Rodriguez flashed his badge. “Roderick Hampton in there?”
The officer nodded. “You guys don’t have any weapons?”
They’d taken our guns at the door. The officer patted me down anyway. Then the door opened, and we were inside.
—
“You got any cigarettes?” Hampton was cuffed and reached out with both hands.
“You know you can’t smoke in here,” Rodriguez said.
“Everyone smokes in here.”
Rodriguez narrowed his eyes. “I know you, Hampton?”
The kid’s lip was split and puffy. It cracked and bled when he smiled. “You arrested my brother, Marcell.”
“Marcell Hampton. That’s right. He was hooked up with Six Corners.”
Hampton shrugged like that was news to him.
“How’s it been?” I said.
“Put a beating on me first thing. But they do that to everyone.”
“Your brother still inside?” Rodriguez said.
“He’s doin’ twenty at Stateville. I get over there and he’ll take care of me.” Hampton nodded his head like he was hanging on to that thought for all he was worth. I didn’t blame him.
“You want your lawyer in here?” Rodriguez said.
Hampton looked around. “In where?”
We all laughed, and the kid relaxed a bit.
“Why’d you throw that rock off the bridge?” I said.
“Didn’t do it.”
“Then why are you here?”
Hampton turned his palms up in his lap. Then he opened up a window in his head and climbed out. After that, Rodriguez and I were alone for a while.
“Roderick,” I said.
He blinked and came back slowly. “Huh?”
“Can you stand up for me?”
The kid’s cuffs jingled as he got up. He was five and a half feet. Maybe an inch more.
“How much do you weigh, Roderick?”
His eyes danced across to Rodriguez, then back to me. “Dunno.”
“Okay. Sit down.” I took out a fresh pack of cigarettes and pushed them across the table. My business card was tucked inside the wrapper. “If it gets really bad, tell your lawyer to give me a call.” Then I left. I knew Rodriguez wasn’t happy, but he followed me out anyway.
—
“What the hell was that?”
We were sitting in the front seat of the detective’s car, staring at a run of perimeter fencing that sectioned off the jail’s parking lot from the street.
“I wanted to see the kid.”
“I told you he claimed he didn’t do it.”
“Hampton weighs what? Hundred thirty, hundred thirty-five pounds?”
“So what?”
I held up the investigative file. “You read this?”
“I looked through it.”
I took out the picture of Goggin’s car, roof crushed almost flat. “What do you suppose did that?”
“I don’t know. A big rock.”
I slapped a second picture on the dash. It was a shot of a flat slab of concrete, maybe three feet long. “That’s what went through Goggin’s windshield. Thing’s gotta weigh a hundred pounds, easy.”
“Let me guess,” Rodriguez said. “You want to interview the rock?”
“It’s a chunk of concrete. And I’d like to try and just pick it up.” I took a third photo out of the file. “This is the overpass Hampton was supposed to be standing on. Notice the fence that runs the length of it. Gotta be at least six feet high.”
“So what?”
I slid the photos back in the file and flipped it shut. “There’s no way Hampton lifted that slab over that fence and heaved it onto the Dan Ryan. Not that kid. Not at a hundred thirty pounds.”
“Maybe he had help.”
“Your two witnesses say he was the only guy on the overpass.”
“They’re not mine. And maybe his accomplice ran the other way.”
“You believe that? And why are two witnesses watching a highway overpass at three-thirty in the morning anyway?”
A county sheriff’s bus rumbled past, hitting a pothole full of black water and splattering our windshield with specks of mud. Rodriguez flipped on his wipers, and we both watched them work.
“I got things to do today, Kelly.”
“The kid was framed, Vince.”
“Let me guess. You think it all ties into Ray Perry?”
“I’m not there yet.”
“Have you tapped the retainer?”
“No.”
“My finance guy did a quick trace on your money. It came in through a tangle of off-shore accounts. He thinks it’s gonna be tough to track down the ultimate source.”
“I’m not surprised.”
“I asked him if the money still spent like cash. He said it did.”
“What’s your point?”
“Enjoy the dough and let Ray live on a beach somewhere. If the case on Hampton’s bad, I’ll make sure he gets sprung.”
“Can’t do it, Vince. You couldn’t either.”
