Bury Me When I'm Dead (27 page)

The conference room was still. The silent video continued to show the activity at one of Detroit's busiest weekend attractions. Griggs
grabbed her Blackberry, using her thumbs to pound out a message on the keyboard.

“If they have her purse, why do they confront her? Were they returning the purse?” Charlie posed, then shook her head in disbelief of her own question.

“More than likely, they rifled through the purse, grabbed the wallet and any cash and dumped the purse,” Don said matter-of-factly.

“If she had a photo ID in her wallet, and they recognized her as she was walking around the market, they might have gotten the idea to have her withdraw money from an ATM,” Griggs said soberly.

James returned to the conference room with an earnest look for Griggs. “You got something?”

Griggs played the two pieces of video. The first, of Ernestine leaving the restaurant without her purse and the men removing her purse from the chair. The second, of the two men intercepting Ernestine in the center of the market and leading her out of view. On a Saturday, with thousands of people in Eastern Market, no one seemed to take notice of the two young men and the older lady as they left the market.

Chapter 33

Ernestine stood on the curb, looking left and right, trying to spot something or someone familiar. She pulled her cardigan sweater tightly around her and tucked her hands under her armpits. The self-hug wasn't much help against the brisk wind that sent pieces of paper swirling around her ankles. She made a 360-degree turn. She wasn't downtown, there were no buildings over two stories, and the only houses she saw seemed to be several blocks away. She spied a large black cat, heavy with a litter, lumber across an alley and disappear into the open door of a garage. She thought about joining the cat to get out of the cold, but a blue pickup truck turned the corner and headed in her direction. The two white men looked at her curiously as they passed but didn't slow down.

She wondered what time it was. The two boys had taken her wristwatch along with the earrings and two scarves she'd purchased. They drove her around for what seemed like hours in one of those big vehicles that was part car and part truck. They had the credit card Charlie had given her and wanted her to withdraw money from an ATM. Finally, she remembered the piece of paper in her wallet with all her PIN numbers and computer passwords. When they looked at the paper they laughed and fist pumped, and pulled the car to the curb. Ernestine watched the two on the sidewalk arguing some point for about ten minutes and then they got back in the car.

“We've decided to let you go,” the boy who sat with her in the backseat said. His name was Robert. He gave instructions to the boy driving and when they stopped the car again he held the door open for her to get out.

“You go that way about ten blocks,” Robert said, gesturing with
both hands toward the houses. “That's Woodward Avenue and that's where you can find a bus or a cab.” Then he jumped into the passenger seat and the two drove away, leaving her alone and lost. She didn't have money or her phone or her keys, they were all in her purse.

Ernestine wanted to cry.
I was having such a good day.
She looked in the direction Robert had pointed.
About ten blocks he said
and she began moving along the sidewalk.
I wish I could call Charlie.

“How much money did you get?” Jerry asked.

“All I could get was four hundred dollars. It must be one of those cards with a daily cash limit. We can wait until midnight and pull another four hundred out,” Robert said.

“It was some good luck getting that purse. With the cash in her wallet and the cash from the ATM, we got about four-fifty, right?”

“Right.”

“What do you think we can get for the watch and the other stuff?”

“Probably not much,” Robert said. “We should just divide it up. I could give the watch to Kim, she's always complaining I never buy her anything. You want the earrings and scarves to give to your moms? It's kind of old lady stuff,” Robert said.

“Why do you get the watch?”

“Because, I grabbed the purse,” Robert recited one of the unwritten rules of thieves.

“Alright, alright, but we're gonna divide the cash fifty-fifty, right?”

“Yeah, man. You know you're my boy. Come on, let's fill up your tank,” Robert said.

The two used the credit card at the gas pump, then Robert swiped the card inside the convenience store to buy chips, pickles, Black and Mild cigars, a couple of
Hustler
magazines and a six-pack. The store clerk looked at Robert with suspicion but it wasn't the first time the boy had taken a credit card off some sucker. He had memorized the PIN and didn't show a bit of nervousness as he punched in the number. He studied the card after he settled into the SUV. Her name was Ernestine Mack. He kind of liked the old lady, she reminded him of
his grandma. The plan was to crash at Jerry's crib for a few hours, maybe order a pizza, and at midnight try to score another four bills. In his experience, they had only a few more hours before the card was reported stolen and deactivated. After they hit the ATM, they'd dump the card. Robert handed Jerry a beer and they both popped the tops. “It's been a pretty good day,” he said.

“I'm surprised you accepted my invitation for dinner, this time. I was beginning to believe the rumors.”

“What rumors?”

“That you were off the market.”

Mandy smirked. Detroit had a healthy grapevine, and in the gay community, the vines were long and intertwined. Word was the woman sitting across from her in one of Bloomfield Hills' poshest restaurants was a real estate broker, recently separated from her partner of twelve years, and was boorishly conceited. That's why Mandy hadn't accepted her three previous invitations for dinner. But it was Saturday night, and she needed to occupy her time so she wouldn't think about Charlie.

“A friend of mine says people with big minds talk about ideas, and those with small minds talk about other people.” Mandy meant her comment as a slight. She swirled the brandy in her snifter, giving the light-brown liquid her deep attention.

