by T. E. Woods
Janeworthy might have been offended by the mayor’s continued crudeness had he not been such a willing participant.
“I was happy to set it up,” Millerman continued. “Fellow like you must not get a chance to meet the kind of cosmopolitan women London has to offer here in the heartland. As long as you two kids had a nice time, that’s good enough for me.”
“I’m assuming she was a…a…professional? I, of course, would be more than willing to reimburse you any expense you incurred.”
The mayor leaned back in his seat. “Don’t mention it again. Like I said. Friends helping friends. Nothing more.”
Janeworthy nodded. “Perhaps you can relay my appreciation on to the young lady.”
“Will do. Now let’s get on to why I asked you down here. I’m sure both of us have busy days planned. Brooks, I need you to step away from the public market project.”
Janeworthy fell back against his seat as his breath rushed out of his lungs. The development of a public market had been his primary focus for the past fourteen months. He’d invested tens of thousands of dollars in design plans and legal fees. He’d spent another hundred thousand in earnest monies to secure two possible sites. He and his team had been lobbying the Common Council for months, and until this moment the mayor had been a vocal champion of the need to build a permanent, year-round gathering place for local vendors and farmers. The city stood poised to add millions of dollars in tax revenue once the market was fully operational. It would be another jewel in Janeworthy’s portfolio, not to mention contributing significantly to his overall net worth.
“I don’t understand. Is it the council? I haven’t sensed a strong resistance. Quite the contrary. They see the economic boon the market will bring the city. Not to mention the revival of a blighted neighborhood.”
The mayor shook his head. “Nothing like that. Of course the council’s on board with this. It’s a win-win situation. Mom-and-pop businesses grow. Tourists come. City gets a big payday. No. There’s no opposition to the market. I just have to make sure you’re not the guy driving the bus.”
“But this was my idea! Everyone knows that!”
“Let’s not get too full of ourselves, okay? Public markets have been around forever. Seattle, Portland, New York. Hell, I’ll bet even your beloved London’s got one. Let’s not pretend this is a wheel you invented.”
Janeworthy tightened his hold on the chair’s arms to keep his hands from shaking. “No one thought of bringing such a market to Madison before I did. This is my vision, Roger. I’ve invested time, energy, and a not-insignificant amount of money into this project.”
“And your efforts are appreciated. It’s time for a new face, that’s all. You have to admit, our skyline’s looking a little uniform, what with most of the buildings coming out of your shop. This is our chance to make a splash with some new blood.”
“Do you have someone in mind?”
Millerman shrugged. “You know the drill. It’s all about the optics. This one’s going to a minority. Or a woman. And if God sees fit to send me a female minority with experience in bringing in a project like this, I just might have to start believing again.”
“I’ll fight you on this. I’ll not have all my work sacrificed so you can look like the hotshot looking out for the little guy.”
“I’m looking out for the city, Brooks. We’re not all hand-tailored suits, you know. City contracts need to benefit as many as possible.”
“I’m the only one who can bring this in. You know that.”
“What I know is you’ve had more than your fair share of TIFs, guaranteed cost overruns, and sweetheart deals. Relax, Brooks. This isn’t the only thing left to build in Madison. There’s more cookies in the jar.”
“But it will be the biggest for the next five years.”
“And that’s why I have to make sure it’s not going to you.”
Janeworthy couldn’t fathom the ease with which the mayor was disregarding him. He’d built his career lifting this city up. He’d contributed to each of Millerman’s elections. He’d even accommodated the mayor’s demands for the inclusion of low-income housing in several of his latest developments. He was not about to be cast aside so some demographically appealing Johnny-come-lately could capture his gem.
“I’ll sue. I’ll take this to the newspapers. It is the very picture of fiduciary malfeasance to put a project of this magnitude into the hands of anyone of less than my stature.”
“There’s that ego again, Brooks. Take a deep breath. Like I said, we’ll do business again. I need you to step aside. And I need you to be very vocal in your support of whichever development firm I choose.”
“Isn’t the selection up to the Common Council?”
Millerman’s smile was cold. “Like I said, whichever development firm I choose. Can I count on you?”
Janeworthy’s right hand slipped free of the chair’s arm and slid down to the walking stick lying across his lap. Then his left hand followed suit, each gripping the stick with such force his knuckles turned white.
“You’re the mayor, not the king. I don’t know who you think you are to dare to assume you have such power.”
The mayor sighed. He leaned forward and inserted a thumb drive into his desk computer. He was silent as he manipulated the mouse. Finally he turned the monitor around, allowing Janeworthy a full view, and clicked the mouse one last time.
A small bedroom came into view. Decorated entirely in white. The camera angle was such that the bed dominated the image.
Sitting at the head of the bed, posed in vulnerable provocation, was a young woman. Dark hair. Dark eyes. Naked except for white cotton panties. Her eyes were focused off camera, as though she was seeing something just out of view.
Janeworthy’s stomach lurched as he watched himself climb onto the bed, crawling up to where the woman sat. He saw his hands move to her shoulders. His mouth on her neck. His knees urging hers open.
