Bury Me When I'm Dead (31 page)

Owens was cold, wet and dirty. He felt a shudder move through his chest and his teeth chattered.
How did I get into this mess? That young punk, Grant Freeman III, assured me the FBI was not onto me. Obviously he was wrong, or lying. Charlene Mack. She's the one who set me up. She must be in cahoots with Joyce.

He leaned against the nearest tree and tried drying his face on the lining of his raincoat. He lifted the collar. A useless gesture.
Maybe things will still be okay. I saw Joyce fall. If she's dead and my guys took care of Barnes. Then there'd be nobody to testify against me.

Something behind him moved and he sunk down to the base of
the tree. He'd seen Charlene Mack leave the pavilion deck to come after him. She might be right behind him. He fumbled in his pocket until he found the gun, it was wet like everything else and he hoped it would still fire. He looked back from where he'd come, but all he could see was a curtain of rain. He raised his arm to shoot but the sound of an engine starting pierced the rain. He pocketed the gun.
If I can just make it to the Casino I can grab a car or force someone to drive me off this damn island, and I can get to my boat. I have to keep moving.

Owens stood, straining to see the lights of the Casino ahead. But a sudden noise made him turn again. It sounded like music. No, a bugle.
I must be imagining things.
Then he heard it again. He fired his gun twice in the direction of the sound, and someone shot back. The first bullet slammed into the tree over his right shoulder, the second and third bullets cut through his raincoat. His chest burned like a furnace. He thought he heard someone yell “hold your fire.”
Yes, please hold your fire, I'm shot.
Then his knees buckled and his nose settled into the sodden grass.

When an FBI bulletin about multiple shots fired at Belle Isle appeared on the patrol car monitor, Mandy ordered her partner to use lights and sirens to respond.

“Out of our jurisdiction you know, Porter.”

“I know, but every jurisdiction east of Detroit will show up. Besides, it's not that far away, rookie. Call it in.”

Mandy was right. Patrol cars from Hamtramck, the Pointes, St. Clair Shores, even Macomb County arrived on the scene of the FBI operation. No one knew for sure what the operation entailed, but those gathered—including a handful of reporters—got an informal briefing from a MPD communications officer who would only acknowledge there had been a fatal shooting. The crime scene was cordoned off while the FBI discreetly gathered their bullets, firearms, men, and equipment. Avoiding questions was further complicated by the presence of the black and shiny, unmarked tactical vehicle with
microwave, radio antennae and satellite dish aloft. Law enforcement personnel flanked the RV as if it were in a parade.

Mandy left her partner jostling to get a look inside the RV while she searched for Charlie. She spotted Charlie's empty Corvette in the parking lot blocked in by a half-dozen vehicles. She headed for the front of the pavilion with a plan to sweet talk her way to the other side of the crime tape, when she caught sight of Charlie sitting on a backhoe near a pile of broken concrete.

“Is this the latest acquisition for the Mack Partners fleet?” Mandy joked.

“Where'd you come from?” Charlie asked.

“I drove in with the rest of the cowboys to get a look at the fancy gear. What's shaking, Rutkowski? Long time no see.”

“Right Porter. Good to see you.”

The three stood quietly for a few seconds with the police lights pulsating across them. Don stared at Mandy. Charlie and Mandy stared at each other. In the strobes, Mandy noticed Charlie's disheveled condition.

“You get hurt?”

“No. I'm just dirty and wet. And my ribs kind of hurt again,” Charlie said, just registering the soreness in her midriff.

“You should get in some dry clothes.”

“I will. As soon as I can move my car.”

“I guess you probably can't talk about what happened.”

“No. We can't,” Don said gruffly.

He had been watching the interaction between the two women.
So the rumors are true. And the woman is Mandy.
He hadn't believed it but now he'd seen it for himself.

“Well, I guess I'll be leaving. I just wanted to make sure you were alright,” Mandy said.

“I'm good.”

“Everything's under control. And
I'll
make sure Mack is okay,” Don said, to establish his rank.

The three weathered another awkward silence. Charlie avoided Don's questioning look and Mandy turned to go.

“Will you call me when your shift ends?”

“You sure? It'll be late,” Mandy said.

“I know. Call anyway.”

They watched Mandy join the pack of cops at the other end of the lot. Then Charlie felt Don's stare.

“Something you want to tell me?” he asked accusingly.

“I can tell you I'm happy. And when there's more to tell, you'll be one of the first to know.”

“It's a big change for you, isn't it?”

“Yep. But change is what happens when you're still alive.”

“Okay, Mack. If you say so. Let's see if we can't get some of these cars out of the way, so you can get home.”

Chapter 37

Tuesday was atypical for Mack Investigations. The office was closed for the afternoon. Charlie, Don, Gil and Judy were headed across town to Reliable Restaurant Supply for the FBI debriefing on one of their most challenging cases. No one complained when Don offered to chauffeur the team in his roomy Buick LeSabre.

“Nice car, Don,” Judy said.

“Thanks Novak.”

