GD00 - ToxiCity

by Libby Fischer Hellmann

  “The FDA? What the hell does the Food and Drug Administration have to do with anything?” Matt asked.

  “You’re asking me? But these girls don’t know. Most of them buy the whole thing and actually show up. At night. And he does work on them. Bleaches their teeth, does something, who the hell knows? They don’t. But here’s the thing. They do think their teeth look better afterwards.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “I’m not. Of course, most of them can’t pay the bill, so naturally, he takes it out in trade.”

  “I – I don’t believe it.” Matt sputtered. “And they fall for it?”

  “Not only that.” Nelson laughed. “Here’s the kicker. Most of them said they loved what he did for them. Said they’d do it again. Some even said how good he was in the sack. So you tell me who the bimbos are.” She gazed at Matt, then Brewster.

  “You think we’re in the wrong racket, Carrie?” Matt said.

  “Well, if the shoe fits…” Nelson wiped the grin off her face. “But ‘lemme ask you something. What do we say to his wife?”

  “Nothing,” Matt said after a pause. “She already knows what he is. She doesn’t need us to spell it out. Unless you found someone who copped to being with him last Friday.” He looked hopeful.

  “Sorry.”

  “What about you, Brewski?”

  “Nothing here.”

  The phone in the office rang. Matt got it. It was Tom Dirksen from the States Attorney’s office.

  “Bad news,” Dirksen said. “The Judge won’t go along on Hartman. Either bring him stronger evidence or he’s ‘gonna cut her loose.”

  “The letters won’t do it?”

  “She’s ready to cop a plea for the burglary. But because it’s a first offense, he’s leaning toward letting her off on probation and community service.”

  “She’s going home?”

  “Unless you got something you haven’t told me.”

  “No. In fact, it’s worse.” Matt told him about Brenda Hartman’s alibi.

  Dirksen sighed. “You may as well kiss her good-bye. Chalk it up to a bad collar.”

  As he replaced the receiver, the door to the conference room opened, and Doyle crooked his finger at him.

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Stone pulled up to Florence Armstrong’s house on Middlefork Road. This part of Northview was so upscale there weren’t any sidewalks, just wide expanses of lawn that stretched to the curb. Though it was well into November, the grass here was still lush and green. He wondered what fertilizer produced those results. Clearly nothing he could afford.

  He trudged up a flagstone path to the Tudor house, taking in the steeply pitched gables, massive chimney, and half-timbered exteriors. Tall, diamond-paned windows stared out at him. He rang the bell.

  The woman who opened the door wasn’t Florence.

  “Good afternoon. Detective John Stone. I’d like to speak to Mrs. Armstrong.”

  “I’m sorry. Mother’s¬—she’s indisposed.” The woman, in brown tweed slacks, a blazer, and penny loafers, glanced over her shoulder. Though dressed like a well-heeled matron, the lines in her face said she carried a burden.

  “Nothing serious, I hope.”

  “She’s—”

  “Who’s there, dear?” A reedy voice called from the back.

  “It’s okay, Mom. It’s a Detective from Northview.”

  “Colombo, you say? Show him in.”

  The woman at the door winced. “She’s—”

  “Having a senior moment?” Stone finished.

  She rolled her eyes.

  Stone followed the daughter back through a room filled with dispirited chintz, a frayed carpet, and dusty oak furniture into a screened-in porch. Florence lounged on a settee with a light blue blanket draped over her. Bright morning light poured through long glass panels.

  “Good morning, Mrs. Armstrong. You’re looking well.”

  “And you’re full of shit.” She pulled the blanket tight. Her hair was dirty and matted, and under the blanket, he spotted the sleeve of a bathrobe.

  “You’re right, ma’am. You do look like shit.”

  “That’s better.” She cackled. The daughter sighed.

  Stone pulled up a chair.

  “Who are you, again?”

  “We’ve met, Mrs. Armstrong. At the hearings. Detective John Stone. I’m with the Village Police Department.”

