Bury Me When I'm Dead (16 page)

“You're not staying?”

“I can't.”

He didn't offer additional explanation and Charlie didn't ask for one.

“You want me to help you with your bath before I leave?”

The bathing ritual was just one of the sweet connections of their two-year marriage. He would run her bath, add a few drops of perfume or aromatic salts to the water and use an oversized sponge to rub her skin until her body let go of all the tensions of the day. He teased her that being immersed in warm water was the only time she allowed herself to be completely vulnerable. She'd been the one to initiate their separation, and a few months later to file the divorce papers. Her friends thought she was crazy. Even her mother didn't understand why she wouldn't want to be with a perfect man like Franklin. But, he understood. He knew she was self-contained, didn't require companionship, and was bisexual.

“I'm not doing a bath tonight. I'll probably just take a shower and wrap myself back into my cocoon.”

“You talking about that bandage or your emotional shell?”

So far he hadn't remarried but earlier in the year
Detroit Monthly
magazine had named Franklin Rogers one of the city's fifty most eligible bachelors, so he never wanted for a date. “You still sleeping with your partner?”

“I told you that's over,” Charlie said. “Are you serious about the woman you're seeing?”

“She's amazing really,” Franklin said. “Accomplished, confident, loving. She reminds me of you.”

“I wasn't very loving.”

“I know how much you cared for me, Charlie. You did your best to show it.” After a pause he asked, “Are you serious about Mandy?”

“More than I want to be,” Charlie admitted.

The apartment seemed secluded after Franklin left but Charlie no longer felt numb and alone. She thought about Mandy. They hadn't spoken since she left the hospital. Charlie turned away from the phone and headed to the bathroom. Bracing herself against the shower wall, she let the hot water pelt the back of her neck and allowed tears that had been bottled up since Barnes' blatant attempt to kill her.

Chapter 22

Charlie limped into the office on Monday using her gifted cane. She assumed she'd be first in because she lived closest, but Judy was already organizing files.

“Good morning.”

“Morning, Judy.”

Charlie paused to assess the folders, colored dots and file labels strewn across the desk and the credenza.

“I believe you missed your calling. You should have been a librarian or an archivist.”

“It's only because you're my boss, and you're hurting, that I don't give you the two-word response I'm thinking,” Judy said, eyeing the cane. “You getting around okay with that thing?”

“Actually better than you'd think. I was stiff this morning, that's why I'm using it, but so far the hardest part has been getting in and out of my car.”

“Gil called. He's running a half hour late.”

“We're all a little run-down. When everyone gets in we'll debrief,” Charlie said.

“Mandy Porter called. She said she's been trying to reach you.”

“Okay.”

The two women looked at each other.

“Anything else?”

“I put a message in your inbox from a lady who is spitting mad. She believes she's a victim of identity theft. She said she was referred to you and wants to talk to you personally.”

“Maybe I'll call her now. It would be nice to have a case that feels normal,” Charlie said, moving to her desk. “Oh Judy, do you mind
getting some bagels and cream cheese for our meeting, and maybe some fruit? I think we need more than coffee this morning.”

“Already a step ahead of you.” Judy pointed to the conference room.

A platter of fruit and pastries sat in the middle of the table. Plates, napkins and plastic forks were laid out and the coffeemaker was already brewing. Judy had even dragged in an easel with a pad of self-stick paper to sit next to the white board so Don would have lots of writing space.

“You're a gem.”

“I know.”

“With OCD,” Charlie said, looking back at Judy's desk.

“You should talk. Don't you have ten colors of Post-It notes?” Judy returned to her filing.

By ten o'clock the coffee and sugar had done its work and Don was at the white board. Easel paper with the names of each principal in the Stringer case lined the conference room walls, and Don asked Judy to help with the notation. They started with the easy stuff, capturing all the facts they had from their research and interviews, then tackled the vast unknown.

“No ideas are stupid,” Don said, using a phrase he'd heard from some meeting facilitator.

“Well, here's one that
may
be stupid,” Gil said. “Maybe Joyce isn't hiding from Abrams or Owens but from whoever killed Paul.”

“What do you mean? Stringer went on the lam before he was killed, didn't she?” Don asked.

Charlie searched through the timeline she'd constructed. Then looked up at Gil with a smile.

“No, she didn't. Paul and Andrew were killed over the July 4th holiday. Abrams got wind of the theft scheme a week or two later, but by then Joyce was already gone.”

The room fell silent.

“Why didn't we see this before?” Charlie said to Don, who shrugged his shoulders.

“Okay,” Charlie said excitedly. “Let's assume Paul's death and Joyce's disappearance are connected, how does that affect what we know?”

“Or what we think we know,” Gil added. “Why does Abrams think Joyce was stealing from his customers?”

