“Okay.”
“Is he, uh, is he all right?”
“I think he’ll be fine, Mrs. Ferry. I believe he’s been prepped well for his testimony. Whether he testifies for the district attorney or on his own behalf, he’ll do fine.”
Brenda seemed impatient with Gil’s answer. “That’s not what I mean. What do you think of him?”
Gil weighed his words. “I think he’s a pretty typical twenty-year-old. Because he’s an athlete, he’s pretty sure of himself. But he’s not too cocky. I can tell he’s very intelligent, observant, and a bit secretive.”
“Is that all?”
“Generally, I think he’s a good kid . . . going through what every kid his age goes through. Trying to figure himself out, and his place in the world.”
The waitress arrived with the excellent coffee and more-than-excellent muffins. Gil cut his muffin in half to enjoy the mixed-batter pattern, asking “I wonder how they do this?”
“It’s pretty easy when you have the right equipment,” Brenda said before repeating her starting routine.
“Jason is a lot like his father in many ways.”
“And different in some ways, too.”
“He never wants to disappoint Bruce. It’s difficult for him to defy his father, so it must be very important to him to do what he’s doing.”
Gil nodded. The next question surprised him.
“Has he told you he’s gay?” Brenda asked.
“Yes.”
“I thought he might have.”
“He didn’t offer the information. I found out and asked if it were true. Does his father know?”
“Absolutely not. Bruce is a brilliant man, but on some things his mind is fixed. Jason confided in me that he was attracted to boys when he was about thirteen.”
Brenda studied her hands, and twisted her napkin. “He never wants to disappoint his father,” she said again.
“Mrs. Ferry, Jason’s still grappling with what it means to be gay. He went into a rage when I asked him directly, but later he had a lot of questions.”
“You aren’t gay, are you?”
“No.”
“I didn’t think so.”
“But I have gay and lesbian friends. There were a few gay men in my unit in Serbia.”
“It must have been difficult for them.”
“Sometimes. One of them was the best marine I’ve ever known.”
“Bruce thinks there’s only one kind of gay man. Weak, flamboyant, effeminate. An embarrassment.”
“Jason is very aware of that. He loves his father, but I think he’s afraid of him,” Gil said.
“Yes,” Brenda agreed. “But not physically. He’s afraid of the look he’ll see in Bruce’s eyes when he finds out.”
Chapter 16
Wednesday
Charlie and Don sat in Don’s Buick, a half-block from the courthouse entrance, with a direct view of Goulet’s car and the courthouse. With no hint of Goulet or Hamm at the house on Periwinkle, they’d trekked back downtown and spotted the car parked on St. Antoine.
Don hadn’t said much to Charlie during the drive to the house, their examination of the property, or on the ride to the courthouse. Charlie was in assassin mode, so he was being uncharacteristically restrained.
“Think I ought to go inside to see what’s happening in the courtroom?” Don asked.
“I guess so. But come right back and let me know.”
“Okay.”
“If you’re not back in ten minutes, I’m coming in.”
“If you do, don’t forget to leave your gun in the car,” Don said. He opened the door to leave, but then closed it and sank back into the driver’s seat. “Look, Mack, you’re not yourself.”
“I’m perfectly fine. I’m just angry.”
“You know I’ve seen you like this before, and you’re way beyond angry.”
Charlie shot Don a look of annoyance.
“I’ve got a dog, too, but you can’t kill somebody because they hurt your dog.”
“Those assholes threatened Mandy. She could have been badly injured. Nobody threatens my family, Don. You’d feel the same way if it was Rita, and don’t tell me any different.”
“You’re not wrong. But I’d expect you to talk me down. And that’s exactly what I’m doing for you.”
“Go on. Get out. I’ll just sit here. I promise. Anyway, I’ve got to call Mandy.”
# # #
“Finally,” Mandy said. “I’ve been calling for two hours.”
“We didn’t find Hamm at Goulet’s house.”
Mandy’s sigh stabbed Charlie in the heart.
“And Goulet?”
“He wasn’t there either.”
“Charlie, I don’t want you to do anything reckless. I mean it.”
“Yeah. Okay.”
“Don’t ‘yeah, okay’ me.”
“What do you want me to say, Mandy? I’m not about to let someone threaten you and get away with it.”
“When did you become my protector?”
“I’ve always been your protector.”
“Really. As I recall, it was me that threw her body over yours when a bomb exploded at Cobo Hall.”
“Okay. Well . . . we protect each other.”
“You want to be everybody’s protector. Like one of those Marvel comic superheroes.”
“That’s not true.”
“Isn’t it? I could give you a half-dozen examples.”
“You’re still blaming me for what’s happened to Hamm.”
“I’m not quite as angry as I was last night.”
“What about this morning when you were too tired for a hug before I left?”
“I was still pissed off at you.”
“I could tell.”
“Well, I’m not anymore. I’m worried. And upset. I’m serious, Charlie. It’s not your job to be an avenger. People can take care of themselves, and others will right some wrongs if you just let them.”
# # #
Don returned to the car at a run, jumping into the driver’s seat and slouching. He adjusted the side mirror to see the courthouse steps. Charlie did the same, scooting low in her seat.
