by Julie Hyzy
“Thanks for meeting me,” he said. Nothing about my looks, no chastisement about my being back to work so soon. Rather than being disappointed, I was relieved not to have to go down that path with yet another person.
“Not a problem,” I said, “I take it something’s going on?”
Gray eyes, gray hair, and wearing his gray suit again. I wondered about this fellow, and tried again to decide his age. Somewhere between late forties or early fifties, I thought. He nodded, fixing his gaze on the cigarette box again. He started sliding it back and forth between his hands. “Could be.”
Despite the fact that his face was slim, his cheeks sagged a bit below the jawline. Coupled with gray stubble that told me he hadn’t shaved in a while, I wondered if he’d been up all night. “You okay?” I asked.
His eyes jumped up at me, as though I’d brought him out of a reverie. The man was tired, all right.
“Yeah. Lot on my mind.” He chanced another smile, just as brief as the first one. “Here’s the problem. Diana’s still unable to speak. I can’t get anything from her.”
I didn’t think Diana would be much of a witness, to be honest. She’d panicked so quickly that I doubted she’d even remember anything from that night. But I kept quiet.
Lulinski took a breath. “I ran a check on her. She did time; I don’t know if you knew that.”
“I knew she had problems.”
“Yeah,” he said. “I’ll say.” He didn’t expand, but changed direction. “She was involved with a guy some years back. He went away; did some hard time.”
“I heard something about that.”
“Well, seems like he just got out.” He held my gaze, watching me as the import of his words took hold. “Parole.”
Following his lead, I asked, “And you think he might be the guy who attacked us?”
“I’m looking into it.”
I took a sip of coffee and considered it. “And Mrs. Vicks? What would be his motive for killing her?”
His long fingers wrapped around his own coffee cup, Lulinski shook his head. “That’s part of the problem. He’s a good suspect—he’s had drug convictions, he’s done time for home invasion and for armed robbery—but we need to know what it is he wants. What he was looking for.”
“Looking for?” I asked.
“Both times the house was entered, it was searched. For what, is anyone’s guess at this point.”
“What’s the guy’s name?”
Lulinski hesitated. “Grady,” he said, with a sigh of resignation. “Larry Grady. First name Laurence with a ‘u’.”
“Grady? That’s Diana’s last name.”
He nodded. “We think they got married. Either that, or she took his name as part of a common-law arrangement.”
“You don’t know for sure?”
Shrugging, he took a long sip of coffee before he spoke again. “Not worth my effort at this point. We know they had a relationship. If I need to, I’ll trace down any evidence of a legal arrangement later.”
My conversation with Bass and David this morning sat at the back of my brain like a headache waiting to happen. I’d agreed to investigate this story for my station. Right now the question was, should I share that information with the detective here?
He interrupted my thoughts. “What?”
I shook my head, not understanding.
“You were miles away there for a second. What’s on your mind?”
I deflected. “Diana would have some idea, but—” I let it hang.
“Exactly,” he finished. “There’s no way we’re going to be able to talk to her anytime soon. Even if she’s up and around in the next couple days, she’s apparently so fragile that to interrogate her could be traumatic.”
The waitress brought our food. I took a big spoonful and blew on it, seconds later realizing that the word of the day was: tepid. I preferred my food hot; this wasn’t. I glanced at the waitress, now fetching orders halfway across the restaurant. When my eyes returned to the table, I saw that Lulinski had almost completely downed the first half of his sandwich, shoveling it in with a gusto that surprised me for such a thin guy.
By the time they would get my soup warmed up, he’d have the rest of his meal scarfed down. With a sigh, I took another big spoonful and pretended it was gazpacho.
Lulinski pushed the mouthful of food into his left cheek as he finished his thought. “Diana was seeing a therapist,” he said, chewing now. “I talked to the man today.”
Still chewing, he started in on the second half of the sandwich, then dug into his jacket pocket, pulling out his notebook. He flipped it to a page in the middle and read the information to me. “Dr. Thomas Hooker, psychiatrist, located not far from here, just off Madison and State.”
