"Yes."
"Anything unusual happen since you checked in? Anybody bother you?”
"Some guy attacked me at the Art Institute."
"Did you know this guy?"
"No."
"Does the Institute have video of the incident?"
This was no time to be coy and worry about who attacked whom. We were way down the road on that one. "I'm sure they do."
"We'll get that video and get a good shot of his face. We'll put that out to everyone's computer."
"What computers?"
"The video screens in our patrol cars. We'll put the guy's face on those screens. It's very helpful. So, anything else unusual?"
“Not really, I guess.”
He keeps writing on his notepad.
"She might have just wandered off, then," says the detective.
"Yes, maybe she did,” says flashlight.
"What time did she go missing?"
"I woke up at five and she was gone."
"No, what time did she go missing? Not what time did you notice."
"I don't know. I woke up at five when a client called."
"Isn't that rather coincidental?" said flashlight.
"Not at all. I'm a criminal lawyer. Calls can come anytime."
"Criminal lawyer?" said the black man distastefully. "How can you defend those people? Do you think we're joking around when we make arrests?"
Now I was flummoxed. The entire point was being missed and time was evaporating.
I hung my head and tried to calm myself. Then I asked, as calmly as I could manage, "Please get someone outside the exit. Stop and ask, at least. I just know that's what should happen."
"All right, Mr. Green," said flashlight without looking at his notebook.
"Gresham."
"Mr. Gresham. We're going to put this on the police band. We'll find her faster that way. If she's even still in Chicago."
"What do you mean, 'still in Chicago'? Why the hell wouldn't she be in Chicago?"
"Let's say you went to bed at midnight and didn't wake up for five hours. That's time enough for someone to snatch her and be halfway across the state with her. I'm not saying that's the case. It's just that someone probably has a very large lead on us."
"Oh, my God," I moaned. Not because he was being ridiculous. But because he was right. I had no idea how much time had gone by since Danny had gone missing.
"Now," said the gentleman with the white mustache. "Have you and your wife been on the outs?"
"Marriage problems? Not at all."
"Has she taken up with another man? Or woman? Any hint of that?"
"She's with me day and night. We work together, we live together. If there's someone else, they're getting the short end of the stick."
"And what about the testimony? Who's the man she put away?"
"Jana Emerich. He's a murderer and a rapist."
"Why isn't he in prison?"
"Goddamn if I know. Some federal judge set him free."
The officer shook his head sadly. "And now he's come for your wife. This is not sounding good, Mr. Gresham."
"Do something!"
"Mr. Gresham, I believe we have enough to put this on the radio. Plus, we'll get down to the garage and see what turns up there. Do you have a card? Please write your cell number on the back."
I did as he requested. He two-fingered the card into a breast pocket and flipped off a smart salute as he walked away talking into his shoulder mike, presumably to the switchboard.
The black officer caught up to him. "No signs of a struggle in the sleeping area," he reported. "No signs of breaking or forced entry on the main door, either." The other officer nodded, opened the door, and then they were gone. Now flashlight and I were alone, but only for a couple of minutes, as pounding erupted on the outer door. I answered, and there stood the second security officer, this time looking not so frightened of me.
"Nothing," he said to the other officer.
"Stairways?"
"Up and down, nothing."
"Restrooms?"
"Men's and women's."
"Kitchen?"
"Nada. Same with the offices and linen closets. I had some help from the concierge desk too. Everybody's reported. Nothing out of line."
"Well done, Jurgens," flashlight said. He then opened up a black binder he'd brought along and produced a thin sheaf of papers. He passed them to me. "Here's a report form. Please fill it out and return it to the front desk before checking out."
"Checking out? We’re here as guests of a man named Gunnar Mendelssohn. He’s paying so I don’t need to check out."
A dull stare was his answer. Then, "Mr. Gresham, our records show Mr. Mendelssohn made the reservation by phone. But it has come to our attention that he used your wife’s credit card. Might he have something to do with all this?”
“Doubtful. He’s an attorney she knows from work. It’s a long story.”
“Still, why would he use your wife’s card?”
“That’s a mistake. He wouldn’t use my wife’s card, obviously.“
The security team looked at each other. Their faces said otherwise.
Then, “Well, you’ll get that sorted out, I’m sure.”
“I’m sure. So where does that leave us? What do you do next?”
“Your wife is obviously not inside our hotel. You'll need to continue your search off-prem.”
“Off-prem?”
"Off our premises. Away from here."
"So that's it? You run up and down the stairs, swing a few doors and you're done? What the hell kind of investigation do you call that?"
"We're security, not detectives."
"Well, I'm feeling damn insecure right now if that's all you can do for me."
Both men then stood.
"Is that all we can do for you, sir?" asked Jurgens.
"Evidently," I said.
They shied away.
"But thank you for coming," I added. "It means a lot to me." It didn't, but I didn't want to set anybody off against me.
"Thanks for staying at the Palmer House," said flashlight. "Your patronage means everything to us. Please come again."