“Well, he has paperwork showing the discrepancies. Rona's signed affidavit saying Joyce asked her to ignore purchase orders, and Abrams confirmed the missing inventory with his customers,” Charlie ticked though the evidence.

“Did Joyce admit to the scheme?” Gil was in defense attorney mode.

“Abrams and the police never had a chance to speak with her,” Don weighed in. “But Stringer asked the bookkeeper to look the other way. That's proof she was involved.”

Don and Judy deserted the wall notes and joined Gil and Charlie around the conference table.

“Not necessarily.” Gil tapped his pen to make his point. “That only proves she was trying to cover up the scheme. That would make her a co-conspirator.”

“Who else was involved?” Judy asked.

“Besides Joyce and the bookkeeper, and we're guessing Owens, there was a warehouse worker. He's disappeared, too,” Charlie noted.

“How did you say Abrams found out about the theft ring?” Gil asked.

Again, Charlie referred to her notes: “He received calls from a few customers complaining that their orders were short, and then he received an anonymous tip that Joyce was pilfering restaurant orders. So Abrams did an audit and confirmed that inventory was being skimmed.”

“Anonymous tip, huh?” Gil said.

“We need a follow-up with Reliable.” Charlie hurriedly wrote in her notebook. “About the warehouse manager and this anonymous tip.”

“Let's go back to the Paul connection. Could he have been involved in the thefts?” Don asked.

“Well, he knew how the inventory system operated because he worked the warehouse for a while.” Charlie paused, trying to remember something else. “And Owens told us Joyce got Paul jobs at a couple of the restaurants they supplied, remember Don?”

“I do.”

“But Charlie, I thought you said Paul was kind of slow,” Judy said.

“That's what others said about him. But Father Stephen said Paul was a math whiz.”

“Like Rain Man,” Gil said. “You know, the movie. Dustin Hoffman is autistic, or something, but he's good at math and Tom Cruise takes him to Vegas so he can count cards.”

“So, you think Joyce got Paul involved to count the inventory or something like that?” Don asked.

“It's a possibility,” Gil said. “Or maybe someone else was his Tom Cruise.”

“Like Owens?” Don asked.

“I still can't figure out what Joyce had to gain with this thing. She owns several properties, was doing well in her job, and everybody seemed to like her,” Charlie said.

“Except Owens,” Don stated.

“Look,” Gil said to Charlie. “Isn't it more logical to believe that
Owens
was behind the theft ring? He's the one with a criminal record.”

“That works for me,” Judy said.

“But Joyce masterminded a cover-up,” Charlie said.

“Look. Rona told you Joyce had a family problem, that's why she wanted to help her,” Gil began. “Maybe Joyce wasn't involved in the theft at all, but found out Paul was.”

Charlie nodded. “Then, she'd try to protect her brother. Like she always did.”

“That makes sense,” Judy piped up.

“Have we checked Joyce's finances? Did the police already do that?” Gil asked.

“I don't know,” Don said. “Why?”

“Well, we could find out if she was underwater or moving large amounts of money around.”

“One of her coworkers said she played the horses. I'll check with the police this afternoon on that,” Don said.

The brainstorming continued until lunchtime. With more regard for productivity than nutrition, Judy ordered in two pepperoni pizzas to supplement the bagels and pastries. The others didn't seem to mind when Charlie commandeered the remaining fruit.

“So, let's go back to my first idea with a slight variation,” Gil said,
navigating a cheese-dripping pizza slice onto his paper plate. “Maybe Joyce disappeared because she was afraid of Owens?”

“Afraid of what?” Judy asked.

“Maybe Owens killed Paul, or ordered the hit, and Joyce knows that,” Gil said.

Gil had tossed another grenade into the room.

“That would be an excellent reason to grab your mother and get the hell out of town,” Judy announced.

“Owens doesn't strike me as a killer, just a sleazebag.” Charlie shook her head. “I don't know about that one, Gil.”

“But we
do
know Barnes is capable of killing, and Owens is probably pulling his strings,” Don said. “Acosta, you've earned your salary this week.”

The group spent the rest of the afternoon mapping out the work to be done in Detroit, and the tasks still needing attention in Birmingham. Owens had to be handled carefully. If he thought suspicion had turned his way, he might act irrationally, so they agreed it was better to keep him close. That meant lying to Abrams, or more specifically, feeding Abrams information to keep Owens off guard. That would be Charlie's job. Judy's assignment was to locate the missing warehouse manager, Nathaniel Sparks, who could corroborate the involvement of others in the stolen inventory scheme. Gil and Don would return to Birmingham in a couple of days to meet with Grant Freeman, Jr., go to the home in Forest Park in search of Joyce, and make amends with the Birmingham police.

“I'm going, too,” Charlie announced.

