Worth Killing For

by Jane Haseldine

  “Are you okay, Mamma?” Will asked. “You look kind of sad.”

  “Just the opposite. I was just thinking how happy you make me.”

  Julia gave her youngest son one more kiss and left his door ajar, a habit she always did at night so she’d be sure to hear Will if he woke up.

  The kitchen was now empty and Julia made her way to the living room, where Navarro had set up a row of files that were spread across the coffee table.

  “How did it go with Logan?” Julia asked.

  “I tried to steer him clear of any talk about guns, incarcerated parents, or dead mothers. But I could tell he wanted to talk to me about my dad.”

  “He’s having his own dad issues right now.”

  “Sorry if I talked out of turn earlier,” Navarro said. “I love kids, but I’m not around them enough to know how to put on a filter.”

  “Don’t worry about it. It was probably the highlight of Logan’s night,” Julia answered. “Any word on Phoenix Pontiac?”

  “We haven’t found Phoenix or his car yet, but I just got a call from the station. There’s a Phoenix Pontiac in the system, if it’s our same guy. He was busted a couple of times for drugs, possession, and attempt to sell. There’s also a conviction for aggravated assault. The guy’s a real winner. I brought along your brother’s file. I realize you probably know it better than anyone, but it’s there if you want to take a look.”

  Julia took in the files spread across her coffee table and picked up a three-inch-thick folder with her brother’s name scrolled across the top: Benjamin Michael Gooden Jr. Julia sat down on her sofa and opened it, the contents of an unsolved case that consumed her life whittled down to a mere folder.

  The first document was Ben’s missing person’s photo, followed by the initial police report. Julia’s eyes skimmed through the pages and the familiar information. Ben had been abducted on Labor Day in the room he shared with Julia at their Sparrow home. Police were called at approximately 12:30 AM by Julia after she woke up in the closet of their room and discovered her brother was missing. The first officers at the scene found a sliding glass door to the bedroom open and an Indian arrowhead was found underneath Ben’s bed.

  “There was a man I saw today at Liam Mueller’s place. He was creepy, a giant Indian man named Ahote, with a big scar carved down his face. Sarah remembered seeing a man in my mother’s room earlier that night and she thought he was interrogating my mother. It’s got to be the same person.”

  “Did you get his last name?”

  “No. But there can’t be that many Ahotes around in the Greater Detroit area.”

  “Did your mother ever say anything about being assaulted?” Navarro asked.

  “I’m not following.”

  “I talked to the sheriff up in St. Clair this afternoon who ran your brother’s initial case.”

  “Sheriff Leidy.”

  “He and his partner had their suspicions that your mother might have been roughed up that night, but she denied it. Your mom was drunk, and she had some swelling around her face and a cut on her forehead. She told Leidy she had fallen down.”

  “So Sarah was telling the truth.”

  “Leidy said when your mom sobered up, she seemed scared. He believed your mom might know more about what happened to your brother than she was letting on, but he said she completely clammed up. Leidy looked into whether your mother and father were involved, but your dad had an alibi.”

  “The alibi was fake. Peter Jonti told me,” Julia said.

  “I told you not to meet with him alone.”

  “You were working. Jonti said Duke’s boss paid off the foreman to cover for my dad. Duke was working for Max, so Max fixed the deal.”

  “Why would Mueller do that if he was involved in Ben’s kidnapping?” Navarro asked.

  “Maybe he needed my dad accessible and not in prison.”

  “We need to bring your dad in,” Navarro said.

  “Good luck with that. I’m sure he’s long gone. We’re close this time, Ray. I feel it. When we find the person who took Ben, I need to be sure I’m alone with him first.”

  “What do you plan to do? Get your payback before law enforcement shows up? That makes you as low as the criminals. You know that.”

  “I’ve never killed anyone before, not directly anyway.”

  “Keep it that way. Taking another man’s life, even if he’s a scumbag, is not something you get over easily,” Navarro said.

