“Never really liked antiques and art much. The wife, though, makes me go to the Detroit Institute of Arts whenever there’s a new opening.”
“What are you doing here, Chief?” Julia asked.
“It was passed along by one of my men that you were coming here alone. Since my guy is still tied up at work, I promised him that I would stop by. I’m on my way to see my son. He lives in Birmingham, so I promised my officer that I’d check in. Is everything all right here?”
“No. I think these two men have information on a cold case they’re refusing to divulge.”
Linderman gave Liam and Ahote a stony look and pulled out his badge again. “I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Detroit chief of police, John Linderman.”
Liam Mueller held out his hand to shake, but Linderman stood stock-still, the weight and strength of the chief seeming to come off him in waves. A squeaky hum of rejection came from Liam’s throat as he retracted his hand and put it inside the pocket of his pants.
“You might know a friend of mine, Harry Hall. He’s the chief of the Birmingham Police. Let me give him a call. I’m sure he’d be more than happy to swing by,” Linderman said.
“No need for concern, Mr. Linderman. Mueller’s Antiques and Fine Goods has been in business for fifty years here in Birmingham. We’re a respected part of the community. And I certainly don’t have any information about a missing child. You know, at one point, my father, Max, had thought about opening a second gallery in downtown Detroit, but he felt it would have lessened our family’s stock, so we’ve stayed with our kind here.”
“I’m very familiar with Max and the filth he used to run, so don’t bother to try and play uptown with me,” Linderman said. He moved his suit coat slightly away from his torso in a play so Liam and Ahote could see his gun in his shoulder holster. “Julia, are you ready to go?”
“We were just starting here.”
“We’re all through. Let me walk you to your car,” Linderman said, not giving Julia an inch to disagree in his tone.
Julia felt her face burn with anger as Linderman escorted her out of the cottage and then through the now-open fence, where her shoes and bag still waited for her tucked behind a bush.
“What do you think you were doing back there?” Linderman asked. “Navarro wouldn’t tell me what was going on, but he said he was worried about you coming up here alone and that the Muellers might be after you. If this is for a story you’re working, that’s reckless, and don’t plan on me playing babysitter again. I’ve got Angel Perez’s killer still on the loose, and the only reason I came here is because I was on the way to see my son. You got lucky.”
“I didn’t come here for a story. It’s personal. Liam Mueller knows what happened to Ben. I’m sure of it now. You heard him back there. I mentioned my brother, but I never said anything about him being abducted. Liam knew. You need to go back in there and arrest him. If it’s out of your jurisdiction, call your friend.”
Linderman put a calming hand on Julia’s shoulder. Julia almost smiled at him for his kindness, but quickly looked away when she realized the chief was looking back at her with pity. Julia had known Linderman for twelve years, ever since she started at the paper covering the crime beat. While she had at first labeled Linderman “the Red Devil” around the newsroom for his initial cold reception to her, including his refusal to ever let Julia interview him directly in the early days, the two had built a mutual respect for one another through the years. Linderman had also been a steady rock for Julia during Will’s abduction case, when the police, at first, were certain Will’s disappearance was linked to Ben’s.
“Max Mueller was an evil man. I heard stories about him when I was first on patrol. I knew Sex Crimes and Robbery were trying to nail him at the time, and the Feds were looking at him, too. Max was either the luckiest man alive or had friends in high places. I don’t know anything about Liam, but why do you think the Mueller family had anything to do with your brother’s disappearance?”
“My dad used to work for Max.”
Linderman raised his giant eyebrows in surprise. “That was never brought up in your brother’s case.”
“I just found out.”
“You need to slow down and think things through before you get yourself into something you won’t be able to get out of. Let the authorities handle it.”
“You wouldn’t understand,” Julia said.
