The Car Bomb (The detroit im dying Trilogy, Book 1)

by T. V. LoCicero

  Hal didn’t move as he watched Frank sit on the edge of the desk and loom over them. “You consider it confidential. Why would that be, since the guy is dead?”

  “Doesn’t matter. It’s the principle of the thing. We were talking off the record, and confidentiality is still important whether the person is alive or not.”

  Hal stirred his big body until it was more upright on the couch. “Look, DeFauw, we’re just tryin’ to do our job. This guy was a prominent member of the community. He may have killed hisself, or maybe he was murdered. What you were talking to him about could very well help figure this thing out. Seems like you could tell us at least in general terms what you went there to talk to him about.”

  “Okay, in general terms, I was just doing my job. I was asking him about why he resigned. Here he is a relatively young guy, and after only a year on the job, he resigns. Why?”

  “So what’d he say?”

  “Nope, that’s all I can say. Besides, he really didn’t tell me anything he hadn’t already said in public. There, now you got the whole damn thing.”

  “And that’s all you asked about, why he resigned.”

  “Right.”

  “So you go to his house at 11 o’clock at night to ask him why he resigned. The fuck is that about?”

  “It’s about doing my job. I was off the 11 that night, so I thought I’d make use of the time. You guys know something about long hours, don’t you? Same thing.”

  Hal glanced at Fontaine, and the two got to their feet. Looking testy, the big guy said, “No, it ain’t the same thing, Frank. We’re trying to get at the truth here, and you’re tryin’ to cover it up.”

  Frank just looked at them and shook his head.

  Fontaine started for the door, then stopped. “One last thing. Why were you off the 11?”

  “No special reason. I had lots of work to do, checking out stories like Gant’s resignation. Besides, we were out of the book, the major ratings period, so they gave me the night off.”

  Hal and Fontaine looked at each other and nodded together.

  Chapter 45

  The next afternoon in his office he asked Fay to have dinner with him later, and as usual she said no. “There’s just too much going on with this Gant thing.”

  “You’re such a conscientious little producer.”

  “Hey, speaking of which, you saw where Barnes attached that word to you, right?”

  “Surely you joke.”

  “You didn’t read Barnes today?”

  “I don’t read that prick anymore. Not good for my health. But if you’re saying he called me that, we need to have your eyes checked.”

  “I think it was ‘devoted and conscientious.’ You need to hear this.” She took a piece from the Freep off her clipboard.

  “Devoted and conscientious about what? Booze and broads?”

  “Here, just listen.” She read from the column:

  “‘Police investigating the mysterious death of former Wayne County prosecutor Prentice Gant are miffed at Channel 5’s legendary anchor boy Frank ‘Frankie Franchise’ DeFauw.

  “‘As reported elsewhere in this edition, police now think DeFauw may have been the last person to see Gant alive Tuesday night shortly before the former prosecutor was shot to death in his own home.

  “‘Investigators trying to determine whether the death was a suicide or a homicide feel DeFauw could be “a lot more forthcoming and helpful” in their investigation.

  “‘What’s puzzling to this Ink Stained Wretch is why such a devoted and conscientious newsman as Defauw has failed in his own reporting to mention anything about his own role in the story of Gant’s tragic passing.

  “‘So what gives, Frankie? Why so silent about a major facet of what might be the biggest story you’ll report on this year?’”

  When she looked up from the paper, he said slowly, “Un-fucking-believable.”

  “You’ll need to say something tonight, right?”

  “Yeah, I’ll say something. But, look, I knew those cops were pissed I wouldn’t talk because of confidentiality, but to feed that asshole shit like this is really too much.”

  “Maybe he made that up.”

  “About the cops saying I wasn’t forthcoming? Yeah, he’s fully capable.”

  “So I’ll call the copshop and get a statement from them. And you know what they’ll say.”

  “Yeah, ‘We never comment to the press on an on-going investigation.’”