  “Things are getting messy for me again. I don’t want to drag you into it. If you need to step back and take a break from us until I can figure everything out, I understand.”

  “Not a chance. I’m not going anywhere,” Navarro said. “When the world got too heavy for us when we were living together, remember what we used to do?”

  “Not with kids in the house, pal.”

  “I’m not talking about that, although, believe me, I’d love to. Come on, Gooden, do you still know how to dance?”

  “We’re dealing with a serious situation here. You’re crazy,” Julia said.

  “You know I am. Dance with me,” Navarro said. He swayed his hips back and forth and clapped his hands in perfect rhythm to a silent beat.

  “It’s been a while.”

  “You know how to move with me. Come here, baby.”

  “You’re trying to distract me and make me feel better,” Julia said.

  “Who me? It’s purely selfish. I just like watching you move, Gooden,” Navarro said.

  Navarro reached out for Julia and pulled her into him. He put his left hand on the back of her shoulder and held her right hand in his own as his feet began to move to the rhythm playing in his head.

  “We haven’t danced since we were kids,” Julia said.

  “We’re still kids. David didn’t dance with you?”

  “Never. I’m pretty sure he thought it was undignified.”

  “Undignified? Please. But you won’t catch me speaking ill of the dead. Now follow my lead. Remember this salsa move I taught you? Move your right foot, back, together, forward. That’s it. Just relax. Back, together, forward. Quick, slow, quick. Quick, slow, quick. Beautiful. See you didn’t forget.”

  “We don’t have any music,” Julia said.

  “Sure we do.”

  Navarro pulled Julia against his chest, pressed his lips against Julia’s ear, and began to sing in Spanish in a low, raspy whisper.

  “That’s beautiful. What’s the song?” Julia asked.

  “You talk too much, when you should be dancing. But I know you’re not going to stop asking. It’s a Marc Anthony song, ‘Valió La Pena.’ I love Latin music. My mom would play it on a little radio in our kitchen, and she would dance with me when she was getting ready for work.”

  “I love when you speak Spanish.”

  “Mmm, I know you do. Can’t help myself. Spanish father, Mexican mother. Now that I’ve got you in the mood, let’s see if you remember how to do a turn.”

  Navarro raised Julia’s hand up and guided her under his arm. She heard herself laugh as she spun, but when she came out of the turn, she could see something shift in Navarro’s face.

  “What’s wrong?” Julia asked.

  “I heard something. A car door close outside.”

  “I have neighbors.”

  “I didn’t hear a car start or see lights pass by the window.”

  “I’ll go out and check,” Julia said.

  “Like hell you will. Stay here,” Navarro said, and moved to the front door, where he shifted the curtain back a centimeter.

  “There’s someone outside. They’re heading around the back of the house. Call for backup, but stay here,” Navarro said.

  Navarro shot out the front door and Julia hurriedly called 911. Julia slipped outside just as Navarro disappeared around the corner of her house. She followed his path and began to sprint, when she heard something fall against her fence and then what sounded like a struggle. Julia held her breath as a gun went off, and she raced around
the corner to see Navarro straddling a man who was wearing a suit and lying facedown next to her garbage cans.

  “Police!” Navarro yelled. Navarro twisted the man’s hands behind his back and then patted him down, pulling out a gun from his rear waistband. “Who are you working for, asshole?”

  “I’m on the job. Get the hell off me,” the man said. “My ID is in my front pocket.”

  “Don’t move,” Navarro said. He reached into the man’s pocket and pulled out an FBI badge.

  “Agent Terry McKenzie. That’s my name, but people call me Agent Kenny. Can you get the hell off me? Freaking Detroit PD.”

  Navarro held on to the FBI agent’s gun, but let him get to his feet. “What are you doing here?” Navarro asked.

  “I’m trying to find Duke Gooden. Hello, Julia. Nice to see you again.”

  Standing in front of Julia was the man from the sushi place, Peter Jonti.

