Warn Me When It's Time Read online

  “We’ve identified the student who likely sent the threats to Mr. Pashia,” Charlie began. “We think he’s also the person who wrote the graffiti at the mosque.”

  “Who is it?” Coleman asked.

  “His name is Robert Christopher Barrett.”

  James and Coleman looked at each other. “That’s the name Wyatt gave us. He’s called Robbie, and Wyatt says the kid was the bomber at the mosque.”

  “Do you believe Wyatt?” Don asked.

  “Some on the task force are ready to make a deal with Mr. Wyatt, but I’m not so sure,” James said. “He’s definitely involved with an extremist group. They call themselves the White Turks. We’ve been able to make that connection through his computer and phone, but I think he’s railroading the Barrett kid.”

  “What do you think, Commander?” Charlie asked.

  “Whether he’s railroading the boy or not may be irrelevant. Wyatt’s given us what we think is credible information about another attack. I’m more concerned with that right now.”

  “What’s he saying?” Charlie asked.

  “He says there’s to be an attack on a Black church and a temple,” Coleman said. “A planned simultaneous action involving incendiaries.”

  “Doesn’t that seem like a quick escalation?” Don asked. “I mean the first casualty in these incidents was at the mosque, and it looks like that might have been something personal. All the other events were just property damage.”

  “Wyatt says some of the members want to make a dramatic statement about their disdain for President Obama,” James said. “That’s been the game changer for some of these dudes.”

  “We’re pretty sure Barrett is your guy for the mosque. At least for the graffiti,” Don said. “And we think there’s enough evidence that you could pick him up for questioning.”

  “What kind of evidence?” Coleman asked.

  “Copies of the threat notes sent to Pashia with the same misspellings that are on the mosque walls. Plus a direct connection with Professor Pashia—Barrett was one of his students. There are also his social media rants about immigrants, and guns, and taking back America.”

  “That’s circumstantial,” Coleman responded.

  “We also think Robbie might be the biker who shows up on the security tapes,” Charlie added.

  “What biker?” Coleman asked James.

  “The Mack team spotted a bicyclist on the security tapes the day of the bombing, and in an earlier tape stopping across the street from the mosque,” James said.

  “Why hadn’t I heard about that?”

  James began an explanation, but Charlie interrupted.

  “You can’t see the biker’s face, but if we can prove Robbie owns a bike, that adds to the case against him. We’re compiling a list of the bicycle shops in the area, and hoping the task force might have the personnel to call and ask if they’ve sold Barrett a bike.”

  “I’ll find someone to make the calls,” James said, writing a note. He looked up at the Commander. “Sorry about not passing on the info about the biker. It just came up.”

  “What else do you have?” Coleman asked.

  “There’s the bicycle clip Don found at the tree near the mosque,” Charlie said. “Did you find any prints?”

  James flashed another I’m sorry look at Coleman. “We found a few partial prints on the clip, and the discarded gum wrapper.”

  “Once you have Barrett in custody, you can compare the prints,” Don said.

  “Yep.”

  “What about Wyatt’s attack tip?” Charlie asked. “What are you doing about that?”

  “He claims he’s a player in the upcoming attacks. He’ll give us names and more details if he gets a deal.”

  “How is he involved. What’s his role?” Don asked.

  “Securing materials for the improvised explosive devices,” the Commander answered.

  “But then he claims he wasn’t the demolition guy at the mosque?” Don asked incredulously.

  “That’s why we have our doubts about him,” James said.

  “You’re not letting him go back into the group, are you?” Don asked.

  “We’re considering the deal proposal. I don’t see how we can put one of our guys in, so late in the game,” the Commander said. “We’d have people nearby to watch Wyatt.”

  Charlie, Don, and Judy folded their arms.

  “I can see from your postures you don’t agree,” James said. “But the clock is ticking. If Wyatt’s people don’t hear from him soon, they’ll suspect something’s gone wrong.”

  “Did he tell you why he was sent to attack Charlie?” Don asked.

