Bury Me When I'm Dead (23 page)

“Yet another secret,” Charlie mused.

James would monitor the meeting with Joyce and Freeman from a nearby room. FBI technicians were en route, to plant two small cameras and several microphones in Charlie's suite.

“We have a wire on Freeman?” James confirmed with Goodman, who nodded.

“Why wire Freeman if you have audio and video in the room?” Gil asked.

“It's for before and after. We think he's picked up a tail. It might be the police mole or someone else. If someone intercepts him, we want to be aware of it.”

“Look James, why not just sit in on the meeting with Joyce instead of all this surveillance?” Charlie asked. “I could explain to her about the wiretap so she knows I haven't betrayed her.”

“We think you're better suited than me to convince her to help us,” James said.

“So what's in it for us?” Gil asked.

“That's a fair question. You get to help us put Owens and Barnes out of commission.”

“Sounds good so far,” Don spoke up. “What else?”

“Your cooperation will help keep Grace Freeman safe, not to mention Anna Stringer and her sister. And if you want, when things are over, we can help you brief Abrams.”

“That might be a big help,” Gil said, looking to Charlie for agreement.

“Is Grace in danger?” Charlie's sixth sense was tugging at her.

“She may be, if Owens thinks Paul confided in her about any of the operation.”

“That's all you're going to say?” Charlie asked.

“Yes. For the time being.”

“What about the danger to Joyce?”

“I'm not going to say there won't be risks, if we use her to set a trap for Owens, but I promise you, if her efforts help us nab him, she'll be saving the lives of a lot of people.”

On Friday morning Charlie's hotel room underwent a transformation. Three FBI technicians installed cameras in obscure locations around the room. Audio bugs were placed in a lamp, the TV remote control,
and on the underside of the coffee table. Each unit was tested and, when necessary, moved for better coverage. Charlie, Gil and Don watched the setup for a half hour, then gathered in Don's room for lunch.

“Were we that paranoid when we were at ICE?” Gil asked.

“The question is, were we as big a group of assholes?” Don said, chomping down on a fifteen-dollar cheeseburger that came without fries.

Charlie had opted for a tuna salad sandwich, pickles and chips, and Gil won the “most expensive lunch” award for a Reuben sandwich and soup combo. Don, again, mentioned a drink from the minibar but decided against it. His agitation was fueled equally by the FBI's arrogance and his desire to depart Birmingham.

“I've had it with James and the rest of the Fibbers,” Don said, using the Federal Bureau of Investigation's pejorative nickname.

“They're probably listening to our conversation now,” Gil pointed out.

“I don't give a damn,” Don said. “I didn't want to stay in this city a moment longer than we had to, and now we have to hang around another day for a damned debriefing.”

Meat often quelled Don's outbreaks of testosterone and Charlie was thinking of ordering him a second cheeseburger. “I'll spring for steaks and scotch for dinner tonight to make it up to you, Don, and we'll try to get flights home as early as possible tomorrow.”

Don growled.

“James is hiding something.” Gil stated.

“I agree,” Charlie said.

“Like you said before, Acosta. They're just paranoid.”

“Since James wouldn't entertain any of my questions about Paul, I think it has something to do with his murder. Maybe they have another witness,” Charlie speculated.

“That could be it,” Gil acknowledged.

Five minutes before Joyce Stringer and Grant Freeman, Jr. knocked at Charlie's door, an agent called to announce their arrival.
Sort of like having a butler,
Charlie thought.

The pair were extremely attractive. Joyce looked amazingly like
the young Anna Stringer in the yearbook Charlie had seen, and nothing like a fugitive. She wore a tailored, skirt and sweater set and her hair was stylish in a mid-length bob. Freeman was distinguished. He was tall and immaculately groomed as his nickname, “Gillette,” implied. His thin mustache complemented the gray at his temples, and the salt throughout his hair. Only someone who didn't want to see the family resemblance between the two would miss it. Joyce gave Charlie a tentative smile, then hesitated, but Charlie saved the awkward moment.

“I'm Charlene Mack, it's good to put a face with the voice,” she said, extending a handshake.

“Happy to meet you,” Joyce said.

“And you must be Mr. Freeman,” Charlie offered her hand again. “I've met your son and daughter. I like Grace very much.”

“And she likes you,” Freeman replied. “She's mentioned several times that you brought her hash browns. She also talks about you hiding in your car in our parking lot.”

Freeman raised his eyebrows and Charlie laughed. “That wasn't one of my finest moments as a PI.”

The laughter broke the ice, and introductions were made all around. No one seemed bothered that Charlie hadn't mentioned liking Grant, the Third. Gil escorted Freeman and Joyce over to the FBI-monitored sitting area.

“You must have a million questions,” Charlie said. “And we have a few of our own. Would you like some coffee?”

“No thank you, we had some at lunch,” Freeman said.

“Where should we begin?” Charlie asked.

Freeman became the seasoned businessman. “Well, you asked for this meeting, so why don't you tell us why?”

Charlie spent five minutes telling them about her agency's involvement with Leonard Abrams. It was a good place to start. Joyce's eyes misted as she listened to the account. She obviously had the same fondness for Abrams that he had for her. Joyce smiled when Charlie described meeting Rona, the bookkeeper, and she couldn't suppress a grin when she heard about the interrogation of her former neighbor and his pit bull.

“You miss Detroit, don't you?” Gil asked, chipping another crack in the ice.

“Yes, I do,” Joyce said softly.

Charlie glanced at Don. He was eyeing Freeman, who was listening to the banter while sizing up the Mack Agency partners. Both of them were still on guard.

“Charlie and Don are native Detroiters, and I moved there just before high school,” Gil continued. “There's something about the place that stays in your blood, even when you're away.”