My mind was already out in the streets, racing full speed after Jana. I had no doubt the moron at the Art Institute was sent by him. My only question was, how would they know where we were staying? Were they following us 24/7 and they just followed us to the hotel? There was no way to know, so I took inventory of my resources. I would need to talk to Jana’s father, my priest. That would be the logical place to start.
I headed for the garage where we'd left our car.
Honestly, I felt like wild horses were tearing me apart. On one side was Jana and all the hatred he had for Danny, while on the other side was Mikey, the son of Jana. I remembered, as I backed my car out of its parking slot, that blond guy was very likely connected to Jana.
I shuddered and fishtailed my Mercedes across the icy sidewalk out onto Monroe Street.
Then I floored it and headed for All St.s-St. Thomas Catholic Church.
Maybe the priest had a line on his son.
13
Michael
Father Bjorn was in morning prayers by the time I arrived at All St.s. So I paused in the narthex and listened impatiently, taking the service's vitals.
O my God, in union with the Immaculate Heart of Mary, I offer Thee the Precious Blood of Jesus from all the altars throughout the world, joining with It the offering of my every thought, word and action of this day....
I remembered much of what I was seeing from when I served as an altar boy. That had been in a different life on a different planet, I felt. In a way it was a relief to see and hear that nothing had changed since then. But in reality everything had changed. I no longer held with orthodoxy and tradition, and this morning, especially, I wanted nothing but for it to end.
I ran down the aisle toward Father Bjorn at the altar. Ever so clumsily, I approached him from behind and tugged at his vestments.
&n
bsp; He turned from the altar and frowned at me. Then he made the sign of the cross and stepped away, taking me by the elbow and pulling me off to the side.
"It's about Jana, isn't it?" were the first words he said to me.
"Danny has gone missing. Can you help me find Jana?"
A look of pain crossed the priest's face.
"I have no idea where he is. We don't talk, Michael."
"I was afraid of that. Is there anyone you can think of who might know where he's staying?"
He slowly shook his head. "Not really. We don't live in the same world, Michael, my son and I. He refuses to have anything to do with me. You know I tried visiting him in prison and he wouldn't even come to the glass and speak with me. Refused to even see me. I've failed miserably with him, Michael. Even as a priest I've failed him, so much more as his father."
I reached and squeezed the man's shoulder. His pain was obvious.
"I'm sorry to bother you, Father. Please forgive the interruption."
"Christ won't mind. In fact, He is always there, waiting to help. Do you remember that anymore, Michael? It's rare that I see you at Mass nowadays."
"I've wanted to come. But Danny and I..." My voice trailed off. How do you tell your priest the church is no longer relevant? Should you, even? I started backing away. There was nothing more to be gained here, so I nodded and made the sign of the cross and went on my way without another word.
Father Bjorn probably understood. Or at least he should have.
After all, he had fathered Jana, the monster. I guess that in some way I was very angry at him for that. Which he probably knew. My staying away from services was more about that than about the church or my religion. I simply hated the sin that had produced Jana Emerich.
And I wasn't a priest; I had no power to forgive.
My second call from the hotel, after calling the front desk, had been a call to Danny's parents. No, they said, alarmed now that I had asked—they hadn't seen or heard from Danny since last night when she called during dinner. They then had five minutes of questions and frantic pleas that I find their daughter and that I let them know the instant she is located.
I hadn't forgotten about Delphi Shutters and her critical first hour at the police station. That need was crying out in my head for attention at the same time my horror at finding Danny missing had me pulled in another direction. Marcel, my investigator from my law office, had been called and he was en route to my house. The police had already been there and reported back that all looked well on the home front. A huge relief. Now Marcel would meet me there and we would lay our plans for locating Danny. I decided to send one of our associates over to meet with Delphi and cover for me. Now I could go straight home, reviewing what I knew along the way.
My hands wouldn't settle down on the steering wheel of my Mercedes. They moved around, up and down like frightened crows, playing out what I was feeling inside. My worst fear—always—was that a family member would go missing. I guess that's maybe everyone's worst fear. But I'd always told myself that if it ever happened I'd be able to think my way through it. But right then I had no good ideas. I was battered by fear and anger that it was even happening—including anger at Danny for allowing it to happen. As if she would have. Danny would never in a million years allow something like this to happen. No, I had to face it, someone had made off with her. That's all it could be.
My mind began playing what-if: what if Gunnar was actually someone other than who he told Danny he was? I decided to make a call to Jebby Aranowitz, a fellow attorney and friend of mine who knew everyone in Chicago. Jebby would help me get my head around Gunnar Mendelssohn and help me understand why a lawyer from his firm would use my wife’s credit card. So I called Jebby and we talked. Thirty minutes later I had the home phone number of Nathaniel W. Day—Natty—the senior partner at Day Preston, the medical malpractice defense firm where Danny first met Gunnar. So I made the call, even though it was still very early Sunday morning.
While the phone rang, I comforted myself with the knowledge that in just minutes I would know a lot more about the guy and I would have a better number for him than I had.
"Hello," said a sleepy voice. "Natty Day speaking."
"Natty, it's Michael Gresham."
"Who?"
"I'm an attorney with a case your firm is defending."
"You're calling me at home? On a Sunday? What gives, Gresham?"