  “He said higher-ups were aware she was asking questions about them, and they wanted to know what she knew.”

  “What if we made Robbie our informer?” Charlie asked out of left field.

  “What?” the Commander said leaning toward the camera.

  “He’s young, maybe on the path to being self-radicalized, but as far as we know all he’s done is write some badly spelled threats to his teacher, and spray-painted dirty words in a place of worship. He’s pissed off that he doesn’t have a better lot in life and he’s blaming Black and Brown and Muslim people for his lack of success. But I’m guessing he’s relatively new to all this domestic terrorism stuff. If he knows we’re aware of what he’s done, and that Wyatt is blaming him for the bomb that killed his teacher, it’ll shake him. And if he understands these guys plan to really hurt some people in their next attack, maybe he’ll think twice about what he’s doing,” Charlie said.

  “Yeah. Plus, we can tell this Barrett guy his skinny white ass will go to prison if he doesn’t help us,” Don added.

  James and the Commander locked eyes. Coleman shrugged.

  “We’ll give it some thought,” James said. “Meanwhile, we’ll work on getting a warrant for his arrest.”

  “Since we think we’ve got our man, that takes us off the case,” Don announced.

  “I’ll set up a time to visit with the Pashias and let them know we’ve turned over our leads to you,” Charlie said to James.

  “We’d appreciate it if you didn’t ID this guy to the family yet. We’d hate to have his name get out before we’ve had a chance to detain him.”

  “Of course,” Charlie said. “By the way, any idea who’s responsible for the task force leak?”

  “That’s something else we wanted to speak with you about,” Coleman said glancing at James. “We’re not so sure the leak is coming from inside.”

  “Where else would it be?” Don said.

  “Have you spoken to anyone else about working on the case?” the Commander asked.

  “Only the Pashia family,” Charlie said. “Don also talked to a couple of guys he knows at DPD.”

  “We also met with the HR person at the college,” Judy reminded Charlie.

  “Right. I forgot about her.”

  “What’s her name?” James asked.

  “Roberta Suttles,” Judy answered.

  James and Coleman made notes on the pads in front of them.

  “We only started our supplemental interviews yesterday,” Charlie said. “We haven’t discussed the case with many others.”

  “What about family members?” Coleman asked. “Did any of you speak to them about the mosque bombing?”

  “What are you implying?” Charlie asked angrily.

  “It’s just a question.”

  “Why? Because you think the leak couldn’t come from inside?”

  “Ms. Mack, we know your, uh, domestic partner works at a suburban force. Someone suggested that maybe information was shared during bedroom talk. You know. It happens,” Coleman said.

  Don and Judy leaned toward Charlie in a show of support. Judy quickly wrote something on her notepad and pushed it in front of Charlie.

  “Commander,” Judy said in an icy tone. “There are people at DPD who don’t care for Charlie. They believe she’s made them look bad in the past.”

  “. . . and peo
ple on your damn task force who resent that we’ve been asked to investigate this case,” Don added.

  “As I said, it’s a question, not an accusation. Any of us might casually talk about a high-profile case. Sometimes people repeat things they’ve heard. It’s not done to harm the investigation, but . . .”

  James quickly insinuated himself into the conversation. “We’re not in a position to make any accusations, but we’ve handpicked the people on this task force. They’re seasoned professionals and influential in their individual organizations. It would be very disappointing if the leak had come from any one of them. That being said, we’re following a line of inquiry that we can’t talk about right now.”

  They said good-byes with faked politeness, and Judy disconnected the Skype call. She got up to pour a cup of coffee.

  “I’ll take one, Novak,” Don said.

  Judy poured for Don and jiggled the carafe toward Charlie who shook her head.

  “Better not. I’m wired enough.”

  “You were good, Mack. You kept your cool. We don’t need to further alienate the DPD,” Don said.

  “Whatever.”

  Charlie looked down at Judy’s note. Who does that bitch think she is? It had really helped. Charlie shifted into manager mode.