“I understand you all used to work for Homeland Security?” Freeman quipped.

“Where'd you hear that?” Don asked.

“Oh, we've done some checking,” Grant said, trying to maintain a power position.

Charlie gave Don a look of caution. James had instructed them not to even hint about knowledge of Freeman's cooperation with the Bureau.

“We left Homeland Security's immigration enforcement unit over a year ago to go private. It works a lot better for our families,” Don said.

Freeman nodded. “I'm an old man and one thing I've learned is there's really nothing more important than family, and faith in God.”

“We've done our homework, too, Mr. Freeman. We know you're Catholic and that's something else we all have in common,” Gil said, still working the connections angle.

The FBI was accustomed to small talk and they were getting plenty of it. The group discussed Catholicism, Birmingham's role in the civil rights movement, Detroit's high unemployment rate and its ongoing political chess. Charlie offered coffee again, and this time it was accepted. Somehow Don and Gil's military service came up, and Freeman explained his exemption from the Vietnam War due to his civilian mortuary work. It was finally Joyce who turned the conversation in the appropriate direction.

“Ms. Mack, you said the FBI knows I'm not guilty of stealing from Mr. Abrams?”

“That's what one of their agents told us.” Charlie glanced at Freeman,
who shifted uncomfortably. “The FBI's only interest in Reliable is the connection to their investigation of illegal trafficking.”

“Owen Owens,” Joyce said with distaste.

“That's right.” Charlie nodded.

“I discovered he was bringing in undocumented workers for some of our client's back-of-house business,” Joyce said.

“I'm afraid it goes a lot further than illegal busboys and dishwashers,” Charlie said. “The FBI says Owens is part of a syndicate that also transports sex workers.”

“And drugs,” Joyce said.

“What?” Don asked.

“The owner at one of my restaurant accounts told me the FBI raided his kitchen looking for drugs,” Joyce said.

“Smack in the salmon?” Don asked indelicately.

“Something like that,” Joyce said, giving Don a good look-over before taking the conversation in a new direction.

“Does the FBI really have new information about Paul's murder?”

“We think so.”

“What makes you think that, Ms. Mack?” Freeman asked.

“Instinct, I guess. And the agent I've spoken to has been evasive when I've asked about Paul,” Charlie said for James to hear. She felt the nudge of her sixth sense. “Do you know Nathaniel Sparks?” Charlie looked at Joyce.

“Yes, but not well. Why?”

“He's helping the FBI with the larger case.”

“Nate is?”

“That's what they tell us,” Gil said. “The syndicate Owens works for has to keep records, and these days, information is electronic and encrypted. Nate's helping the Bureau retrieve that data,” Gil explained.

“Did you warn Paul to run?” Don asked Joyce.

Joyce stared at her hands as she answered. “He had worked at the restaurant that was raided, and the owner told me the FBI specifically asked about Paul. So, I called him at his new job and told him to get the hell out of there.”

Joyce dabbed at the tears on her cheeks. Freeman reached for her other hand and gripped it.

“I helped Paul move his stuff to Birmingham. I drove him. It's my fault he's dead,” Joyce said.

“It is not your fault, daughter.”

So there it was. Without a question from anyone, Grant Freeman, Jr. confirmed Joyce's lineage.

“Mr. Freeman, does your family know you're Joyce's father?”

“My wife, Ruth, knows. But my children do not.” His baritone voice never wavered. “It is a secret we have held for a long time.”

“And Paul?” Don asked.

Freeman looked startled, and then resigned. “Yes, I'm also Paul's father, and my wife knows that, too.” He held onto Joyce's hand until she freed it to retrieve a tissue from her purse.

Joyce wiped at her eyes and there was a momentary lull in the questioning while she regained her composure. That's when the dull light bulb, flickering in Charlie's mind for a week, finally glowed bright.

“And that's why Anna took the kids to Detroit, isn't it?” Charlie turned her attention to Freeman. “Even as children, Paul and Grace were drawn to each other.”

Freeman nodded. “My wife noticed it before I did. By the time Paul was eight years old, he was telling people he was going to marry Grace.”

“Father Straughn told us Paul always looked out for Grace at school,” Charlie said.

“That's right. We put Grace in a private school for a time but she was very unhappy there. She thrived at Saint Agnes and she had grown close to Paul, closer than she was to her twin brother.”

The room was quiet, filled with the fresh air of released secrets. Joyce and Freeman hung their heads, and the silence began to feel awkward and judgmental.

“Holding these secrets must have been exhausting for you, Mr. Freeman,” Gil said.

“Anna and I have loved each other for a very long time but marriage was out of the question. First, it was bad blood between our fathers and later . . . well, Catholics don't divorce,” he said matter-of-factly.

“When did you learn he was your father?” Charlie asked Joyce.

“Oh, I think I've always known. My mother and I have never had a typical mother-daughter relationship,” Joyce said. “My grandfather and Anna would have bitter fights about Grant. I figured it all out before anyone tried to tell me.”

Charlie desperately wanted to ask Freeman about his involvement with the FBI but kept her promise to James. So the next order of business was to convince Joyce to cooperate with the bureau.

“The FBI thinks we have a good chance to arrest Owens, and his henchmen. Owens is probably the one who had Paul killed,” Charlie said.

“The police have always maintained they don't know who killed Paul and Andrew,” Joyce said.

“Right. But they do have a witness and there could be another,” Don reported.

“Oh really?” Freeman looked uncomfortable.

“We don't know that for sure, but the Bureau says Owens has informants here in Birmingham,” Don confided.

“Joyce, the FBI wants your help to capture Owens,” Charlie said. “We've discussed the idea with them and we think it has some merit.”