If it Bleeds, it Leads (An Avery Shaw Mystery)

by Amanda M. Lee

  In addition to dirty politicians, Sterling Heights has one of the biggest police forces in the state and a lot of great shopping. It also had a heavy Islamic population. Not as big as Dearborn, but a close second.

  The good news for me is that Sterling Heights was technically along the route I would have to take to go up to my family’s restaurant afterwards – so hopefully everything would work out.

  When I arrived at the dealership, I looked around. It was your typical used car lot, but there was something slightly off about the atmosphere. I just couldn’t put my finger on it. It didn’t help that cars were akin to basketballs to me – in other words, they all looked alike.

  I got out of my car and took a good, long look around. Actually, I could put my finger on it. For a used car lot there were a lot of vintage muscle cars on the lot. Usually you have 12-year-old Sunfires and Celicas for $4,000. These cars all had sticker prices that were a lot higher than new cars on other lots. I’m talking like $30,000 price tags. That was odd.

  “Ah, that’s a nice one.”

  I swung around to see a salesman making his way towards me. Great. He must have thought I was interested in the car – some red monstrosity with what looked like three different tailpipes.

  “It’s a great car isn’t it? I have to say, it’s nice to see a young woman like yourself interested in a vintage automobile like this. It’s definitely a step up from what you’ve got now.”

  I couldn’t be sure, but I think my Ford Focus had just been insulted. There’s no way this vintage gas-guzzler would look anywhere near as cool without the bevy of ‘Star Wars’ stickers that adorn my car.

  “Umm, yeah, it’s nice.”

  “Nice? Young lady, I’ll have you know this is a genuine piece of Detroit history.”

  And the “who cares” award goes to . . . umm, this guy. Even though I live in Detroit I can’t think of anything I care less about than cars. Well rock-climbing, I couldn’t care less about that. Is that not the stupidest sport?

  “So what are you looking for? A gift perhaps? Something for your husband?” He looked down at my naked ring finger. “Your boyfriend maybe?” He seemed to be hopeful that he wouldn’t be dealing with just me. I didn’t blame him.

  “Actually, I’m looking for the owner.” Might as well go for broke. I don’t have the time or inclination to play games with used care salesmen.

  “Why?” Are used car salesmen supposed to be this suspicious of others?

  “Um, well, I need to talk to him about something.”

  “What?”

  “It’s kind of a private matter.”

  “Are you a service processor?”

  That’s an odd question. “No.” He must get sued a lot. This is a used car lot, though; I guess it probably happens fairly often.

  “Are you a private investigator?” That’s even an odder question.

  “Do I look like a private investigator?” I looked down at my Seaquest T-shirt for reinforcement. I’d recently discovered a website where I could find vintage television show shirts – Seaquest had been my first purchase. Come on, who doesn’t love talking dolphins?

  “Listen, I just need to talk to Mr. Walker for a few minutes. I promise I’m not here to serve him with anything.”

  The salesman gave me a dubious look and then motioned for me to follow him to the main building. I had my doubts about the intelligence associated with this move – but I’d never let that stop me before and I certainly wasn’t going to let it stop me now.

  Inside the building, I was surprised by how modern and clean it was. This certainly wasn’t like any used car dealership I had been to before. Of course, this was the biggest one in the county. Maybe that made a difference.

  The salesman gestured to a big glass office at the back of the room. “He’s in there – and he’s not in a good mood.”

  It was meant as a warning, but since people said I have constant PMS that really wasn’t a deterrent to me. I can be bitchy with the best of them.

  I made my way towards the office, glancing around at the handful of workers who were dusting the cars and checking under the hoods in what appeared to be an exaggerated performance. I didn’t think that was normal either. The fact that the workers looked like ex-cons was another concern. Maybe I should go.

  I didn’t, of course. Instead I entered the office door and greeted the man behind the desk. I’m not sure what I expected. Mr. Walker had slicked back blonde hair and he was wearing a ridiculously expensive suit. No polyester fibers here. I could see the resemblance between him and his far less successful son. They both looked like assholes.

  “Can I help you?” He had a friendly smile plastered on his face. I could tell it wasn’t genuine. It reminded me of my fake smile. Never a good sign. This guy was probably as good of a liar as I was.

  “Actually, Mr. Walker, my name is Avery Shaw. I’m . . .”

  “I know who you are. You’re a reporter for The Monitor.”

  I wasn’t sure how I felt about him knowing who I was. This could go either way. I usually like to be the one with the element of surprise on my side.

  “Do you know why I’m here?”

  “To buy a car?”

  “No.”

  Mr. Walker sighed. “Yes, I know why you’re here. It’s about my son, Kevin.”

  “Your namesake, I believe.” I was trying to be ingratiating. I don’t think it came off that way. It rarely does. Usually I border on irritating instead. That usually ends up working for me, though.

  “Kevin may be my namesake, but he’s also a big disappointment. That’s what his mother – God rest her soul – and I should have named him. Big disappointment.”

  He and my mother had a lot in common.

  “Mr. Walker, I have a few questions . . . “

  “How do you even know about this? His name hasn’t been released to the public yet.”