"I wouldn't disturb you if it weren't extremely urgent."
"Go ahead."
"Last night my wife and I used your suite at the Palmer House. Thank you for that, by the way."
"What? What suite?"
"Your suite, the Palmer House."
"I don't have a suite at the Palmer House. Not that I know of, and if we did I would certainly know."
"What?" I exclaimed. Then I calmed myself. "Well, let me ask you this. The other day my wife, Danny, was in your offices and she met one of your partners."
"Who was that, Gresham?"
"That would be Gunnar Mendelssohn. He told Danny he was a partner at your firm. He arranged for us to use the suite. But he used my wife’s credit card to make payment. I don’t get why that would happen.”
"And she met this person at my law offices?"
"She did. In the hallway outside the deposition room."
"And he introduced himself as my law partner?"
"He did. Gunnar Mendelssohn."
A sick feeling was gripping me. I wasn't going to like what I heard next.
"Mr. Gresham, I have no partner by that name. Gunnar Mendelssohn, you say?"
"That's what he told Danny. Gunnar Mendelssohn."
"Mr. Gresham, are you sure you're calling the right law firm? How did you get my number?"
"Jebby Aranowitz gave me your number."
"Well, I could say something but I won't. I know you're upset with all this or you wouldn't be calling. But again, I think you've got Day Preston mixed up with perhaps another law firm your wife was visiting. Is that possible?"
"No. She was at Day Preston. It was a deposition. A case your firm is defending."
"Well, I'm sorry I can't do more for you, Mr. Gresham, but none of this is anything I know anything about. I'm sorry. Now, I'm going to hang up and make some coffee. Are we through here?"
"Yes. I don't know what else to ask you. But can I call you back if I need to?”
"Why not. I'm up now anyway. Call away."
"Thank you. My investigator is Marcel Rainford. He might need to call you."
"Call away, like I say. I want to help. I just think you’ve got a false lead here, that's all."
"Thank you, Mr. Day. I'm sorry to disturb you on a weekend."
My hands were shaking after we hung up. I crossed my arms on my chest and held on tightly, trying to stop the adrenalin rush and the shaking limbs. My world was crashing down all around me. A new light was shining on some very dark places in my mind. Danny had either been fooled by a very devious, very cunning man or she had imagined this person, which meant I had been missing what was happening to her for several months now. It would mean that I hadn't seen her coming apart and losing touch. Suddenly I felt the need to vomit and rushed into the bathroom. Hands on knees, head discharging stomach contents, I stood there shaking from head to toe. It was much worse than I could have ever guessed.
I told myself to slow down, to think. All right, I thought, first she thinks there's the lawyer—or whatever he was—who misled her about the Day law firm and who misled Danny about the Rowdy settlement. So did this imaginary person also get her to leave the hotel in the middle of the night? If so, where to? And why?
The doorbell rang and there was Marcel, a friendly face at last.
I couldn't get him inside fast enough.
14
Danny
25 Years Ago
Second week and off to work at Good Hands in Northbrook.
There are no seats on the Metra today. Every car full up. Old men (30+), old ladies, dudes, colle
giate, high schoolers. Everybody looking out the scuzzy windows or nose stuck in a paper. Chicago Sun Times and train travel, right size newspaper, right price, disposable news. Me with my backpack, Tribune (tossed, I grabbed it up).
Got a letter from my mom today, a single paragraph, nine lines long. In that paragraph were four smiley faces. Four!
Where are you? She wants to know.
I miss you, she says. Smiley face.
Daddy sends you his love. Two smiley faces and x0x0x0x0x0.
Please call. Smiley face. Mom: x0x0
I push open the door and step into that noisy little No-Man's-Land between two train cars. It lurches and thunders clack-clack-clack and everyone hangs onto the bars and rails and looks out the windows at Chicago whizzing by.
Nice. Then I feel it. Some guy behind me. He actually has his crotch and his boner pressed up against my ass. I'm wearing a black skirt and white button blouse and a waist-length winter coat. Plus leggings. But there's no doubt. Girl knows a hard-on when she's got one in her ass crack. So...I move away.
But he follows. Full up, pressing, pressing, and now moving. He's actually jacking off against me through our clothes. Suddenly I swing around and bring my fist up smashing against his crotch. He falls back and utters a profanity accusing me of having sex with my own mother. But another guy sees all this and grabs this guy from behind.
Then I see. The blond hair guy. Crystal blue eyes. He's got the guy's head in an armlock and is dragging him backwards.
"That ain't right," Blue Eyes says to dick man. "How would you like it if I stuck my—"
"Hey," I break in, raising my hand. "It's not necessary. I'm okay and he's chagrined."
"Chagrined?" says Blue Eyes. "Who says 'chagrined?'"
I shrug. "I do, I guess. It was on my SAT's or something. So throw me off the train."
Blue Eyes shoves dick man’s face up against the sliding door. "You go in there and you can ride without me sitting on you. Now!"
Dick man hits the door release and hops inside the car. Last I see of him he's trying to claim a seat between two high school girls and they aren't budging. Good riddance.
Voices In The Walls: A Psychological Thriller (Michael Gresham Series) Page 6