“Maybe not, but I do know something about loss. It can eat you alive and make you stretch the limits of what you think you’d be brave enough or foolish enough to do to try and get back what you had. My son who lives here in Birmingham, his name is Joseph. He had a heart transplant when he was ten. Before that, my boy was the star of his Little League team, a natural athlete if I’ve ever seen one. One day, Joseph’s up at bat, and, my God, could this kid swing. My wife and I were in the stands, and we see him up there at home plate, with his blue uniform on, kind of swaying. I figured he was getting ready for the pitch, but then he collapses. I convinced my wife it was just from the heat while we were in the ambulance, but after the tests, we found out.”
“I didn’t know. I’m so sorry,” Julia said. “But he’s okay now.”
“Through the grace of God. My wife, Trish, pretty much lived in the hospital with Joseph while we waited for a donor. Every night, I’d go home and pray, begging God to save my boy. After three months, we benefited from another family’s loss. A twelve-year-old got killed while riding his bike on his paper route. I remember, during those times, I would’ve done anything to save my boy. We were lucky. Our story had a happy ending. But I know your story didn’t.”
“Ben’s story has no ending. I appreciate you showing up here to check up on me on behalf of Navarro, and I’m happy that your son is okay, but in all due respect, our stories aren’t the same.”
“Understood,” Linderman said, and opened the driver-side door to Julia’s SUV.
Julia got inside and looked back at the gallery, wishing she could firebomb the place.
“Do me a favor, Julia. I’m not sure about Liam Mueller, but I know his father was bad news, although there was never enough evidence to nail him. Don’t come back here again unless you have help. You have a charming way about yourself that pisses people off.”
“No guarantees, sir.”
“In that case, dinner at my son’s isn’t until seven thirty. Consider me your escort.”
“That’s so not necessary. Go to your kid’s house. I’ll head home.”
“Mind your speed. I’ll be behind you.”
Linderman pulled his aviator sunglasses from his suit coat and slid them up the bridge of his nose as he got into his car. Julia’s gaze hung once more on the Muellers’ store, and as if Linderman realized her intent, he pulled up closely behind Julia and flashed his lights.
“Fine,” Julia said to herself, and put her SUV into drive.
* * *
Liam Mueller removed the square-shaped glasses from his face and rubbed his eyes as he sighed deeply.
“You . . . did . . . not . . . do . . . your . . . job,” Liam said in a slow, halting warning.
“Everything changed when the cop showed up,” Ahote said.
“My father’s sins come back to haunt me. You have a pickup soon,” Liam said.
Liam turned his back on Ahote, reset the alarm to the cottage, and then studied a security camera to monitor the activity on the street. When he saw the police chief and Duke Gooden’s daughter drive away, Liam reached for a remote control on his desk and pressed a button that activated the shades. Once the room was secure and there was no visibility to the place from outside, he pointed his finger at a large red-and-black Oriental rug that covered the dark cherry-wood floor and cleared his throat.
“Open it,” Liam said.
Ahote bent down and grabbed the corner of the rug between his big hands and pulled, revealing a trapdoor underneath. Once the door was visible, Ahote looked back at Liam.
“Go on now. You know what t
o do. I don’t know why my father kept you on so long.”
Ahote muttered something in a language Liam had never heard before. Ahote then pulled a leather strap that was connected to the trapdoor and opened it.
Liam pushed his way ahead of Ahote and peered down below, clapping his hands, which activated the lighting system in the hidden lower level. Once the two men were downstairs, Liam did a slow inspection of his stolen collection, a seventeenth-century Vermeer, an Edgar Degas, and a Jackson Pollock, the latter not usually appealing to Liam’s particular taste, but he believed a collection needed juxtaposition of pieces to make it truly complete. Liam’s eyes moved between a Gustav Klimt and a Renoir before he reached for a secure phone to call an old friend of his father’s, and now his own unwanted and inherited colleague.
When Louis Lemming answered, the younger Mueller felt relieved that the man on the other end of the phone was in St. Louis and not Detroit.
“Julia Gooden was just here, Duke’s daughter,” Liam said.
“That’s friggin’ luck. She came on her own?” Lemming asked.