They hadn't become bosom buddies, but Judy's imaginative phone strategies during this case had elevated her position with Don. Yesterday, hours before the Belle Isle rendezvous, Judy had cornered Charlie to express her skepticism of the complicated FBI plan.

“I know Don will be there to protect you, but be sure to take your mobile phone.”

“My phone?”

“Yes. If I call it's because you're in danger. If you hear the cavalry bugle, just hit the deck.”

“Judy, I don't think that'll be necessary. I'll be surrounded by a dozen FBI agents. Things won't get far out of hand.”

“That's just it,” Judy had said. “Too many cooks and not one of them has the full recipe. Please, Charlie, just do it for me. Put the volume on high and keep the phone in your breast pocket where you can hear it.”

Abrams was a gracious host for the briefing. A large carafe of coffee had been prepared and there was Danish and fruit. Each place at the conference table had a tablet, pen and bottled water. Per James'
instructions, Abrams had provided a projection screen at one end of the table and the eight floor-to-ceiling blinds on Abrams' office windows had been closed three-quarters, cloaking the screen in shadow.

The Mack team arrived first and Don made a beeline for the pastries and coffee. Abrams was relaxed, almost content. Not the way you'd expect a man to look the day after such proximity to flying bullets.

“Everything is perfect, Alicia,” he told his temporary assistant. “Thank you.”

“You're welcome, Mr. Abrams.” The young woman beamed as if she'd been told she had an extra week of vacation.

James and Agent Goodman arrived minutes later, accompanied by Grant Freeman, Jr. and Joyce, who wore an arm sling and a smile. Abrams beckoned the new arrivals to the conference table and greeted Joyce with a hug. He had remained with her at the pavilion, covering her body with his own until the paramedics arrived, and then traveled with her in the ambulance to the hospital where he stayed until she drifted off to sleep.

James had been transformed. His hair was cut short, his beard was gone, and the blue suit he wore with a striped tie and white shirt gave him the appearance of a diplomat more than an FBI agent. He nodded at Charlie and gave Judy a wink, which elicited a full blush. The night before, after handing over the bashed and groggy Walter Barnes to an agent, Don had given James a piece of his mind. This morning they shared a cordial nod while Gil exchanged handshakes with James and Goodman.

“I guess your undercover stint is over,” Charlie said by way of a compliment to James.

“Yes, until the next time.” He smiled and then got down to business. “Mr. Abrams, thanks for allowing us to use your space. I know you all still have a lot of questions.”

Goodman lifted the top of a slender Apple laptop and next to it placed a small, rectangular box which turned out to be a video projector. Don leered at the contraption in the way he'd eyed the Danish moments before. A PowerPoint appeared on the screen and the first page had an embedded video of the gunfight from the night before. The room was rapt with attention as they watched the action.

Abrams and Joyce could be seen talking on the deck of the pavilion when a shadowy figure came into view below them.

“That's Barnes,” Goodman said.

A white light flashed when the first shot was fired and Joyce slumped to the ground. Abrams crouched beside her. There was the sound of a second shot and a flash of light and Charlie stopped and dove forward. A muffled shot and a third burst of light came from a different direction and Barnes was seen retreating.

“And that's one of our agents firing from the lake,” Goodman added.

“Where's Owens at this point?” Gil asked.

“He can't be seen in this view,” Goodman explained.

The sound of two shots and their muzzle flashes came from the right of the screen, east of Barnes' position. Then there was a steady burst of gunfire from three directions. While shots were being exchanged, Charlie got to her feet and ran, in a crouch, out of view. The video ended there.

Charlie noticed Joyce trembling as she watched the video. Freeman, who was next to Joyce, moved his chair closer and was patting her hand. Judy, meanwhile, watched the entire scene with a gaping mouth.

“That was terrifying,” she said.

“There were three dozen shots fired in all,” Goodman explained moving to the next slide which was a side-by-side mug shot of two African-American men.

“The majority of gunfire came from these two,” James said, picking up the narrative. “This is, or I should say
was,
Frankie Curtis and on the right, his associate Reuben Bud Jones. They were at the pavilion to kill Walter Barnes. One of them had an automatic weapon and wounded one of our agents. Curtis was declared dead at the scene.”

“Owens hired them, didn't he?” Don asked.

“That's right,” James said. “Barnes probably would have taken another shot at Charlie but bullets were coming at him from two sides.”

“Is Barnes talking?” Don asked.

“Oh yeah. When I showed him the photos of Jones and Curtis,
he knew Owens had set him up for a hit. He confessed to the attempted murder of Joyce and Charlie and said Owens was paying him. Owens tells a different story, of course.”

“Owens is alive?” Charlie was surprised.

“Yes. Badly wounded but he's in stable condition and able to talk.”

“Did he admit to killing Paulie?” Joyce interjected.

Charlie looked across at Freeman who stared defiantly at first, then broke eye contact.

“Well, I do have information for you on that,” James replied to Joyce. “That's why I invited Mr. Freeman to our debriefing. But, if you don't mind, I'd like to come back to your question.”