“Hooker?”
“Yeah, I know. Bad name.” He shrugged.
“Why are you telling me?”
“Dr. Hooker won’t talk to me. He can’t. Bound by those damn privacy laws.” He said that last part with a heavy dose of sarcasm, then held a hand out to stave off commentary. “I know, I know. I understand the need for them, but . . .”
I waited for him to finish the thought.
“He wants to talk to you.”
No way, I thought, and I said so. “He won’t talk to a cop, but he’ll talk to someone from the media?”
Two big bites and the rest of Lulinski’s Monte Cristo was history. I resisted the urge to comment.
He shrugged. Grabbing the bottle of mustard, he covered the thick-cut French fries with layers of yellow, taking a moment to salt them liberally before shoving three into his still-masticating mouth.
“Mustard? On fries?” I asked, then added, “Eeyoo.”
Gray eyes shot up and he grinned through his chewing. “Old habit. My first partner made me try it on a long stake-out once. Been hooked ever since.” He took in a breath and shrugged us back to the topic. “Dr. Hooker won’t give up any information on Diana because of patient confidentiality,” he continued. “But when I advised him of Diana’s condition, and of the incident that transpired, he wanted more information. He says that the more he knows about the attack, the better he’s going to be able to help Diana get back on her feet.” Still chewing, Lulinski averted his eyes. “I mentioned you, and he thought that it would be helpful to Diana if you made some time to talk with him.”
I’d gotten about halfway through my soup, and now I held an empty spoon above the bowl. “And you think if he talks to me, I’ll uncover information about Diana’s old boyfriend that can help you.”
He rolled his tongue around his teeth, clearing food. “The thought had crossed my mind.”
My disbelief came out in an almost-laugh.
“What so funny?”
“Didn’t you accuse me of using my relationship with Mrs. Vicks to further my own investigation?”
One side of his mouth curled up. An abbreviated nod. “Yeah, but that was before I knew we shared a mutual distaste for Dan Starck.”
Ooh . . . interesting comment. I tucked that little tidbit away for later. “But now you want me to use my relationship with Diana to further your interests.”
“Something like that.”
I put my spoon down, and stared at him. “You gotta be kidding,” I said. “Confidentiality is confidentiality. What makes you think he’ll say anything that can be useful?”
“You’re a sharp girl,” he said. “And you’re good at what you do—getting information out of people. Am I right?”
Careful nod.
“I’m not even sure what the shrink knows. Maybe nothing. But if we get you in there checking it out, I’ll feel better.”
There was a compliment in there somewhere, but I chose to ignore it.
The waitress took that moment to ask if there was anything else we needed. We both demurred, not looking at her. She dropped the check on the table. Lulinski grabbed it. “I got it this time,” he said.
Yeah, like I was going to arm wrestle him for it.
He stare
d at the bill for a long moment, before answering my question. “He might not give us anything, but I can’t afford to overlook a single possibility. Even though we know about Diana’s record, and we have information on Laurence Grady. Despite the fact that we know he’s in the area, we don’t know if she’s been in contact with him, or what her relationship was with Mrs. Vicks.”
I gave him a look that said, ‘duh.’ “She was Mrs. Vicks roommate.”
“Yeah,” he said with enough hesitation that my mind made a quick leap to deduce what he was getting at.
“You think Diana had something to do with Mrs. Vicks’ murder?” My skeptical voice had gone up just a little, and I lowered it before continuing. “There’s no way.”
Lulinski’s eyebrows arched in a resigned way. “I don’t assume anything. I follow where the information leads. And the more information, the better.” Pushing his plate forward, he leaned on the table, crossing his arms. “Will you talk with Dr. Hooker? Yes or no?”
I pressed my fingers against my temples and took a long breath. “Okay.”
“You’ll do it?”
“That surprises you?”
“Frankly, it does.”