“No you're not, Mack. You stay here, let those ribs heal and manage Abrams and Owens. When Judy finds the warehouse guy you'll need to talk to him. Believe me, I'm sick of the place, but Gil and I can wrap up things in Birmingham,” Don said.

Gil and Judy waited for the fireworks. They were surprised when Charlie acquiesced.

“Okay, Don,” Charlie said with resolve. “But if we're right about Owens, he and Barnes are still looking for Joyce and now they have my notebook as a roadmap.”

Chapter 23

There was a swirl of activity on Tuesday. Don conferred with Detroit police detectives on the investigation, telling them of the violent turn the case had taken. He persuaded a deputy chief to make a call to his Birmingham counterpart to put in a good word for Mack Investigations, LLC. Judy used information Don received from the police to start her search for the warehouse manager and check further into Joyce's financial records. Gil checked in on Helen Penham at Saint Agnes, and on Jennifer Meadows with an update and a promise to visit by the end of the week. Charlie arranged a meeting that afternoon with Abrams and Owens—the first step in casting a net she hoped would ultimately trap the unsavory Owens.

Charlie arrived early at Reliable because she didn't want Owens to see her using the cane. The human resources director, Kathy Leal, escorted her to Abrams' office and Charlie used the opportunity to ask a couple of questions which, gratefully, slowed the woman's pace on the stairs.

“How long had Nathaniel Sparks worked here before he disappeared?”

“Two years,” Leal said. “Abrams wanted someone who could handle the new automated inventory system and Nate had the requisite experience. The day the police came to arrest him, he hightailed it out of here.”

“Do you remember anything about the anonymous call Abrams received?”

“That
was
strange,” Leal said, pausing on the steps which gave Charlie's ribs a chance to stop vibrating. “The call came in for Abrams the day the police were here, but Joyce was away.”

“When, exactly, did she leave?”

“I think it was the second week in July. She called in early and said she needed a week or two off because she'd had a death in the family. She sounded very shook up, I just told her to take the time she needed.”

Charlie had a closer look at Leonard Abrams' overflowing display case. It followed the trajectory of his life. A small photo of his father caught her eye. Leonard had told her stories of his father traveling from shop to restaurant on foot with only his catalog of equipment and his strong connections to the best East-Coast meat distributors. Old man Abrams had a reputation for being fair, and true to his word. If a distributor didn't make a delivery, Abrams would buy the product and deliver it himself. Through years of hard work, the elder Abrams forged relationships with food stores, butcher shops, delis and eateries all over the region. Leonard worked beside his father as a teen. His only break from the family business had been to accept a scholarship from Juilliard to study cello. After only a year, he put down his instrument and his dreams of being a professional musician to rejoin his father. Charlie stared at the bow and sheet music in the display case; that chapter of Leonard's life explained why he had the head of an entrepreneur, but the heart of an artist.

Owens arrived before Abrams and paused at the door to give Charlie a once-over.

“Well, it's good to see you again Ms. Mack,” he said, entering the room.

Charlie looked up. Owens was dripping with the same salesman persona he'd worn the first day they met. This time, she pretended to be charmed by his snake oil.

“It's good to see you again, too, Mr. Owens.” She initiated a handshake. “Thanks for sitting in today.”

“Oh, please, call me Owen,” he said, taking her hand and giving it a squeeze.

“I remember,” Charlie said batting her eyes and fighting back repulsion, “a man so nice they named him twice.”

Owens laughed and Charlie joined in, two bullshitters at the top of their game. By the time Abrams arrived they had chatted about the weather, sports cars and the best recipe for chili con carne.

Abrams got right to business. “So, has there been some new development, Charlie?”

“Yes there has. I've spoken to Joyce.”

Charlie watched Owens' back stiffen and the color drain from his face.

“What did she say?” he blurted.

Abrams shot Owens an impatient look and redirected Charlie's attention to himself.

“Is she okay?”

“She's fine, Leonard. She knew I'd been inquiring about her and wanted to know why. When I told her I was working for you, she said she wanted to meet with you.”

“Well, she can't do that, Mr. Abrams. You've pressed charges against her,” Owens shouted, his voice rattling up toward the high ceilings. “If you know where she is, she should be arrested,” he said, looking at Charlie.

“I appreciate your concern,” Abrams said to Owens, “but I think I owe it to Joyce to hear her out.”

Owens' shoulders slumped and he looked panicked. His eyes darted back and forth like a caged animal searching for escape. Charlie wanted to keep him squirming.

“Joyce said she wanted a chance to explain things to you, and return some of the money,” Charlie said.

“Return the money?” Abrams and Owens said almost in unison.

Charlie continued the fabrication she and Gil had cooked up. If Owens was convinced of an upcoming meeting between Joyce and Abrams, surely he would act to get his hands on Joyce first. At the mention of the money, he had shifted from panic to concentration. His face twitched like a squirrel sniffing for a buried nut, and he posed the next question.

