“No more than usual.”
“Well, try not to panic. An ambulance is on its way.”
“I don’t need an ambulance,” I said impatiently. “And please stop waving your fingers in my face. What I need is to see one of your officers right away—Detective O’Leary from the Fourth. Can you get hold of him on your radio? And then maybe one of you can help me find my cane.”
“I oughta have you arrested,” O Leary said to me, after I had finished telling him everything. “Or committed. I can’t decide which. Why didn’t you just ask me to send some of the boys to look through her stuff?”
“I thought you’d laugh at me. It was just a suspicion after all. Ouch!” I said involuntarily. A resident was pulling a suture through my forehead while I sat in a paper gown with my knees hanging off a gurney. We were in the curtained-off partition where the other cops had taken my statement a few hours earlier. It being early on a Saturday morning the emergency room was doing a brisk trade, and since I wasn’t coding when they brought me in, I had to wait a long time to be attended to by the resident, whose name was Tim and who reminded me of myself at that age. Considering what had occurred, I’d gotten off easy—a few cracked ribs and a gash above my eye that only needed eight stitches.
“Two more,” Tim said. “Then we’re done. But if you don’t keep still I can’t guarantee you won’t cause a riot among the villagers when you lurch out the door.”
“Thank you, Doctor Frankenstein.”
“Frankensteen to you,” Tim said.
“While you’re at it, do you think you could lift me a new pair of retinas from one of the accident victims in the fridge?”
“Sure thing. Any other areas of your anatomy you’d like me to augment?”
“That part of me was still functioning when I last checked.”
“Sorry, I forgot you can’t see it when somebody winks.”
“Are you medical types always this jovial?” O’Leary asked.
“Occupational hazard,” Tim replied.
“Yeah, for us too I guess. And that’s another thing,” O’Leary said to me. “What the hell were you doing roaming around on foot in the middle of the night? You forget how to call a cab? You’re lucky you didn’t end up in the fridge yourself. Or maybe that’s what you wanted. I heard they put you on leave.”
“Is that why you were following me?” I asked, to change the subject.
“Say what?”
“Following me. As in violating the privacy rights of an unsuspecting citizen. I apologize for being such a poor challenge, by the way.”
“How’d you . . . ?”
“You should buy a new pair of shoes. Or get those fixed. I may not have amazing superhero powers, but I can recognize a sound when I hear it often enough.” Tim had finished and I ran my fingers over the stitches. It was a neat job and probably wouldn’t leave much of a scar.
“No feeling the artwork,” Tim admonished.
“I thought there might be a hidden message for me there. How about it, O’Leary, are you going to fess up?”
“I admit I was worried about you getting yourself killed. So yeah, when I had time I kept tabs on you. I would have been there last night if I hadn’t credited you with more intelligence.”
“Can you find out who hit me?”
“Not unless you got his plate numbers.”
I gave him an exasperated look. “I was thinking of witnesses. Neighbors who happened to peek through their curtains while I was being run down.”
“We’ll check, but folks in that area are used to late-night disturbances. Especially after the Cubs have gone down in flames. And while we’re on the subject, you could do with some wardrobe changes yourself.”
I assumed he was referring to my Mets cap, which had been found covered with tire marks not too far from my cane. The latter had also been run over several times and reduced more or less to splinters.
“So your theory is that it was just a deranged fan?”
“For now, at least. Who knew you were going to be at Sparrow’s apartment last night?”
It was a good question. I thought back to my preparations the day before. Marilyn Sparrow could have guessed where I’d be. And Nancy Kim and Regina Best. I gave O’Leary their names.
Tim helped me ease my arms out of the paper gown and passed me my pants and shirt. My ribs ached and my left eye felt like someone had pasted two halves of a lemon there. It was still leaking and already half-crusted over like a pastry tart. “I want you in to see your ophthalmologist first thing Monday morning,” he said. “Normally, I’d tell a patient to watch out for blurred vision, but that’s not feasible in your case and I don’t want to see you ending up with a prosthetic eye. You never know—maybe they can fix what you have someday. You can have the stitches removed in a week or so. Until then, just watch for signs of infection. You want a scrip for Vicodin?”
