Grosse Pointe was one of those towns you grew up hating if you weren’t lucky enough to live there. It was the historical home to many of the richest people in the metropolitan area and the country. They even had the nerve to separate it into little kingdoms: Grosse Pointe Farms, Grosse Pointe Woods, Grosse Pointe Shores. Some wondered why they just didn’t call it Mount Olympus.
The Pointe was also just minutes outside of Detroit. A few miles in distance but a million in affluence, comfort, and power. Danny always felt one city mocked the other, like an old friend who has turned out more successful.
Danny and Erik zipped up Jefferson Avenue, watching the city fade from downtown’s urban renewal, into urban decay, then burst back into the affluence of the suburb.
Danny was playing a tune by a rapper named Trick Daddy. Erik turned it off and replaced it with the oldies station, which was belting out “Call Me” by Al Green.
“See,” said Erik. “Now, that’s music.”
As they left Detroit, Danny felt the city slip out of him. It was like someone peeling off a layer of skin. A city is like an extra set of cells in your body: heavy, and laden with dark forces. Going into the suburbs made you feel lighter, more human as it were, and Danny didn’t like that one bit. He was used to the heaviness of Detroit. It fit him like a suit of armor.
Soon, they were driving down a long, private road toward a large house that had a big circular driveway with several cars in it.
“Jesus, look at this place,” said Erik.
“Yeah,” said Danny. “I’m living the wrong life.”
“Looks like someone’s throwing a party.”
“Then we’re right on time.”
Danny felt himself tense as he thought about their upcoming interview. Danny always thought that anyone with too much money had to fuck somebody else out of it. That was the basic rule of American economics: the rich fed off the poor. This big house was built out of the lives of a million poor people who’d be shot on sight if they came here after dark. Or maybe he was just pissed because he dodged bullets for a living and couldn’t afford the sports package on cable.
Danny and Erik went up to the house and rang the doorbell. An elderly Latino man in a nice suit came to the door soon after. He had that pseudo-military gait that let you know he was a servant and proud of it.
“I’m Carlos,” he said. “You from the police?”
“Yes,” said Danny. “We need to speak to Mr. and Mrs. Long.”
“Follow me,” said Carlos. “I’ll let them know you’re here.”
Danny and Erik followed Carlos into the opulent mansion. Danny had a bad feeling inside. The smell of jasmine and floor cleaner filled his lungs. Clean, he thought. The place was clean, too clean. The only reason for this much clean is to hide the dirt, he mused.
They walked into a huge alcove with marble floors. The walls were covered with paintings, and there were sculptures and tapestries all around them.
Carlos led them into a living room area and Danny could hear voices from the party not far off. He readied himself.
Paul and Inez Long were the soul of affluence and they knew it. Mr. Long was tall, about six three, and Inez looked him right in the eyes in her heels. They were elegant and graceful and had that air about them that never let you forget they were loaded.
“Is this about the Bakers?” asked Paul. His voice was surprisingly high and feminine. For some reason, this made Erik smile a little.
“Yes,” Danny said. “We just need to ask you a few questions.”
“Terrible thing,” said Inez. “They were good people.”
“Please, we’re entertaining right now,” said Paul. “Let’s go into another room.”
Danny was about to ask about their guests and why they needed to be away from them, when one of them walked in. Danny looked over and saw a black man of medium build wearing a nicely tailored suit. He looked familiar, but he could not place him directly.
“Anything wrong?” asked the man. His voice was smooth and rich with bass.
“Hamilton,” said Paul. “These men are here about the Bakers.”
At the mention of the name “Hamilton” Danny knew who he was looking at. Hamilton Grace, the president of the NOAA, a large group of black political organizations. Danny had seen him in the papers and on TV. Now he knew why Paul Long was so nervous. Hamilton Grace meant power. Not the kind of guest you wanted to know that the cops had come calling about a corpse.
“Hamilton Grace,” he introduced himself. “You’re the police, I assume.”
“Yes, sir,” said Danny. “I’m Detective Cavanaugh and this is my partner, Erik Brown.”
“Detectives,” said Hamilton. “This is tragic. The Bakers were good friends of mine. If there’s anything I can do, please let me know.”
“We will, sir,” said Erik.
Danny detected a respect in his partner that had not been present with the Longs.
Hamilton whispered something urgently to the Longs, then excused himself and walked off.
“Hamilton and his sons were visiting,” said Paul. “They live close by. We wanted his sons to meet our daughter, Amy, but she flew the coop. Can’t blame her actually. Maybe parents shouldn’t meddle.”
