by M. K. Gilroy
My face burns beet red. Might be hot enough to burn off the makeup.
PART TWO
God has given you one face, and you make yourself another.
WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE
27
“CONNER, LET’S HEAR your report,” Blackshear says matter of factly. “When you’re ready.”
His last phrase disconcerts me for just a second. I’m used to Zaworski’s barks to get started now, now, now.
I’m not as quick on my feet with presentations as many of my colleagues. Most don’t prepare comments, they can wing it. It’s Tuesday morning. I got to the office at six-thirty. I tried to type up my notes without messing up the fake nails. I couldn’t do it. I went to the bathroom and it took twenty-five minutes to get rid of them. I hammered out my report in forty-five minutes. I then wrote ten sentences on ten note cards by longhand to organize my thoughts.
Don, Martinez, Randall, Konkade, Blackshear, two uniforms assigned to help investigate—Sawyer and Shane, and the big boss himself, Czaka, are present. There is also a new man and woman present. Blackshear introduces Alex and Gretchen. I can’t remember their last names but have their business cards. They are from Department of Revenue at City Hall. No one said why they were present, but I think it’s obvious they are monitoring what their return on investment will be in letting Bobbie Ferguson cut a deal that forgives a lot of tax penalties. My powers of detecting are at work again.
Czaka could be present for any number of reasons. He might want to get a feel for how things are going so he can report more in-depth to Commissioner Fergosi and City Hall. He might want to observe how Blackshear handles running a meeting.
Czaka might also be here to keep an eye on me. Zaworski said the Commander didn’t like this plan for me to go undercover so he might be ready to pull the plug on it now. I’m not sure that would bother me too much. Probably wishful thinking on my part. Once a course of action is begun he might consider a change in direction to be a sign of weakness to colleagues from other city departments.
“I showed up at Bobbie’s at three o’ clock on Monday, September 31, three hours before I was to meet with Derrick Jensen, the plan being for him to pick me up at Ferguson’s place. The preparation for the Bears’ game included a facial—”
“We want to hear what happened at the game, not what kind of eyeliner you wore,” Czaka interrupts.
Feels like Zaworski never left. I hear some snickers. Don and Martinez are my two chief suspects and they will pay for it later. Innocent until proven guilty is for a court of law.
“Did I tell a joke?” Czaka demands cutting off the laughter immediately.
I take the first card and move it to the bottom of the stack, look at the second, and then move that to the back too. I clear my throat. I’m tempted to tell about Cutler’s touchdown pass with thirty-seven seconds to go in the game since Commander Czaka said he wanted to hear what happened at the game. I somehow doubt he or anyone else present would find it very pertinent or funny.
Focus. Just talk.
“Derrick picked me up at a little after six and we drove south on Lake Shore to Soldier Field. We proceeded to the corporate suite owned by the Durham and Durham Law Firm. Obviously you know that Durham and Durham are the names of the victim’s father and uncle. The suite itself was twenty feet by thirty feet with a wet bar, a food counter, and two sitting areas. There are glass doors that provide access to twenty-four standard stadium seats.”
“Now you’re bragging,” Martinez interrupts. “I can’t even afford to pay the bucks to get in the nose bleed seats.”
“Can it, Martinez,” Czaka cuts in. “I’m out of here in fifteen minutes,” he says looking at his watch. “Conner, you can give full details after I’m gone. Just let us know if you found out anything pertinent to the case.”
So much for him letting Blackshear run his meeting and so much for me following an outline. I stick my note cards in my black folio. I need to get a briefcase.
“There was a total of twenty-one guests in the suite,” I say. “Eleven men and ten women. The host was Stanley McGill, a senior partner with Durham and Durham. Neither Jack’s uncle nor dad were there. McGill was the only person there without a companion. His wife is in Paris for a fashion show, he told me.”
Czaka is trying to hide his impatience, which makes me more nervous and more likely to babble. Slow down.