  “That’ll be good to use. It’ll call into question Barnes’ whole column. But, Frank, let me ask you something.”

  “What?”

  “Why have you kept me out of this whole thing? You’ve been so secret about all this stuff with Gant and Anthony Peoples. And now I think Judge O’Bryan is part of it too. I mean, you’ve been asking little Francine, who’s brand new, to make calls for you. Why don’t you trust me?”

  With a sidelong glance, he said, “Hey, Fay, a tad jealous here?”

  “Frank, please, you know me better than that. I’m just puzzled.”

  “Look, I haven’t even told Alice or Jack much about it. And I’ll never tell anybody unless it really pans out. I should know in the next day or so, and if it does, I’ll need your help big time. Oh, and the reason I asked Francine to make calls is precisely because she’s brand new. If I had asked you, you’d have the whole thing figured out by now.”

  She gave him a mock smile. “Frank, you are such a bull-shitter.”

  Chapter 46

  Alice Whitney was alone in her large office, her desk buried in paperwork that needed her attention before she could go home this evening. Glancing up at her large monitors, she noted Frank ready to start his commentary, snatched the remote and pumped the volume.

  “Tonight I need to say a few words about the death of former Wayne County prosecutor Prentice Gant and about some false and irresponsible charges a self-described Ink Stained Wretch has made in today’s Detroit Free Press.”

  Alice shook her head. She knew exactly why she put up with the man’s pain-in-the-ass antics. Without him, the station would be looking, not at a two-point lead, but at third place in the latest book. Still, and in spite of his argument that to pull him now would look like they were caving in this latest little dust up with Barnes, she had been sorely tempted to put him on the shelf for awhile. When he admitted he had not heard again from Anthony Peoples and that his big expose was on hold, she had said it was probably time for that respite she had mentioned the other day. He had actually started getting red in the face.

  “Christ, Alice! The one thing I need now is airtime. Everything depends on it. The fact is I’m three weeks away from taking a week with the family down at our home on the island.”

  Would she regret not standing firm? Quite possibly.

  On the monitor Frank continued: “Gant was a talented young prosecutor, apparently on the criminal justice fast track until three weeks ago when he resigned to, as he put it at the time, spend more time with his family and ‘pursue other interests.’ Then two nights ago Mr. Gant was found dead in his home with a gunshot wound to the head.

  “It is true, as reported in the Free Press, that I had spoken with Mr. Gant in his home earlier in the evening. But in the gossipy drivel Wil Barnes palms off as a column today, he makes the absurd claim that I have not cooperated fully with police investigators in the case. According to Barnes, police told him that I could be—quote—‘a lot more forthcoming and helpful’—unquote. This is completely false and libelous.”

  Chapter 47

  In his big, comfortable, high-ceilinged family room, holding golden-haired, four-year-old Missy in his lap, William O’Bryan looked between the Seuss book he was reading to her and the TV where his old school chum was saying things the judge wanted to hear.

  “Today I called the police detectives who interviewed me to ask if they or anyone in the department had complained about me to Mr. Barnes. The answer I got was this, and I quote: ‘Frank, as you well know, our strict pol
icy is to never talk to any member of the press or the media about details of an on-going investigation.’”

  Gazing at her RCA and running a tanned and freckled hand through her cascade of red curls, Letty Pell was spending more effort on gauging the lines on his face than on the substance of what he was saying.

  “So, folks, here are the facts: I have answered every question from police investigators as fully as possible. I have given them every bit of information I have that could relate in any way to what happened to Mr. Gant. And I have not injected myself in any of the reporting we’ve done on the tragic death of Prentice Gant, for the simple reason that I played no role in this story whatsoever. I met with Mr. Gant in my capacity as a newsman to ask if he would elaborate on why he had cut short such a promising career. We talked only for a few minutes and broke no new ground.”

  Anthony Peoples sat up straight on his bare mattress, his eyes locked on the old TV portable as Frank continued.

