“Don’t know nothin’ about that,” she said.
“I understand,” I said. “How about Mr. Shannon? We’ve been trying to contact him.”
“He’s gone to see his son in St. Louis,” she said. “He’s supposed to be back today, I think. Are you two really private investigators?”
“No, just him,” Randy said. “I’m a normal citizen.”
“Well, good luck finding your staircase,” she said. There was a hint of a smile on her face as she pushed the carriage down the sidewalk.
I smacked Randy on the shoulder.
“Hey, come here, Alex,” he said. “Look at this.” He led me back to the front of Mr. Shannon’s house. “You see how there’s a little bit of extra space here on the right side? Between the house and the driveway?”
“You think they tore the staircase off?”
“They could have,” he said. He walked down the driveway, took two steps up onto a small cement front porch. He looked at the door, and then up at the window on the second story.
“This is it,” he said. “This is the house. Maria lived right up there.”
“Okay, good.”
“I can’t believe it, Alex. I’m standing right underneath her window again.”
“All right, I hear ya,” I said. “Now will you get off the man’s porch before somebody calls the police?”
“So now what?” he said when he was back on the sidewalk. “You wanna start knocking on doors?”
“We could do that,” I said. “Or we could see if Mr. Shannon gets home today, then cover the rest of the neighborhood tomorrow if we have to.”
“What time is it, about four o’clock? Why don’t we hit the city office, see if we can get lucky on her birth certificate. Maybe we’ll get a human being this time.”
“I wouldn’t bet on it,” I said. “But it’s worth a shot.”
“We could try the library, too,” he said. “You know where that is?”
“I was a cop in this city for eight years, Randy.”
“So lead the way,” he said.
We walked back down the block, got in the truck, and headed east toward downtown. After turning onto Woodward Avenue, we were right in the middle of my old precinct.
Woodward Avenue. As I said it to myself, I felt something jump inside me. Woodward Avenue. It shouldn’t have surprised me. It was just a gut reaction. Something I could never stop, no matter how hard I tried.
Woodward Avenue.
“You okay?” Randy said.
“Yeah,” I said. “We’re just heading down memory lane here. And here we are. City-County Building.”
The building was down at the end of Woodward, right next to the waterfront. From where we stood, we could see the five towers of the Renaissance Center, the great metal fist of Joe Louis, the fountain in Hart Plaza. On a nice day, the sidewalks would be full of people walking up and down the river. Today, it was empty. We walked into the building, past the statue they called the Spirit of Detroit. Or as my old partner used to say, “the great big green guy holding the sun in one hand and the people in the other hand.” When the Red Wings finally won the Stanley Cup in 1997, they put a giant jersey on him. My old partner would have gotten a kick out of that, if he had been alive to see it.
“Why don’t you let me take a try this time?” Randy said.
“It’s all yours,” I said.
“Watch and learn, my friend.”
As soon as we found the city clerk’s office, I knew he had an unfair advantage. With the big windows letting in the late-afternoon sun and an assortment of Tigers and Red Wings posters all over the walls, this room was a hell of a lot nicer than the State Office of Vital Records. The young woman sitting at her desk looked almost happy to be working there. “Can I help you?” she said. She was smiling.
“Good afternoon,” Randy said. “We finally made it! Do you know how long we traveled to get here?”
She smiled again. “What can I-”
“What are they doing to this city, anyway?” Randy said. “Every road is closed! Construction everywhere!”
“Tell me about it,” she said. “It takes me over an hour to get to work in the morning now.” This woman was much too friendly to be working as a public servant. How she ever got through the screening process was a complete mystery.
“Last time I was here in town was 1971,” he said. “I was a pitcher with the Tigers.”
“Really?” she said. Her eyes lit up.
“I didn’t last very long in the majors,” he said. “But at least I got the shot, right?”
“Are you serious? Did you really pitch for the Tigers?”
“Long time ago,” he said. “So much has changed here. They got casinos coming in, too, isn’t that right?”
“Ah,” she said with a wave of her hand. “Don’t get me started on the casinos. That’s all we need.”
“Not a gambler, I take it,” he said. “Oh, I’m sorry. This is my friend Alex.”
I woke up out of my trance. Watching the man do his routine was downright hypnotizing. “Good afternoon,” I said.
“Alex was a Detroit police officer for-what did you say, eight years?”
“Yes,” I said.
“Back in the eighties,” he said. “Even Alex doesn’t recognize the place anymore. Ain’t that right, Alex?”
“Like a whole new city,” I said.
“I’ll tell you why we’re here,” Randy said. He moved closer to her desk and lowered his voice. “Alex is a private investigator now. Let me have one of your cards, Alex.”
I took a card out and gave it to him. He put it down on her desk while he gave the room a quick onceover. “We’re trying to locate someone,” he said. “We’re trying to help her, you understand. This could be a matter of life or death.”
“Okay…”
“Her name is Maria Valeska,” he said, letting it hang in the air, as if she were an international agent.
“That’s a nice name,” she said.
“Indeed,” he said. “The problem is, the only information we have, besides her name, is an old address. And we think we she was born here in Detroit in 1952.”
“I don’t understand,” she said. “What kind of records are you looking for, then? We have only four kinds here. Birth, death, marriage, and divorce.”
“The birth certificate would be extremely helpful,” he said. “If we could possibly-”
“You can’t see birth certificates,” she said. “Not unless you’re a parent or-”
“Or an officer of the court,” Randy said. “I know that. I’m certainly not asking you to break the rules. But seeing as how this is such an important matter, I was hoping that maybe you could just take a look at her birth certificate, and tell us her date of birth.”
“I don’t know about that,” she said.
“And her parents’ names.”
“Oh, no, I really don’t think-”
“Teresa, I’m not asking you to get us a copy of her birth certificate. I wouldn’t do that to you.”
Teresa? How did he know her name?
“I’m just asking you,” he said, “no, I’m begging you to just take a look at the record yourself, with neither of us around. We’ll go stand out in the hallway while you look at it.”
There, on her desk. A coffee mug with her name on it. Some detective I am.
“I’m kind of new here,” she said. “I’m not sure if I’m allowed to do that.”
“Maria Valeska,” he said. “Probably born in 1952. In Detroit.” And then he just looked at her. I couldn’t see his face from where I was standing, so I’m not sure what he was doing, but somehow it made her stand up.
“I’ll be right back,” she said.
“We’ll wait here,” he said.
“You wait here,” she said.
“Right here,” he said.