  She looked him over with interest. “You’ll have to forgive me,” she drawled, affecting a Blanche Dubois lilt. “I’m not at my best these days.” She patted her hair.

  Stone hesitated. The woman had a reputation as an articulate, well-reasoned liberal. She’d helped start the Northview League of Women Voters— before it was fashionable—and traveled to D.C. for King rallies during the Sixties. Of course, that was forty years ago. But she did raise her fist in protest at the hearings a few weeks ago.

  He leaned forward. “I saw you at the Planning and Zoning hearings last month, ma’am. I wanted to ask you about your involvement in CEASE.”

  “In what?”

  “The Citizens’ Effort Against Senseless Expansion.”

  “What is that, my dear fellow?”

  Stone shifted. “The group that’s spearheading the opposition to the Feldman project. You are one of their members, aren’t you?”

  “It sounds like a lovely group, but, as you can see, I’m so terribly busy these days. I’m afraid I’ll have to decline your kind invitation.”

  “Mrs. Armstrong, what are your feelings about the proposed mall?”

  “Some nice young man did want me to do something.” Her eyelids fluttered. “What was it he wanted, Maryann?”

  “You told him to get the hell off your property, Mother, or you’d call the police.”

  Stone nodded. “Do you have a dog, Mrs. Armstrong?”

  “Yes, Officer. A black Lab. Mighty. Where is he, dear? I haven’t seen him today.”

  “Mom, Mighty died five years ago.” She fixed Stone with a solemn look.

  He stood up, thanked both women, and left.

  Back at the station, two voice-mails were waiting for him. The first was from Sharon Fox, the vet. The lab test for parvovirus on the dog came back negative, she said. But that didn’t mean there wasn’t some other toxin at work. It might have been rat poison after all, perhaps some new variety that doesn’t trigger the obvious symptoms. Or some plant or leaf he’d eaten by accident. Rhododendrons, for example. Paint with lead. Even chocolate. There were hundreds of possibilities.

  Stone erased the message. In a way, he was relieved. Most of the members of CEASE, like Florence Armstrong, were respectable Northview residents. The type of people who’d as soon report a dog defecating on their property as a homicide. He wasn’t anxious to link any of them to the dog.

  The other message was from Cecil Vaughan at the Bureau. He’d checked with his white-collar squads. No one was making noise about Stuart Feldman.

  ***

  Deanna went with Stone to the hearings that night. The location had been moved from Village Hall to the Community Center, an annex to the primary school that could hold over three hundred people. Over a hundred had shown up.

  Stone spotted Ann Heller and Gerald Krieger in deep conversation. Earlier Krieger had disclaimed any knowledge of the dog and seemed surprised to hear about it. Calls to Ann Heller, Timothy Stargis, and Barbara Michaelson also ended in denials.

  Krieger had changed clothes for the hearings, tonight wearing a navy suit. Same power tie, though, Stone noted. Heller, a small woman with brown hair pulled back in a ponytail, wore jeans and a black sweater. They stopped talking as Stone approached. “Evening, folks. How goes the fight?”

  “No fight, Detective. Just a strategy session,” Krieger said.

  “What is your strategy if they vote to go ahead with the mall?”

  Krieger rocked back on his heels. “We’re not convinced they will, but if they do, we’ll up the ante. Feldman is going to need a thumbs-up from t
he village board, and that’s not a foregone conclusion.”

  “You sound like tonight is.”

  “It could go either way,” Heller said.

  “And if it passes?”

  Heller put her hands on her hips. “I don’t see that happening.”

  “But if it does?”

  She cleared her throat. “In the event that it passes, we’ll obviously be forced to take some kind of action. I’m sure Jerry has an idea or two.” She bent her head toward Krieger.

  Stone stifled a smile. Krieger probably hoped it did pass. Any legal action would mean dollars in his pocket. At Stuart Feldman’s expense.

  The crowd noise subsided, and a wave of energy seemed to radiate through the room. Stone turned around. Ricki Feldman and Paul Landon shouldered their way through the crowd. A second man, tall and beefy, followed. Ricki seemed oblivious to the crowd, many of whom backed away as if she was Moses parting the Red Sea. As she approached, she nudged past him, her eyes wide.

