The Garcia and Fuller Show went on for another hour, Garcia gently asking questions, Fuller striving for a Tony Award. He managed to produce more tears than an entire season of All My Children.
When the judge broke for lunch, Libby and I hauled tail across the street to Cook County jail.
Rushlo was being held in Division 2, a medium security facility. Dorm living, fifty cots to a room, no barred cells. For a man as private as Derrick, I could guess the effect this had on him.
Rushlo’s lawyer, Gary Pludenza, met us at the first security checkpoint. He apparently hadn’t been able to slough off Rushlo on other counsel.
Libby shook his hand. “Good afternoon, Mr. Pludenza. We’ve got a new deal for your cousin.”
“What’s the deal?”
“We have suspicions he’s been covering up for Fuller longer than we thought. We want names.”
“He won’t turn on Fuller. He’s made that clear to me several times. He’s terrified of him.”
“We realize that. We think he will.”
“I don’t see how. I’ve begged him, and I can’t get through to the guy. He won’t even acknowledge me.”
“Maybe if you closed your eyes and played dead?” Libby suggested.
Pludenza frowned. “Can we get this over with, please? I have to be at the Daley Center in two hours for a bankruptcy hearing.”
“Sounds exciting.”
“Yeah, well, we all can’t be characters in a Grisham novel.”
Through the metal detector, through the security doors, and into the heart of Division 2. Two guards accompanied us, regulation rather than protection. This section of the prison was for nonviolent offenders. Still, Libby and I got a few obscene catcalls from the male population.
Well, Libby did. I convinced myself it was her suit. Even criminals appreciated fashion sense.
We located Rushlo in the rec room, sitting at a steel table, reading a dog-eared People magazine. When he saw us, he freaked out.
“I’m not saying anything.” He jumped to his feet, head jerking this way and that, searching for an escape route. His cousin put a hand on his shoulder, squeezed.
“It’s okay, Derrick. They’re coming here with an offer. Hear them out.”
“I don’t want their offer. They tricked me before.”
I sat down, smiled easily. “You don’t have a choice, Derrick.”
Rushlo stared at me. Well, one eye did.
“I’m not talking.”
“You don’t have to.” Libby handed him some papers.
“What are these?”
Pludenza looked them over, then broke into a big grin.
“They’re dropping the charges, Derrick. You’re free.”
Rushlo turned a pasty shade of white.
“No . . .”
“I’ll have you out of here by this evening.”
“No . . . you can’t let me out.”
Libby winked at him. “We can, and we just did. Good timing too. Your buddy’s trial is almost over. You guys can have a nice little reunion.”
Rushlo began to whimper. I put my hand on his forearm, hiding my revulsion.
“I’d watch your step, Derrick. Fuller is kind of annoyed you didn’t cremate the body of Eileen Hutton. I think he’ll want to speak to you about that.”
Rushlo went from pale white to bright pink. I thought he was going to pop.
“You have to protect me!”
“We’d like to help you, Derrick, but you haven’t helped us at all.”
I nodded to Libby, and we stood up.
“Please, help me!”
“We can put you into the witness protection program, Derrick. Change your name, hide you someplace. Or, if Fuller stays in jail, you’ll never have him to worry about again. Either way, you have to help us before we help you.”
His whole body began to shake.
“I . . . I can’t!”
“Have a nice life, Derrick. For as long as it lasts.”
We walked away.
“Please! PLEASE!”
Libby and I made it back to the courthouse with enough time to indulge in a vending machine lunch.
“Think he’ll crack?” she asked, her mouth around a triangularly cut cheese sandwich.
“I was going to ask you the same thing. I think so. The question is: Will he crack in time?”
“Closing arguments should only take a day. But even if the jury is deliberating, I can motion Judge Taylor to allow a surprise witness, and she can call them back into court. Rushlo’s got to come clean before they reach a verdict. If Fuller gets off, we can’t retry him. Double jeopardy.”
I had a bite of tuna on wheat. Soggy.
“Can you filibuster?”
“This isn’t Congress, Jack. If I try stalling, Taylor will jump all over me.”
“How about trying for some kind of extension or continuance?”
“I’ve tried, several times. Taylor kept reminding me we had three months to prepare. She’ll allow last-minute evidence, but won’t postpone the trial so we can get it.”
Libby ate more of her sandwich, and then glanced at her watch. A Movado, with diamonds around the bezel.
“Gotta get back to court. You didn’t like your sandwich?”
“It tastes like wet paper towels.”
Libby raised an eyebrow.
“You okay? Seem kind of off today.”
“Got a lot on my mind.”
“No kidding. Hey, all’s not lost yet. Rushlo might still spill.”
Everyone filed back into the courtroom, but didn’t stay long. Libby’s cross-examination of Fuller was a study in brevity.
“Mr. Fuller, I understand you were in the drama club at Southern Illinois University. What plays did you perform there?”
“I did Death of a Salesman, Merchant of Venice, and Waiting for Godot.”
“I bet you were excellent.” Libby sat down. “No further questions.”
Judge Taylor adjourned for the day, with closings to begin tomorrow.
