Bury Me When I'm Dead (17 page)

Chapter 24

Gloria waved as Charlie passed the front desk on her way to the elevators. “Hi Miss Charlene. Welcome back. All is well,” Gloria shouted.

Charlie was startled when she opened the door of her mother's apartment. It was mid-morning but the mini blinds were closed and the living area was cloaked in shadows. Charlie paused and heard the strains of a television program coming from her mother's bedroom. From the opposite direction she whiffed the aroma of freshly brewed coffee.

“Mom, I'm here,” she called out.

“In here, Charlene.”

Her mother was sitting up in bed against a corduroy pillow. A breakfast tray was on her lap.
Let's Make a Deal
was on TV and a lady dressed as a burrito was doing a happy dance after winning a thousand dollars. Ernestine smiled with warm contentment. Charlie released the anxiety of the previous sixty seconds.

“You're having breakfast in bed.”

“I didn't sleep well last night, so I decided to be a lady of leisure, this morning.” Ernestine smiled and so did Charlie.

“You deserve it.”

“The only thing is, since I had to make my own breakfast and prepare my own tray, I guess I'm both the lady and the servant.” Ernestine smiled again.

“I guess so. Do you want me to open your blinds and water the plants?”

“Well, if you want to, but I was thinking about taking a little nap now that I've finished my breakfast.”

“Oh, okay. But I thought you said you wanted me to drive you to the grocery store this morning.”

Ernestine set her tray aside and used the remote to mute the television. “I need a few things but nothing that can't wait.”

Charlie stared at the silent TV. The burrito lady had been joined by a couple dressed as bumblebees. They wore black tights that protruded from egg-shaped, black and yellow-striped body suits and their antennae, which appeared to be made from pipe cleaners, stirred and swayed as they interacted with the show host.

“Are you mad at me, honey?”

“Of course not, Mom. I can take you grocery shopping later in the week.”

“That would be fine,” Ernestine said, rearranging her pillows. “By the way, are your ribs still sore?”

“They're feeling better every day and it's a good thing because I'm very busy right now.”

“With your Birmingham case?”

Charlie gave a silent prayer each time her mother demonstrated victory in the battle for her mind.

“Yep. You were right. We're uncovering a lot of secrets there. But I've also met a lot of nice people.”

“I'm glad honey.” Her mother yawned.

“Well I'll get going. Here, let me take your tray,”

“Just put it on the dresser, dear. I'll clean up after I take a little nap.”

“Okay, I know when I'm not needed. Are you sure you're okay? How come you couldn't sleep last night?”

“I just started reading and forgot to go to bed. It's no big deal.”

With Don and Gil away, the office was quiet. They should have arrived in Birmingham by now but hadn't yet called. After the bad experience at the out-of-the-way motel, the pair was staying at a downtown hotel.

Judy was busy with filing, so Charlie poured a cup of coffee and
sat at her massive desk. It was out of place with the modern decor in the office, but it had been her father's prized possession. It made her feel close to him.

John Mack had worked as a labor attorney for the state of Michigan and Charlie remembered him at this desk every weekend, in the spare bedroom he had transformed into his den. A jar of caramels always sat near the edge for those times Charlie softly knocked at his door, waiting outside for permission to enter. When he called out, “come in Charlie” she would wiggle her small fingers among the wrapped pieces of candy until she grasped just the right one, then she and her father would talk about all manner of things until the last of the buttery sweetness melted in her mouth. That's when the visit was over.

Charlie scooped up a week's worth of paper that had accumulated in her in-box. On top was the expense form for last week's travel. Judy was a stickler for having either a receipt or a written explanation of each expense; it was tedious work and Charlie set the form aside. Next were bills that needed her attention, and she dutifully signed the checks Judy had prepared. There were a handful of phone messages, two from the woman with the stolen identity problem. They still hadn't connected.

“Hello, this is Charlene Mack calling for Mrs. Davenport?”

“Who?” a gruff male voice asked.

“Charlene Mack, I'm returning Mrs. Davenport's call from yesterday.”

“You wait just a minute.”

Charlie heard an animated conversation muffled by a hand, then the phone was thumped onto some hard surface. Charlie waited.

“Hi Ms. Mack, this is Betsy Davenport. Sorry. That was my husband. I've been getting a lot of calls from collection agencies.”

“I'm sorry to hear that Mrs. Davenport. I know identity theft is a real pain.”

“It's more than a pain. This person has been racking up bills in my name for a month. I don't understand how a person could do that to someone else.”

Charlie suddenly felt older than her years. She'd stopped being
surprised by malicious greed, disregard for life and the inhumanity of man a very long time ago.

“When you called last week you said you were referred to me?”

“Oh, yes. That's right, by Gloria Batiste.”

“Gloria Batiste?”

“Yes, she says she works at the building where your mother lives. I'm one of her teachers at the community college.”

“Oh of course. I
do
know Gloria; I saw her just today. So you think you want to undertake a private investigation of this matter?”

“I think so. Unless you talk me out of it.”

Charlie laughed. “Well, I hate to talk myself out of work, but let's think it through.”