“I worked the crowd as best I could. Of the ten men present besides McGill, I think only three were with the law firm. Those three were with spouses. I’m not sure any of them—the wives—were that excited to be part of the rest of the group. They stuck together in a small pack. I’m pretty sure they knew the score with the other women present. The other seven men were the close friends of Jack Durham we’ve been trying to monitor.”
“How they dealing with Durham’s death?” Squires asks.
“Everybody was having a good time, so no one looked too broken up.”
That brings silence to the table.
“I’ve got a report with their names and where they fit in Durham’s hierarchy of friendship,” I continue.
“Of the other seven women there, six were Barbara Ferguson’s independent contractors, including me.”
I didn’t say that right so I pause and glare in Don and Martinez’s direction to warn them no jokes. Czaka looks in their direction, too, with a scowl. I don’t see even a flicker of amusement in either of their eyes.
“Unfortunately, I got latched onto by a woman who isn’t connected to Ferguson. She was nice and clueless. I said something about how sad it was about what happened to Jack and she said her boyfriend, Patrick Wheeler, is pretty broken up about it still. I asked how Patrick knew Jack—he works for Jack’s brother at Durham and Durham. So he didn’t actually know Jack—no pun intended.”
I glance sideways at Squires who rolls his eyes.
“The other girls were reserved around me and each other. They were on the clock and paying attention to their men. I did meet one girl named Angie. I said the same thing to her: ‘Too bad about Jack.’ She just laughed. Kind of confirms what Penny said to Detective Squires and myself in an earlier interview. Really, it confirms what everyone but immediate family members have been saying. Durham was the life of the party but not a beloved person.”
“If Jack Durham is dead how come the party is still going on?” Randall asks.
“Best I can tell, my date, Derrick Jensen, is close to the family. His dad and Durham, Sr. have some deals. So I guess he’s the life of the party now.”
“Lucky you,” Martinez says.
“Don’t start, Antonio,” I say.
“Anything else I need to hear from you or anyone else present?” Czaka interrupts as he rises.
Ten blank set of eyes stare back at him. I wonder how he’ll spin this meeting to Fergosi and Mayor Doyle. My bet is that’s exactly who he is headed to see. I would also bet he’s decided to leave me in place and sell it as a promising line of inquiry. Derrick was Jack’s best friend and a member of the inner circle so I’ve hit the jackpot.
The second Czaka exits, Randall says, “Ferguson didn’t tell you which of her girls would be there. I thought that was part of our deal with her.”
“Ferguson told me three that would probably be there for sure because they are regulars. But she’s never one hundred-percent positive which of her contractors will be picked. She couldn’t even guarantee Penny wouldn’t be there, though she was going to try and make sure by giving her another assignment.”
“So she doesn’t set up all the couples?” one of the uniforms—I think Sawyer—asks.
“Only about half the time. She charges her clients a flat monthly retainer for unlimited assistance in setting up a date. If the client likes one of the contractors he can contact her directly. The contractors are supposed to let Bobbie know they went out, though they don’t always remember to. We suspect they owe Bobbie a percentage of their additional earnings and some try to hide it. Zaworski was sure of it.
But no one has come out and said that is the business arrangement.”
“I know the Z-Man said we don’t use derogatory words when describing the contractors,” Blackshear says, drawing quote marks in the air as he says “contractors”—“but he’s not here and I want to call her every name in the book, so bad. She’s skimming the cream every way you look at it.”
“We’ve all seen her place,” I say. “It’s incredible. It’s obvious Bobbie is raking in the dough.”
“So is Barbara Ferguson being helpful?” the lady, Gretchen, asks. “We’re giving up a lot of revenue in the fines she owes by letting her cut the deal with you. If she’s not keeping her end of the bargain or this isn’t going to be a real line of inquiry, we’d like to know now and get Legal involved in breaking the contract.”
“We’ve interviewed all of Bobbie’s contractors that had contact with Durham’s friends,” Don says. “None of them are very forthcoming. But that’s not on her.”