When I got back to my office, Benedict was nowhere to be found. We hadn’t spoken since yesterday, and I didn’t like any bad blood between us. I called his cell.
“Where are you?”
“I’m meeting with my lawyer.”
“Can it wait? The trial is going to end any day now, and we have to finish cross-reffing these missing persons.”
“No, it can’t wait. Some of us haven’t gotten a day off in the past three months.”
I bit back my response, and hung up. I’d told him to file for reassignment out of anger, but now I was thinking it might be a good idea. I didn’t like the person Herb had become.
I tackled the project solo. Ruled out some names. Followed a few leads to nowhere. Cleared a small section of paperwork off of my floor.
By dinnertime I had a headache. I called home and spoke to Alan, who was getting together with some old friends over at Mirabell’s, a German place on Addison. Did I want to come?
I didn’t feel very social, but I agreed because I’d blown off Alan for the past few nights. Maybe being around company would help get me out of my funk.
I couldn’t have been more wrong.
CHAPTER 40
“Hi, Jack.” Alan had been waiting in the bar, and gave me a hug when I entered the German place. He looked good, in black slacks and a gray cardigan. When I pecked him on the cheek I could tell he’d just shaved.
“I’m not in the best of moods,” I said.
“It’ll be fun.” He took my coat and led me through the restaurant. “This is an old friend of yours.”
“What old friend?” Then I saw.
Harry McGlade winked at me from his seat. He wore the standard Harry outfit: a wrinkled brown suit and a stained tie.
“Hiya, Jackie. This is my new squeeze, Nora.”
“It’s Dora.” Dora was half McGlade’s age, blonde with a streak of pink in her bangs, and the blouse she wore would have been tight on a Barbie doll.
“Y
eah, Dora. Sorry, honey.”
“Harry called earlier.” Alan beamed like a schoolboy after his first kiss. “He wanted to thank you for something. Since you’ve been in a funk lately, I thought it would be nice if he thanked you in person. He’s the guy who was in that made-for-TV movie with you, right? I mean, his character and your character?”
“Yeah.” I tried to sound upbeat and enthusiastic. I failed.
Harry didn’t have to fake it. “I just got my PI license in the mail this morning. The Illinois Department of Regulations takes their time, but you made good on your word, Jackie. Dinner is on me.”
“Great.” That sounded even worse.
The waitress came by, a woman in her sixties dressed in a dirndl. Her English was heavily accented with German. She made the mistake of starting with Harry.
“Something to drink, sir?”
“Got any German beer?”
“We’ve got the largest selection of imported beer in Chicagoland.”
“How about Schlitzkreig?” asked Harry.
“We don’t have that.”
“Krautweiser?”
She shook her head.
“He’ll have a Beck’s,” I told the waitress. “And so will I.”
“Make it three.” Alan held up three fingers.
“Diet cola with an orange slice, a lemon slice, a lime slice, and a cherry,” Dora said.
“Why not just order a fruit salad?” asked Harry.
Dora giggled. I shot Alan a pained look, but his nose was buried in the menu and he didn’t see it. I suppose I couldn’t blame the guy. Alan didn’t know Harry, and I’d never had any reason to mention him.
“Would you like an appetizer?”
“Swastikabobs.” This from McGlade, naturally.
“We do not have shish kebab.”
Harry shook his head. “No, I said—”
“We’ll think it over,” I interrupted. The poor waitress loped off.
Alan set the menu down. “I’m going with the wiener schnitzel.”
“What’s that?” Dora asked in a forced-cutesy way.
“It’s veal.”
“What’s that? Like pork?”
“It’s a baby cow.” Harry pinched her cheek. “You’re so adorable.”
Dora’s face bunched up. “You’re ordering a baby cow wiener?”
“Wiener is German for veal,” Alan explained.
“Wanna see my veal?” Harry winked.
Where was that beer?
It came, eventually, and I ordered a second one before taking a sip. If you’re stuck in hell, you might as well roast some marshmallows.
Conversation, if it could be called that, centered around McGlade and the various cases he’d been involved in. Dora remained glued to every word. Alan laughed politely when it was called for. I drank.
The food was wonderful, and I had to give Alan credit; he did manage to make me forget about Fuller for a few hours.
“What’s the deal with the Fuller trial, Jackie?”
So much for that.
“The deal is, he’s going to get off, unless his partner confesses or we locate a runaway prison guard.”
“You gotta find someone? Why didn’t you tell me?”
“We’ve got every cop in Illinois, plus Feds, looking for him. What could you do, McGlade?”
“I happen to be a world-famous private investigator, Jackie. And what do I do, Dora?”
She giggled. “You investigate privates.”
“Indeed. And I also find people. Gimme the rundown.”
The beer had loosened my tongue a tad, so I gave Harry the scoop.
“You got the file?”
“In the car.”
“I’d be happy to assist you in this instance. And in return, I only ask a small favor.”
“I don’t think I can handle any more favors, McGlade.”
“This one is easy.”
“What is it?”
“I’ll tell you when I catch the guard.” McGlade winked at me.