“He’s coming out now. It must be the lunch break because everybody started pouring out of Courtroom Five.”
Charlie peeked over the back of the seat to see Goulet descending the steps. Instead of turning toward them, he turned in the opposite direction.
“He’s not going to his car. We need to follow him,” Charlie said.
“Come on,” Don said, sitting upright and reaching for the door.
“No. Not me. I don’t want one of the attorneys or jurors to see me. You go. I’ll wait here. Call me when he gets to where he’s going.”
Charlie continued watching the front entrance of the Frank Murphy Hall of Justice. She’d been so enthusiastic, entering those doors ten days ago to perform her civic duty. Now she felt deflated.
Mandy labeled her obsessive, controlling, and a wannabe superhero. It wasn’t the first time she’d heard some variation of those assessments; though she’d always rationalized that her zeal for fairness was a good trait. It was why she’d been attracted to law school, Homeland Security, and now private investigations. From time to time, she might tiptoe through a misdemeanor, or ignore some arbitrary social norm if she felt it harmed an innocent person, but she held a code of honor that sought to find balance in the scales of justice.
Charlie thought she came by it honestly, from parents who would take her along to protests and vigils and marches. She’d been raised hearing accounts of her mother registering Southern voters in the 1960s and about her father’s work as a civil liberties attorney. It had been a moral stand when Charlie and Gil left DHS because of the federal agency’s profiling policies against Muslims. Don tagged along for more practical reasons, but even he had standards of chivalry when it came to protecting women and children. And control. Well, Charlie’s opinion was that without control there would be chaos. Plenty of peop
le had authority, but the real power was with those who controlled resources and information. She understood this at a visceral level.
Charlie’s phone rang. She didn’t think she could handle another talk with Mandy right now and was relieved when the display identified Don as the caller.
“Quick, drive to the casino. Goulet’s waiting around at the valet parking entrance. We may need the car.”
Charlie slid into the driver’s seat and started the engine. St. Antoine was one-way, and there was too much law enforcement in the vicinity to chance driving the car in reverse four blocks against traffic. She needed to square the block. She headed toward Gratiot Avenue, waiting for a break in the traffic. After a quick scan for police cars, she ran the stoplight and sped toward Beaubien Street, where she had no choice but to wait for a green light. There was plenty of pedestrian traffic but few cars, and Charlie barely slowed at the stop signs as she tore along Beaubien. At the corner of East Lafayette, Don flagged her and hopped in even before the car came to a full stop.
“Turn here and keep going,” he ordered.
Charlie sped east, passing the Greektown Casino, as well as the office where the Blue Cross juror worked, and closing in on the Chrysler overpass.
“Did Goulet get picked up?”
“No. He went into the casino.”
“Then who the hell are we following?”
“I’m not sure, but Goulet had a conversation with two guys in a dark blue Mercedes.”
“The one from last night?”
“I hope so. I’ve been trying to keep up with their brake lights. The car’s moving fast, but I think it’s only a few blocks ahead of us.”
Charlie navigated the Buick at 60 mph, crossing over the I-375 freeway, past Orleans Street, and toward St. Aubin Street. She hadn’t had time to adjust the seat and was perched on the edge to reach the pedals.
“Have you ever driven down this way before?” Don asked.
“I’m sure I have, but I can’t tell you the last time.”
“Wait. Slow down. There he is,” Don said pointing ahead at the curb lane.
“Where are they going?”
“We’ll soon find out. They’re signaling a turn.”
Charlie pulled the Buick into the right lane and slowed. The Mercedes turned into the entrance of a housing development. Charlie and Don peered in as they drove past.
“That’s the Martin Luther King Apartments,” Don announced, unnecessarily since a huge sign identified the complex. “Is there another way in and out of there?”
“I think you can enter from Chene and East Larned streets. What I remember is each entrance is like a cul-de-sac. Pedestrian sidewalks crisscross the complex, and there’s an interior park, but I don’t think you can drive through from one end to the other.”
“Okay. Go up to the next street, and make a U-turn. Let’s switch seats.” Don had reverted to his police officer role.
Parked illegally, Don and Charlie stared at the driveway the Mercedes had entered five minutes ago.
“We have to go in there and look for the car,” Don said.
“You and I together look like the cops.”
“That can’t be helped. Let’s go.”
The driveway led to a parking area. They immediately spotted the Mercedes in the farthest corner of the lot. As Don backed into a space near the entrance, a few pedestrians moved along the sidewalks, but nobody showed any particular interest in the Buick sedan.
“You see anybody in the car?” Charlie asked.
“No.”
“I’m getting out to walk around. Maybe I can spot something. You have to stay here.”
“Yeah. Yeah, I know. I can’t blend in. But those guys might know what you look like. For all we know, they’ve been in the courtroom, or maybe they have a picture of you.”
“They haven’t seen me in this gear,” Charlie said, reaching for her knit cap in the back seat. “You got a clipboard?”
“Under the seat. You doing the meter reader?”
“Yep.”
