Worth Killing For

by Jane Haseldine

  “How does Duke figure into this?” Julia asked.

  “Max Mueller’s family, they were originally from Germany,” Kenny said. “His father is believed to have stolen at least thirty paintings that belonged to Jews heading off to concentration camps during the 1940s. When Max’s dad, Otto, came to this country, he took all the stolen artwork with him. And he sold his collection off before he got caught. Being exposed to all that art growing up is how Max got his first taste.”

  “Max inherited his father’s penchant for being a criminal,” Julia said.

  “You’re catching on. Your father was working for Max as a courier thirty years back. Duke picked up something for Mueller in St. Louis, and two days later, what was believed to be Duke’s remains, and your mother’s, too, were found in a burned-out car in the city of Hamtramck.”

  “Did the Wayne County sheriff ID the bodies?” Navarro asked.

  “Marjorie’s, yes. We couldn’t match dental records for Duke because the teeth were pulled out.”

  “Torture?” Navarro asked.

  “Possibly, but I’m not convinced the other body in the car was Duke. There was a possible sighting of Duke in Central America two weeks ago. We believe he either stole a painting we’re trying to recover or knows where it is,” Kenny said.

  “What kind of painting is it that has the FBI so interested?” Navarro asked.

  “I can’t tell you specifics. We originally thought Max Mueller still had it, but we raided his place ten years ago. Max was a smarmy little asshole and a weird guy. While we were raiding his warehouse, he just stood there smiling at us with this creepy, bent cane of his that looked like a snake. The raid was a bust, though. We couldn’t find the picture, or any ones of much lesser value that we believe Max owned.”

  “What makes you believe Duke has whatever you’re looking for?” Julia asked.

  “There was chatter about the painting when it first went missing thirty years ago, but nothing since, meaning no one was trying to sell it. But a week ago, a fake collector, one of our undercover guys, got a bite from a man named Kirk Fleming. We’re looking into whether Fleming is actually Duke or Liam Mueller. Max Mueller died recently, and the timing of the painting coming back on the underground black market is too coincidental to be ignored.”

  Kenny reached into a manila envelope under his arm and slid another picture in Julia’s direction. The agent tapped his index finger against a picture of a well-dressed man who had thick, silver hair and a pair of dark glasses shielding his eyes as he got into a vehicle.

  “That man is known these days as Roberto Sanchez, better known as Rickie Samuels back here in the States. Rickie used to work with Max until he set up his own business running weapons. He went south of the border to get away from the heat the Feds were lighting up under him. If the sighting is true and your father is still alive, we believe Duke may have hooked up with Rickie.”

  “I don’t care about my father or a painting or if Duke is dead or alive. The only thing I care about is my brother and what happened to him.”

  “Sorry, but that’s not my case. I do art crime, not kidnapping,” Kenny said.

  “You forgot human trafficking,” Julia said. “You don’t help me, I won’t help you.”

  “Contact the St. Clair County Sheriff’s Office. They ran your brother’s case.”

  “That’s fine,” Julia said, standing up. “I can get my own information without you.”

  “We’re not done yet,” Kenny said. “You think you’re in charge, and that you’re the smartest person in the room. But you’ve done a pretty shitty job of figuring out what happened to your brother. Ben Gooden’s case has been cold for what? Going thirty-plus years now? You really know how to get to the bottom of a story, Ms. Gooden. I always hated journalists.”

  “Let me ask you something. When we were at the sushi place, was everything you told me about my dad true?” Julia asked.

  “Unlike you, I don’t lie,” Kenny said.

  “This, coming from an agent who pretended he knew my dad to get me to talk. I’ve never once misrepresented myself with you. But if I were keeping a scorecard based on our meeting in the restaurant, I’d say I got way more information from you on the case than you got from me. Have a nice evening, Agent McKenzie. I’m going home to my family,” Julia said.

  Julia headed to the door with Kenny in pursuit, but Navarro blocked his way.

