Corktown (3 page)

“It is, but they wanted to stay up until you came home.” Katherine Carter gave her husband a kiss as he lowered the boys to the floor.

“Eeewwww,” they groaned.

“Now, Jackson, Lorenzo. What did we agree to do as soon as Daddy got home?”

“Brush our teeth and get ready for bed,” they said in unison.

The little one begged. “Mommy, can’t we stay up just a little longer with Daddy?”

She looked at her husband. It would be his call.

“Here’s what we’ll do; you two go brush your teeth and I’ll come by and read you a bedtime story. Sound good?”

Both boys cheered and raced each other up the stairs. After they disappeared, Katherine turned to her husband. “We had spaghetti for dinner. Should I fix you a plate?”

He patted his stomach and shook his head. “Sounds tempting but I stopped for a bite on the way home. I’m afraid I might explode.”

“Well, you can have it for lunch tomorrow.”

Preston pointed up the stairs. “I’m going to freshen up and get the boys into bed. I’ll be back down.” Katherine smiled before turning and heading back into the kitchen.

The two met when Katherine was a freshman at Oakland University. It wasn’t long before afternoon coffee turned into weeknight dinners, which led to weekend getaways. They dated for five years, until she got pregnant. That’s when they decided to marry.

Preston double-stepped it up the stairs, a sign that he was still fit at forty-five, even after a couple of chili dogs. He stopped by the hall bathroom where his sons were busy brushing their teeth. “Hurry up and pick out a book. We’ll rally in Jackson’s room in a few minutes.”

He continued down the hall to the master bedroom and closed the door behind him. He hung up his jacket, slipped off his pants, and replaced them with a fresh T-shirt and sweatpants. In the master bath, Preston washed his hands and splashed water on his face. He ran his hand through his thick blond hair, checking the length, looking for the occasional white strand.

He stopped just short of leaving the room and headed over to the bed, where he retrieved a small metal box from under his side. He fiddled with the combination lock for a bit before it opened. Inside were two boxes of disposable scalpels and a box containing latex gloves. He plucked out two gloves and picked a scalpel. He then opened the closet and tucked them into the inside pocket of his blazer.
Always be prepared.

He exited the bedroom. “What are we reading, boys?”

7

It was well after midnight when we left the crime scene. Making the trek from the burbs to downtown that night wasn’t an option we were keen on. Instead, we found a hotel in the area and got two rooms for the night.

The next morning, we exited the lobby a little before eight. The temperature outside had already soared to eighty-five degrees. I imagined it would only get hotter in the city and the humidity would start its frizz assault on my hair.

According to the hotel concierge, Central Precinct was a straight shot from Birmingham—about a forty-minute drive along Woodward Avenue. Wilkinson drove our rental, as usual.

“You know, we could have left later, if you weren’t ready.”

“What are you talking about?” I asked as I applied my make-up. “I was ready.”

“Doesn’t look like it.”

“Oh, Wilky, stop being a grouch. I know you like to watch me put on my lipstick,” I said, smiling while I flipped the visor back up.

“Also, you should learn to drive one of these days,” he said shooting me a look.

“But you’re so good at it.”

“Don’t butter me up. You need to learn.”

“You know, when I was a detective in Hong Kong—”

“Another Hong Kong story. This should be good.”

I stopped and shot him a raised eyebrow. “Are you going let me finish or are you going to keep rolling your eyes like a little teenage girl?”

“Fine. Talk.”

“My partners always drove because, in my society, the men drove.” I pointed at my chest. “I wanted to drive. They wouldn’t let me.”

“I’m teaching you how to drive when we get back to San Francisco. I’ll insist you drive from then on to make up for all the times you were discriminated against in Hong Kong.”

“Great. Can’t wait.” I folded my arms across my chest. “I hope you’re patient. I’m a slow learner.”

They say when you fight with the opposite sex it means you like them. Did we really like each other? Maybe. Also, I still wasn’t sure how to tell him I had gotten my driver’s license three months ago. What can I say? I liked being a passenger.

I pointed at a McDonald’s. “Pull into the drive through.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re always like this when you haven’t had your morning coffee.”

