by Rick Polad
A squirrel ran across the courtyard and disappeared into the bushes.
“He must have seen something.”
“But it wasn’t a bullet,” she said.
“No, but he saw a flash of light. Maybe a match lighting a cigarette, or that match being tossed away.”
“And he turned that into a tracer?”
I shrugged. “Why not?”
“Would a match have fingerprints on it?” she asked.
“No, but a cigarette butt might, along with saliva.”
“Should we go back and look in the alley?”
I sighed. “If it was last night. But too much time has passed. And even if we found something, the police wouldn’t waste time on it. I bet we’d find a handful of butts in that alley.”
“So even if that’s what he saw, it gets you nowhere.”
I thought for a bit. “Maybe not.”
She crossed her arms and asked, “What’s that mean?”
“That means sometimes things have to roll around for a while before something useful pops out.”
She laughed. “Thanks for clearing that up. I won’t pretend I know what you’re talking about.”
I returned her laugh. “Don’t worry. Most the time I don’t either.”
“Well, have faith that the Lord will provide.”
I smiled. “You have more pull in that area than I. Sooner rather than later would be nice.”
She laughed again. “That I have no control over.”
I nodded and looked up at the gray sky.
“You look lost in thought,” she said.
I took a deep breath and let out a sigh. “Just thinking about those two kids and drugs.”
She raised her eyebrows. “It’s a shame, but there are many others whose names never make the papers, Spencer.”
I nodded again and shook my head. “I don’t understand the drugs.”
“What about it don’t you understand? Why those kids got involved with it?”
“Lots, but no, that I can understand. It’s all about money. Reynolds kept protesting that he didn’t take the drugs. He wasn’t a user. Somehow that made what he was doing okay. I get the money and power part of it. Crime I understand. What I can’t understand is the addiction. I don’t know what would make someone kill and steal to get that next score.”
The squirrel ran back across the pavers.
“You’re not addicted to anything?” she asked.
“Not that much. Nothing that I couldn’t give up if I had to.”
“Then you’re a lucky man… far luckier than people who get hooked because of people like your Mr. Margot and the gangs. Most of them are hooked for life… or death.”
“And that’s what I don’t understand. I know it happens, but I just can’t imagine what it does to a person, how something can have that much of a hold on someone.”
“I take it you’ve never tried drugs.”
I laughed. “I don’t even like taking aspirin.”
She smiled that cherubic smile. “Do you drink?”
I turned and looked at her, knowing where that question was going.
“Not to the point of addiction. It’s not a drug.”
“I won’t argue with you about that point. But there are people who are addicted who will do anything for that next drink. But it’s worse with drugs. The first high is amazing. But after that it takes more to get that feeling back, and you never do, but you keep trying. And eventually it destroys you.”
I agreed. “Yes, but alcohol doesn’t seem as serious. It’s not mind-altering.”
She smiled again. “I won’t argue that point either.”
I returned her smile. “If you’re not here for a good argument what are you here for?”
“Ah. That’s something you’ll have to figure out for yourself.” The squirrel peeked out from under a bush. “If you do, let me know.”
I sighed again. “I wish there was an easy answer.”
The breeze picked up, and the squirrel disappeared.
“I don’t have the answers, Spencer, but maybe I can help a bit.”
I waited patiently and watched for the squirrel to reappear.
She sat up straight on the bench and took a deep breath. “There once was a teenage girl who was addicted to heroin. When asked why she did it, she answered that when she got high it was like touching the face of God.”
I had been listening and looking at the bush. I turned slowly to her and opened my mouth, but no words came out. That was the most powerful statement I had ever heard. It needed no explanation, and I wondered about the girl.
“What happened to the girl?”
She cocked her head a bit to the right and said, “She found a better way of touching the face of God.”
I was again speechless. I didn’t have to ask. Her face was as peaceful as any I had ever seen, and her eyes were warm and welcoming. I had no doubt she brought that peace to the people in her neighborhood, and I considered taking her off my list. I had been fooled by a female’s look before, but doubting her seemed sacrilegious. There was quiet power behind her look. She was convincing without any effort.
She raised her eyebrows and asked, “Does that help you, Spencer?”
“Not a lot. But the only drug stories I’ve heard have ended badly. Yours seems to have a happy ending.”
“I don’t know that you could call what I deal with every day happy, but I have found my place.”
I wanted to ask what the path to that place had been, but realized it didn’t matter.
There was a flash of lightning to the west but no thunder, and light raindrops foretold more to come. Neither of us made any effort to escape.
“You’ve heard nothing else on the street, Sister?”
“Not a thing, Spencer. These people keep to themselves. Surrounded by violence, a closed mouth is a survival mechanism. I’m sorry… I wish I could help.”
“Maybe you have.”
“How so?”
