Wake Me When It's Over Read online

  Table of Contents

  Titlepage

  Cast of Characters

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  About the Author

  Catch Me When I’m Falling Preview

  Acknowledgments

  Copyright

  About Bywater

  “Got nowhere to run to, baby

  Nowhere to hide.”

  Nowhere to Run

  Martha and the Vandellas

  Brian Holland, Lamont Dozier, Edward Holland Jr.

  Motown Records

  1965

  Cast of Characters

  Charlene “Charlie” Mack

  Partner in Mack Investigations,

  a Detroit-based Private Investigations firm

  Don Rutkowski

  Partner in Mack Investigations, former police officer,

  and Homeland Security trainer

  Gil Acosta

  Partner in Mack Investigations, attorney,

  and former Marine

  Judy Novak

  Office Manager, Mack Investigations

  Hoyt Timbermann, Lin Fong, Carter Bernstein, Josh Simms

  Mack Investigations freelancers

  Scott Hartwell, Irwin Cross, Tommy Kozol, Oscar Acosta

  Board of the Detroit Auto Dealers Association (DADA)

  Mr. Kwong, Amy Wu, Yu Chenglei

  Guí Motors employees

  Geoff Heinrich

  CEO, Spectrum Security

  Cynthia Fitzgerald

  Operations Director, Spectrum Security

  Bernard Dudiyn

  Spectrum Security employee

  Tyson Pressley

  Cobo Center Communications Staff,

  liaison to the Mack partners on the Auto Show case

  Elise Hillman

  Cobo Center Director of Food Services

  Dennis Calhoun

  Cobo Center Facilities Supervisor

  Garry Jones

  Cobo Center Food Services Supervisor

  Tony Canterra

  Senior Agent, Department of Homeland Security (DHS)

  liaison to the Mack partners on the Auto Show case

  Jim Routledge

  Assistant Regional Director, Department of

  Homeland Security (DHS)

  Mandy Porter

  Grosse Pointe Park police officer, freelancer on Cobo case,

  and Charlie’s lover

  Chapter 1

  Thursday, December 29, 2005

  Charlie wore three layers of clothing and thick socks, but it was all she could do to keep from shivering. Gil slumped unmoving in the driver’s seat; a knit hat covered his ears, and his hands were pushed deeply into the pockets of a four-hundred-dollar parka. No doubt his military training helped him in this kind of situation. They were parked on a narrow residential street in Ferndale after following the subject of their surveillance to a house across the street from their position.

  “Aren’t you cold?” Charlie asked.

  “Of course, but it doesn’t do any good to talk about it. Judy told you to pack those hand warmers.”

  “My hands are fine. It’s my toes and legs I think I’ll have to leave behind. You got any Navy Seal tricks on how to stay warm?”

  “I do, but since we don’t have access to steaming animal entrails, I guess we’ll have to man up.”

  Detroit was in a deep freeze-thaw cycle. Each day, the sun melted huge piles of snow into dirty mush mounds, which at nightfall froze into depressing, otherworldly ice sculptures. The house they watched had grimy half-walls of snow on each side of a short driveway, where the subject’s late-model sedan was parked behind another vehicle.

  Charlie aimed warm breath at the window, then cleared a circle in the condensation to peer out. “How long have we been sitting here?”

  Gil tapped a gloved finger on the dashboard clock. “Fifty minutes and counting. Did you get enough pictures of the house?”

  “Yep, and I got a few shots of her getting out of the car and going into the house.”

  “By the way, there’s a lady in the house behind me who’s peeking at us through her drapes,” Gil announced.

  Charlie turned to look. “I don’t see her.”

  “She’s looked out at least three times that I’ve noticed.”

  “We should probably move the car soon. We don’t want her to call the police.”

  “Given the city’s budget, I doubt they’ll bother with a loitering call.”

  Charlene Mack Private Investigations had been hired to keep an eye on a runaway daughter who had taken up with an older man. It was a small case, not the kind the agency liked to handle, but the client was paying the going rate, with a deposit up front, and the end of the year was always their least busy time.

  Seventeen-year-old Jennifer Cashin suddenly appeared on the porch, followed by a man wearing a blue hoodie and a bulky, black jacket. He supported Jennifer’s elbow as she made her way down the steps.

  “That must be our guy,” Gil said, sitting upright.

  Charlie pulled out the camera and snapped three quick pictures. “Damn, these are no good; the windshield has a glaze of ice.”

  Gil hit the down button on the passenger window, and Charlie quickly stuck her head out the vehicle, lifting the camera in time to catch the pair in a long embrace. Jennifer started the car and began backing out of the driveway.

  “Should we stay with her?” Gil asked.

  “Yeah, we better. We’re on the clock for two more hours.”

  The man looked their way, shouted something to the girl, and pointed at their car.

  “Uh oh. We’ve been spotted,” Charlie said. “Let’s get over there.”

  Charlie and Gil jumped from the car together, but Jennifer was already moving and her face was a pale blur as she sped past them. The guy took off running in the opposite direction.