“No, the amber stuff in a bottle will do just fine.”
After we left the hospital, O’Leary offered me a lift home and I was more than happy to accept. O’Leary had sent the items I’d borrowed from Shannon’s apartment to the police lab for testing. The results wouldn’t be ready for another forty-eight hours, but I was pretty confident of what they would show.
“Go over this again with me,” O’Leary said in the car. “You think she got pregnant on purpose?”
“That’s what her sister suggested. She said Shannon wasn’t the type to mess up and get pregnant accidentally. The more I thought about it, the more it fit. I think she stumbled on Charlie while he was masturbating at the center—having just learned how much fun it was, he was probably doing it whenever he had the chance—and got the idea of using the pregnancy to get back at Nate. She must have talked Charlie into using a paper cup and handing it over to her. It would be easy to concoct some story he’d believe, or else she threatened to tell on him if he didn’t do what she wanted. The thermos was to keep the stuff warm until she could get home and use the turkey baster.”
“And all this so she could blackmail Nate?”
“Not initially. I think she believed she could pass the child off as his. A paternity test would have a hard time distinguishing between the baby’s father and its grandfather. Shannon was arrogant and self-centered enough to think Nate would come running back to her if she was pregnant with a so-called normal child. She showed some insight into his psychology in that respect. It doesn’t take a psychiatrist to see that Nate is deeply embarrassed by his only son. Shannon was banking on him wanting another pass at fatherhood, this time with a child he could raise in his own image. She didn’t realize the whole plan was flawed from the start because Nate would know immediately the baby wasn’t his.”
“Or that she was running the risk of producing another kid like Charlie, if I understand what you told me about Fragile X Syndrome.”
“That too. She probably got far enough in the literature to find out about the maternal inheritance pattern, but didn’t understand how it plays out in the second generation. Since Shannon herself wasn’t affected, she thought her baby would be safe.”
“So you think she wanted to keep it?”
“Yes, but not from any deep maternal feeling. From what everyone’s told me, Shannon was hell-bent on landing a trophy husband. Even for his age, Nate fit the profile. He’s prominent socially as well as professionally and brings home a pretty penny. The baby could be cared for by nannies, and Shannon could play the rich doctor’s wife. She couldn’t have done much better. And I think getting Nate to marry her was a psychological imperative for Shannon. Her ego couldn’t live with rejection. She would have done anything to win him back.”
“This disease you told me about—”
“Narcissistic personality disorder?”
“Yeah, that one. You’re pretty sure Shannon had it?”
“It’s only a supposition. I can’t be certain, but it explains many of her actions and how she thought she could get away with them. Most normal people wouldn’t have had the au
dacity to conceive such a plan, let alone carry it to fruition.”
“OK,” O’Leary said. “But if we assume that’s what she was up to, where does it take us in terms of the murder? You’re saying the father killed her. I agree with you he had the means to do it, but what was his motive? He slept with her, so what? It had to be kept such a deep, dark secret that he killed Sparrow to keep his wife from knowing?”
“That’s the part I haven’t figured out yet. But I’m guessing Shannon came back to him with some kind of monetary demand. After all, we only have it on Nate’s word that Judith would have looked the other way if she found out about their affair. Maybe Nate is attached to all that trust-fund income. Or maybe she threatened to go through with the pregnancy if he didn’t pay her.”
“Fair enough. So you think he arranged to meet Shannon in the alley behind the New Horizons Center, and when she showed up he killed her and took off, never imagining that his own kid would end up tripping over the corpse.”