  “I have inside information, I guess you could say.”

  “You’re the reporter who went to his place yesterday aren’t you.” I thought that was odd. If Kevin and his dad were on the outs, like he purported, how did he know that? He was either in touch with his son or had someone watching him. I thought both were distinct possibilities – especially given the men I had just seen in the showroom.

  He must have read my mind. “Kevin called yesterday to say he might have gotten himself in trouble.”

  I let Mr. Walker continue.

  “My son has some issues.” That’s putting it mildly.

  “He has had some drug problems. Addiction is a horrible thing.” Either Kevin was a good liar and his dad was living in denial or Mr. Walker was an even better liar. I had a feeling it was the latter. I don’t know why. It was just a vibe I was getting.

  “Has he gone to rehab?” Two can play this game. I had my concerned look plastered across (what I hoped) was my innocent-looking face.

  “A couple of times. I spared no expense.” I bet.

  “What happened?” I tried to fake sympathy. I was also trying to get a look around the office as I did so. I don’t know what I expected to find, but this whole place was like a surreal trip to Oz.

  “The same thing each time. He’d come home. Be fine for a few weeks. Then he’d fall right back into it.”

  “You know, Mr. Walker, this just isn’t about the drugs right?”

  “What do you mean?”

  I decided not to mention the manufacturing and dealing aspects of his son’s life. I didn’t think that would get me anywhere. If Mr. Walker didn’t know, he’d kill the messenger. If he did know, I might become something of a threat to him – a threat he might feel the need to deal with harshly.

  “Mr. Walker, your son is being considered a suspect in the death of one of my co-workers.”

  Mr. Walker looked surprised. I couldn’t decide if it was feigned or real.

  “The girl who died in your parking lot the other day?”

  “Yes. Darby Pitts.”

  “Why would my son be implicate
d in that?” He didn’t seem all that surprised that his son might be a suspect in a murder, just that he might be implicated in Darby’s murder. I filed that away for future reflection.

  “Your son and Darby were in a relationship.”

  “I didn’t know that.”

  “They had broken up, but from what I hear your son wasn’t exactly known for taking rejection well.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Just that I happen to know he was also having a problem with his ex-wife?”

  “That woman was a whore.” No argument there.

  “That still doesn’t give him the right to stalk her.” I actually believed this, no matter my personal dislike for Sunshine and her stupid stage name.

  Mr. Walker seemed like he was going to say one thing and then fluidly switched to something else. “No, it doesn’t. Like I said, my son has issues.”

  “Mr. Walker, do you think your son could be involved in Darby’s murder?”

  “Absolutely not!” He was on his feet now. I inadvertently took a step back. I hated showing fear. It always gives your enemies the upper hand. Mr. Walker seemed to sense my discomfort and stepped forward to press the issue. This time I didn’t move back – even though I desperately wanted to.

  “My son is many things, Ms. Shaw. He has problems. He’s not perfect. He is not, however, a murderer.”

  Mr. Walker’s voice was starting to carry, and I noticed that his workers were moving towards the door. This was not a good situation by any stretch of the imagination. I might be able to outrun Mr. Walker (this is why I always wear tennis shoes instead of dress shoes) but I couldn’t outrun all of them.

  “I know, Mr. Walker. I was just checking.” Not the best lie I ever told. Even I heard the hitch in my voice. I knew Mr. Walker had, too.

  Mr. Walker seemed to be gaining strength – either that or he was just losing control and had lost interest in hiding behind his false façade.

  “I would hope that you wouldn’t be spreading lies like this around to other people.” Mr. Walker’s rage was bubbling at the surface now. He wasn’t even trying to pretend he was a nice car salesman anymore. This guy was a thug in a $5,000 suit.

  “I would never.” I totally would, but I wasn’t going to admit that to him.

  “Let’s make sure you don’t. I would hate to have to sue you or your publication for libel.” He said sue but I heard shoot. I had no doubts now that Mr. Walker was a dangerous man, maybe more dangerous than his son the murder suspect and drug manufacturer.

  “No one wants that, Mr. Walker. I just wanted to make sure that there was no way your son could be involved before I moved on to my other leads. They’re more promising anyway. You always eliminate the easiest lead first.” This wasn’t a total lie. I was becoming more and more convinced that Kevin was involved, but I wouldn’t overlook other leads.

  “Well, now you can focus on those other leads, can’t you?” That seemed to be a suggestion rather than a question.

  “What other leads?” I swear, I had never been so happy to hear that voice in my life. I turned around to see Jake standing behind me. Relief washed over me.

  “You know, I have a lot of leads.”

  With the appearance of Jake in the doorway, Mr. Walker’s menace had completely disappeared. He was an amiable car salesman again. I knew better, though, and I could sense that Jake did, too.

  “Ms. Shaw, may I speak to you outside?” Jake was trying to get me out of the room, I realized. I honestly didn’t mind.

  “Absolutely.” I rushed past Jake to the relative safety of the showroom. The other workers were still feigning cleaning and tuning cars, but I knew they were keenly aware of what was going on in Mr. Walker’s office.