  * * *

  In the hallway, Julia pulled out her cell phone and called Helen, who answered on the first ring.

  “How are Logan and Will?” Julia asked.

  “Logan refuses to go back to sleep. He insisted on having Will come in his room and he has his baseball bat next to the bed. At least Will is sleeping, but I have a feeling Logan is going to be staying up all night.”

  “Okay. I’m leaving the station now. Tell Logan everything is fine.”

  “Since no one in this house believes that, except for maybe Will, because he’s too young to know better, I’ll pass on delivering the message.”

  “I’m sorry, Helen. I truly am.”

  “No need to say sorry. Before I met you, I used to watch Sons of Anarchy to get my thrills. But now I have you. If you don’t get shot, I’ll have a piece of honey cake waiting for you when you get home.”

  Julia hung up with Helen and headed to Navarro’s office, where his partner, Russell, sat.

  “Late night for you,” Julia said.

  “Finishing up some paperwork on the Angel Perez case. We may have a lead. A guy, another Hispanic day laborer, says he saw Angel get into an older-model white van this morning at the Home Depot over in Dearborn. He didn’t get a look at the driver or a plate. But I’ve got this.”

  Russell pulled up a website called SecurityVideoWatch.com. He reached in his shirt pocket for his reading glasses and slid them up the bridge of his nose. Russell inserted a username and password, and what looked like security footage outside a gas station appeared live on the screen.

  “This is from a Chevron station across the street from the Home Depot. Let me see if I can figure this out,” Russell said.

  “Let me help,” Julia said. She moved next to Russell and pointed at his computer screen. “Okay, it looks like the dates of the surveillance footage are on the left of the screen. When did the day laborer say he saw the van?”

  “Right before the store opened, so around six AM.”

  Julia grabbed the computer mouse from Russell’s confused hand and clicked on an icon on the left of the page.

  “This goes by the hour, so let’s start at five AM.”

  Julia hit the fast-forward button and paused it at the 5:45 time when Russell grabbed her hand. “That’s Angel Perez’s car. A red Honda Prelude.”

  Julia froze the image on the screen and focused in on the fuzzy image of the driver.

  “He’s alone,” Julia said. “Poor kid.”

  Julia hit the fast-forward button again and quickly hit stop when the nose of an older-model white van appeared on the screen. “Okay, that’s it,” Julia said. “The time is five fifty-five AM.”

  Russell hovered over her and put his hand on Julia’s shoulder. “I love it when things turn out to be easy. Let’s see if we can get a shot of the license plate.”

  Julia hit the play button again, but the image on the screen disappeared and turned to static.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me,” Russell said.

  “Hold on. It could be just a glitch. Let’s see if it comes back up,” Julia answered.

  The static played in the background until the security camera footage came back on at 6:15 AM.

  “Shit,” Russell said. “The guy from the Chevron station, he told me he just upgraded to this new surveillance system and it’s supposed to be top of the line.”

  “He’s got to have an original copy,” Julia said. “Keep me posted, all right?”

  Russell groaned and took a long swig from his coffee cup. “I better tell the boss. Are you heading out?”


  “Yes. Please tell Navarro I had to get home to check on my kids. I think he may be tied up with the chief.”

  Julia grabbed her bag as she headed down the hallway toward the precinct’s entrance to the street, and she wondered what kind of strange path her father must have followed that led him from small-time hustler to a fugitive wanted by the FBI.

  Julia made it as far as the interview room door just as Navarro came out.

  “That Agent Kenny is a piece of work. He started pumping me on whether you’d let anything slip about your dad. Linderman wants me to talk to him about the Angel Perez case. So I’m going to be hung up here for a bit. Russell has a bite on a video we picked up from a gas station across from the Home Depot we think Angel Perez was at, so maybe we’ll be able to get the license plate on the van.”

  “You might want to talk to Russell about that. Conveniently, the tape cut out just as the van came into the picture. I’m going to leave. Logan is still up and isn’t going to sleep anytime soon since Agent McKenzie’s gun unloaded.”