“Something like that. Remember, Regina Best said she saw someone drive through the alley several times that morning, like they were waiting for Shannon to show up. By the way, please do me the courtesy of taking that woman seriously. She’s got a few issues, but being in a wheelchair doesn’t make her an imbecile. Your guys missed some useful information by not treating her like a real person.”
“I take the point. Was there anything else?” O’Leary had slowed his car and stopped in front of my building.
“One more thing. The necklace. Was it found on Shannon’s body, do you remember?”
“I’ll go back and double check the stuff she was wearing, but I don’t think so.”
“I was told she never took it off.”
“Meaning if it wasn’t on her when she was found, the killer took it.”
“That’s what I’m thinking.”
“What difference does it make? It’s probably in the Chicago River by now.”
“Maybe, but it wouldn’t hurt to look. Can you search the home?”
“What kind of a moron do you take me for? We already did once, after the kid was taken into custody. I don’t know whether Di Marco would give me permission to go back, but I’ll ask. Meanwhile, we’ll find out what those lab tests have to say. And I’ll have a look at the girl’s place. Will you be around later?”
“Yeah.”
“Don’t make any plans until you hear from me.”
After O’Leary drove away I went upstairs and downed a shot of bourbon and four acetaminophen tablets. Then I fell on my bed and slept for the better part of the day.
When I dreamt, I was never blind. People had faces and I could perceive objects from far away. Often I found myself in foreign places I’d once traveled to, marveling at the sensation of moving through space as easily as an antelope or a gazelle. I climbed mountains through tall stands of pine, tramped white sand beaches under a cerulean sky. I crossed cityscapes glittering with cathedrals and skyscrapers. It was always an odd transition waking from these vivid images to a different experience of reality, the texture of the blanket under my fingers, the clicking of my bedside clock. Freud said most nocturnal dreaming is a form of wish fulfillment. I don’t think this is why I dreamed of myself as a sighted person. I think it was just what my mind was more used to.
That afternoon I dreamed I was with Alice. We were sharing a picnic on a blanket laid out in the shade of a tree, surrounded by a field of wildflowers. My head was in her lap and I was reading poetry aloud from a book, and when she leaned down to brush her lips on my forehead I saw her as clearly as I’ve ever seen anyone. She wasn’t beautiful in a classic way, but I liked her small snub of a nose and generous, laughing mouth. Her eyes were light brown and her hair was chestnut-colored, falling from the crown of her head in waves. She was wearing a necklace I’d bought her and the diamond pendant caught a shaft of sun that sent rainbows in every direction. I returned her caress and told her how much I cared for her.
Then the sky darkened and a flock of crows came careening down. I knew at once why they had come. I looked up at the tree branches above us and they were everywhere, black and full of menace. “Run, Alice,” I shouted. “Hide. They’ve come for you.” But it was too late. The crows were swarming her. “No!” I screamed, “Leave her alone!” She tried to shield her face, but it was no good. I wanted to go to her, to stop them, but I was frozen in place. The crows were all over her, pecking at her cheeks, destroying those beautiful hazel eyes. I screamed again uselessly . . .
Somewhere in the distance a phone was ringing.
I came to abruptly in my wrinkled, blood-stained clothing and jumped up to wrestle the receiver from its hook.
It was Alice.
“Mark? Where have you been? I’ve been trying you all day,” she said after I’d mumbled a greeting. It was disconcerting to hear her voice so soon after the dream and I was breathing heavily. “Have you been exercising?” she asked. “You sound like you just finished a race.”
“It’s nothing,” I said. “Just a bad dream.”
“Why were you asleep in the middle of the afternoon?”
“I . . . uh . . . had a little adventure last night.”
I gave her a vague outline of what had happened, omitting the details and making it seem as though it was just an accident. Alice knew I was leaving things out, but chose not to question me too thoroughly, thereby leaving a shred of my dignity intact.
“That’s horrifying. What was that driver thinking of? Even if he didn’t know you were blind, he should never have driven away.”
“I admit I sent a few choice epithets in his direction.”