Charlie listened to the efforts the woman had taken on her own behalf: phone calls to creditors, canceling credit cards, letters to the credit reporting agencies. Charlie made notes on a legal pad and asked a few questions.

In the outer office, Judy was talking to a visitor. The high and low undertones of the conversation wafted to the inner office but Charlie kept her focus on her caller's account of the embarrassment and inconvenience she had suffered. When Judy passed a note announcing the caller, Charlie gestured that she needed another five minutes.

“So your real goal is to get these charges expunged from your credit reports, is that right?”

“That's one goal. I've already filled out affidavits about the credit activity that isn't mine. For instance, there's a purchase of a 750cc motorcycle. A motorcycle of all things,” Davenport said with frustration. “The collection agency finally stopped badgering me, but the debt still shows on my credit report and I don't want it to affect my FICO.”

“Got it. So what are your other goals?”

“Well, I'd like to find the man, or maybe it's a woman, who's done this to me and beat the crap out of him.”

“You're kidding, right?”

“Sort of,” Mrs. Davenport said with exasperation.

Charlie explained it was probably more than one culprit making her life miserable, so as personally satisfying as a beat-down might
be, it was impractical. On the other hand, there were things the Mack agency actually could do to help her.

“We have an attorney on staff who specializes in this kind of work. He'll write letters, file legal documents, and badger the corporate entities into using their discretion to correct your records.”

“It would be a great relief to have this thing resolved.”

“Well, we'll see what we can do. I'll have someone work up a contract with proposed activity, costs and a timeline and email it to you. But it might take me a couple of days.”

Charlie ended the call, got up and entered the anteroom. She was about to ask Judy about the visitor when she spotted him sitting in a chair near the hallway door. He smiled at the shocked look on her face.

“Hi there. I bet you didn't expect to see
me
?”

Yusef was dressed like a fashionable businessman and he rose from his seat. It was a surreal moment and Charlie's brain executed a short volley of ping pong to make sense of seeing someone she connected with Birmingham, here in her Detroit office.

“Yusef, what are you doing here?”

“Well, actually my name isn't Yusef. It's James Hasani Saleh. I'm an agent with the FBI and I'm here to talk to you about Nathaniel Sparks.”

Judy was enthralled by the handsome man, whoever he was. She already had a warm spot in her heart for him because he had helped save Charlie's life. Charlie, on the other hand, was dumbfounded by the knowledge of Yusef's real identity and was trying to regain her equilibrium.

“What's your interest in Nate Sparks?” Judy asked.

The three sat in the conference room. Their guest had brought a small box of the Lebanese pastries Charlie liked and Judy had made fresh coffee.

“I've been undercover in Birmingham for more than two years working on a special task force. Nate is a person of interest in one of our cases.”

“What's your case about?” Charlie asked, warming her hands around her mug.

“Birmingham is a hub in an organized crime ring that has been moving all manner of stolen goods across state lines on the East Coast and in the South. They're distributing cigarettes, alcohol, baby formula, auto parts, even laundry detergent and using the profits to finance human trafficking.”

James paused to sip at his coffee. His hands were large with delicate fingers. His beard was neatly trimmed and his long, full hair had a thick curl. He had gray eyes, which Charlie hadn't noticed before, and he wore a small gold stud in his left ear. Charlie pondered how easy it was to observe but not really see the people we casually interact with day to day—the man who delivers the express mail, the lady behind the fast food counter, the young man who sells beer at the convenience store. We notice uniforms, name tags and even faces, sometimes, but we don't really
see
the person.

James picked up his story. “The stolen inventory scam at Reliable is a very small piece of the action in this syndicate. Nate Sparks' computer skills didn't go unnoticed and he was about to be recruited by the leaders of this syndicate for a bigger role, but we got to him first. He's cooperating with us now, monitoring the organization's online financial activity which will eventually help us close down the whole operation.”

“So when I started making calls about Nate you thought we'd . . .”

“We thought you might upset the whole apple cart, Ms. Novak.”

“Are you really Muslim?” Charlie asked in a total non sequitur.

“Yes. I'm part Egyptian and part English on my mother's side. I've chosen to practice Islam.”

“It must be difficult being a Muslim and an FBI agent,” Charlie said.

“It has its challenges,” James conceded.

“So you want us to back off Nate Sparks?”

“Yes, please.”

“I get that. But we were hoping he could confirm some information that will assist
our
case.”

“And
I
get
that.
Maybe I can be of assistance instead.”

“You know about our investigation?”

“Well, yes. We know quite a lot. We were obviously aware of Sparks' connection to the Stringers through his employment at Reliable. When Paul was murdered in Birmingham we thought it was hardly a coincidence. When you showed up at the store with photographs of Andrew Meadows and Joyce Stringer we naturally checked up on you. We know Abrams hired you to find Joyce.”

“Well, now there's a lot more to it than that.”

“I realize that,” James said cryptically.

Charlie was aware of the FBI's default position, which was to share as little information with outsiders as possible when their own interests were at stake. Charlie knew this firsthand from her experience at DHS. Since 9/11, there had been much more interagency cooperation but agents from DHS and the FBI were constantly stepping on each other's toes and posturing for the lead position on cases. James had little reason to open up to a private investigator, but Yusef might see it differently.