  “Mr. Walker, I have a few questions, like I mentioned on the phone. I’ll be right back.” Jake shot a friendly smile at Mr. Walker. He always looked amiable, even when he was tense. I admired that about him. As a politician, he was a great actor.

  “Of course, sheriff. I always want to help out law enforcement.” Mr. Walker was a decent actor, too.

  Jake took me by the elbow and ushered me outside. He didn’t look happy.

  “You are truly unbelievable,” he hissed when we’d moved past the front door. The fake smile never wavered from his face.

  “What do you mean?” I was feeling emboldened now that Jake had arrived. I was mad at myself for the relief I was feeling. I hate being the damsel in distress. I hate Jake being the white knight even more.

  “I told you not to do anything stupid. So what do you do? Something really stupid – and not two hours after I told you to stay away from this.”

  “You didn’t tell me to stay away from this. You told me that I should tell you anything I knew.”

  “And did you?”

  “Of course I did.”

  “Then what are you doing here?”

  “Shopping for a new car.”

  “Really? You don’t care about cars. You drive them until you wreck them or they die.”

  This was true. I had a bad history with cars. I’d never had a car that survived more than five years without some sort of catastrophe. I tried a different tactic. “I didn’t think there was any harm in questioning the father of your suspect at his place of business.”

  “What do you think now?”

  “That he’s got an interesting employee pool.”

  “You noticed that, did you?”

  I narrowed my eyes. “Why are you here? You don’t usually interview people yourself.”

  “To ask him some questions about his son.” He ignored my other statement. Interesting.

  “That’s not all, though, is it?”

  “I don’t know what you mean.” Now Jake was lying. He could probably get away with it with other people, but not with me.

  “Do you think he’s involved in all this?”

  “Of course not. He’s a respected business man.”

  “A respected business man who has what looks like a whole gaggle of ex-cons working for him and a whole fleet of muscle cars that no one can afford in a down economy like this one?”

  “What makes you think they’re ex-cons?” Jake could divert, too.

  “They have gang tats.”

  “No one can say you’re not observant.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Stupid and loud, yes. Unobservant, no.” I decided to ignore the stupid and loud part. I’ll take a compliment any way I can get it.

  Jake pushed a piece of my windblown hair that had come loose from one of my buns (I’d have to fix them so they looked good for my mother in the car) out of my face. It was a surprisingly tender moment. Then he caught himself. “He didn’t hurt you, did he?”

  “No, he just wanted to make sure I didn’t spread any rumors about his son that weren’t true.”

  “Is he going to be an unhappy man tomorrow?”

  “Tomorrow? No. At least not because of me. Down the road, though? Who knows?” Actually, I did know. He was going to be downright pissed at some point.

  “Avery, I need you to be careful here. There might be more going on than you realize.”

  “Like what?” He had definitely piqued my interest now.

  “I can’t say.”

  “You mean you won’t say.”

  “No, I mean I can’t say. You just have to trust me on this. This man is not someone you want to tangle with. This isn’t some politician you can annoy and then walk away because they’re more scared of you than you are of them.”

  I pulled away from Jake, and started moving towards my car. My mind was racing. What the heck was going on here?

  “Quite frankly, I’m not interested in tangling with any men right now. You’re all assholes.”

  Jake snorted a short laugh and then turned back towards the dealership. “Have you ever considered it’s you and not us?”

  I opted to ignore Jake’s parting shot. Largely because I figured he was probably right.

  Eleven

>   After I left the car dealership I was a little keyed up. No, actually I was a lot keyed up. I hated to admit that Jake might have a point about the level of my stupidity. Of course, to be fair, I had no way of knowing that Mr. Walker was going to be a threat. Well, at least that’s what I kept telling myself, anyway. I often find myself walking into ridiculously stupid situations and then having to try and talk my way out of them. Mr. Walker just didn’t fall for my charms like other people did. What? I do too have charms.

  I hopped on M-59 to go north. That was the easiest route from where I was to make it to the family restaurant. I grew up in a small town about an hour north of Detroit. If you’ve never been to the area, you’d be surprised how different things are once you get out of the city. Heck, even the suburbs.

  The small town where I grew up – and where the majority of my family still lives – was actually a throwback to the 1950s. It still had only one stoplight (yet six bars – go figure) and no movie theater or shopping malls. In other words, it was like hell. Teenagers have nothing to do but drink and fornicate in a field – that’s why the pregnancy rate is so high. Well, that and the lack of sexual education at the high school level.

  My family actually preferred the small town familiarity – but I hated it. Every week when I drove the hour north to have dinner with the extended family, I lamented my rotten luck for being born to such a codependent line. We can’t seem to stay away from one another. We fight like cats and dogs and turn on each other when the mood strikes, but we also come to the defense of each other – even if we don’t like each other at that particular moment.

  I mean my family can’t cross the street without checking with someone else in the family. My aunts and uncles are in some sort of warped competition where they compare all of us nieces and nephews. Not to see who’s doing best, mind you, but to see who’s doing the worst. In another family, I might often be considered one of the “worst” – but given what can only be described as our dubious gene pool, I was actually one of the good ones. Don’t forget, Lexie is in my family and she considers everything she does to be normal.