“Well, okay, here's a big idea for you. Why don't we drive out to the marina and take a ride in my boat? It's a thirty-footer. I'll be putting her away for the season in a few weeks but tonight's a beautiful night to be on the water.”

“I don't think I'm in the mood.”

“Are you always led by your moods?”

Mandy gave a smile. The woman liked to be called by her nickname, “Missy.” It was a girl's name and Missy was no longer girlish in any way. She wasn't unattractive. She wore her silver hair in a close-cropped style and her skin looked tanned and healthy. She'd arrived late for their dinner date without offering an apology, and in the hour
and a half they'd spent on dinner, she'd talked only about herself and the flaws of her ex-girlfriend.

“Not always by my mood. I'm usually an analytical person.”

“What's your analysis of me?” Missy said flirtatiously.

“You don't really want to know.”

“Oh, but I do.”

“I think you want to impress me. I think you want me to be one of your conquests, because up to now I haven't given you the time of day.”

Missy's face shifted from flirty to highly offended.

“Oops, I'm afraid the brandy is making me truthful,” Mandy said to further insult.

“Wow. You really think a lot of yourself. Or maybe dating that Black woman has made you crass.”

Mandy considered dousing the woman with her drink, but thought it a waste of fine liquor.

“Why don't you let me pick up the check tonight? And you can go get your boat and shove it up the river,” Mandy said.

Missy slid out of the dining booth ungracefully. She paused as she got to her feet, tugging at her slacks to loosen them from her thighs. She called Mandy an unflattering name, and left the restaurant.

I guess you would call that a missy fit.
Mandy chuckled aloud.
Too bad she was boring and a butthead. I could have used the sex. And on a boat too.

A diner walked slowly by the booth in an attempt to catch Mandy's eye. She ignored him and retrieved her phone from the pocket of her jeans. She'd listened to the message at least a dozen times: “I'm sorry. I should have told you about Franklin, and I was going to. All I can say is I was still trying to outrun my feelings. Franklin knows all about us. I told him. I guess I was still fighting my own . . . internalized homophobia. Please, Mandy. Let me make things right. I do love you. I need you in my life. I'm sure of that now. I'm not as brave as you. I hope you can forgive me for not telling you everything.”

As if on cue, Mandy's phone vibrated. It was Charlie. She hesitated. She should make her squirm on the hook a bit more before releasing her.

“Hello.” Mandy tried an icy tone.

“Mandy. I'm glad you answered. I'm back in town. Something's happened with my mother. She's missing. Some guys stole her purse while she was out shopping and now we can't find her.”

“Wait a minute. Your mother's missing? Oh God, Charlie.”

“I don't know what to do. The police and the FBI are out looking for her but I just feel helpless.”

“Don't worry. I'll be right there.” Mandy called for the check, then left four twenty-dollar bills on the table for the server.

Charlie, Don and Gil had arrived at Detroit Metropolitan Airport at eight-thirty. James had been extremely helpful in getting them last-minute seats on the full flight from Birmingham. James had a car waiting for Charlie when she de-planed that whisked her to Detroit police headquarters.

Even before they left Birmingham, Agent Griggs continued tracking activity on Ernestine's stolen credit card. First, at an ATM in downtown Detroit, later at a gas station and convenience store. James' regional director had called the chief's office and Ernestine's case became a top priority for the Detroit police that night.

Charlie was escorted to an office with a private bathroom, comfortable chair and a desk. From her perch she could see detectives on the phone, pictures of her mother being distributed to uniformed officers and a steady stream of regulars being moved in and out of the precinct for questioning. But watching the increased activity in the squad room only made Charlie more anxious.

She stood up when Mandy arrived in the squad room. So did four detectives who leaped from their desks to ask her business. Charlie watched as she flashed her badge and one of the detectives pointed her in the right direction. They all watched as she crossed the room. Charlie and Mandy sank into each other's arms and held on tightly. A few minutes later one of the detectives stopped by to report on the progress being made in the case.

“We think we have the name of one of the kidnappers,” Detective
Tompkins reported. “He ordered a pizza with your mother's credit card.”

“Kidnappers?” Charlie asked, drying her eyes.

“Until we know otherwise, we're treating this case as a kidnapping, I thought you knew that.”

Tompkins looked toward Mandy for help.

“It's the proper procedure, Charlie. In an abduction case.”

“I just never considered that. Mom is in the early stages of Alzheimer's so I just thought . . .”

“We know these guys took your mother. We've seen the video. They aren't the sharpest knives in the drawer,” Tompkins said. “But I'm betting they're not violent.”

“Why do you say that?” Mandy asked.

“Well, this Jerry Mitchell character hasn't run afoul of the law before. We have his address and his motor vehicle information.”

“He's the one you tracked from the pizza order?” Mandy asked.

“That's right. We don't know who the other guy is, but we're waiting for a search warrant so we can bust in Jerry's door. It should be coming any minute.”

“Can I go with you?” Charlie asked.

“I don't think that's a good idea,” Tompkins said, again looking for Mandy's support on the decision.

“Look. What if my mother is being held in that guy's apartment? I've gotta be there.”

Tompkins shook his head, about to stand firm on Metropolitan Detroit Police Department policies, when Mandy intervened. “Do you think I could speak with you a minute, in private, detective?”