  “Sorry about pulling a knife on you earlier. I have some questions you’re going to need to answer. I need to find your father. He’s a dangerous fugitive and it’s in your best interest to help me before Duke Gooden gets you killed.”

  CHAPTER 14

  Julia sat alone in an interview room at the Detroit Police Department and gave an angry wave at the glass, knowing the FBI agent who posed as her father’s ex–business partner was likely on the other side of the two-way mirror, watching her. Julia felt like a fuming hornet trapped under a glass dome. She had refused to let the agent, Kenny, talk to her inside her house, since her boys were there, but she had finally agreed to talk to the agent without the presence of an attorney if they found a neutral ground. So the Detroit PD was the compromise.

  The interview room door opened and Navarro came in, looking equally pissed off, with a bottle of water for Julia. Still standing, he leaned toward her and said quietly, “Figure out how you want to play this. I know you don’t want to talk to the agent, but you need to decide whether you want to tell him about your dad as leverage.”

  “Leverage for what?” Julia asked.

  “To get information about Ben, if he has it. If they’re looking this hard into your dad that they’re willing to go undercover to find him, they may have information about your brother.”

  “This is bullshit. If the FBI wanted to talk to me about my father, they should’ve played it straight.”

  The interview room door opened and Agent Kenny strode inside, giving Julia a hard-set grin. He’d cleaned up since she had seen him at Sushi Z. Agent Kenny was wearing a dark suit and his hair was buzzed short, instead of his slicked-back, curled-at-the-shoulder look he had previously worn.

  “No heavy cologne or gold chain this time. You disappoint me,” Julia said. She reached into her purse and pulled out a tape recorder.

  “Whatever we discuss here, I’m recording it. I may turn it into an article, depending on what line of bull you tell me. I’ve already put a call into the paper,” Julia bluffed. “Let me know when you’re ready and I’ll press play.”

  Kenny reached for the tape recorder, but Julia pulled it out of his reach.

  “Are you going to leave out the part where you lied about your father?” Kenny said.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about. You misrepresented yourself, pulled a knife on me, and then stalked my house while my kids were inside sleeping. Not to mention the fact that a rogue shot went off, which could have easily gone into one of their bedrooms and killed them.”

  “I wasn’t there to hurt your kids. And the gun went off because your buddy there tackled me from behind.”

  “You’re lucky Navarro got to you before I did,” Julia said. “I don’t like being bait.”

  “Your alias was in Duke Gooden’s file,” Navarro said. “How did that get in there?”

  “It was a plant,” Kenny said. “We got intelligence that Duke Gooden was alive and back in Detroit. We needed a way to get to him.”

  “Your intelligence is lousy then. If you knew anything, you wouldn’t have bothered trying to find a back door through me, because I haven’t talked to my father since he walked out on me when I was seven.”

  “Is that right?” Kenny asked.

  “Everything you told me when we were at the restaurant about my father’s alibi and the fire, were those all lies?”

  “No, those were true from what we’ve been able to piece together about your father. I tried to get information from your sister, Sarah, as well, but she was as equally tight-lipped as you.”

  “If you’d been honest about who you were, Sarah wouldn’t have talked to you regardless, but why me?”

  “Family allegiance. If I came to you as a federal agent looking to find your dad, you’d protect him. If I came to you as a former business associate, you’d be more inclined to talk.”

  “You clearly need to do your homework better. I had no close ties to my father and wouldn’t have looked him up even if he were still alive.”

  “I don’t think you’re telling me the truth, Ms. Gooden. We believe a certain Jonathan Jameson, who was one of Max Mueller’s former guys, was recently murdered. Do you know anything about this?”

  Agent Kenny slid what looked like a surveillance shot across the table toward Julia and she made herself play cool as she easily recognized the man her father shot in Sparrow, but there was no way she’d tip her hand. Julia didn’t trust Duke, but she also didn’t trust the FBI agent either.

  “I’ve never seen him before. And I’d definitely remember a face like that.”