Is he defending Ferguson?
“They’re afraid or obstinate or both,” Don continues. “We’ve talked to all of Durham’s known associates at least once. Most twice. Ditto on getting anything that will help find his murderer. This is a group built on secrets.
“Someone we’ve talked to knows something. We might get lucky and one of them might make a mistake or remember something that will help us focus our investigation on a prime suspect. But everyone has an alibi the night he was killed. And everyone agrees that just about everyone has thought about killing the guy. They all make it into a joke, but you can feel the truth beneath the words.”
That’s the longest speech I’ve ever heard Squires give. I agree with him.
“So what I’m trying to say in a roundabout way is that I think Detective Conner is our best hope of getting someone to speak more frankly. I’m just not sure how long she can pull this off before she gets identified as one of us.”
“How long can you keep this going?” Blackshear asks.
“Don’s right,” I say. “But my guess is I can’t keep this up very long. Just in case any of you are wondering—and you better not be wondering—I’m not sleeping with any of these slime balls. I don’t care how many billions their daddy has. And as much as I love the CPD, I’ve got my boundaries even on a murder case. So that might have been my first and last date.”
“No one was wondering,” Blackshear says.
“I was,” Martinez says with a laugh.
“That’s my partner speaking, not me,” Randall says and gives Martinez a punch.
Good. I like Randall better now and I still don’t even know him.
“When Derrick started driving me to his place after the game I told him I ate something bad at the game and needed to be dropped off at Bobbie’s. He was very nice about it, but I don’t think that he’ll accept that a second time. So if my next appointment is with him—which is doubtful—maybe one more date and I’m done.”
Gretchen and Alex nod at each other and stand up.
“We appreciate the briefing and all you are doing to apprehend the murderer of Jack Durham,” Alex says. “Keep us informed.”
“We will,” Blackshear says. “If you don’t hear from me you’ll hear from Sergeant Konkade.”
We all stand and shake hands with the two as they head out the door. Gretchen slips me another business card. She has written on the back: We need to talk. I nod at her.
As everyone is sitting back down to continue the conversation I look down at my phone and swipe the touch screen. A text has come in. It’s from Bobbie: Derrick wants to see you Thursday night. Call me.
• • •
I give the news and we go over interview notes for the next two hours.
“I don’t want to beat a dead horse,” Don says with a groan, rubbing his eyes, “but since Bobbie isn’t certain which of her female escorts are working solo or as part of the group dates, Penny Martin might show up on Thursday and KC is busted. Are we sure we shouldn’t just tell her?”
“So you and Martinez can visit her for a nice little chat?” I ask, giving Don a dirty look. He knows I hate the nickname KC. “She did seem to like Detective Squires if I recall.”
He ignores me.
“Si a ella le gusta ella me encanta!” Martinez says.
Don gives him a dirty look. Wish I knew what Martinez was saying half the time.
And you took high school French instead of Spanish because your mom wanted you take Spanish, Kristen?
“Sounds like if Kristen don’t go to bed with this Derrick dude it’s over anyway,” Martinez says. “So maybe Randall and I go talk to her.”
“In my book, Penny is the prime suspect,” I say, looking at each face around the table. “I don’t think we should tell her anything. If I see her Thursday night I’ll handle it.”
That gets everyone’s attention.
“If you are right amiga,” Martinez says. “I have to wait to meet her another time.”
“You know it’s possible this Derrick is the killer and Conner is in harm’s way with no back up,” Konkade says.
“Good point,” Blackshear says. “Do we need to put a wire on her Thursday night?”
“I’m in the room guys,” I say. “You can talk to me. And the answer is no. No wire. First of all, with what they put me in, there’s no way to hide a wire.”
“And you have no meat on your bones,” Martinez interrupts.
“And second,” I continue, ignoring him, “I can handle Derrick any day in a fight.”
