Blue Water Dead by Stephen M. Goodrum

Part I

THE BAIT

Chapter 3

Tuesday Noon

Pat Sandy Sandelen took a walk up Baubien Street from the Renaissance Center on the Detroit River, now the new General Motors International Headquarters, to the aging, dirty stone building of the Detroit Police Department. Even though it was a hot, steamy day, he wanted to check his wire taps on a Mafia informant at the Eastside Precinct, and he wanted to look into the eyes of the detective that was checking it. When he arrived, as usual, the unit pretty much ignored him, either from jealousy for his current cushy position, or out of bad blood from some past unsolved case that he had closed. When he asked about the taps, he was told there was nothing new. Same ol’ shit.

He had needed a break from the non-stop committee meetings on the security to be put in place for the upcoming Super Bowl in February. His six foot five, linebacker frame needed a walk after sitting all morning. He needed something to spice up the day. Consulting on security wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. After being a Detroit street cop, then detective with Drug Enforcement, making busts no matter who it was, earning him a snub from the then DPD chief, and now DP liaison with Homeland Security, sitting around on your ass hearing the drone of GM suits was mind numbing. If this was the way they built cars, it was no wonder the Japanese were beating them at their own game.

On his way back to his temporary office at GM, he stopped at a restaurant in the Atheneum Hotel for a spicy barbecue lunch. Greektown, the home of Greek restaurants, bars and Trapper’s Alley, a collection of take out, art, clothes and T-Shirt vendors, was now the home of one of the three casinos in town. It was part of the entertainment circle that surrounded Detroit’s business district.

Detroit, a French settlement, was built on a street template modeled after Paris, with avenues radiating out from rectangles, a wheel hub-and-spoke design that Washington D.C. duplicated. The hub is located a few blocks north of the Detroit River at a park called Campus Martius. This is the point of origin for the city’s coordinate system of streets. The inner hub contains the business district with buildings named Cadillac, Guardian, GM, Ford and Compuware. The next circle houses the bars, restaurants and the casino-hotels with the names of Greektown, MGM and Motor City; theaters called Century, Fox, Fisher, Gem, and State; and ballparks Comerica, Joe Louis and Ford Field. Like the progress of civilization, after business and recreation comes the educational and cultural layer: Wayne State University, the museums: DIA, Historical, Science, and African-American History; and the teaching medical hospitals of The Henry Ford and The DMC, Detroit Medical Center. What follows are pockets of old mansions and then the directional grid of old stable neighborhoods and overly documented boarded-up and vacant blocks of middle class housing.

Sitting back at his desk on the tenth floor of the Ren-Cen overlooking the Detroit River, he felt his cell phone vibrate on his belt. He saw that he had missed a call from Vincent Hardesty and he’d left a voicemail. Please be something other than another meeting. He dialed his voicemail.

“Hey, it’s Vince. I need your help with a couple of my guys. Give me a call.”

Thank God. Vince never called unless something crazy was going on or he had some box seat Tigers tickets. He called him back.

“Hey Vince, got tickets?”

“Sure Sandy. Can we meet? I got somethin’ for you, personal.”

“Sure Vince. When?”

“How ‘bout now?” asked Vince.

“Give me an hour,” Sandy said. Hot damn, I hope this is somethin’ good. “See you at the usual place?”

“Yep. One hour.” Vince rung off.