  “I’ll stay with him,” Charlie shouted. “You follow her.”

  “You sure?”

  “Yes. Go. If she gets to the freeway, we may lose her.”

  “Be careful,” Gil hollered over his shoulder.

  Charlie ran in the middle of the street to the corner where she leaped atop a snow mound, and caught a glimpse of the man she was chasing. She darted back into the street holding up her hand in apology to a driver who pumped his horn. The sidewalks and streets were dry, ashy gray from heavy salting, but the layers of clothing slowed her down. She was grateful she’d worn her sneakers instead of boots, and thankful for her daily mornings at the gym.

  Ahead, the man was beginning to lose steam. Most people could do a quick dash, but when it came to a distance run, stamina was key. He’d begun to look over his shoulder which was a time waster, and then he turned into an alley. Charlie followed, slowing her pace a few steps in. Then stopping to gauge her next move.

  The alley was narrow, a dead end, and the high-rises on either side blocked most of the light. A truck idled on the left, and halfway into the alley on the right, melting snow and natural light poured from a space between the buildings. The runner was nowhere in sight. Charlie didn’t usually carry her gun, and today was no exception. She pulled her ID from her back pocket, zipped her jacket to the neck, and hugged the wall of the alley as she inched forward. She reached the truck, but no one was visible in the cab, so she crept to the rear where a worker was stacking boxes of lettuce onto the tailgate. She displayed her PI credentials, but without even glancing at them, he pointed in the direction of the alcove.

  Charlie had n
o authority to detain, or apprehend this man she was chasing, but she did need to speak with him. She stopped and scanned the surroundings. It was a small loading area— empty except for the piles of snow around its perimeter. Iron steps on the left and a concrete ramp on the right led to a dock and the freight elevator. The young man huddled under the steps in a vain attempt to hide.

  “You’re not in trouble,” Charlie said loudly. “I just want to talk to you.”

  “Are you the police?” he asked.

  Charlie knew her answer would take the conversation to a different level. “No, Sal, I’m a private investigator.”

  The boyfriend peeked his head out from his crouching space. He sized up Charlie who held out her ID with her left hand, and kept her right hand at her waist so he’d think she had a weapon. After fifteen seconds, he stood erect, his hands by his side. He was about six-foot-one. She knew he was a runner, but maybe he was also a fighter.

  “You know my name? Did Mr. Cashin send you?”

  “He’s my client. He wants to meet with you and Jennifer.”

  “Where’s the guy that was with you?”

  Charlie pondered the motive of the question, and stashed her ID. “Guarding the entrance to the alley.”

  “Hmm. I don’t think that’s true,” Sal said taking a few steps toward Charlie. “I think maybe he went after Jenny.”

  Charlie assessed the boy. He was lanky, handsome, with curly, brown hair. He was trying to look menacing, but couldn’t pull it off.

  “Salvatore, let me tell you something. I’m not going to chase you anymore, and I don’t want to hurt you.”

  The boy chuckled at the suggestion, and took another step closer. Charlie put her hands on her hips, and the posture stopped him in his tracks. Charlie watched the boy weigh his chances to overpower her.

  “You have nothing to lose by coming with me and having a conversation with Jenny’s dad. I can see you’re not a bad kid, but Jenny is only seventeen, and her father has a right to bring his daughter home.”

  “We tried talking to him,” the boy said. “He hates me.”

  “How old are you?” Charlie asked.

  “I just turned twenty-one.” His eyes pleaded for understanding. “I know Jenny is young, but we love each other. We want to get married.”

  “I don’t doubt that, Sal.”

  “Do you know, he threatened to have me arrested?” The boy’s hands began to shake, so he shoved them into the pockets of his jeans. “For rape.”

  “I think Mr. Cashin regrets saying that,” Charlie said. “Now he just wants his daughter home.”

  “How do I know you’re telling the truth?”

  The Dodge minivan pulled to the curb, and Charlie hopped into the passenger seat.

  “Where’s the guy? Did he get away?” Gil asked.

  “He’s gone.”

  “Gone where?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  Charlie and Gil shared a look. They had been recruited together to Immigration and Naturalization services from their law school and, later, had resigned together from Homeland Security, troubled by the agency’s profiling tactics. Gil merged into traffic and made an illegal U-turn that pointed the minivan in the direction of their downtown office.

  “What did Cashin say when you dropped off Jennifer?”

  “He barely spoke to her. He asked me about Sal, and about his car.”

  “She didn’t bring back the car?”

  “I forced her off the road and made her get into the van. The girl is terrified by the whole situation, I feel kinda sorry for her.”

  “Yeah. I know what you mean.” Charlie stared out the window.

  “What?” Gil’s tone revealed he already knew the answer.

  “Hmm?”

  “You let Sal go, didn’t you?”

  “He’s just a kid. A student. They’re in love.”

  “Right. And you let the guy go.”

  When they arrived at their three-room office suite, Judy was packing up for the day. She had a commute to Livonia where she lived with her husband of thirty years, and three of her five children.