“My money is on Kristen,” Don says as everyone laughs.
“I’ve heard what you can do with the fists,” Randall says with a serious tone. “Just remember, this group is dangerous even if they don’t know how to throw a punch. They fight with money. And when Derrick and some of the others do figure out that Kristen is staking them out as CPD, they aren’t going to be very happy. We can’t forget this case is about money. They’ll do anything to protect that, including hiring the right kind of help.”
“Good point. I’m gonna call Legal again,” Blackshear says, writing a note on a blue index card he always keeps beside him. “The captain vetted the plan with them and they said we have no liability if Conner is exposed. But I want to double check that.”
“Smart move, Bob,” Konkade says. “But you don’t have to do everything. I can follow up for you. I was the one that talked to them the first time.”
“Good.”
“So he really wants another date?” Don asks me.
“Thursday night,” I repeat.
Do I see the trace of a smile on the corner of his lips? Better not be or I’m telling Vanessa.
• • •
“Who’s doing lunch?” Martinez asks as we return to our cubicle farm at noon.
We stop to talk before going our separate ways.
“I’m in,” Don says.
Randall reaches into his cubicle and pulls out a sack lunch. Nerd. I shake my head “no” as well.
“I forgot to make a real important call I promised I’d make and better hit it,” I say. I’m actually not in the mood to go out to lunch. Maybe I’ll call Reynolds and see how his fishing trip with Willingham went.
“Let’s go amigo,” Martinez says to Don. “Two of us know that man don’t live by work alone.”
“Bread alone,” Don corrects him.
“You are right on that, too,” Martinez agrees. “I like some barbecue pulled pork on my bread.”
Don looks like he is going to say something and lets it go.
“So you really think Penny needs a closer look, Conner?” Randall asks.
“She did give off the vibe of someone who would kill her grandma if she thought some money was in it,” Don interjects.
“No question in my mind,” I say. “I’m not saying she’s the killer and she’s not the only one that took Durham’s murder way too lightly, but she’s over the top too cool about all this.”
Konkade walks up and says, “I somehow know who you all are t
alking about. I told Blackshear that after I call Legal I’m going to talk to someone in Financial Forensics about looking at Martin again. Thanks for the idea,” he says to Randall.
“Me?” Randall asks.
“Yeah. You’re right. This case is going to be solved the old-fashioned way. Follow the money.”
“Have at it, amigo,” Martinez says.
“Conner, you got plenty to do after your call?” Don asks.
“Paperwork is piling up,” I say.
“Maybe Antonio and I will go visit Penny after lunch. We won’t say anything about you. But it might not hurt to turn up the heat a little. Antonio and I can grab a bite up at the Weber Grill on State and then head up to her place.”
• • •
I scroll down my address book to punch Reynolds’ name. After a slight pause the phone starts ringing before it goes into voice mail. I skip Reynolds’ promise to call back as soon as possible and the female voice that explains how to leave a message and hit the number one. There is a beep and I leave my message:
“Austin, this is Kristen calling. Hope you had a great time fishing with Willingham. Listen, I wanted to apologize for how things ended in D.C.” I’m lousy at apologies and small talk. I can’t think of anything else to say and hang up.
A text pops up: You are always on my mind.
That was fast. But then I give it a thought and realize that’s not how Reynolds says things. I look at the screen. No caller ID. Okay, is someone having some fun at my expense? This better not be Don and Martinez’s idea of a joke to play on me in light of my assignment. Might be a wrong number.
• • •
“Hey, Big Sis, I missed having dinner with you last night.”
I hit the bluetooth button and take Klarissa’s call while driving home. I shift into fifth gear to pass a pokey driver in the right lane.
“I went to the Bears game.”
“Really?” she asks, surprised. “Who with? Oh . . . don’t tell me. It was Detective Day at Soldier Field.”
“It was a night game.”
“A Detective Night game?”
“Ha, ha,” I deadpan at her. “Believe it or not I had a date.”
