Corktown (27 page)
“He had it all set up,” I said, squinting. “There was a break-in.”
“I know. I got your note right around the time I got a call from him.”
White cut the last of the tape, freeing my hands. My shoulders felt better immediately. I looked at him. “You were in on this.”
“Sort of. Normally Stevie Roscoe would have arranged for the officers to come out, but that wasn’t going to happen. Lucky for you, Briggs called me.”
“Why did you shoot him?”
“I couldn’t let him kill you. He had taken enough innocent lives in this town. It had to stop. The time had come to chop the head off the snake. If I didn’t do it,” White motioned around with his hand, “this would all continue, and I don’t think I could have taken it anymore.”
I looked at the mayor’s body. “What now?”
“This is an easy clean-up,” White said with a smile. “A call from the mayor’s residence came in a little after 9:00 a.m. An intruder had entered the premises. Officers were dispatched but arrived too late. It’s unfortunate, but the mayor was found shot to death.” White handed me back my weapon. “He has no friends, you know? Everyone will eagerly go along with what happened.”
“But your gun… it was—”
White waved his hand. “It’s not my gun. Don’t worry about the details, Agent.”
I stood up and walked out of the shed, shielding my eyes from the morning sun. I walked over to where Briggs lay—glad he was face down. I looked back at White. “He was the sixth RR, you know.”
White put his hands up. “The less I know, the better. I just want to focus on things getting back to normal. I got a wedding coming.”
I remembered trying to smile, but I had felt conflicted. Yet another cover-up in the making, and I had taken part in it. Was that what it had come to? I had always done what was right. Going along with White’s plan, that wasn’t who I was. Yet for some reason, it didn’t bother me like I imagined it would. It could have been because that dead bastard on the ground tried to kill me, twice.
“Don’t overthink it,” White said as he walked over to where I stood. “You did good. Sometimes justice presents itself in strange ways.”
Was justice served? Was that truly the end? Even though we had cut off the head, there was no guarantee another wouldn’t grow in its place.
But that wasn’t my problem. It was Detroit’s.
94
As much as I didn’t want to, White convinced me to spend a day in the hospital for observation instead of heading home. True to his words, no one came to question me about what had happened at the mayor’s residence. I had been filtered out of the situation.
I lay in bed and watched the media report of the murder of Mayor Briggs, just the way White said it would go down. The sentiment—a terrible incident and Mayor Briggs would be missed.
As for Stevie, well, it was reported that he’d been missing for a few days. Don’t ask me how they covered up his body at the hotel. I’m sure my rape kit no longer exists.
As far as the general public knew, Mayor Briggs discovered his chief of staff had a drug problem and planned on firing him before he disappeared. That, of course, led Metro Detroit Police to investigate Stevie’s disappearance and his possible connection with the Mayor’s death. It looked like Stevie Roscoe would take the fall.
When I first arrived in Detroit and discovered Garrison might have been framed, I never would have suspected what my investigation would uncover. How could so many people entrusted with upholding the law disregard their duties and the oath they had taken? The irony was, I had found myself in the same position. And yet somehow, in my head I had justified it. I knew it was wrong, but in return, we had gotten rid of a larger, more dangerous type of wrong. Right?
• • •
Not once had I thought about Detroit after leaving. I didn’t miss the Coney Islands or the urban decay. I was happy to put that case behind me. I had almost gotten away with it until Lieutenant White sent me an email. He had attached a picture of his daughter at her wedding. She looked beautiful, and the reception looked expensive; good thing he had a job. He mentioned he had two more months until retirement. I wrote him back and congratulated him. He deserved it.
I was back to normal hours and able to spend time with Ryan and Lucy. Every weekend, the kids and I, and sometimes Po Po, would explore a nearby neighborhood or a city. Sometimes, we would spend the entire day there, and sometimes only a few hours. We had one rule; we had to pick a different location each time until we saw all of the Bay Area.
Last weekend we rode BART across the bay and trounced around the city of Berkeley. We shopped on 4th Street, had lunch at Cheeseboard Pizza, got ice cream at the Ici Ice Cream shop, and much more.
Of course, being in Berkeley reminded me of Wilkinson, but I didn’t dwell on it. I thought that was a good thing. It meant I was moving on. I didn’t want to live in the past and be sad. I had given enough to those emotions. And to be honest, my kids brought me so much happiness, there was no way I could be sad. They kept me looking forward instead of back. And I was grateful for that.
Po Po continued to passive-aggressively fight me for mothering duties, but my mom skills had improved greatly; soon I would have the edge. Just yesterday, I had returned from my run early and beat her to breakfast. The kids had eggs that day. Hooray.
As far as I could tell, I was on pace again to beat her to breakfast. I was wrapping up another morning run and approaching my favorite part on Stockton Avenue, right by Washington Square. It was there that three dogs always slept stretched out across the sidewalk. The city had turned a blind eye to them since they were so loved by the neighborhood. Their names were Salametti, Finocchiona and Sopressata, or Sala, Fino and Sata for short.
The three dogs spent most of their time outside of Fanelli’s Deli. They really belonged to Mr. Marziello, the owner of the deli. Regardless, everyone helped take care of the animals. People would even sign up on a list to walk them. I liked the dogs for one other reason; at my height, they were often perfectly spaced apart that I could relive my days of track and field. I ran the 110-meter hurdles.
When I approached my first sleeping hurdle, usually it was Sala, I pretended I had heard the crack of the starting gun and flew out of the starting block.
My left leg shot straight out while my right leg lifted up and out to a horizontal position, bent at the knee. My right arm reached ahead while my left arm pulled itself back. I had perfect form. Years of training had resurfaced and taken over. Three strides—hurdle. Three strides—hurdle. When I sailed over Fino, my favorite of the three, I smiled and thought to myself:
You still got it, Abby.
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Thank You
A lot of people helped me with this book. I’d like to let them know that I appreciate them. A big thanks to my beta readers: Erica Kim, Ethan Jones, Ke’ala Pasco and Sharon Hutchinson. I’d like to give a special thanks to my editor, Kristen King. I know it seemed like the writing of this book went on forever. I’d also like to thank my proofreader, Ashley Case. Lastly, I want to give a big thanks to my FBI source, a long time friend of the family. You know who you are. You helped me turn Abby Kane into Agent Abby Kane. Okay, cue the music and kick me off the stage.
Copyright
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author, Ty Hutchinson.
Gangkruptcy Press, San Francisco, CA
Copyright © 2012 by Ty Hutchinson
Cover Design: Kay Hutchison
Right House Photo:
Detroiturbex.com
Middle House Photo: Kevin Bauman,
100abandonedhouses.com
Left House Photo: Brandon Bartoszek
Dead Guy Photo: Dave & Les Jacobs (Getty Images)
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