“Like what?” Wilkinson scoffed.

“Exactly,” I said. “Plus I could use some hot water for my green tea.” I always kept a tin of loose leaf with me. Even though I had acquired my father’s taste for Jameson, my mother made sure I developed an addiction to the green elixir. Maybe that explained my eye color.

“It must have been tough for you at the start,” he said after a few sips.

“What do you mean?”

“You know, when you first got into law enforcement.”

“It wasn’t easy, but I managed.”

“I’d say. Chief Inspector in charge of Organized Crime, was it?”

“Organized Crime and Triad Bureau. Why the sudden interest?”

“Well, you haven’t spoken much about that.”

“What do you want to know? That when I got the job, I didn’t get a round of drinks after work or a celebratory lunch? That it was rumored the only orders the men wanted to hear me shout were, ‘Harder,’ and, ‘Don’t stop’?”

“No, not at all. That’s terrible.”

I turned to Wilkinson. “I’m sorry. Look, I know you’re not like those men. It was a bittersweet time in my life.”

“Was it always like that?”

“No, it actually got better when I saved my old partner from having his head blown off.”

“What happened?”

“My department had targeted a small Triad gang in the Sham Shui Po district. The plan was to grab as many of the members as we could at six different locations before sunrise. My old partner and I were hitting the same residence. We punched through the door with a battering ram and caught them sleeping. It was a pretty easy round up, until I saw a young male jump out a window with my partner not far behind.”

“And you followed them both right out the window.”

“Yup. Anyway, I ran down an alleyway until I reached an open doorway. Inside, I saw my partner with his arms up and a shotgun a finger’s length from his face.”

“He got the jump on your partner?”

“He did, don’t ask me how. I took one look at the gang member’s shifting eyes and knew what he was thinking;
Blow this guy away, then take out the girl.”

“What happened?”

I chuckled a bit and shook my head.

“What’s so funny?”

“I don’t know what I was thinking but I jumped to the side like that movie, the one with Keanu Reeves…”

“Wait, you mean
The Matrix
?”

“Yeah, except I only had the one gun.”

Wilkinson laughed and batted his palms against the steering wheel. “Don’t bullshit me. Tell me you did not reenact the fricken
Matrix
to save your partner—”

“Ex-partner.”

“Okay, your ex-partner’s life.”

“I did. And guess what? It worked.”

Wilkinson shook his head; he still had a fat grin on his face. I was laughing, too. Hearing myself retell the story, it sounded incredibly stupid.

“So what happened next?” he asked.

I took a moment to catch my breath. “Well that stupid move caught the guy by surprise. He did a double take, enough time to give me the jump on him. I was able to squeeze off two rounds before crashing down on my shoulder. The first shot took out his trigger hand. The second one slammed into his face.”

“Bullshit. For real?”

“If I had missed, do you honestly think I would be in this car sitting next to you?”

Wilkinson looked at me and smiled. “Damn, you really are the shit.”

We both exploded into more laughter.

Okay, so we do really get along, but we’re professionals. We respect one another, and that’s as far as whatever this will go.

8

We reached the station at nine sharp. Before exiting our vehicle, we cleared ourselves of the giggles and restored our professional demeanor. We expected to meet with the commanding officer that morning but it turned out that wouldn’t be the case.

Shortly afterward, we entered the building, a stocky gentleman in a dark suit needing tailoring greeted us. Clothing aside, he seemed pleasant and had a nice smile.

“Agent Kane. Agent Wilkinson. Welcome to Detroit. I’m Lieutenant Roy White.”

We shook hands and smiled. “Thanks for inviting us out, Lieutenant White,” I said.

“No, thank you for coming.” He then turned around. “Follow me; everybody’s waiting.”

Everybody?

White kept a fast pace as his shoes click-clacked on the tiled floors. “We’ve heard a lot about you, Agent Kane. Hong Kong’s loss is our gain.”

“Thanks, but I just did my job.”

The precinct was housed in a fairly old building with lots of beige. It did, however, appear to have a buzz to it. The public had started to trickle inside, filing complaints, mostly about neighbors or getting booked. Memories from my early years with the force flooded my head. I smiled, but I didn’t miss it.