“Turn it off,” he said.
“But we’re just getting to the good stuff. I particularly like when she tries to push you away. If you’d like, I can turn up the volume. You very clearly hear her protesting. But you manned up, I must say. It wasn’t long before she was lying there, totally submitting to you. Yes, sir. You’ve got quite the seductive style.”
“Turn it off.” Janeworthy was sickened by the begging in his own voice.
The mayor spun the monitor back around, clicked a few more commands with the mouse, pulled the thumb drive out of the computer, and tucked it into his trouser pocket.
“I’ll let the Common Council know we’ll need proposals from developers at our next session. I don’t care what reason you give the press when they ask why you’ve bowed out of the selection process, so long as it doesn’t blow back on my own plans. Hell, tell ’em you’re looking into overseas projects for all I care. Look on the bright side, Brooks. This could get you—what did you call it?—across the pond? This could get you there faster than you planned. Can I count on you?”
Janeworthy’s hands held their grip on his walking stick.
“Big smile, Brooks. All’s well with the city. Forward. Ever forward. You in?”
Janeworthy relaxed his hands. He stood, this time truly needing his cane to remain upright.
“I’m in,” he whispered.
Chapter 24
NOW
Sydney glanced at the clock in her darkened bedroom. 6:22.
Why am I awake?
She snuggled back down into her covers and willed herself to sleep, but images of the night before flashed through her memory. Hush Money’s tables had been filled with festive diners. She’d been surprised at how little discussion she overheard about the mayor’s funeral. Her crew had operations well in hand and Sydney had spent most of the night at the Ten-Ten.
Horst is better at this than I am. I wanted so much to talk about Windy’s case. But he kept to his guideline that our conversations steer clear of that. I couldn’t ask him about the 911 call.
I don’t want to choose sides. I just want Windy safe.
Sydney took a deep breath and tried to shift her thoughts. She’d left the Ten-Ten and gone to Clay’s place a little before midnight. The room had been packed. Every blues fan in a hundred-mile radius had been crammed in, wanting to hear the great Slingshot Billy. Clay had saved a spot for her at the corner of the bar. She’d settled in and listened to Slingshot’s blues for nearly an hour, loving that she felt so comfortable in that space. Clay hadn’t had much time to spend with her. He’d asked her to stay until they closed. The look in his eyes when he promised to walk her home had suggested he’d have plenty of time for her after that. But after one glass of wine, the day’s events had pulled at her, urging her to call a cab, get to bed, and sleep till noon.
So why am I awake?
She focused on her toes, willing them to become heavy and relaxed. Then she moved to her calves, her thighs, her hips, and her belly. She tried to envision each body part growing heavier and heavier, pulling her deep into sleep.
It didn’t work.
She glanced again at the clock. 6:37.
Sydney flung the covers back and sat up. She went to her bathroom and emerged ten minutes later, teeth brushed, hair pulled into a runner’s knot, and wearing her workout clothes. By eight o’clock she was sitting at her kitchen counter, a two-mile run behind her and finishing her bagel, orange juice, and coffee.
Maybe Nancy and Joe are finally rubbing off on me. Not so bad, this early-morning stuff.
Her phone warbled. She didn’t recognize the number on the screen.
“Hello.”
“Sydney? This is Windy. Windy Fields. Am I calling too early? I’m sorry if I am.”
Sydney assured her she was fine. “What’s up?”
“I’m supposed to be at Hush Money by ten. Chef Roland’s going to help me some more with my knife skills.”
“He told me you’re doing a wonderful job.”
“Chef’s been very nice. You gotta get past his bluster, I guess. But if you don’t listen to that stuff, he’s really kind of a good guy.”
Sydney could think of dozens of people who would have disagreed with Windy’s generous assessment. “Is there a problem?”
“I don’t know. Maybe. Andrew just called. Says I should meet him at his office at nine o’clock. I told him I have to work. He tells me never mind about that. Says it’s real important.”
Sydney wondered if Andrew had told her yet about the prosecutor’s latest piece of evidence.
“You should go. Don’t worry about Roland. I’ll let him know what’s going on. If you’re up to it, come to work when you’re done with Andrew. That sound okay?”
There was no response.
“Windy? Do you think you can come to work after your meeting with Andrew?”
“Oh, yes. Of course. It’s just that…I was wondering if…I hoped maybe…”
“What is it, Windy?”
“I know you’re already doing so much. But I was wondering…Could you maybe be at that meeting? I know Andrew is supposed to be on my side and all, but sometimes he scares me. Big words. Fast talk. That tone in his voice. All those assistants running around acting like he’s God himself. You think you could come with? Just to sit with me?”
—
Andrew raised a curious eyebrow when his receptionist escorted Windy and Sydney into his office.
“Are you sure you want her here?” he asked Windy.
“If I need to sign some sort of paper, I will. Besides, she might as well get a good idea what she’s paying for, right?”
He turned toward Sydney. “This okay with you?”
“I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t.”