  “Yeah, that’s a face a blind mother wouldn’t even love,” Navarro said. “Why are you bothering to question Julia? You should’ve brought Max’s son in, instead.”

  “We don’t have enough on him yet,” Kenny said. “This is where you can help us.”

  “You set Julia up. You could’ve gotten her killed.”

  “If she got killed, it wouldn’t have been on our end. I just needed Julia to find me, like I was told by one of you guys that she would, and I’m assuming you were the leak,” Kenny said. He looked between Navarro and Julia and gave a knowing, snide smile. “Posing as a former colleague of her dad’s, we figured we’d have a better chance.”

  The interview room door swung open and Chief Linderman came inside, still wearing his dark suit from the morning. Somehow it didn’t have a wrinkle on it.

  “What’s going on here, Chief?” Navarro asked.

  “We’re assisting our partners in the FBI to locate a fugitive.”

  “You knew about this?” Julia asked Linderman.

  “I’m sorry I couldn’t have been more forthcoming with you, Julia, especially since it involves one of your family members, but I had no choice. The order came down from above me and my hands were tied. I also know how important it is for you to find out what happened to your brother. I’ve been keeping a personal eye on you to be sure you were safe.”

  “That’s why you showed up at Liam Mueller’s gallery,” Julia said.

  “You’re wrong. Julia hasn’t been safe,” Navarro said. “The agent over here pulled a knife on her when he was undercover and was skulking around her house tonight with a gun. I was there and thought he was an intruder. I tackled him, and when I did, his gun discharged. The shot just missed hitting the house, and Julia’s kids were inside.”

  “You did what?” Linderman said to Kenny.

  “It was part of the investigation,” Kenny said. “Your detective here screwed up.”

  “I try and extend the courtesy of helping out our federal law enforcement officers, but when a citizen’s safety is compromised, that’s where I draw the line,” Linderman said. “We’re not the B team. I help you, you don’t mess with one of my own.”

  “She’s a reporter, not a cop,” Kenny said.

  “Julia has worked with me and my department for years, and she’s viewed as a trusted and respected journalist around here. And I consider her a personal friend. You come to my precinct and debase one of my detectives and a newspaper reporter in excellent standi
ng with this department, any help I’ve been willing to extend against my better judgment is over. I don’t care what kind of personal flack I get in return. My department is currently knee-deep in a PR shit storm involving a possible serial killer whose latest victim just happens to be the nephew of a prominent Hispanic city councilman. Did I mention the killer is offing people with a bow and arrow? So if you want to talk, you better make it quick, because I’m extremely close to changing my mind.”

  “Let’s all lower the hostility level, and we can work together for everyone’s best interest,” Kenny said. “All right, now that the proper introductions have been made, I’ll tell you what I can. I work for the FBI’s art crime division. We haven’t been around that long, but in the last twelve years, we’ve recovered about one hundred fifty million dollars’ worth of stolen art.”

  “Art crime?” Navarro asked. “You need a gun for that?”

  “Art and cultural property crime are huge,” Kenny said. “It’s the third highest-grossing criminal trade in the past forty years. Weapons and drugs are the only other crimes that are bigger. Toughest job I’ve ever had with the Bureau. Art sales are usually unregulated. No transaction records. And there’s no law that mandates art sales have to be publically recorded. We’ve had some big busts, too. We recovered Rembrandt’s self-portrait in a joint Copenhagen sting, and a Francisco de Goya painting that was stolen while it was making the move from the Toledo Museum of Art to the Guggenheim in New York.”

  “You had that tattoo of the painting The Scream when I saw you at the sushi restaurant,” Julia said.

  “Bingo. You do this kind of job for long enough, you get to appreciate the talent of the master artists. We have lots of old cases we’re still working, including artwork that was stolen after World War II. And then there’s the five hundred million dollars’ worth of paintings that were lifted from the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum in Boston back in the early nineties. In that one, a security guard buzzed in two guys pretending to be cops. The ass wipes stole a bunch of paintings, including a Rembrandt and a Vermeer dating back to the 1600s.”