Hamilton came back to the foyer with two young black men. One was well groomed and dressed in an elegant suit. The other was scraggly-looking and dressed in hip-hop gear: baggy pants, big shirt, and boots. He also had a stud in the side of his nose.
“We’ll come back soon,” said Hamilton. “Thank you for having us.”
“Thanks so much,” said the son in the suit, “and give my best to Amy.”
“Peace,” said the scraggly son, and he walked off. He was all attitude, Danny thought.
Paul followed Hamilton to the door, practically kissing his butt out of the house.
“Those are his sons?” asked Erik. “They don’t look anything alike.”
“Jordan’s adopted,” said Inez. “And he’s an exemplary young man. Logan is another story.”
Danny understood that Logan, the natural son, was the hip-hop kid. The adopted kid was the one in the suit.
“I’d be exemplary, too,” said Paul, “if my father was loaded like Hamilton.” His tone was very gossipy.
“Any reason you know of that someone would want the Bakers dead?” asked Danny, trying to get back to business.
“No,” said Paul quickly.
“We understand that you had recently had some bad business dealings with the Bakers,” said Erik.
“Surely, you don’t mean to suggest that we had anything to do with this?” said Mrs. Long.
“We just need to know the nature of the business in question,” said Danny. He didn’t want to digress.
“I don’t like this inquiry, Detective,” said Paul. “I’ll refer you to my lawyer.”
“You’re not under arrest,” said Danny. “And you don’t have to talk to us if you don’t want to. But people will wonder why. I know I would.”
“We had a fight,” said Paul with a sigh. Mrs. Long was about to say something, but he cut her off with a look. “We met the Bakers at a society function. Inez and I are originally from Atlanta. We moved here because Detroit’s coming back to life, and there are a lot of business opportunities. We hit it off with the Bakers and got into business together on an Internet deal.”
“What kind of Internet deal?” asked Erik.
“It was a company called New Nubia.com. It was a Web site that dealt in Afrocentric goods, art, books, everything. It went up a few years ago and posted strong sales. The Bakers got a lot of us in on the ground floor based on sales. We all bought equity in the company and were looking forward to an IPO next year. We were going to sell shares, cash out, and get a thousand times our investment. It looked like we were going to make millions.”
“But it didn’t turn out that way, did it?” asked Danny.
“No,” said Paul. “The company’s IPO was less than stellar.”
“It was a disaster,” added Inez angrily. “We lost a fortune.”
“Inez,” said Paul in a cautioning tone.
“There’s no sense in hiding it,” said Inez. “We got taken and they’re going to find out sooner or later.”
Danny and Erik kept quiet, each knowing to let the argument proceed naturally so they could get more information. When the Longs calmed down, Danny broke in.
“How much did you lose?” he asked.
Paul looked embarrassed for a second. It was obvious that he had pushed for the deal. Paul had fear in his eyes. He unconsciously shifted on his feet, looking down for a moment. “A couple of hundred thousand or so,” he said.
“Four hundred thousand,” corrected Inez.
Danny and Erik hid their shock at the number. It was lot of money even for people like the Longs.
“Were you angry about losing that kind of money?” asked Danny.
“Sure,” said Paul. “Who wouldn’t be? But when you check, you’ll see that there are people who lost a lot more. Millions ran through that company.”
“So where did the cash go?” asked Erik.
“We don’t know what they did with it, but it didn’t go into the company,” said Inez.
“Mr. Baker have any bad habits?” asked Danny. “Gambling, drugs, anything?”
“No,” said Inez quickly.
Paul was quiet and looked away from the detectives for a second.
“Something you wanna say, Mr. Long?” asked Danny, noticing his demeanor.
“No,” said Paul.
Danny and Erik caught his evasiveness and wanted to push him, but if they gave him too much time to think about it, he’d dig in and find an avenue around the information he was so obviously hiding.
“We can ask you to join us downtown, if you like,” said Danny.
“I told you all I know,” said Paul.
“Okay,” said Danny. “We’ll tell our boss what you’ve told us and he’ll say ‘go back.’ And we’ll come back here again and again until everyone around you thinks there’s some kinda bad shit going on. So, if you know anything, you’d better tell us, or the investigation will start to focus on you and that could get ugly.”
Paul looked even more upset now. Danny didn’t know a lot about rich folks, but he was sure that no one liked his friends to think ill of them. And Paul seemed like the twitchy type, the kind of man who’d wear a gas mask on the toilet, so he’d never know that his shit did in fact stink.