Andrew leveled a stern gaze. “I’m not so sure how comfortable I am with this. I know your relationship with Detective Welke is lifelong. Windy and I are going to be discussing things. Things that were, that might have been…both working for her and against her. I can’t risk you tipping our hand to the prosecution in even the most casual way.”
“It won’t happen.” She was beginning to understand why Windy needed someone in the meeting.
He sighed, glanced between the two women, and threw his hands up in reluctant acceptance.
“Windy, I want you to listen to a piece of evidence the prosecution recently released to us.”
He entered a few commands into his computer. A crackle came over the speakers.
911. What is your location, please?
More crackle.
911. What is your emergency?
A gurgling sound was followed by a throaty gasp.
Windy.
Then it ended.
“This is the recording of a 911 call received the night the mayor was killed,” Andrew explained. “It came from a cellphone. Couldn’t be traced to an address. Police sent patrol cars out to the general area but didn’t find any disturbances. They chalked it up to a prank call until you were arrested. Your name in the paper jogged the operator’s memory. She went back, pulled the call from the logs, and gave the number to the police. It belongs to a private cellphone they found at the mayor’s residence. The time of the call coincides with the coroner’s estimated time of death.”
“I don’t understand.” Windy turned to Sydney, eyes wide, face pale. “What’s this mean?”
“The prosecutor is going to present this as the mayor’s using his last thrust of earthly strength to name his killer. One gasp. One name. Windy.”
Windy groaned. Sydney leaned over and placed a hand on her knee.
“Do you remember this?” she asked. “Were you there when the mayor made that call?”
“Of course she was there,” Andrew said. “Her blood, prints, and DNA are all over the place. She was covered in the mayor’s blood when they picked her up.”
Windy began rocking back and forth.
“I think it’s time we shifted focus,” the lawyer announced.
“Meaning?” Sydney asked.
“Our original plan to create reasonable doubt by presenting a theory of someone else shooting the mayor gets blown out of the water by this tape. It’s time to work toward as palatable a consequence as possible for Windy.”
“Some sort of bargain?” Sydney translated.
“A plea arrangement.” Andrew’s voice softened. “Look, I don’t know how much Windy’s shared with you about her relationship with the mayor. But it seems there were sexual expectations on his part. Forced sexual expectations.”
Sydney recalled Phoebe’s description of Windy as a vulnerable zebra to the mayor’s predatory lion.
“I’m sure I can explain Windy’s violent, desperate reaction. The murder weapon wasn’t registered. There’s no indication Windy ever purchased any firearm. I could make a case the gun was there. The mayor became sexually aggressive. She reacted on instinct. If I’m lucky, I might get it down to involuntary manslaughter. A few years in minimum security. And there’s always time reduction for model behavior.”
Sydney was thinking about the impact a “few years” away from her mother would have on little Gabby when Windy whispered her solution.
“I could say I didn’t kill him. I could say I didn’t kill the mayor.” Her voice trembled. “What if I said he was standing there. I walked in. He was holding the phone.” She closed her eyes and shook her head. “So much blood. He was covered in blood.” She opened her eyes and looked up at Andrew. “He looked at me. Right at me. He said my name. Maybe like he was calling out to me.”
“What?” Andrew pressed. “You’re remembering this now?”
“I don’t know what I remember! But it makes sense, doesn’t it? Maybe he called me earlier. Wanted me to come over.” She rubbed
her forehead frantically as she turned to Sydney. “It’s like I have this memory, but then the image floats away. It was Hush Money’s opening night. I needed to be at work. He told me it was important. Said it wouldn’t take more than twenty minutes.” Shame crept into her voice. “I went by on the way to work.”
“Is this a memory or is this what you’re prepared to say?” Andrew asked.
“I don’t know. It’s like something’s trying to come up, but it’s getting blocked. It makes sense to me, though.”
“And the mayor was already shot when you arrived?” Sydney asked.
“By whom?” Andrew demanded. “You told me there was no one else at the house.”
Windy looked away. Sydney could see the effort she was putting into trying to recall. Finally Windy shook her head. “I don’t know. It’s like everything is blank. But then I see him. In my mind. I see him, see the blood. Talking on the phone.”
“That must have been when you were hit on the head,” Sydney offered.
“Let’s not plant suggestions, Sydney. Windy, this is the time to be absolutely straight with me. Did you see anyone else at the mayor’s house that day?”
She started to shake. Then cry. Sydney crossed over to her, taking her into her arms. Rocking her.
“It’s okay, Windy. It’s okay…”
“It is most assuredly not okay,” Andrew insisted. “Think, Sydney. Windy’s been telling everyone—us and the police—that she has no recollection of that night. She’s confronted with the 911 call and suddenly she’s been given the gift of total recall? In an instant she has an explanation for why there’s a recording of the mayor gasping out her name with his dying breath?”
“But it makes sense,” Sydney argued. “Someone was in that room. The person who shot the mayor was there when Windy walked in. Millerman’s on 911, calling for help. He sees Windy. Calls out to her. The real murderer is behind her, strikes her, and makes a run for it.”