Sandy rubbed his hands together, glad to have a diversion from consulting with the suits. Hopefully, it would get him back to where he loved to be, in the middle of an investigation.

~~~

Pat Sandelen paused the video file from the Major twins. He looked up over his laptop through his condo’s glass wall and saw the Detroit skyline. Beyond the Ren-Cen’s silhouette he could see the Ambassador Bridge crossing the river to Canada. The Department of Homeland Security, DHS, patrolled the international border with crews from the Coast Guard marine and air base. He had been the Police Department’s representative at the first meeting of the DHS in Detroit when then director Tom Ridge came to town bringing sixteen million dollars with him.

He remembered the first collaborative meeting of all the local agencies. After an hour of bullshit, they all realized that the DHS Feds would essentially take over any suspicious activity near the border. Now even the FBI would know what it felt like when an outside government agency came in and took over your investigation. He felt sorry for them, but not much. What goes around… blah, blah, blah. In the end, it felt like another layer of red tape with guys in dark suits and sunglasses adding to the already cumbersome administration. To a policeman used to making quick decisions on the street, it was a massive waste of manpower and time. And with another layer of admin came the decision makers who were one more step removed from the real foot soldier. The possibility of a Coasty, or DHS agent, making an illegal drop was evidently possible. So who are these guys and what are they up to? And who could help him find out? As he looked back down at the black ribbon of the Detroit River, a smile came across his creased mahogany skin. He knew just the officer.

They had met at that meeting when Ridge and the Homeland circus had come to town. They kind of hit it off last year when they both agreed to disagree with one of the DHS’s local directors on the security needed on the waterfront for the upcoming Super Bowl. Here was a brash Coast Guard heelo pilot who had flown a Black Hawk for the Army. Having a pretty face and a fit body didn’t hurt. Lt. G. V. Sanchez could fly her helicopter anywhere and anyway you needed.

She was one of the first female officers to be decorated from the war. She took a bullet and risked her life flying rescue missions for wounded soldiers during the opening phases of Operation Iraqi Freedom. Returning to the states in May of 2003, she resigned from the Army and signed up for the Coast Guard. At her request, she was transferred to the Detroit Guard Air Base just as Homeland was expanding operations in the area.

She had said that having two HH65 Dolphin helicopters hovering over the river for several hours while people were checked in and scanned at Ford Field was, as she said, “a big ass waste of time and fuel.” That didn’t sit well with the Homeland brass. She said they needed the helicopters for rescue, not Detroit River babysitting. If there was an incident, they could be there in five minutes. The brass didn’t agree then, but later Sandelen heard that the Army Reserve would station troop trucks on Jefferson near the river walk, Coast Guard divers would be placing heat sensors in the river, and the Dolphins would be on call.

After the meeting, Sandy and Graciela Venusuela Venus Sanchez had talked in the hall. Finding out that they were both war vets, they started having coffee together after DHS conference meetings. She liked Sandy’s street wise experience and he liked her common sense, solution minded outlook.

Venus had grown up in Southwest Detroit where Blacks and Latinos didn’t necessarily get along. While her older brothers and sister were having babies, she decided to join the Army right after high school. Her dad had been a Border Patrol officer for his entire career after the army. She loved the water, living near Lake Erie where her dad took her fishing every weekend. But she also wanted to fly. Hovering over land, and now water, seemed the best fit.

Sandy went to his laptop address list, found her number under “Tamale,” the nickname the corpsmen had given her, and dialed.

“Hey Sandman.”

“Hey Venus, que pasa?”

“Recupero!”

“From what?”

“Nada.”

“Cat fight?”

“Muchacho!” Hicho o’ chucha!” She paused. “He cheated on me, and I shoulda known better than to date an A-ganger.”

“Did you say gangbanger?”

“No, A-ganger. One of the auxiliary crew. They operate and maintain our boat’s auxiliary equipment, like air conditioning, distilling units, air compressors, shit like that.”

“Not a Coasty, huh?”

“I’m not dating no more Guardies. No way, Jose!”

“Okay, Venus. You always share your personals with people who call?”

“You’re more than people, Amigo, you know that.”

“Thanks, cause I need a friend for a big favor, por favor.”

“And sorry, I just had to let you know. When I found out about the boyfriend’s activities over the past month, I went over to his place today and broke it off.”

“Ouch.”

“Ooh, not that, but I wish I had. No, I mean I just broke up with him, and kicked his ass in the process. I made sure it was loud enough for everyone in his building to hear, maybe even his new girlfriend. So, que’pasa, Sandy? What is your favor?”

“I got somethin’ I want you to see.”

“Like what.”

“A video file.”

“Video? Does it have Antonio Banderas in it? I could use a little Banderas right now.”

“Sorry, no Antonio. I’ve got it on my laptop. It’s spooky.”

Venus understood. The word between them that it had to do with Homeland. “Gotcha. I’m not working today or the rest of the week after pulling forty hours over Labor Day weekend.

“Can you come over to my place, say this afternoon?” asked Sandy.

“Sure. I’ll give your neighbors something to talk about.”

A smile came across Sandy’s face. He could see it now. Venus strutting across the lobby looking good. They had more of a father-daughter relationship, but when people saw them together they didn’t necessarily think that, especially when Venus got out of uniform and dressed up. And boy, could she dress up. A Spanish Mona Lisa. Oh, how the locals will talk. “You gonna increase my stud rating with the residents?”

“You know that’s what I do. Anything to help you with your girlfriends.”

“Hey, girlfriends… Hello?” She’d hung up. Always had to have the last word. She might not have the last word on this visit. He was going to put her on the spot. Once she saw the video, he knew she would not let it go until she found out exactly what was going on. She was loyal to the Guard, but she’d been in the military long enough and seen enough to know that not everyone who wore a uniform honored what it stood for. She would leave the meeting pissed, but proud to know he’d trusted her enough to call her rather than the brass.