  “Deanna, is that you?”

  Stone did a double take.

  Deanna smiled. “Ricki. How are you?”

  Then he remembered. Ricki had hired Deanna to promote a Feldman development at Fort Sheridan. Stone followed Ricki’s gaze. Deanna was in black maternity pants with an embroidered white blouse she’d bought from a street-vendor who claimed to have imported it from Ecuador.

  “My god.” Ricki pointed at Deanna’s stomach. “When are you due?”

  “January.” Deanna grinned.

  “I didn’t know you were married.”

  “Last week.” Deanna reached for Stone and crooked her arm through his.

  Ricki’s eyes widened. “You’re married to him?”

  Deanna rubbed Stone’s back and nodded.

  Ricki turned to Stone. “You never fail to surprise me, Detective. What is it they say about the company one keeps?”

  Deanna cut in. “You can tell the man by the company he keeps.”

  “That’s it,” Ricki said. “First Matt Singer, now Deanna Steele. You clearly run with the best.”

  Stone and Deanna exchanged looks. Then Stone said, “The hearings are going to start soon. Allow me take you to your seat.”

  She nodded and headed into the gym. “While I’ve got you,” she said quietly, “what did you find out about the dog?”

  “Not much.” He explained what Sharon Fox reported.

  “I don’t believe it. How can that be?”

  He answered her question with another. “What about your suspicion that you were being followed? What’s going on?”

  “Nothing new.”

  “So that’s good?”

  “Only because I’ve taken steps to control the situation.” She motioned to the man in back of her. “Rufus, this is Detective Stone. Rufus Dorman. He’s going to be with me for a while.”

  Stone nodded to the man.

  “Deanna— “Ricki flashed Deanna a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “I hope you’ll work for me when we get this thing going. It’s a perfect gig for you. If you can take time away from—that.” She pointed to Deanna’s stomach.

  “What a nice offer. Thank you.” Deanna replied.

  That was Deanna-code for “not on your life, lady.”

  The gym was set with two hundred chairs. Two long tables and a podium, sat under the basketball hoop at one end. The gamey smell of dried sweat and old sneakers hung in the air.

  “I forgot you knew her,” Stone said to Deanna, after seating Ricki near the front of the room. “Is she always like this?”

  “Like what?” Deanna flashed him an innocent look.

  “This—this aggressive.”

  “It’s ‘assertive’ when you’re talking about a woman, Stone.”

  “Oh.” He paused. “Well?”

  “I think she’s still trying to prove she can run a multi-million dollar company.”

  “Is that why you don’t want to work for her again?”

  “No. I can handle that. She’s harder on herself than on anyone else.” She tipped her head sideways as if she was trying to frame her thoughts. “I think it’s her intensity. When she’s decided she wants something, she doesn’t stop until she gets it. Everything becomes a pitched battle. Even if it’s wrong. I can’t deal with someone like that.”

  Stone brushed a hand down her cheek. “How did I get so lucky?”

  Deanna smiled.

  The commissioners filed into the room.

  “Looks like the show’s about to start,” she said. “Where will you be?”

  “In back.” He squeezed her hand and started to walk away.

  “Hey, Stone?”

  He stopped.

  “You remember that reference she made to the company you keep?”

  “Yeah.”

  “How does she know Matt?”

  “Matt needed help thinking through one of his cases a couple of weeks ago. He picked me up over at the SGF site. She was there.”

  “It’s interesting she mentioned it.”

  ***

  The commission heard from a new traffic consultant, who claimed the new mall wouldn’t snarl traffic any more than it already was. That was a not so subtle dig at the fact that Willow Road, the only major thoroughfare through Northview, narrowed to two lanes as it cut through the village, producing horrendous back-ups at rush hour.

  Next a landscape architect described the playground, lake, and natural gardens that were planned for the site. That was worth a few points, Stone noted. Even owlish Christine Renfrow nodded her approval.