Liam could picture the older man’s flabby gut pouring out of his thousand-dollar suit and the hideous black mole on the side of his nose.
“Yes, but then a policeman showed up. Actually, it was the police chief from Detroit.”
“So,” Lemming answered.
“I don’t want any trouble. I was thinking, until this whole situation is figured out, I want to unload some of my father’s paintings.”
“Not my problem,” Lemming answered.
“It is your problem,” Liam said. “You and my father got me into this mess, and you’ll get me out.”
“There’s a lot of money on the line, asshole. Everyone sits tight until Duke is brought in. Max was the boss, but now we’re equal. You don’t own me. The police chief coming to your store is not a problem. Not finding Duke is.”
“Once we find him, I wash my hands of this,” Liam said.
“You knew what your dad was doing back in the day.”
“I was a kid,” Liam whined.
“But you’re not anymore. You get your shit together. It would be a shame if the cops found out what your daddy used to do, and how you helped him when you got older. Hundreds of people, kids, runaways. It’s amazing what a healthy young person is worth.”
“I wasn’t involved in that part of the business,” Liam said.
“You bought your stupid art through the money your dad earned that way. That ties you to it. Max and I had a real good business once. But now that he’s gone, we’re in it together.”
Liam hung up the phone and handed Ahote a piece of paper with an address on it.
“You’re heading back to the city,” Liam said. “You have work to do tonight.”
* * *
True to his word, Linderman kept a steady one-car space behind Julia during the twenty-minute drive. As Julia pulled into her neighborhood, Linderman flashed his lights again, and she pulled her SUV over to the side of the road. Linderman stopped alongside Julia and opened his passenger-side window.
“I meant what I said before. If you have new information on your brother’s case, work with us or the St. Clair’s sheriff’s department. The crime wasn’t in our jurisdiction, but I’d be happy to lend a hand.”
Linderman’s window closed and Julia watched as the chief pulled out of the neighborhood and headed back toward the highway.
Julia contemplated going back to the consignment store as she fingered the charm bracelet in her hand, but she knew Navarro and her children would likely be waiting for her. Julia drove through her neighborhood until she reached her house, but Helen’s car was gone, which meant she probably got tired of waiting for Julia to come home and took Logan and Will out for dinner. Navarro’s Chevy Tahoe wasn’t in the driveway either, but a Subaru was parked out front, with a man sitting inside.
Julia jammed her car into park and stormed toward the waiting vehicle.
“Who the hell are you?” Julia demanded.
Phoenix Pontiac raised his hand up in a surrendering gesture. “I’m sorry I wasn’t playing straight with you before. Your brother Ben, I knew him.”
“Where did you get that bracelet? Goddamn it, get out of the car,” Julia said, and grabbed the driver-side door.
Phoenix’s eyes darted in the rearview mirror as Navarro’s Tahoe turned the corner to the street four blocks away.
“We were both kidnapped by the same people, but I got away. I’ll be in touch,” Phoenix said. He hit the gas and pulled away from the curb.
Julia tore off her shoes and sprinted after the Subaru, her bare feet pounding down on the concrete as she desperately tried to chase down her past.
A sudden, piercing image of Ben, his suntanned, lean arms and legs running ahead of her as the two ran down the Sparrow boardwalk on their last day together, blinded Julia for a second, but she caught herself right before she stumbled.
(“I promise I won’t ever let anything bad happen to you. Not ever.”)
The jagged concrete tore up Julia’s bare feet, but she pushed herself harder, faster, than she had ever run before in her entire life. She felt a screaming pain in her hamstring, but pushed through it as she caught up to the Subaru and pounded her fist against the car’s trunk.
Phoenix caught Julia in the rearview mirror and his eyes widened in surprise.
“Stop!” Julia called out.
The Subaru made a squealing sound as Phoenix floored the engine.
“Can’t let you go,” Julia panted as she tore across the street and down the sidewalk in the direction of the car.