  “I suppose I could have sensationalized my accidental proximity to this sad event in our news shows over the past two days. But that would have been irresponsible, and it’s not how we do things here at Channel 5.

  “Finally, I want to take a moment to offer the condolences of everyone here at Channel 5 to Mr. Gant’s widow, Delores and their two children, Samuel, aged 4 and Rebecca, aged 2.”

  On his feet now, the black man glanced briefly around his squalid excuse for a room, then, with one quick look back at Frank shuffling papers at the anchor desk, grabbed his soiled old backpack and left.

  Chapter 48

  With the phone ringing as he walked into his mess of an office, he lifted the receiver. “DeFauw.”

  Gladys, who handled calls after 6 at the back desk, said, “Frank, I got a man on the line says his name is Peoples?”

  “Great, Glad, put him on.” He stretched the phone cord and reached for the office door to swing it shut.

  “Hullo.” The voice sounded sullen.

  “Anthony, is that you?”

  “Yeah, it’s me.”

  “Great, so how you doin’, man. I’ve been worried about you.”

  “Yeah, well, I’m not doin’ so good.”

  “What’s up Anthony? What’s going on?”

  “I’m outta here, man.”

  “What do you mean, you’re outta here? What’s wrong?”

  “Yeah, well, first you lead ‘em right to Gant so they can kill his ass right in front of his family. Then you tell the cops about me. Like I say, I’m outta here.”

  “Hold on, Anthony. I didn’t lead anybody anywhere. I’ve been very careful about that. And I certainly haven’t said anything about you to the cops. Why would you even think I would do that?”

  “Cause you just said you did. On TV. You said you told ‘em the truth ‘bout why you went talkin’ to Gant.”

  Frank wagged his head woefully. “Anthony, I had to say that to get the fuckin’ papers off my back. Fact is I haven’t mentioned you or the details of your story to anyone, not even here at the station. So cool out, man.”

  “Yeah, so you cool out. Cause I’m splittin’. I’m leavin’ this fuckin’ town while I’m still breathin’, and you can forget ever seein’ me again.”

  “Anthony, wait...”

  He heard nothing but dial tone.

  Chapter 49

  Frank found Letty Pell’s condo on the top floor of the Riverfront Towers, a high-end high-rise downtown on the river. She met him at the door with a glass of Merlot, maybe the tightest jeans he’d ever seen, a wonderfully skimpy top and a cascade of wild red curls. Settled on her plush cream leather couch, she lifted her own wine glass, clinked the one she had handed him and said, “Cheers!”

  After their initial sips, she reached for his belt, and he surprised both of them by taking her hand and bringing it to his lips before saying, “Hey, let’s wait just a bit.”

  She smiled kindly. “Whatever you’d like. I just thought you looked a little tense on TV. That’s why I called. That and the fact that you haven’t called me.”

  So why had he not called her, and why stop her now? Certainly not because she had oversold her talent. If anything, she had been too modest. Was he getting paranoid? Maybe, since the thought had occurred that perhaps Judge Billy was behind her phoned invitation. Get a closer look and report her observations. Now even their initial encounter, way back at the Economic Club, seemed suspicious. Too good to be truly accidental?

  From the looks of this place, for a gal who claimed she didn’t work for a living, she was clearly on good terms with someone of means. “Nice little pad you got here, Letty.”

  “Why, thank you, kind sir. I enjoy it. But it’s been a little lonely lately, waiting for you to call. I’ve missed you!”

  “Letty, please. With your looks and talents, you must have all the town’s movers and shakers lined up around the block.”

  “What a nice and naughty thing to say. But really, Frank, I’ve been surprised and disappointed you haven’t called me. I thought we hit it off so well, and nobody takes me to the classy places you do.”

  Frank gave her a grin while he thought about how quickly she had brought up the dive where he had tried to chase down Randal Byrd. “Well, I’ve been swamped with work lately.”

  “Yeah? Well, tell me, did you ever catch up with that weird guy you were chasing that night. What was his name? Randal Rat?”