  Finally, Paul Landon rose and went to the podium. He withdrew a pair of reading glasses from a black leather case and put them on. “Ladies and gentlemen of the commission.” He cleared his throat. “I’ve worked for Stuart G. Feldman for twenty-five years, and I can say that without question this has been the most carefully designed project I’ve ever had the privilege to be associated with.

  “All of us have taken pains to make it an environmentally friendly site. We’ve adopted many of the suggestions the fine people of Northview made, including the playground, lake, and gardens. We have responded to the issues raised by the village engineer and others. Let me say again, emphatically that we do not wish to strip this wonderful community of its personality. Indeed, we hope to be one of its best and proudest neighbors. We hope we have demonstrated that commitment over the past few months. Thank you for this opportunity.”

  Smooth, Stone thought.

  After the break, it became apparent the commission was divided. Discussion, some of it loud and vitriolic, continued until midnight. Finally, Chairman Pilsen called for a vote. Each commissioner was polled in turn. The first three, all men, voted “aye”. The next three, two women and Pilsen himself, voted “nay.” It was up to Renfrow. When Pilsen called her name, she paused, and then spoke clearly into her microphone. “Aye.”

  A mix of groans and cheers went up from the audience.

  Pilsen pounded the gavel until the crowd quieted. “Ladies and Gentlemen,” he said, “we have weighed the pros and cons of this project more thoroughly than any other project ever contemplated for our village. Your commissioners have read report after report, analyzed the results, and asked tough questions. They have acted responsibly. You owe them all a debt of thanks. Once the final questions are resolved, we will recommend that the village board approve this development. Thank you all for your time and input.”

  Stone found Krieger and Heller sitting together near the front. They didn’t look happy.

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  When Matt got home Monday night, Georgia was slumped over the kitchen table, a half-empty pint of rum just out of reach. He murmured her name. She lifted bleary, unfocused eyes, slow to recognize him. When she did, she lurched to a sitting position.

  “Looks like you squeaked through again, Singer Boy.”

  A sour feeling settled over him. “What are you talking about, Georgia?”

  She got up, went to the sink, and ran cold water over her face
. When she straightened up and turned around, she looked more alert. “I’ll tell ‘ya. You were put on probation.” She stretched the word into four syllables. “They didn’t even take you off the case. I was suspended, Matt. Fucking suspended.” She released the edge of the table. Her chair clattered back. She didn’t seem to notice.

  Matt pulled out a chair and sat down. “Doyle said I would have been out too, if we weren’t in the middle of these cases.”

  “Bull-fucking shit. And you believed him? Where does that leave me?”

  “We can fight it, Georgia. It stinks.”

  “Doyle hates women. He always has.” She reached for the rum. “He probably can’t even get it up.”

  Matt moved the liquor out of reach. “You don’t need this.”

  She glared at him. “Oh… so now you’re my keeper, too? Where were you earlier?” She grabbed the bottle.

  He felt weary. “Did you talk to anybody from CS?” Counseling Services was supposed to provide assistance to officers in need.

  “Have you lost your fucking mind? Who do you think they report to?” She slammed the bottle down on the table. “I’m not the prodigal daughter. You go. You’re the biblical scholar.”

  Matt’s gut twisted. “What about the association? We can file a grievance.” The Glenbrook Police Association was the officers’ version of a police union.

  “What are they ‘gonna do? We don’t know who ratted on us.”

  Matt kept his mouth shut.

  “Tell me something, Matt, are we in this together? Or are you ‘gonna weasel out?”

  “Georgia, that’s not fair.”

  “Fair?” she sneered. “I get fucked by a sexist asshole, you sleaze by with a slap on the wrist, and you’re whining about fairness?”

  He couldn’t win. “Georgia, we’re not going to resolve anything tonight. How about I make us something to eat?”

  “Oh sure, Matt. Use your calm, soothing voice to clean up the mess. Make everything neat and tidy. It’s not your life that’s been fucked over. You’ve got a job to go to tomorrow. What am I ‘gonna do for the next few weeks? Sew curtains? Bake cookies?”