  “Judy, please call Amina Pashia and set up a time for me to see her on Monday. I’m going to start the final case report today. Don, I know you don’t want me out of sight during this case, but I need a serious workout tonight, and you don’t have to babysit me.”

  “Okay, Mack. But just let one of us know when you get home.”

  # # #

  Charlie spent a couple of days each month working to maintain her fourth-degree black belt skills in Taekwondo. She enjoyed both the physical and mental aspects of the practice and the discipline it required. She’d had her own martial arts school for several years, but now she enjoyed occasional teaching and mastering the techniques of other disciplines, like Aikido, which helped with balance, flexibility, and how to fall. Both disciplines made her a lethal threat in a physical fight.

  Tonight, she’d taught a class of black belts striving to become instructors. In the last hour at the dojang she’d practiced one-step sparring with another black belt, executing attack and defense foot drills.

  By the time she looked at her phone, she saw she’d missed a call from her mother’s facility, and three from Mandy.

  “What’s wrong?” Charlie asked before Mandy could say anything.

  “It’s Ernestine. She’s had a fall. She’s in Henry Ford Hospital. I’m here now. Are you finished with your training?”

  “I just finished. I can be there in twenty minutes. What happened?”

  “I don’t know exactly. Mr. Constantine called our home number. He’s here with me in the waiting room. Ernestine apparently climbed a step stool and lost her balance. The good news is she was alert by the time the ambulance came.”

  “Did she break anything?”

  “Mr. Constantine said the lady EMT didn’t seem to think so. He rode in the ambulance with your mom. He said she asked for you all the way to the hospital.”

  # # #

  Charlie had spent time in Henry Ford Hospital’s emergency room not long ago, when her ex-husband had been shot by unknown assailants in one of the most uncomfortable cases of her PI career. Today she rushed through the sliding doors, anxious and out of breath. She spotted Mandy at a row of chairs against the wall. Next to her a gray-haired white man with a thin mustache and tortoise-shell glasses slumped in his seat. They both looked worried, and Mandy pointed in Charlie’s direction when she saw her.

  “How is she?” Charlie asked, walking into Mandy’s embrace.

  “We don’t have any word yet. This is Mr. Constantine,” Mandy said, introducing the man, who was now on his feet. He wore a white collared shirt and khaki pants. He and Charlie were about the same height.

  “Gabriel. Gabe,” he said extending his hand. “Charlene. I’m sorry to meet under these circumstances.”

  “Same here, and you can call me Charlie.” She stared into his gray eyes. “Can you tell me what happened? How she fell?”

  “It happened so fast. I ordered food for our brunch tomorrow. Salads, sandwiches, and chips. Some sausage and cheese. Ernie and I went shopping yesterday to get chorizo. She says that’s one of your favorites.”

  Charlie nodded and tightened her squeeze on Mandy’s hand.

  “Anyway, Ernie wanted a platter for the sandwiches, and it’s in that cupboard over the refrigerator.” He spoke with his hands gesturing, and now they dropped. He picked up the story again but more slowly. “I told her I’d get the platter, but she insisted she could do it. She said she didn’t want to be treated like an old lady.” Again, his hands fell to his sides and his chin to his chest.

  “She tells me that all the time,” Charlie said.

  “Well, she pulled out the stool she keeps in the corner and put it in front of the refrigerator, ready to climb. So I stood next to her to make sure she was steady. I think what she did was to grip the freezer door as she got to the top shelf, because the door swung open and she fell away from me. I was kind of able to catch hold of her, but she got her foot caught on the stool.” Gabe took off his glasses and wiped at his eyes. “If I’d been standing on the other side, I might have caught her, I think.”

  “The good thing is she didn’t hit her head,” Mandy added.

  “That’s right,” he said. “If she’d fallen all the way, she’d have hit her head on the counter. She was in pain, and she twisted her left ankle, so I didn’t try to move her. I just called the EMTs. They were there in fifteen minutes. Gloria from the front desk came up with them and she said she was going to call you, Charlie, but I thought somebody should ride to the hospital with her.”

  “I’m grateful you did.”