I laughed. “I have no idea. But I’ve found when I have nothing, if I start turning over stones people get nervous, and when people get nervous nothing turns into something.”
Her look of peace changed to concern. “Be careful what stones you turn over. The gangs here don’t get nervous… they strike and don’t bother asking questions.”
“I appreciate your concern. Are there other gangs besides the Prophets?”
“A few, and they cause more trouble.”
“How so?”
“The Prophets are the big dog. The others are little dogs trying to look big. And they cause a lot of trouble trying… shootings, robberies. The Prophets are more a big business, and trouble is bad for business. They know where the line is.”
“And you think a gang is behind this?”
She shrugged. “Who else?”
“A good question. If I find out I’ll let you know.” The rain picked up a bit. “Prophets?”
“That would be my guess. This seems to be about territory. And for the most part, the territory belongs to the Prophets.” The squirrel ran across the stones again. “I need to get to work, Spencer. Thanks for breakfast.”
“My pleasure, Sister. We may do it again.”
She smiled. “I’ll look forward to it. And if I hear anything I’ll be in touch.”
“Thanks.”
She went in the side door as I walked out to the street. The homeless man was gone. I wondered where he went when it rained. I sat in the car for a minute before I turned the key. The sadness in this case kept adding up like pages in a book. Every time I turned one there was another. And it was getting me down. Then I thought of Sister Katherine, who dealt with this every day and looked at me with strength and peace. I wondered how she did it, but then realized she had been through worse… far worse. And she had
survived. And the people in the neighborhood were better off for it.
***
The phone rang as I started the car. It was Carol.
“I’ve been calling every five minutes. Mrs. Margot wants to see you. She’s quite upset.”
I sighed. I still wasn’t sure about Mrs. Margot, but I could imagine being upset after what she went through at the station.
“Thanks, I’ll call her.”
“And I have a suggestion.”
“What?”
“Since you aren’t carrying your portable phone around, start wearing your beeper again. I can beep you if there is something important, and you can call.”
“Good idea. I’ll get it when I get back.”
“When will that be?”
“Sometime this afternoon. Depends on Mrs. Margot.”
“Okay. I’ll leave it on my desk if I’m gone.”
“Thanks, Carol. See you sometime.”
I flipped to Margot in my notebook and dialed. I wondered why she thought I was so valuable… all I had done for her so far was quit.
Chapter 20
The maid let me in and showed me to the den. She said Mrs. Margot would be with me in a few minutes. I spent the time looking again at the wall of Mr. Margot’s plaques and awards. In the middle of the wall, one caught my attention. It was next to Robert Margot’s degree in Business Administration from Northwestern. It was a plaque naming him as president of Alpha Epsilon Pi fraternity in 1976. Northwestern is a big school, but I would think back-to-back presidents of the same fraternity would know each other. Bast had acted like the name Margot was just another name in a report.
I felt someone was watching me and slowly turned. There in the doorway was a small, white poodle. As I walked toward it, it turned and walked away.
I sensed more than heard Mrs. Margot come into the room.
“Hello, Spencer. Please have a seat.”
She sat on the brown leather couch and held out her hand at her side. She looked worn and tired.
“How are you doing, Mrs. Margot?”
She slowly shook her head. “Jeanne… please.” There was a pleading look in her eyes.
I nodded. “Jeanne. I’m sorry for what you’re going through.”
She cocked her head to the right. “Can I assume you wouldn’t feel sorry if you thought I was guilty?”
I smiled. “I might feel sorry either way, but so far I’m on your side.”
“Well that’s a relief. Nice to know someone is. They told me not to leave town. Like a criminal! Why would I leave town?”
I thought of the way people who couldn’t afford bond were treated in Cook county jail before getting a trial. And Mrs. Margot was complaining about being told not to leave town and suffering in her mansion on the lake. Maybe I didn’t feel as sorry as I thought I had.
“Tell me again what happened.”
“The police showed up at my door… two detectives. I don’t remember their names. I thought it was about Reynolds, but he said he wanted to question me about Mark Nadem. He said he wanted me to come with him to the station… Chief Sawyer wanted to talk to me. I about collapsed. I called Malbry, but he wasn’t in his office. His secretary said he was in court. I left a message about what was going on, and she said she’d get ahold of him. The detective said I could call again from the station.”
“And when you got to the station?”
She took a deep breath. “I was treated like cattle. I was brought into a room and left with a female officer. I called Malbry again. His secretary said he was on the way to the station and not to say anything until he got there.” Some of her worn and tired look was replaced with anger. Her hands balled into fists. “After all the money I’ve given Sawyer, this is how I’m treated.”
When this was all over, if she wasn’t guilty, I’d take her to county jail and show her how the other half is treated. If she was guilty she’d find out for herself.
The maid came in with a tray with coffee and biscuits.
“How do you like yours, Spencer?”