We followed the lieutenant through two large, wooden doors. Inside I saw a long rectangular conference table surround by suits that weren’t smiling. I didn’t do a headcount, but it looked like twelve grumpy men sitting around a table. We were directed toward two open chairs in the middle.

A clearing of a throat captured everyone’s attention. I looked at the man who sat at the head of the table. His face was a look of fierceness, hardened from years of wearing the uniform, I supposed. He introduced himself as Chief of Police, Reginald Reed, Detroit Police Department. I was a bit surprised by his presence in the room actually, and slightly impressed. But the surprises didn’t stop there.

The introductions continued around the table. The chiefs of police for Birmingham, Royal Oak, Grosse Pointe, Madison Heights and many more were all in attendance. I didn’t expect their best. Were we in the right room? As the chiefs continued, I felt a buzzing in my pocket. I pulled out my cell. Lucy had sent me a text. “Ryan call me dog face.”

Ever since I taught her how to text on Po Po’s phone, it had been nonstop. I sent Ryan a text. “Stop calling your sister dog face.”

I tucked my phone away just as the last chief started to introduce himself.

“You got someone else you want to text before we continue?” he asked, glaring.

I had made a new rule for myself when we moved to the states—I would always take the time to respond to my kids; call it
Operation Better Mother
. “Sorry, classified stuff. Your name?”

The chief stared me down for a moment longer before continuing. His intimidation tactics had no effect on me. I had once worked for Hong Kong Police. I glanced at Wilkinson; he looked confused, probably wondering the same thing I had—why the grumpy order of police chiefs had gathered for us. But I suspected the reason was that we were about to be thrown into a hornet’s nest.

9

The chiefs looked uncomfortable in the oversized leather chairs. No good trying to hide the mood in the room. It was serious, bordering on gloom, and apparent no one wanted to be there. I started to think I didn’t want to either.

“If I could have everyone’s attention,” Reed spoke up. The leader of this shindig was about to start the briefing. He looked at Wilkinson. “Agent Kane.” And then me. “Agent Wilkinson.”

Wilkinson beat me to the punch and corrected the chief. “I’m Agent Wilkinson. She’s Agent Kane.”

The silence and the flat look on everyone’s faces told me they expected Agent Kane to be tall and broad-shouldered. What they got instead was a short, green-eyed firecracker looking up at them from across the table. I was used to it. So long as I wasn’t publically denied any ride at an amusement park, my height never bothered me.

Reed cleared his throat and then shifted in his seat for the third time. “I’m sure you have questions. I can start by answering the ones I know you’ll ask.”

This should be good.

Reed looked to be in his fifties—still young, but the worry lines across his forehead told another story. He clasped his weathered hands together and looked around the room before settling on Wilkinson and I.

“We are facing a grave situation—one we all would like to resolve quickly and quietly. What we discuss today must not leave this room. Is that understood, Agent Kane and Agent Wilkinson?”

We both nodded. “It’s my understanding that we’re here to consult on a possible serial killer,” I said. “I’m not sure what’s so secretive about that. You’ve only had your third body last night, which officially qualifies it.”

Reed didn’t blink, didn’t move… but only stared until he spoke again. “About seven years ago, we had a serial killer terrorize the city of Detroit and many of the surrounding towns. This went on for five… long… years.” Both hands helped him emphasize his point. “Forty-five victims, most of them in Detroit. Do you know what that does to a city, to the people?”

I wasn’t sure I wanted to speak up. The seriousness with which Reed had delivered the information only filled my head with more questions seeking answers. “Our understanding is you caught him.”

Some of the chiefs shifted in their chairs as they looked toward Reed.

“We don’t want a repeat. Every chief of police you see here today represents a city that had victims the last go round. Some of them, including me, even have the pleasure of participating in the second go round. We’re all in agreement; we don’t want this to turn into another massacre. We believe we have a copycat on our hands.”

“Well, if you think it’s just a copycat, seems like you could throw enough manpower at it to put this to bed quickly.”