I held off saying anything further for a long moment. This would be the perfect opportunity to let Detective Lulinski know that I’d agreed to investigate the story for both Banner Bank and for Midwest Focus. Instead, I bit the inside of my cheek and shot him a lips-only smile. “I want this guy caught. And if you think my talking to Diana’s shrink will help, then I’m all for it.”
His mission accomplished, Lulinski pulled the napkin from his lap, wiped his mouth, and scooted out the side of the booth. He handed me Dr. Hooker’s business card. “Here. He’ll see you tomorrow afternoon at two.”
Chapter Thirteen
Lucy should have been home fifteen minutes ago. Pulling on my leather jacket, I headed down my front steps to look for her. Fat snowflakes, heavy in the predicted late-season blizzard, came down so hard, it made me squint as I stepped outside.
The days were getting longer, but it was dark now. I’d worked late and the falling snow slowed traffic with the not-so-subtle reminder that winter wasn’t over yet. Drivers made careful progress over the late-season slick, knowing better than to push their luck. Lucy waited for me to come home every night, and on the slow crawl through traffic, I’d tapped impatient fingers on my steering wheel, knowing I’d let her down, again. The minute I got in, I called Aunt Lena to let her know I’d made it and she could send Lucy home. Only after that did I peel off my work clothes and snuggle into my comfy jeans, sweatshirt and gym shoes.
The snow, accumulating on the ground, and in tiny mounds perched between tree branches, brightened the neighborhood with its fresh sparkle. If I hadn’t been concerned with Lucy’s tardiness, I would have stopped to enjoy the sight.
Every night Aunt Lena watched Lucy make her way on the three-house trek home. There was no danger of her getting lost; she’d grown up in this neighborhood and it was as familiar to her as her music was, but what with Mrs. Vicks’ murder and the subsequent attack on our street, my aunt and I felt better not letting her walk home unsupervised.
The sky poured white from its inky depths, its intensity evident in the flakes rushing through the pink streetlights’ glow. I wondered, briefly, if they’d cancel all flights out of O’Hare tomorrow, leaving William and Caroline snowbound in Chicago. I tamped down a grin. That’d be a nice surprise, I thought, then berated myself for wishing rain, or in this case snow, on someone else’s parade.
Right in front of my aunt’s house I saw her.
“Lucy.”
She turned, and reflection from the ambient light caught the smile in her face even before she said my name. “Alex!”
In the moment that she turned, I noticed that she wasn’t alone.
She was talking with someone. A short man, slim, wearing dark clothing, and a bright yellow knit cap. “Hey!” I said, sprinting forward.
“Thanks, Lucy,” he said, then he raised his voice to add, “Catch you later.” I watched him take off, but the thick snowfall kept me from getting seeing who it was.
“You! Wait!” I said again. Then to Lucy. “Go in the house.”
I charged, passing her at a full run, glad I’d changed into blue jeans and Reeboks when I’d gotten home. “Stop,” I called, louder now.
He didn’t stop, but he did turn at my shout, and for an instant in the light, I caught a good look at him. In the quiet of the drifting snow I could hear my pounding breath and his crunching footfalls ahead, far quicker than mine. I winced at the pain the running shot through my still-aching bones. Even as I pushed my speed, I watched the soles of his snow-covered shoes get smaller and smaller. I listened hard, trying to follow the sound of rubber hitting snow until that noise faded into the sounds of the street.
I’d run for no more than twenty seconds, but I’d lost him already. I kept going, another half-block, knowing it was futile but unwilling to give up until I saw him turn a far corner and disappear. I slowed, watching my breath curl out of my mouth in big spinning clouds. “Damn,” I said.
Glancing back, I saw that Lucy hadn’t listened. She stood outside our house, watching me. I waved, then stuck my bare hands in my jacket pockets and made my way back.
“Who was that?” I asked, out of breath.
Lucy opened her mouth, but no words came out. I saw the confusion on her face. She wore navy blue earmuffs and her right hand drifted behind her head in a nervous gesture, twisting her hair. “He didn’t tell me his name.”