  “Be careful. Call me if anything happens. I’ll see you back at your place.”

  * * *

  The muggy July Michigan night clung to Julia like a sticky veil as she walked out of the police station and made her way back to her SUV and the parking lot down the block.

  Julia nodded as she passed Tom, a homeless man, she had known for years and who looked like a long-faded hippie. Tom was sitting, cross-legged, on an old blanket that was neatly lined with his belongings, a dirty camouflage-green backpack, a beyond-worn copy of Jack Kerouac’s On the Road, a half-dozen crystals, and a cardboard sign with a message written in red marker: WILL ENLIGHTEN FOR FOOD.

  “How are you doing, Tom?” Julia asked, and handed him a five-dollar bill and a granola bar, which she had fished out of her purse.

  “Thanks, Julia, my lady,” Tom said. “May I offer you something for your kind contribution?”

  “No need, but thank you.”

  Tom stroked his fingers through his long, white beard and looked back at Julia. “Most people don’t even look at me, but you always treat me like a human being. Since you’re always so nice, let me offer you a tip. Some street philosophy. It’s a nice night, but be careful of the birds.”

  “We have a bird problem in Detroit?” Julia asked.

  “The last few nights, you bet,” Tom said, his eyes bulged and his right hand shot up and pointed to the sky. “No one else has been able to see them but me, but I bet if anyone else can, it would be you.”

  “Thanks for the warning. I’ll be sure to duck if I get bombarded by a flock of pigeons.”

  “Not pigeons. Big red blackbirds that look like they’d fall right out of the sky. Never seen ones like that before. Be careful, Miss Julia. I saw a UFO last night. You look up at the sky just at the right time from this spot, you wouldn’t believe the things you can see. You should join me here sometime.”

  “Thanks for the offer. Have a good night, Tom.”

  Julia checked her watch and hurried through the open, one-story parking lot. Out of a new habit, when she reached her car, Julia scanned her windshield for any potential notes, but found none. She leaned against the hood of her SUV and felt like the tight control she had spent a lifetime trying to perfect in order to protect herself was becoming horribly undone.

  She made her way to the driver-side door of her SUV, where a white envelope was waiting for her, taped to the window.

  “This is not a goddamn scavenger hunt,” Julia said as she snatched the envelope open and found her second note from Phoenix Pontiac.

  Julia,

  Go to the Verve Bar on Kirby Street. You bring the cops, I’m out of there before your foot hits the curb.

  Your brother Ben called me. He’s still alive.

  CHAPTER 15

  Julia snagged a parking spot across the street from the Verve, a club that three years earlier had been one of downtown Detroit’s main hot spots, but had since lost its prime status to a newer generation of bars that had sprung up throughout the city following the recent push for a renaissance of the downtown core.

  Despite falling from its original A-list mantle, the Verve still had a large crowd for a Friday night. The club was dark as Julia walked inside, except for the bar that ran the length of the main floor and was lit up in neon blue. Julia could hear a muted thump of music coming from downstairs as Pitbull’s “Fireball” made its way up to the main entrance of the club.

  A muscular, bald woman, with biceps that rivaled Navarro’s, held up her hand as Julia tried to shove her way through the crowd to find Phoenix.

  “Ten-dollar cover for the bar,” the female bouncer said. “The D Dance Club is in the basement. That’s an extra ten.”

  “I’m here to meet someone,” Julia yelled over the din, and handed the female bouncer a fifty-dollar bill. “You can keep the change if you can help me find him.”

  “It’s Friday night. The place is packed. And I don’t get paid for helping people find their hookups.”

  “It’s not like that. I’m a reporter. I’m looking into a missing person’s case, a nine-year-old boy who was kidnapped.”

  The female bouncer’s eyes shifted to the line forming behind Julia. She then gestured with her hand for Julia to pass the rope and enter the club.

  “Okay. Who’s the guy you’re trying to find?”