Rodriguez flipped off the wipers and put his car in gear. “You headed downtown?”
“You gonna help me on this?”
Rodriguez sighed and pulled out of the police lot. Being the eternal optimist, I took that as an enthusiastic yes.
CHAPTER 12
I picked up my car at the morgue and headed north, stopping at The Bagel on Broadway. I got a sack of sesame seed bagels from the tiny Jewish lady hiding behind the counter and walked down to my office. I’d just schmeared one with cream cheese when my phone flashed with Jack O’Donnell’s number.
“Just thinking of you,” I said.
“What do you want to know about Beacon?”
I put down the bagel and pulled out my notes from the night before. “You ever hear of a lawyer named Albert Striker?”
“Doesn’t ring a bell.”
“That’s funny.”
“Why?”
“Beacon is made up of at least five subsidiary corporations and a half-dozen limited partnerships.”
“I told you. That’s how they do business. Spread the work around. Keep a low profile.”
“So if I drive by a job on the road, I’m gonna see five different logos on five different trucks?”
“Right, but it all funnels back to Beacon.”
“And who runs the show?”
“What do you mean?”
“Who’s the boss?”
“Each outfit’s got its own president, own engineers. All that crap.”
“And Beacon?”
“Beacon never gets its hands dirty.”
“So you don’t know who runs Beacon?”
A pause. “What’s your point?”
“Albert Striker.”
“I told you. Never heard of him.”
“Striker’s listed as the registered agent for Beacon. He’s also the incorporating officer for Beacon’s subsidiaries.”
“You said he was a lawyer.”
“He’s Beacon’s sole legal representative in Illinois. At least as far as I can see.”
“So go talk to the guy.”
“The address listed in the corporate charter is now a taco stand.”
“Call him.”
“His phone number goes to a recording.”
“Listen, I’ve been covering these guys for more than a decade. Beacon is just a shell. If you want information, you talk to one of the subsidiaries.”
“If I want information on a job, sure. But I want to know who the principals are, who owns the whole thing. If you can’t help me, Jack, that’s fine.” I picked up my bagel and started to chew.
“The job site you were at this morning…”
“What about it?”
“A man was shot.”
“Son of a bitch.”
“They took him to the hospital, but no police report was filed.”
“Are you calling for a statement?”
“You don’t want to fuck with these guys, Kelly.
Even if you do carry a gun.”
“I’m not looking to fuck with anybody. Someone takes a bat to my car, however, and we’re gonna have a problem.”
“Yeah, well…”
“Why did you call, Jack?”
“Give me an e-mail where I can get hold of you.”
I gave it to him. “What’s going on?”
“Right now, nothing. In a few days, maybe we should talk.”
“Can you give me an idea of what we’ll be talking about?”
“Not over the phone. I’ll drop you a note.”
There was a soft sound in the hallway. I looked up. Marie Perry stood in my doorway. “I’ll wait to hear from you, Jack.” I hung up. “Come on in.”
She was wearing a black sweater, straight-leg jeans, and suede boots with low heels. Her hair was the color of winter wheat; her eyes looked like a couple of cold blue stones. “Is this it?” she said, taking in my workplace at a glance.
“It’s better if you’re wearing sunglasses. Or drunk. Then again, what isn’t?”
She walked over to my bookcase and picked out a copy of Oedipus Rex. Then she put it back and pulled out Euripides’s Iphigenia at Aulis.
“You know the story?” I said.
“A man cuts his daughter’s throat to appease the gods and gain himself money, glory, and power.”
“Very good. But Agamemnon was a king. And Iphigenia was saved.”
“Agamemnon was a man. And he intended to kill his own child so his army would be allowed to sail to Troy.” Marie slipped the book back into its slot on the shelf. “Do you work alone?”
“Just me and the ghosts. Why don’t you sit down?” I nodded at an empty chair. She waved me off. I nudged the paper sack on my desk.
“Bagel Deli. Best thing this side of Manhattan.”
She shook her head.
“Suit yourself.” I finished my bagel and pretended not to notice when she finally sat. She put her bag, a big black leather one, on the corner of my desk and crossed one leg over the other. I wiped my hands with a napkin and smiled.
