

  “Thanks.”

  “No problem. He’s a black guy named Crenshaw…supposedly the man behind the project. Probably not too happy this morning.”

  “Probably not.”

  Leyton wanted to ask her if the shades were prescription but decided to hold on to the question for now. She gave the impression of being prickly, a word his late grandfather sometimes used to describe a woman. Her height made him think of the goddess, though. Had it really been less than six hours since they parted? He shook off the thoughts. Although the height was right, he doubted Ms. Prickly ATF would be caught dead in a black leather catsuit.

  When they reached the scene of the fire, Eve surveyed what was left of the buildings. At the briefing by the chief, the complex had been described as a high-end mini mall. A big name supermarket chain, a major retailer and a hardware giant had come together to offer Detroiters a shopping experience usually reserved for the surrounding suburbs, and someone had burned it to the ground.

  Walking up to the charred remains, she could smell the faint scent of gasoline. Some of the brick walls on the huge hardware store remained upright, but much of the roof was gone. The other two buildings, although not as high, were in similar condition. She really wanted to get inside and start looking for the fire’s origination point. Determining that might shed more light on whether the incident had been accidental in nature or deliberate.

  “City had a lot of hope for this place,” Palmer told her as they ducked under the yellow police tape cordoning off the area. “And now?” he shrugged as if no further words were necessary.

  Eve agreed. It hurt her to watch her hometown being beat down in the media on what seemed like a daily basis. If she noticed the bashing in Chicago, it had to be up close and personal for the citizens of Detroit. They deserved better.

  They stood in front of the block-long rubble and looked around. There was still water from the hoses everywhere. At scenes like this one, fire investigators always wore sturdy boots. Not only because of the water, but because of what might be in the water. Eve’s well-worn hiking boots also kept her feet safe from broken glass, nails, splintered bricks and shards of wood. Mingled in with the debris outside of the supermarket were the remnants of burnt tin cans and the melted remains of plastic milk bottles and two-liter beverage containers. She was sometimes amazed at how capricious a fire could be when it came to what survived. She remembered a house in Ohio the year before that had blown up and burned down because of the meth lab in the basement. There’d been no loss of life, but the fire had wiped out everything inside except an old-fashioned cameo the owner said had once belonged to her great-grandmother. The flames hadn’t touched it.

  But she doubted she’d find great-grandma’s cameo this time. All she’d find here was the burnt-out husk of one the city’s dreams and she was determined to get to the bottom of it.

  “You know,” he told her, “the conspiracy theorists are convinced that the rest of the world has it in for the city of Detroit and are doing all they can to keep us from rising. When I look at something like this, I can almost agree.”

  She understood.

  They tracked down one of the structural engineers to get a report on the progress he and his team were making.

  “Hey, Leyton.”

  “How’s it going, Charlie? This is ATF agent Clark from Chicago. She’s helping us out.”

  He shook her hand. “Charlie Bates. Nice to meet you.”

  “Same here.

  Charlie looked to be near retirement age. His dark face sported gray eyebrows the same color as the hair peeking out of from under the edges of his yellow hard hat.

  “So where are we, Mr. Bates?” she asked.

  “Should have the place shored up and safe to enter by the morning. Budget cuts have us shorthanded, but we’re doing what we can with what we’ve got. It’s a big complex, so it’s going to take us awhile.”

  Both investigators understood.

  “Prelim police report say no loss of life,” Charlie said. “That been verified?”

  “Far as we know,” Leyton answered. “The only person working that night was a guard and he was the one who called 911.”

  “Okay. Just don’t want to find any surprises. Nice meeting you, Agent Clark.”

  Eve nodded. “Thanks for your work.”

  “No problem. Leyton, tell that pretty mama of yours I’m still waiting.”

  Leyton chuckled. Charlie’s crush on his mother went back to high school. “I’ll let her know.”

  With a wave, Charlie left to return to his duties, and Leyton and Eve headed for the car.

  CHAPTER 4

  As they left the scene and merged into the traffic on Jefferson, Leyton looked over at the woman riding shotgun. “I need to get something to eat. Hungry?”

  “I could use something.”

  “Preference?”

  “Doesn’t matter as long as we can get it quick. What time’s the appointment with the VP?”

  “One. He’s in Southfield. How long have you been in Chicago?”

  “Ten years.”

  “You must like it then.”

  She shrugged. “It’s okay. Different from here, though.”

  “In what way?”

  “Infrastructure works, the city works. Politicos go to jail just like here, though.”

  He pulled into one of the city’s famous Coney Island places and parked. “What can I get you?”

  “I can pay my way. I’ll come in.”

  “I can afford to treat you to a Coney dog, Clark.”

  “Thanks, but no thanks.”

  She got out of the car.

  He sighed and got out, too.

  Inside, they gave the kid behind the counter their order, then took a seat to wait for their food. Leyton had worked with a bunch of women over the years, and nine out of ten had been models of professionalism. But Clark—he was trying to figure her out. She was the personification of icy. It was as if she’d erected a wall around herself and had no intentions of letting anyone in, even to offer her a hot dog. He supposed the attitude was rooted in her being a woman in what used to be a man’s world. But he was just trying to be pleasant, nothing more. He’d worked with Detroit’s ATF agents in t
he past, and they’d usually partnered up well. They’d also been able to share a beer or a meal after the job and had gotten to know each other fairly well. This one didn’t appear to want to share anything, and she definitely didn’t have a get-to-know-me kind of vibe.

  Their food arrived. “Do you want to take a minute and eat here, or eat on the ride to Southfield?”

  She checked her watch. “It’s nearly noon. We should probably eat on the way. I know Southfield’s not that far, but I’m anal about being late for an interview.”

  “Up to you.” After his night with the goddess, and having to hit the ground running this morning on the fire, he’d really wanted to sit, eat and catch his breath. But apparently she’d gotten a full night’s sleep. He’d have to remember not to give her a choice next time. He stood and gestured toward the exit.

  Leaving the Coney Island when they did turned out to be a good thing. An accident on the northbound Lodge Expressway squeezed traffic down to a single lane crawl. Southfield was one of Detroit’s closer suburbs and normally a quick trip. Not today. The drive took nearly an hour and they arrived at the Morgan supermarket chain’s corporate office five minutes before the appointed time. Not that the promptness mattered. According to the secretary who greeted them, the man they wanted to see was in a meeting and would be available shortly.

  Eve and Leyton shared a look, then took seats in the waiting area.

  Marvin Crenshaw came out to greet them thirty minutes later. He was short, had a shaved head and was wearing an expensive black suit that looked imported. His snow-white shirt had fancy embroidered cuffs. He didn’t offer an apology for making them wait. “Have they found my car?”

  Eve raised an eyebrow and looked to Palmer who asked, “Your car, sir?”

  “Yes, I was carjacked the night of the grand opening. A brand new BMW. Had it less than two days.”

  “Sorry to hear that but there was nothing in the briefing about a stolen vehicle.”

  “Well, call someone—if there’s anyone in the police department competent enough to answer the phone. No wonder the city’s crumbling around your ears, bunch of fools in charge.”