  “He’s about five-ten and trim, with shoulder-length dark hair, a full mouth, and brown eyes,” Julia said. “He looks sort of delicate. I’m pretty sure you could take him in a fight.”

  The female bouncer cracked the slightest smile. “I think I know who you’re talking about. A real pretty boy, if you like that type. He got here about twenty minutes ago. Just paid for upstairs, so he should be here somewhere.”

  “How many exits do you have in this place?” Julia asked.

  “Just the front door and the two fire exits, one on this floor and one downstairs. To get to the dance club in the basement, your man would have to get by me first.”

  “Thanks. The person I’m looking for, his name is Phoenix Pontiac. If you see him trying to get out of here, stop him, and I’ll give you another fifty.”

  “If this guy snatched a kid, you don’t have to pay me a thing. I’d be happy to hurt him, no charge. I’m Rita.”

  “Nice to meet you, Rita. I’m Julia Gooden.” She reached out for the bouncer’s hand and shook it. “I won’t forget this.”

  Julia pushed her way through the bar and scanned the crowd on the first floor of the club, her eyes ticking off the faces of each person she saw. She did a sweep of the patrons milling around the bar and then stared down the people who were drinking in one of the club’s eight electric-blue leather booths. When she reached the end of the bar and couldn’t find Phoenix, Julia began to worry that he had set her up. She grabbed her cell phone, ready to call Navarro, when she was almost struck in the back by the men’s-room door.

  “Sorry. I didn’t see you standing there,” a man, who looked to be in his midthirties, said as he came out of the bathroom. He looked down at Julia’s empty ring finger on her left hand and his eyes then made a slow crawl up to her face. “Let me make it up to you. You want a drink?”

  “No. Was there a guy in the bathroom just now, with long, dark hair?” Julia asked.

  “Yeah, he was in there,” the man answered. “Is he your date?”

  “No.”

  “Well, if you change your mind about the drink, I’m at the bar with some buddies.”

  “Not happening, but thanks.”

  Julia pushed open the men’s-room door and spotted a squat, bald man, who looked like a banker in his black suit, finishing up at the urinal, but more important, Phoenix Pontiac was washing his hands at the sink.

  “Hey, this is the men’s room,” the man at the urinal said as he zipped up. “Friggin’ women always trying to come in here when the line to the ladies’ is too long.”

  “I’m going to try and ask you this politely. Please leave
,” Julia said to the man.

  “I’ll leave when I’m done,” the man answered.

  “Fine, then. You’ve got ten seconds to get out of here. No need to wash your hands,” Julia said, and gestured her head toward the door. “Now go.”

  “You’re crazy,” the man in the suit said.

  “Just when I have to be,” Julia answered. She quickly eyed the four stalls to be sure they were empty and then locked the bathroom door after the banker hurried out.

  “What is this?” Phoenix asked. “You want to talk, I’m not doing it here in the bathroom.”

  “I need to be sure you don’t get away this time. What kind of game are you playing with me?”

  “There’s no game.”

  “Sure there is,” Julia answered. “I’m just trying to figure out which one you’re running. You lied to me once, pretending you were a photographer. That means everything else that comes out of your mouth is a lie. What’s the deal with making me meet you in a bar?”

  “It’s a busy place. If you showed up here with the cops, it would be harder to make me if I needed to make a quick exit. I have an outstanding warrant in Michigan. I’ve been living in Chicago for the last few years, but I came here to take care of what I promised I’d do, so my ass is on the line.”

  “Is it a warrant for drugs or assault this time?”

  Phoenix’s large, doe-shaped eyes looked back at Julia with surprise. “How do you know that? The cops already ran my name through the system?”

  “I don’t care about your legal troubles. Tell me what’s going on. You said my brother is alive. If you’re lying, I’ll make you regret it.”

  “I’m telling you the truth. I swear. Your brother called me about two weeks ago. I have no idea how Ben found me. It freaked me out. At first, I thought it was the man who abducted me when I was a kid calling or someone else playing a sick joke. But then everything Ben said during the call, I knew it had to be him.”