Joyce nodded.

“Play the next video,” James said to Goodman.

Goodman tapped on his laptop and new footage appeared. “This piece doesn't have any audio,” Goodman explained.

All eyes were on the screen again but it was difficult to make out the scene. James pulled a laser pointer from an inside pocket and began circling the points of interest.

“Mr. Acosta, you and Ms. Novak should recognize this. This is video of the satellite feed you were watching from your office. That's me, Goodman and Agent Montano exiting the tactical mobile unit. Up here is you, Ms. Mack, and that's Owens, here, moving in and out of the trees.”

“Your audio became garbled and you couldn't hear Agent Griggs,” Gil remembered.

“Right. An unfortunate time to lose the audio signal.”

“A lot went wrong.” Don couldn't resist revisiting the criticism he'd offered before.

“I concede that,” James said. “With all our technology, we're still at the mercy of Mother Nature.”

“You also couldn't anticipate that Owens would try to take out his own man,” Gil said.

“We figured that out too late,” James admitted. “A successful operation is always a matter of preparation, good luck and inspiration. Your phone call idea was an inspired one, Ms. Novak,” James said, turning his attention to Judy.

“I thought we could use a backup plan,” Judy said.

“It was a good thing. I really couldn't see two feet in front of me,” James offered. “I wasn't sure where Charlie, uh Ms. Mack, was. And then I heard the cavalry charge,” James said, smiling. “That's the second time I've heard that sound, you know.”

“And the second time it's saved my life,” Charlie said.

Charlie took a few minutes to explain to Joyce and Abrams, her run-in with Barnes in Birmingham.

“He's a bad man,” Judy said.

“He'll pay for it,” James said. “We're not cutting any deals with Barnes but we don't need to because he's eager to get even with Owens. Oh, and by the way,” James said turning to Don. “Barnes is claiming police brutality. Seems he might have been hit with a pistol a few times when he was captured. But, I explained to him the person who nabbed him wasn't the police, just an outraged citizen trying to help the FBI.”

All eyes turned to Don, who looked like the proverbial bird who'd eaten the canary. “The grass was very wet and he hit a tree branch and fell off his bicycle.”

“We thought it was something like that,” the usually stoic Goodman said, giving Don an approving look.

“Now, back to Owens,” James said. “He's under twenty-four-hour guard at Receiving Hospital. We've already started laying out the evidence we have against him, including the murder attempts on Ms. Stringer and Ms. Mack, as well as the homicides in Birmingham. He's admitted his role in the restaurant scheme here in Detroit, Mr. Abrams, and cleared Joyce of any involvement in the theft or the larger crime ring.”

“I'm relieved to hear that,” Abrams said.

“Owens hired Paul and another of your employees, Nate Sparks, to help him in the trafficking ring. They helped to hide the money and keep track of people and inventory. Sparks is now assisting us with the case against Owens. Paul, we believe, was an unwitting accomplice. However, Ms. Stringer is charged with several crimes including bribing and colluding with others to cover up a felony.”

Abrams looked from Charlie to Joyce. “I wish you had just come to me right away,” he said.

Joyce began to sob quietly. Freeman again covered her hand with his.

“She's guilty of poor judgment, Leonard,” Charlie defended Joyce. “She couldn't always protect Paul, but this time she thought she could.”

“Since Ms. Stringer has agreed to cooperate with us, and if Mr. Abrams decides not to press further charges, I believe she will be able to return to a normal life in a year or two,” James said.

Joyce looked at Freeman with tears in her eyes. Judy was sniffing and Charlie wanted to move to another subject.

“James, don't you have more you want to say to Joyce?” Charlie asked.

“Yes. And this is where Mr. Freeman can help. He's been extremely useful to us in Birmingham.”

“Well, I don't know where to start,” Freeman said, clearing his throat. He placed his palms down on the table and splayed his fingers, staring at his gold wedding band.

“My son, Grant, was one of Owens' informants.”

“What? Why would Grant do that?” Joyce was incredulous.

“Because he learned your father's secret,” Charlie guessed and Freeman nodded.

“That's correct. He found out Paul was also my son.”

“I'm sure he was angry and, I bet, jealous,” Charlie said.

James gave a silent direction and Goodman punched a few keys on his computer. Another image appeared on the screen. It was live video of the makeshift apartment on the top floor of the original Freeman's Funeral. Paul was lounging in a chair; he appeared to be playing a computer game. Standing next to him was a smiling Anna Stringer.

“That's Paulie,” Joyce exclaimed, not understanding what she was seeing. “Where'd you get that video?”

She looked accusingly at James.

“What the hell is going on?” Her voice rose in hysteria and Freeman gripped her hand.

“Paul is alive, daughter,” Freeman said matter-of-factly. “He's alive and well in Birmingham.”

Joyce stood to confront her father's words, then collapsed on the table, exhausted and bewildered. Freeman lifted her by her good arm and Abrams wrapped his arm around her waist to move her to a nearby couch.