Erik caught Danny’s eye and gave him that look, that partner look that said, “Good job.” Danny smiled a little. Erik’s approval meant a lot to him.
Paul’s face showed defeat, but he had a smile on his lips. It stayed there for only a second, then it vanished into a flat line.
“He had a thing on the side,” said Paul.
“Mr. Baker had a lover?” asked Danny.
“I wouldn’t call it that,” said Paul. “She was a whore.” He said the word with more than a trace of disgust.
“Do you know her name?” Erik asked.
“Most certainly not,” said Mrs. Long.
“Xena,” said Paul without hesitation. This got him a look of shock, then pure evil from his wife.
“Like the TV show,” said Danny.
“TV show?” asked Paul.
“Never mind,” Danny said as Erik chuckled softly behind him. “Was she a call girl from a service?”
“No,” said Paul with a sly smile. “She was some girl he found on the street. Imagine that.” Paul straightened his back a bit, enjoying his gossip.
“And just how do you know John’s whore?” asked Mrs. Long. She had turned her body toward Paul and raised her hands to her hips.
“Inez, it was male talk,” said Paul.
“John told you the name of his hooker girlfriend? Some street tramp? I don’t think so.”
“He didn’t tell me. Charles Eastergoode told me, and I don’t know how he found out.”
“Judge Eastergoode?” asked Erik, recognizing the name.
Before Paul could answer, his wife was in his face. “And you never shared that with me? Why?” Inez raised an accusing finger in his direction.
“Yes, it was the judge,” said Paul, then he looked back at his wife.
The couple was headed for a nasty argument, and as much as Danny and Erik wanted to watch it, they had to get back to the job. They had business with the forensic lab.
“Thanks for the information,” said Danny. The Longs stopped arguing and looked at the detectives as if they had just walked up.
The couple turned back into congenial hosts and quickly had Carlos escort Danny and Erik out of paradise and to their car. They drove out of the private road, leaving the mansion behind.
“So, what do you think?” asked Erik.
“I think I need to play the lotto tonight,” said Danny. “This company, the New Nubia, had to have records. We get them, and I say we got us a list of suspects.”
“Yeah, if I lost that kinda cash, I might have killed their asses, too.”
“Or paid someone to do it,” Danny added.
“Right,” said Erik. “These kinda folks don’t get their hands dirty.”
Danny glanced out at the Detroit River rushing by them as they headed back into the city. Soon the river would disappear and only the urban sprawl would be in their view.
“Man, a lot of times I wonder what it feels like to be rich,” said Erik. “You know, you see some shit, you want it, you just buy it and not once even think of how much it cost. Me, I buy a Tic Tac, and I automatically deduct from my retirement.”
“It’s probably not a lot different from being poor.”
“Bull—shit,” said Erik, taking a pause between the words. “You been watching too much TV where they want you to think rich folks are all sad and fucked up, crying and shit. ‘Poor me I got so much money and it’s killin’ me,’” he mimicked crying. “In real life, they’re happy, drunk, fuckin’, and laughing at your poor ass.”
Danny laughed at Erik’s assessment. He had a way of reducing things to their common denominators that was amazingly fast and always right. In his head, Danny saw the Longs laughing, screwing, and drinking from large bottles of liquor.
Just as quickly, Erik was back to business. “Those people, the Longs,” he said. “They suspect something, but I don’t think they even know what it is.”
“Yeah, I got that,” said Danny. “But it could be they’re just two scared-ass people. I’m sure this kind of thing don’t happen a lot in their lives. I just wonder what kind of person did it.”
“What kind?” Erik sounded curious.
“Well, the Bakers had money, so let’s say someone hired a man to kill them. Your average killer for hire comes in two basic types. The lowlife muthafucka who’ll whack you over the head for a high, and the pro who’ll cap your ass with a silenced pistol, then make it look like a burglary. Our murderer was neither. He was angry, but he was also clean and planned out. Maybe he’s crazy, but he’s not a fool.”
“And what about this alleged ho Mr. Baker was seeing?” asked Erik.
“Shouldn’t be hard to find her, although the name Xena is obviously fake. All the girls use them.”
“You seem to know a lot of hos, my brother,” said Erik with a smile.
“I know a few, professional and not.” Danny laughed.
“I got a boy in Vice,” said Erik. “I’ll get him on it. Shoot, he knows every hooker from here to Argentina.”
They drove out of Grosse Pointe back into Detroit via Jefferson Avenue. As the brightness of the suburb gave way to Detroit, Danny could feel the hardness of the city slowly creep back into him, filling him up.