“Did you report the incident to the police?”
“Yeah, but there’s only so much they can do. He’s probably scared shitless right now, worrying whether he’ll be caught.”
“That’s not much of a consolation. You could have been seriously hurt. Or killed.” There was more than the usual amount of concern in her voice, which pleased me.
“About the black eye—does it hurt much?” Alice asked. “I could come over and take care of you. You’ve heard of the Florence Nightingale effect, I assume?”
“You mean when nurses develop an erotic interest in their patients? Sounds like an attractive proposition. But not tonight if you don’t mind. I’m beat and I don’t think I’d be very good company.” It was true, to a degree. My sides had grown even stiffer while I was napping and I could barely move without feeling a sharp, stabbing pain in my midsection. Alice would be sure to notice. But mostly I wanted to be ready if O’Leary called.
As if reading my thoughts, Alice said, “There’s something else you’re not telling me. Is it about Charlie?”
“Mmmm. But I don’t know yet how it will pan out. Why don’t we plan on having dinner tomorrow night? I can fill you in then.”
“I’d love to, but I can’t. I’m going to a play with a friend.”
I surprised myself by feeling a stab of envy. “A male friend?”
“Yes. But don’t be jealous. He’s my former boss, directs the state rehabilitation counseling agency where I used to work before I left to head the center. He heard about the trouble I was having and offered to try to take my mind off things for a few hours. And I thought it wouldn’t be a bad idea to start hitting up some of my old contacts. I’m going to be needing a new job soon.”
“I’m sorry,” I sympathized. “Truly sorry. But don’t do anything precipitous—the center may not be over yet.”
“I’d like to believe that. And please watch yourself. I won’t force you to tell me what really happened last night, but I don’t want you taking any risks on my behalf.”
I rang off feeling warmer toward Alice than ever.
A little after ten o’clock found me sitting in an unmarked car with O’Leary on the nine hundred block of West Belden. O’Leary had explained we were facing east, with a view into the alley behind a row of graystone mansions on North Dayton. Another unmarked car was stationed on Webster, keeping wa
tch over the alley’s south entrance.
“So how do you like surveillance work?” O’Leary asked.
“Not bad. Do you think I’m cut out for it?”
“I don’t know. Patience might be an issue.”
I stifled my jerking knee. “I admit I’m finding the scenery a little dull, but can you blame me?”
O’Leary had called at six with news both positive and negative. Preliminary results had confirmed traces of Charlie’s DNA in the turkey baster, but it wasn’t enough to convince Di Marco. The prosecutor had flatly turned down O’Leary’s request for a second search warrant. And if Shannon’s diary still existed, it was nowhere to be found in her apartment. It was therefore up to us to find definitive proof of Nate’s guilt.
After O’Leary picked me up at my building we swung by Bari Foods on West Grand, where two other plainclothesmen were waiting for us. O’Leary introduced me to them, a fellow named Monaghan who smelled like Brylcreem and a younger one named Jimenez who gave me a ghetto handshake. From there we drove north to Lincoln Park and found a space in a DePaul campus parking lot. After plotting logistics and gorging on subs stuffed with prosciutto, mortadella, and provolone, Monaghan and Jimenez went off for a smoke while I put in a call to Hallie.
“This is starting to become a bad habit, you calling me on a Saturday night,” she said when she heard my voice. “Especially when I’m alone and staring at another long night with only a DVD and takeout to keep me company.”
“I know the feeling,” I said.
She hesitated a fraction before asking, “Would you like to come over?”
“I can’t tonight, but I’ll take a rain check if you’ll let me.”
The police radio on the dashboard crackled to life and O’Leary hastened to still it.
“What was that noise?” Hallie asked quickly.
“Uh . . . my pager just went off,” I lied. “A patient of mine is being admitted tonight. I’ve got to head over to the hospital in a few minutes.”
That seemed to satisfy her. “So why are you calling? Do you have some news for me?”
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