  He laughed, searching her glinting brown eyes, as if he might fathom there why she was asking the question. “No, Byrd, Randal Byrd. I’ve had no luck on that one.”

  “Well, what about—and now I’m going to show you that I really do watch you all the time—what about the poor guy whose family got blown up in their car? What’s his name? Person or something like that? You were asking him to call practically every night there for a while. Did he ever call you? And are we ever going to learn why that awful thing happened?”

  She certainly wasn’t wasting any time. And those were nice little touches, changing Byrd to Rat and not getting Anthony’s name right either.

  “No, sorry, I’ve struck out on that one too.”

  “Well, then how’s your book coming?”

  “Oh, thanks for asking. Ah, little by little. You know, I told you it’s a labor of love. And with so much on my plate, it kind of gets short shrift.”

  “That’s too bad, but just remember, when you finish, I definitely want to read it.”

  He gazed steadily at her. The woman was certainly trying to push every button. “That’s very sweet of you to say, Letty. But talking about guys lining up around the block for you, I wonder if you might know an old friend of mine, Judge William J. O’Bryan? You know Billy, by any chance?”

  Did the sparkling brown eyes flicker for an instant? He was not really sure. “No, I can’t say that I do. Should I?”

  “Oh, yes, Billy’s quite the charmer. Hell of a ladies man, in the sense that he adores women and seems to know how to please them. Yeah, you should ring him up at the courthouse. Just leave word that I suggested you call, and he’ll get right back to you, if I know Billy.”

  She took his hand and put it on her thigh. “Well, thanks for the tip. But why are we talking about other guys when I’ve got the guy I want right here on my couch?”

  Chapter 50

  Anthony Peoples had been to Cleveland one other time. Back when they were both still in their teens, he and his cousin Rick had driven to the city in Anthony’s rickety Escort wagon, the only vehicle they had between them at the time, and against the firmly stated wishes of Juanita, who had thought he should have nothing to do with a “dangerous personality” like Rick.

  Even back then, Anthony had harbored no doubt that his childhood sweetheart meant salvation from the street. Without Nita he would certainly have been running with Rick and most likely losing himself in a dead-end life. But Rick had asked him for a ride to Cleveland to see a girl he had met at a Run DMC concert a few weeks earlier, and Anthony had felt like it was something he just had to do,
both for Rick and to show Nita he had a mind of his own.

  It had been the last trip the once “best cousins” had ever taken together, and afterward each had begun to find his own way.

  For Rick, strictly “Pretty Rick” back then, and strictly small-time, dealing junk and the occasional whore on Detroit’s near westside, the break had come when the girl from Cleveland had hooked him up with her half-sister who just happened to be running an outfit supplying half the stuff in that old Pingree Street neighborhood. The half-sister had been looking for some smart muscle, “heady pop” she had called it, and Rick, despite his slight build and effeminate style, had heady pop to spare. Within a year he had his first Maserati, a four-year-old BiTurbo coupe. And two years and three Maseratis later, with the half-sister suffering an advanced case of AIDS, he had been running the show.

  Actually, the show had turned out to be a wholly-owned subsidiary of the Monelli clan. And for a time, with his love of Italian cars and the Monellis’ need for efficient street operations, “Maserati Rick” Mahone had thought it was a marriage made in heaven. Eventually, like everything else in this world, that had changed.

  As for Anthony, with Nita’s prodding, pleading and homework help, he had managed to get through a year and a half at Wayne County Community College. A job as an investigator with the city’s water department had followed, dealing with residents’ complaints. Actually he had enjoyed the work and for a time thought he might have a future with the department. There had been posts in the upper echelon he felt he could qualify for eventually, perhaps with a little more college.

  He and Nita had married and started a family; they had bought a small home on the city’s southwest side and had generally lived on his salary while putting most of hers from the bank in a saving’s account and a couple of conservative mutual funds. Life had seemed good. Certainly he had no regrets about leaving Rick to his risked-filled career.