Don reached into the glove compartment and pulled out a plastic card on a chain. “Here, put this on.”
“What is it?”
“My firing range ID.”
“Great. I guess you don’t have a reflecting vest.”
“No.”
“Remind me to tell Judy we need a few of those.”
Charlie clipped her gun to the back of her belt, zipped up a navy quilted vest over her blue hoodie, and let the white badge dangle, photo toward her chest, from the chain around her neck. She grabbed the clipboard and punched keys on her phone until she had the website home page for DTE, the city’s energy company, on the screen. She flashed it toward Don.
“Nice touch,” he said.
“I’ll walk by the car and try to get a look inside, then go up to the houses.”
“Be careful.”
Charlie walked slowly, but deliberately. Pretending to consult the clipboard, and looking at house numbers, she paused when she reached the Mercedes. She used the clipboard perusal pantomime to sneak a peek inside the empty car. Charlie glanced over her shoulder toward Don, who had rolled down the driver’s window. She walked across the grass toward the corner house, and knocked on the door, but there was no answer. She continued from house to house until someone came to the door.
“Can I help you?” an older lady said, peering through the gap in her door. A fat white cat appeared at her feet.
Charlie held out her phone with the DTE logo displayed, and made a show of flashing the ID card. “We have a report of a gas smell. Have you noticed any gas?”
“No. I haven’t. Do I need to leave the house?”
“No, ma’am. We’re just checking the area.”
“Well, you know all our meters are on the side of the end house.” She pointed toward the park.
“Yes, ma’am. I’ll check that out. Have you noticed any unusual activity in the development?”
“There’s always unusual activity. What’s that got to do with the gas?”
“Sorry to disturb you. I’ve only got a couple more houses to check,” Charlie said, turning away from the door.
The cat let out a loud and angry yowl.
“That dog barking all night made Fluffy all troubled,” the woman said.
Charlie stopped, and turned back to the door. Fluffy purred at the mention of her name, and the lady let the door open wider as she scooped the cat into her arms.
“What did you say about a dog?”
“That no-account man at the corner house got a dog yesterday. We’re not supposed to have large pets, but he’s always breaking the rules. Anyway, that dog howled and barked on-and-off all last night. Fluffy was very upset. She couldn’t even sleep.”
Fluffy stared at Charlie indignantly.
“Thank you, ma’am. I’ll check the meters.”
Charlie stepped down to the walkway, and signaled to Don everything was okay. She retraced her steps to the corner, keeping an eye on the windows at the front of the house. As she rounded the corner house, she spotted a row of utility meters against the back wall. Two first-level windows were a foot above the meters. Charlie glanced at Don again as she was about to move out of his line of sight. She surreptitiously peeked into one of the windows as she crouched in front of the meters. She flipped a page on the clipboard and scribbled on the paper. She was about to move to another meter when the sound of frantic barking made her swivel on her haunches. Streaking toward her from the far end of the community park was Hamm. Charlie leaped to her feet and ran toward him. A man was chasing after Hamm, shouting and swinging a leash.
“Get back here, you mutt,” the man screamed.
Charlie sprinted to the parking lot and stopped next to the Mercedes, and Hamm adjusted his angle of escape. He was loping in her direction at high speed. Charlie waved at Don to come.
“What’s going on?” a man shouted from the open door of the corner house. He took a step forward, but backed up when he realized
he wasn’t wearing pants.
Hamm reached Charlie and jumped into her arms, causing her to stagger backwards. Don burned rubber as Charlie lumbered toward the car, carrying the thirty-pound dog.
Just as Don opened the passenger door of the Buick, a bullet ricocheted on the pavement behind her and Charlie dove into the car. The door was still open when Don jammed on the accelerator, sending the car reeling into reverse. Holding Hamm in her left arm, Charlie leaned precariously to grab the car door when a second bullet pinged against the vehicle. Don cursed, swung the Buick into a spin, and careened out the driveway, barely missing a car on East Lafayette.
“Those motherfuckers put a bullet into my car,” Don shouted, driving wildly.
Hamm had been licking Charlie’s face since he’d jumped into her arms. She held him tight. They were both shivering—Hamm from excitement, Charlie from adrenaline.
“Where are we going?”
“Far away from where we were,” Don said, his face lined in concentration.
“We should go to my house.”
“Are you sure? That’s where they’ll probably come looking.”
“That’s just what I want them to do.”
“I thought you were trying to make a good impression in the neighborhood.”
“I am.”
“So, afternoon gunplay on your lawn probably isn’t a good idea.”
“Yeah, I suppose.”
Charlie was quiet for long time, and Don looked sideways at her. They drove a few more blocks before he interrupted her thoughts.
“You playing with imaginary Post-it notes?”
“Yeah.”
“Got any ideas yet?”
“Yeah. I’m calling Mandy.”
Chapter 17
Wednesday
Gil left the diner at almost 2 p.m. Mrs. Ferry had made him promise to call or go see Jason again. She wanted him to help the boy with a strategy to come out to his father.
Gil called Charlie as he headed south on Woodward, and she answered on the first ring.
“Gil? What’s going on?”
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