~~~

Sandy opened the laptop, clicked on the desktop icon labeled CG-drop. He stepped back from his desk and invited Venus to sit down. He took a deep breath and sighed, knowing what was coming. Part of him hated what he was about to do to her: put a frown on that pretty face and a doubt in her heart about her beloved Coast Guard.

She looked up at him and winked, sensing his reluctance to show her what she was about to see, and reminding him of the little scene she’d given his neighbors. He’d almost forgotten how good looking she was out of uniform. She was a sight seldom seen in the Lafayette Towers. Short-shorts accented with three-inch-high heels, adding to her five-foot-six inch curvy frame, long brown hair flowing midway down her back, a bright red Mexican top with lipstick to match, and calling for him in Spanish.

“Practicin’ on me, Venus?”

“Who’s practicin. It’s the Latino me. Upgrading your reputation at the The Towers.”

“Thanks.”He looked over her shoulder as the video started. The car, the couple, the Lake. Then the camera zoomed in as the couple went to the shore’s edge to a Coast Guard skiff.

She gasped. “What the hell?”

Two black tarp covered pallets were handed over from the guardsman to the couple. The boat’s spotlight lit up the shoreline, and the skiff captain’s face could be seen, but barely. Sandy reached over and stopped the video. Venus looked up at Sandy with a tight-lipped smile.

“You got a drink?” she asked.

“Sure. Beer or stronger?”

“Corona?”

“You got it.” He handed her the beer.

“You know Sandy, I’ve never really trusted those bastards. Homeland comes in and starts running everything and everyone, some of them contracted through private security units, former guards, Special Forces, you know? They…” She stopped abruptly. She looked into Sandy’s eyes and her mouth went tight.

“Why me?”

He knew it would come down to this. “Because you have Integrity.”

“Bullshit”

“No. Bulldog”

“Screw you.”

“You won’t let it go ‘til we know.”

“You’re the devil.”

“And you’re an angel.”

“Is that what the neighbor’s think? No. Just like they think I’m doing you, you want me to put out.”

“I know no one who can do it better.”

Venus put her hand on her chest. “Is this any way to treat a friend, a girl who’s vulnerable?”

“Oh, please. You don’t look so, uh, vulnerable in that outfit,” Sandy said as he bounced his eyebrows.

“Shut up.”

“Think about it. We need someone inside.”

Venus was silent. Sandy could see the wheels turning. He had her. She got up from her chair, grabbed the beer, turned on her heels and walked across the room, chugging the Corona. She took a final look over her shoulder. “I’m in!”

She turned back and walked up to the laptop. “Damn it, print me that frame with the Guardy’s face on it.”

“Yes, Ma’am. Right away.”

Sandy sat down at the laptop, backed up the video, found the frame and made a print. He gave Venus the picture. ”I’ll give you a call when we meet up with my partner and the videographers. It’ll be at Vince’s. Dress, uh, appropriately.”

“Vince’s? What’s that, an Italian Restaurant?”

“No. He’s a friend of mine, my partner in crime.”

She opened the door. “Call me.” She slammed the door and yelled something in Spanish. She was back in the act, imitating a lover’s spat. He could barely contain his laughter.