Julia was sure she could catch up if she just ran faster, when the passenger door of a VW Bug parked on the sidewalk opened directly in her path. Julia lunged to the right to avoid slamming directly into the metal door at high speed, but lost her footing. Julia skidded across the gravel and screamed in defeat as Phoenix Pontiac’s car disappeared from her sight.
CHAPTER 12
Duke Gooden used his high-powered binoculars that made the Renaissance House lobby look so close, it was as if he could reach out and touch the blue-haired bangs of its receptionist. Duke was in position next to a bank of windows on the second floor of an unrented former office space, which was directly across the street from the substance abuse center. Duke’s eyes ticked to the street, where he had seen a car circle the block several times, always slowing down in front of the Renaissance House. Duke settled on the fact that the occupants of the car, a dark blue sedan with tinted windows, were his former boss’s men. He watched as their vehicle pulled into a parking spot ten places behind the Renaissance House and had stayed there, without the driver getting out, for the past hour.
Sarah’s car, a run-down Toyota, was on the sixth floor of a parking lot adjacent to where the blue sedan had parked. Duke had noticed the Toyota needed a paint job, badly, when he had stuck a tracker under the car when Julia had been visiting her earlier, a fortuitous two-for-one opportunity, since he was able to put trackers under both of his daughters’ vehicles.
His tail wasn’t to keep them safe. Julia and Sarah were adults now, unlike Ben who was just a kid when everything came crashing down, but his daughters could take care of themselves. It wasn’t his job to protect the girls from the people of his past who were fools to believe Duke would fall to sentimentality after thirty years and want to catch up with his seed when they realized he wasn’t dead.
The fact that the blue sedan was waiting for Sarah meant one thing: They hadn’t found it yet, and Chip hadn’t given up the location where Duke had stashed his prize so long ago, despite Chip having to pay a hideous price for his silence.
Duke started to close up shop, satisfied now with the current situation. It was time to get what was rightfully his. He felt the anticipation of excitement start to move through him, but Duke knew he had to play it cool. Out of habit, he scanned the scene one last time.
The inner door to the lobby of the Renaissance House opened and Sarah appe
ared. She chatted with the blue-haired receptionist, leaving Duke to wonder why a woman would do that, making herself purposely unattractive, by coloring her hair such a hideous shade.
Duke gave the scene one more go and pivoted so he was in view of the blue sedan.
“Come to Papa, baby. Which grizzled asshole is still working for your lousy organization?” Duke asked as the driver-side window of the sedan began to crack open.
A brown arm inched its way out the window and threw a cigarette on the curb. Duke made a tighter focus of the man and caught the familiar giant with the scar he had carved into the big Indian’s face thirty years earlier.
Duke watched on as Ahote got out of the car and pulled a Detroit Tiger hat down low to shield his face.
“Ah, shit on a sundae,” Duke said.
Duke noticed Ahote was wearing a long, beige, cloth coat, even though it was easily one hundred degrees outside, leaving Duke to quickly deduce that Ahote likely was hiding a weapon or something worse inside of it, which he planned to use on Sarah.
An unfamiliar feeling moved through Duke, a paternal worry, ringing like a sonic boom inside him as he watched Ahote duck across the street and make his way inside the parking garage, where Sarah’s vehicle awaited her.
Duke dropped the binoculars down to his side, and an old memory he had long buried worked its way back.
“You want to talk to your boy, Duke?” the man on the phone asked.
“Put Ben on. Now!” Duke answered.
“You know, your son, he’s a strong kid. And he’s smart. He hasn’t asked for you once. Only his kid sister. Julia, right? He begged us to leave her alone when we found out you had more than one. We make the deal tonight, or we kill your boy. And your doll baby girl is next. Ahote is hungry to start hunting again.”
Duke closed his eyes to block the memory. He had tried to make it right, and if it were all going down now, instead of when he was young and inexperienced, he would be able to stop it.
Worth Killing For Page 13