A strange man had been conversing with my sister, but he’d obviously learned her name. I had more questions than I could get out of my mouth at once. “Where’s Aunt Lena? Doesn’t she usually watch until you get home?”
Lucy smiled, eager and willing to tell me everything. “She did. I got all the way up the steps when the man . . .” she gestured the direction he’d run “. . .came up and said ‘hi.’ So I walked over to say ‘hi’ to him, too.”
“Who was he?” I asked again. “Why didn’t Aunt Lena do anything?”
“I don’t know,” she said. A tiny crease formed between her eyebrows as she searched for the right answer. “I think maybe she went back into her house before he came by.” When she shrugged, the small collection of snow that had dropped onto her shoulders shook off. Lucy’s confused expression told me that she didn’t understand my concerns. “He was nice, Alex,” she said. “He just asked my name. Can we go in now? I’m cold.”
“And you told him?” I asked, striving to keep the anger out of my voice. “Don’t you know you aren’t supposed to talk to strangers?”
She looked at me with the most solemn expression. “Alex,” she said. “I’m older than you are. You can’t treat me like a baby just because I’m ‘special.’ I’ve been learning how to take care of myself, you know.”
The last part of her little speech came out just shaky enough that I knew she worried how I’d take it. I sucked in a breath to keep myself from exploding. A man had attacked me, had put Diana in the hospital, and someone, possibly the same guy, had killed Mrs. Vicks. What I wanted to do was chew out Lucy for being careless, for forgetting she was no longer safe within the protected confines of the assisted living facility.
Instead I chose more neutral ground. “What did he want?”
“I don’t know. He didn’t say he wanted anything.”
“What did you tell him?”
“I told him that I lived here with you and that you would be worried if I wasn’t home soon, and he asked why and I started to tell him about what happened to Mrs. Vicks.”
“What did he say?” Bursts of light shot through my head as a thousand questions ripped through my brain at once. Panic and fear made me sick—thinking that the murderer might have been standing in front of my house with Lucy within his grasp. “Did he seem surprised about the murder? I mean . . . “ I tried to slow myself down, “. . . a murder is a big deal, Lucy. A very scary, very impor
tant event. Was he shocked when you told him? Or did it seem like he knew about it already?”
“I don’t know,” Lucy said. “That’s when you came out and he ran off.”
Inside, I called Aunt Lena, trying to balance my concerns without sounding like I blamed her for not being more conscientious. No matter. She apologized repeatedly, promising never to let Lucy out of her sight again. A prickle of guilt wormed its way through my brain. “Aunt Lena,” I said finally, “Lucy is my responsibility. I’m just so very grateful that you’re willing to keep an eye on her during the day. If it was any other time, I think she’d be fine, even alone here. But with all that’s been going on. . . .” I took a deep breath. “I should probably take some vacation time and stay here with her myself.”
“No, honey, no.” I couldn’t see Aunt Lena shaking her head, but I knew she was. “You do this investigation and you find out all you can. Lucy will be safe here. I promise you that. You trust us, right?”
What could I say? “Of course.”
“Then that’s settled.”
Once Lucy had gone to bed, I felt comfortable enough to put in a call to Detective Lulinski. I dialed the cell phone number he’d given me and was surprised when he answered.
“What’s up?”
“Don’t you ever sleep?” I asked.
I didn’t know the man well, and I wasn’t even sure I liked him yet, but I liked his answer. “Not when there’s work to be done.”
“Listen,” I said, feeling suddenly stupid for calling him so late. “This might not be anything, but . . .”
I gave him a quick rundown Lucy’s encounter and my lame chase.
“Why didn’t you call me sooner?”
I hedged. Decided to go with the truth. “I didn’t think of it. Not till about fifteen minutes afterward. I was just so afraid for my sister.” I stopped myself from over-explaining. “By then he was long gone. So I waited till she went to sleep to call you. It was after hours and I thought I’d get your voicemail anyway.”
“No such thing as after hours,” he said. “Next time, call me first. Got that?”
I nodded. “Yeah. Sorry.”