  “You were right about the hand warmers,” Gil said, passing Judy’s desk in the reception area.

  “Nobody ever listens to me,” Judy said, feigning hurt feelings.

  “I listen to you, Novak,” Don hollered from the inner office.

  “You least of all, Rutkowski,” Judy hollered in return. She stopped Charlie for a question.

  “So did you guys find the girl?”

  “We found her,” Charlie said.

  “What about the older man?”

  “He wasn’t that old.”

  “So you caught them both. We can bill for another eight hours, right?”

  “Uh huh. Maybe. It’s a bit complicated. I hate these stalking assignments,” Charlie announced.

  “Yeah, well at least on this case, you’re doing the stalking, and not the other way around.”

  Judy’s point was well made. Only a few months ago, while investigating a missing person case in Alabama, Charlie had been followed by a murderer who cold-cocked her and left her for dead in an empty lot. It was only luck, and Judy’s knack with phone ringtones, that had saved Charlie.

  “Oh, and we got a call today from someone at the auto dealers association. Don took the call. He says we may have a new case.”

  “I hope it doesn’t involve following anyone’s wife, mistress, or boyfriend.”

  “How was the surveillance?” Don asked, his feet propped on his desk.

  “Cold.”

  “Didn’t you take the hand warmers, Mack?”

  “The next person to mention those damned hand warmers is fired.”

  The four-person agency bore Charlie’s name because she was the principal investor. But things were actually much more egalitarian. Now, into the second year of their business, they had a reputation for hard work and good results. Like Gil, Charlie had met Don at DHS where he was a trainer. Judy had been inherited from the previous occupants of their office, and had made herself invaluable by managing their administrative work with the ferocity of a mother cougar. The agency’s success was built on their diverse experience, networks and mutual respect for each other.

  “What did the auto dealers want?” Charlie asked.

  “DADA called us?” Gil looked up from his desk with interest.

  Gil’s uncle was a respected member of the Detroit Auto Dealers Association, and owned three car dealerships in the metro area. Gil had been a top salesman for his uncle on and off for a dozen years, and still benefited from the relationship by driving the latest model car every year.

  “Their executive board wants to see us. They have a problem of a sensitive nature and want a private meeting,” Don reported.

  “What do they mean by private?” Gil asked.

  “They don’t want us to reveal that we’re meeting with them.”

  “And what’s their problem?” Charlie asked.

  “There was a murder last week at Cobo Hall. A Chinese national. The police say it was a robbery gone bad. DADA thinks there might be more to it.”

  “Why do they think so?” Gil asked.

  “The dead guy was a member of the advance team for a Chinese auto exhibitor. The Chinese have a delegation at the auto show for the first time this year.”

  “When do they want to meet?” Charlie asked, looking at her calendar.

  “Tomorrow, and they want to come here.”

  “Well, give them a call and tell them to come sometime after lunch,” Charlie said.

  “I already told them two o’clock would work,” Don said, stacking the papers on his desk.

  “Okay. That means we need to finish up our paperwork tonight,” Charlie said to Gil. “If we get the info on the Ferndale house early enough, I’ll include that in the report, then drive out to Cashin’s place tomorrow morning and give him the photos and the report, and close out the case.”

  “Works for me. Hand me the camera. I’m goi
ng to start downloading those pictures,” Gil said.

  “Should I make a pot of coffee before I leave, folks?” Judy asked from the door.

  “No. Go on home. Gil and I will order in dinner if we have to.”

  “Okay. Good luck. Call me at home if you need anything.”

  Ernestine had visited the art museum earlier in the day, traveling on a bus with her building’s seniors club dubbed the WOLF pack, short for Wild, Old Ladies on Foot. They met weekly for a group walk and once a month for a bus outing. She looked forward to these activities because they gave her a chance to dress up, socialize, and leave her apartment. Charlie looked forward to the outings, because they gave her mother the opportunity to flex her short-term memory muscles.

  “How was the museum today, Mom?”

  “I already told you, the new exhibit is not my cup of tea.”

  “I know. But what didn’t you like about it?”

  Mandy was in the kitchen making tea for the three of them. She peeked around the corner to give Charlie a look of chastisement.

  “I’m sorry if I’m nagging. I’m just interested in what you do with your days.”

  “What you mean, Charlene, is that you’re concerned about my dementia.”

  Ernestine rarely mentioned her disease. She’d been a respected high school principal and civic activist, but the diagnosis of early-onset Alzheimer’s was affecting her lifestyle and outlook.

  “Do you guys want me to leave?” Mandy asked carrying out a tray.

  “No. I want you to stay,” Ernestine said. “I have something to say to both of you.”

  They gathered around Ernestine’s dining-room table. It was stacked with books and newspaper articles she’d clipped to share with friends. She was still a stunning woman. Her softly curled, salt-and-pepper hair complemented high cheekbones, clear brown eyes, and a complexion that defied her sixty-three years of age. She cupped her mug of ginger-spice tea, blew at the steam, then pointed to one of the books on the table.