  The emergency room was on full Friday-evening boogie. Those bleeding were given top priority and were whisked through the inner doors to examining rooms. Police officers came in and out, sometimes with handcuffed prisoners. The front desk nurses were both intake and triage experts. There was a medium-level din of noise in the room, which, once you adjusted to the decibels, you could just ignore.

  Charlie and Gabe took the time together to talk a bit about themselves, and a lot about Ernestine. He was a widower of almost six years, with two adult children living on the West Coast. He’d worked in corporate communications in the Upper Peninsula for twenty years before retiring earlier in the year.

  “I love the U.P.,” Charlie said. “I don’t get to visit very often. I also ran a PR firm for many years here in Detroit.”

  “Yes, your mother told me. I’m sure we were at some of the same conferences over the years.”

  When the inner doors opened, all eyes turned toward the swooshing sound. This time it was an ER doctor pushing Ernestine in a wheelchair. Charlie, Mandy and Gabe ran to her.

  “Are you all right, Mom?”

  “Yes. Yes. Fine. I have a sprained ankle. Dr. Markle wrapped it nice and tight. It doesn’t even hurt anymore.”

  “I also gave her a painkiller,” the doctor said, handing Charlie the discharge papers. “When it wears off, she’ll have some discomfort, but there’s a prescription there.” The doctor put both hands on Ernestine’s shoulders. “And Mrs. Mack is to stay off that ankle for a week.”

  The front desk had several wheelchairs, and Charlie signed one out for the rest of the week. Then a hospital attendant helped lift Ernestine into the front seat of Mandy’s sedan. Gabe got into the backseat. Charlie followed behind in her Corvette. When they got Ernestine into the apartment, Charlie and Gabe stayed with her while Mandy went off to get the prescription filled.

  After Ernestine had a cup of tea and two cookies in front of her, Gabriel announced he was leaving. “I hope we can still do brunch tomorrow. I can take care of all the preparations. If Ernie is feeling up to it.”

  “Oh, I’ll feel just fine,” Ernestine said cheerily. “I’m sorry to pu
t everybody to so much trouble.”

  “It was no trouble at all.” Gabe patted Ernestine’s shoulder. “I’ll call you first thing in the morning to see if you need anything.” He waved his good-bye.

  Charlie turned to her mother. She decided she wouldn’t fuss at her about climbing on the footstool. They’d already argued about that before. Ernestine looked at Charlie over the rim of her cup. She looked tired, but pretty, wearing small gold earrings and a dark turtleneck.

  “I think it’s better to postpone tomorrow’s brunch. You should rest that ankle like the doctor said.”

  “All right, Charlene. I’ll call Gabe to let him know. Maybe we can do next weekend.”

  Charlie nodded. “It’s a good thing he was here.”

  “He’s nice, isn’t he?”

  “Yes, he seems to be,” Charlie responded. “Oh, and what’s this Ernie business?”

  Chapter 12

  For what Charlie knew would be the last time, she parked in the Pashias’ driveway. Amina opened the door, and escorted her to the family room where her mother was already waiting.

  “You have news for us, Ms. Mack?” Jawaria asked.

  “I do. We’ve found the young man responsible for the threatening notes sent to your husband. We also have evidence that he was at the mosque the night your husband died.”

  Amina held her mother’s hand, and they sat quietly for nearly a minute. Mrs. Pashia kept her eyes closed. When she opened them, they were wet, but she remained stoic.

  “You have evidence?”

  “We’ve provided the evidence to the hate crimes task force . . .”

  “And to Mr. James Saleh?” Jawaria asked.

  “Yes. Directly to him. Amina, we believe it’s one of the students who attended your father’s study sessions.”

  “Do you have a photo?”

  “Yes. I can show you a photo, though I can’t provide you his name. The FBI plans to arrest him soon.”

  “What is the delay?” Amina asked.

  “They must get a properly signed warrant and organize a plan to arrest him. He didn’t act alone and is probably not the man who actually planted the bombs. But he was there with the bomber and was the person who defaced the prayer room.”