She had just assumed I wanted some. “Black, please.” The maid poured. I thanked her.
Mrs. Margot took a sip of coffee and offered a biscuit. I declined.
The dog came in and sat in front of her.
“What happened when Malbry got there?” I asked.
“He looked angry. He said I didn’t have to go with them, and he was sorry he wasn’t available.”
I nodded. “Is the poodle a new addition?”
She smiled. “Yes. My therapist said I needed some company to deal with the loss of…” Her eyes teared up. She waved her hand as an apology, and I told her it was okay. I knew what she was going through, except for the murder suspect part.
She wiped her eyes and asked, “Can you help me, Spencer?”
“I’ll try. Tell me about the gun.”
“It was in that wooden case on the credenza,” she said as she pointed. “I would take it out and just look at it once in a while. One night I opened the case, and it was gone.”
“Reynolds took it?”
“He must have. The only other person in the house was the maid.” She was staring blindly out the windows. “There were nights he would be gone most of the night. I’d hear his car come in after three or four. I asked him where he went, but he gave me vague answers… out with the guys. I told him I wanted him home by a decent hour, and he’d just laugh. Told me I was old-fashioned. I never was able to tell him what to do. I shouldn’t have let him…”
She started to sob. I put my hand on her shoulder and let her get it out.
“You only can do what you think is right. Probably nothing you would have done would have mattered.” I didn’t really believe that, but I thought it would make her feel better. She could do with less guilt.
“Did the gun show up?”
“Yes. When I got up in the morning the first thing I did was look. It was in the case.”
“Had it been fired?”
She shook her head. “No. It didn’t smell.”
“Could he have shot it and cleaned it?”
“Cleaning anything would be beneath Reynolds.”
I didn’t doubt that. “Did you ask him about it?”
The poodle jumped up on her lap. She held it like it was her child. Maybe it was.
“I did. He said the guys were going shooting. But when I told him it hadn’t been shot he said they changed their minds.”
“When was that?”
“It was about a week before he was arrested.”
“What happened to the gun?”
“I took it and told him not to take it again. He said he wouldn’t.” She was unconsciously petting the dog. “But the night that he was…” She started to cry.
“When we were at the police station you said you fought over the gun that night.”
She nodded.
“So your prints were on it.”
She nodded again and sniffed. “I should have gotten rid of it a long time ago. But I just can’t get rid of anything of my husband’s.” She looked vacant and lost. She shook her head and looked up at me. “He might still be alive.”
I assumed she was talking about Reynolds, but it was her gun that had killed Mark.
“It’s easy to second guess,” I said. “I don’t think it would have mattered. Did you mention the gun to the police?”
“No. I couldn’t imagine why they didn’t have it. It wasn’t in the case. Reynolds must have taken it, but it wasn’t on the list of his possessions.”
I could, and I didn’t like where my imagination was going.
“So when did you next hear about the gun?”
“When the police took me to the station and my lawyer told me the police had the gun. It was used to kill Mark, and my prints were on it.”
“And your prints were on it because you fought over it.”
“Yes.”
“And Reynolds’ because he took it. But he certainly didn’t kill Mark.” There were few things certain in life, but one surely was that you can’t kill someone if you’re dead.
“No, he certainly didn’t.”
“So if Reynolds had the gun the night he was killed, what happened to it after that?”
She shrugged. I wasn’t expecting an answer. But she gave me a dejected look and said, “Maybe you can find out.”
“Maybe I can. The gun was registered to your husband, right?”
“Yes. I’d been meaning to change the paperwork, but I never got around to it.”
The dog lifted its head and rearranged itself.
“Do you know Senator Nadem?”
“We donated sizable amounts to his campaign over the years, and we’ve been to the same parties.”
“Have you talked to him since all this happened?”
She shook her head.
“Do you think he’d talk to me if I mention your name?”
“I have no idea, Spencer. I think he’s blaming me.”
“Maybe. One more question, Jeanne. The police were able to match your prints. Why are your prints on file?”
“When I got out of college I got a job with the Evanston police. I had a degree in psychology, specializing in stress, and they were starting a program of clinical help for officers involved in traumatic cases.”
I had a feeling I knew where the degree was from, but I asked anyway. Northwestern.
“Okay, Jeanne. I’ll be in touch.” I stood up. “I’ll let myself out.”
She barely nodded.
I took two steps and then turned and asked, “Did you know Detective Bast before Reynolds was arrested?”
Her head jerked slightly toward me, and her eyes widened for a split second. After a deep breath she said, “Of course not. Why would you ask that?”
“No particular reason. Just wondering. Goodbye.”
The maid appeared out of nowhere and showed me to the door. I asked what her name was. It was Maddy. I held out my hand and said, “Nice to meet you, Maddy.”
She smiled. “You also, sir.”