Dessert was black forest cake and incredibly strong coffee. Harry made good on his word and picked up the check. Alan tried to reach for it, but I gave him a vicious pinch underneath the table to squelch that idea.
Afterward, McGlade invited us back to his place for a nightcap. Alan got another pinch as a warning, and he made up a nice excuse about having to get home early.
McGlade got the file, Dora gave me a hug good night, and we went our separate ways.
“I’m getting the impression that Harry isn’t your favorite person.” Alan grinned at me when we got into the car.
“You picked up on the subtle nonverbal clues?”
“That, and all night you kept muttering ‘idiot’ under your breath.”
“Was I right?”
Alan laughed. “You were right. He’s a character, though. Think he’ll find that guard guy?”
“He couldn’t find snow in Alaska.”
Alan put his hand on the back of my neck. Rubbed.
“You haven’t been yourself lately. You okay?”
“Everyone keeps asking me that. I’m a little tense, that’s all.”
“Want to talk about it?”
“I’m fighting with Herb. We’re losing this case. I walked in on Mom and Mr. Griffin.”
Alan laughed. “You did too? He’s spunky, for an old guy.”
“Spunky? The man’s a jackrabbit. He’s going to break Mom’s other hip.”
“Anything else bugging you?”
There was an implied, anything with us?
I told him no, but that wasn’t true. There was a problem with us. Every time I got home from work, I half-wondered if Alan would still be there. He left me once. He could do it again. So to protect myself, I was holding back.
I had to. Until I was sure.
“I’m glad.” Alan moved his hand from my neck to my leg.
“Don’t start something you can’t finish.”
“Oh, I may not be Jackrabbit Griffin, but I think I can finish okay.”
And when we got back to my place, he proved that he could.
CHAPTER 41
The call came at four in the morning.
“I got him.”
I tried to open my eyes, but the Ambien wouldn’t let me.
“Who is this?”
“It’s Harry. Duh.”
“What do you want, McGlade?”
“The bull. The guard. I got him.”
That got my eyes open.
“You’re kidding.”
“Why would I kid?”
“Where are you?”
“I’m in the lobby of the Four Seasons. He’s in room 3604, under the name John Smith. Real creative, huh?”
I shook my head, tried to get my thoughts clear.
“How’d you find him?”
“I’ll tell you when you get here. Bring a warrant.”
Judge Taylor wasn’t happy about being woken up in the middle of the night, but because she knew the immediacy of the situation, she understood. I stopped by her place on Cumberland, and then went to the hotel.
McGlade greeted me at the entrance with a canary-eating grin.
“How the hell did you manage this?”
“I told you. I’m a world-famous private investigator.”
“Spill.”
“Well, I knew you guys would have checked the airports, bus terminals, and train stations, and since the guy didn’t have a car, I figured he’d still be in the city. You froze his accounts, so he couldn’t use his credit cards. That meant he had to pay with cash. So I touched base with some of my friends at a few dozen local hotels, asking if anyone checked in lately paying in cash. Got a hit here, and confirmed it when the doorman saw the picture.”
“Harry, I gotta admit it, I’m amazed.”
“Yeah. Sometimes I amaze myself. You ready to crack some skulls, partner?”
I nodded. We entered the building, all crystal chandeliers and polished marble, and I hit the button for the lobby.
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“So, you owe me a favor, right?”
“Anything you want, Harry, as long as it doesn’t involve either of us getting naked.”
“You wish. You remember my movie? Fatal Autonomy?”
“Unfortunately.”
“Well, I’m talking with the producer, and he’s considering turning it into a series.”
“That blows my mind.”
“Mine too. One of the Baldwin brothers is going to play me this time. They want to get that fat actress who played you to reprise her role. There’s a little matter of permission, though.”
My good mood lost a smidgen of goodness.
“Please, Jack? I found this guy for you, right? You owe me one. They love your character, and don’t want to do a series without her.”
I sighed. “Fine.”
McGlade opened his arms to hug me, but I advised him against it.
The elevator spit us out on the seventh floor. We passed a table stacked high with cut flowers, and made our way to the second set of elevators. McGlade pressed the number 36.
“Nice hotel.” He tapped the marble-inlaid floor with his shoe. “Reminds me of a HoJo I stayed at in Jersey.”
When the elevator stopped, we found the room without difficulty.
“Mr. Rohmer! Chicago Police Department. Open up. We have a warrant.”
No answer.
“Mr. Rohmer! Open the door, sir!”
Nothing.
“I’ll get a manager.” Harry trotted off. I continued knocking for another five minutes, before a desk clerk came over, smiling nervously.
“We’d like to keep this as quiet as possible, so as not to disturb the other guests.”
“Sure. Just open up.”
He opened it. I went in first, gun in hand. The room was dark, but I noticed two things immediately.
First, the television was on, playing the kind of movie that men watch when they’re alone.
Second, Mr. Rohmer was on top of the bed, naked and grasping his veal. He was also quite dead.
“You could try mouth-to-mouth,” Harry suggested. “He’d probably like that.”
I might have tried, too, but I’d been around enough corpses to know he’d been dead for at least an hour.
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