“I thought Joyce was in Birmingham?”

“I see Leonard has been sharing my updates with you.”

Both men shifted in their seats and offered Charlie alternating explanations.

“Well, since Owen offered to help, I didn't see any harm,” Abrams rationalized.

“It's just I'm naturally concerned about Mr. Abrams and company morale,” Owens said.

“Oh, I'm glad for the help, believe me,” Charlie interrupted, hoping she sounded sincere. “That's why I asked Leonard to include you, and to answer your question, we have reason to believe Joyce has returned to Detroit.”

“What reason is that?” Owens asked.

“We got a tip from her aunt.”

Owens shuffled his wingtips back and forth on the oak floors. He was ready to dart from the room. Charlie had been puzzled as to why Owens continued to stay at Reliable Restaurant Supply. Maybe he was using his position at the company to keep his grubby, bejeweled fingers in other criminal activity.

“So Joyce wants to know if you'd be willing to meet with her without notifying the police,” Charlie stated.

“Yes, yes. Of course.” Abrams adjusted his glasses nervously. “Tell her yes.”

“Owen, the main reason I wanted you here is to get your advice on a neutral place for the meeting. My partners and I offered our offices but Joyce was hesitant.”

“No, that wouldn't work,” Owens agreed. “I'll need to give it some thought. When are you calling her?”

“She's going to call me. In a couple of days, she said. If you have ideas, will you call me before then?”

“Of course I will, Charlene. In fact, I need to get back to my office right now, if that's okay with you Mr. Abrams?” Owens was on his feet and almost to the door. “I'll be sure to call you,” he said, gesturing with his forefinger and thumb in simulation of a gun. He practically ran down the hall.

“So, you changed your mind? It's okay for me to talk to Owen about the investigation?” Abrams said, looking confused.

“Yes, Leonard. I think he can be a help to us after all.”

Walter Barnes answered his phone on the third ring. He had fallen asleep in the idling Mustang. It was boring, just sitting around watching a house to see if that Stringer bitch would show up. Earlier that day, the Birmingham police had pulled him over asking what his business was in the neighborhood. They bought his story about getting a haircut at Burke's barbershop but said he might be stopped again because his car fit the description of one involved in a crime.

“I hope you're not dozing on the job,” Owens said.

“Naw, I ain't sleeping. I just couldn't get to my phone. There ain't no action at the house today. Nobody coming or going.”

“What about the priest, did you speak with him?”

“That bitch in the office wouldn't even let me see him. That church is a school too, so there were people all over the damn place. I couldn't do nothing, so I just left.”

“I need you to come back to Detroit.”

“You do?”

“I got word that Joyce is here.”

“You sure? I was going to check out that address in Forest Park this afternoon.”

“I told you to wait on me for that. The cops in that neighborhood would be on you before you had a chance to take your key out of the ignition.”

“I know how to handle myself.” Barnes was offended.

“I know. But Birmingham isn't Detroit. They got a different way of doing things in Alabama,” Owens warned. “Besides, I think we'll be able to get to Joyce here in the city, and soon. Oh, by the way, I saw your girlfriend today.”

“What?”

“That PI, Mack. She looked good as new, to me.”

“I'll just have to
shoot
the bitch next time.”

“Really,” Owens said skeptically.

“Okay. So when do you want me back?” Barnes asked.

“You should get on the road now. We have to act fast.”

Barnes backed up the car and turned away from the Meadows house to avoid the attention of the block guards. He needed snacks for the road trip so he stopped at the Olive Tree. He put a twenty-dollar
bill into the money slot and Yusef spun the Plexiglas window with his bag of goodies: some candy bars, a liter of Mountain Dew, a large bag of pork rinds and two slices of deep-dish pizza. “Thanks man,” Barnes said but got no response. Barnes stood at the door, waiting for the buzzer to sound and when he didn't hear it, he looked over his shoulder.

“You gonna open the door, man?”

Yusef didn't answer, just gave him a long look like he'd done on his previous visits. Finally, the buzz released the door.

“Damn Arab,” Barnes said, loud enough to be heard.

Many times over the last five years Owens had regretted his affiliation with Walter Barnes whose handsome looks were in direct opposition to his real nature. He was profane, mean, and a bully capable of extreme violence against the weak, but if challenged by anyone with the upper hand, he cowered. Owens had seen Barnes turn punk a few times in prison. Were it not for the fact that he followed orders blindly, and didn't require much in the way of recompense, Owens would have had him killed long ago to assure his silence. Owens considered Charlene Mack. She looked pretty spry for a woman who had been reported dead six days ago. Maybe it was time to cut his losses with Barnes.