“I didn’t expect to see you so soon, Ms. Perry.”
“But you did expect me?”
“I’m not sure why, but yeah, I thought you might get in touch.”
“How’s the investigation going?”
“Haven’t found Ray yet, if that’s what you’re after.”
“Ray’s dead, Mr. Kelly. Or as good as.”
My chair creaked as I moved closer. “If this is a confession, I’m going to have to find a tape recorder.”
The smile stretched across her face like a spiderweb spun from the finest silk. “I’m the last person who would want Ray dead.”
“Did you love him?”
“And if I did…”
“You might be more likely to kill him.”
“Have you ever been married, Mr. Kelly?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
I didn’t know the answer to that one. And didn’t especially like to think about it. “I’ve been in relationships.”
“A relationship isn’t marriage. The latter has consequences, especially when you’re married to the governor of Illinois.”
“You mean it isn’t all about Christmas at the mansion?”
She recrossed her legs and sighed. Maybe it was all just a nuisance. Maybe it was the speech she’d intended all along. I couldn’t tell but was happy to listen.
“Here’s what happens,” she said. “You fall in love with a person. Or rather the idea of a person. You ever done that?”
“I’m not sure.”
“I’m not surprised. Then you get married and discover what you really have. It’s never what you thought, but perhaps it’s something you can live with. Usually not. So you get divorced, if that’s your thing.”
“And that wasn’t your thing?”
“Not an option. Not for me and Ray. So we became partners.”
“Partners in what?”
“Raymond Perry, Inc. Charity events, fund-raisers, one rubber-chicken dinner after another. You become best friends with people you barely know. And once you do know them, you wish you didn’t.”
“Sounds great. You want some coffee?”
She didn’t say no, so I got up and began to fix a pot. She continued with the lecture.
“You’re not in love anymore. If you ever were. You’re too mature, too sophisticated, for anything so trivial. You’re a team, a partnership, a walking, talking ‘greater good.’ Or so you tell yourself. Along the way, of course, you also stuff yourself with entitlement, arrogance, and an overwhelming sense of self-importance. Movies are especially wonderful.”
“Movies?”
“Two people, together in the dark. You don’t have to touch. You don’t have to talk. And you don’t feel guilty at the end of it because you did neither. Maybe you can even discuss the film later if it was a good one. Movies are a blessing.
“You take a lover if you want. Usually for the sex. But you’re discreet. You don’t embarrass the partnership, because that’s not good business.”
“And that’s what marriage was for you?”
She looked at me with her pale bruises for eyes and didn’t flinch. “I was a coward. Just like everyone else.”
“What does that mean?”
“I liked being Ray’s wife. I liked being first lady.” She shrugged. “Maybe I liked the power, I don’t know. But I hid myself from the rest of it. Sprayed a little perfume over the rotting corpse and opened a window. That was my marriage at the end, Mr. Kelly. And I miss it every day.”
There was truth intertwined with the lies. Where one ended and another began, however, I had no idea. I wasn’t entirely sure she did either. The coffee was ready, so I poured us both a cup.
“You ever hear of a company called Beacon Limited,” I said.
A tinge of crimson swept into her cheeks, and her lips tightened into a thin line. “Of course, I have.”
“Why’s that?”
“They were one of my husband’s biggest donors.”
“Is that all?”
“Ray took care of that end of the business, Mr. Kelly. All I know is that they were generous.”
“What about your father?”
“My father and I aren’t close.”
“Was he close to your husband?”
Her chuckle was spare and raised the flesh on the back of my neck.
“Something funny?” I said.
“My father’s an opportunist and a predator. And he looks after one person. Himself. Ray realized that and kept him at a distance.” She put her coffee down and glanced around my office. “I must say I love the picture you paint. Sophocles and Euripides on the bookshelf, a gun on your hip. Tell me, do you bed your clients as well? Or is that just in the movies?”
“Is that what you came here to ask me, Ms. Perry?”
“I came here to tell you to leave this alone. Nothing good will come of it.”
“I’m supposed to see Karen Simone this afternoon.”
She took a black leather wallet out of her black leather bag and slipped a silver dollar on my desk. “A dollar says you fuck her before you ever find Ray.”
“You know me that well?”
“I’ve been bought and sold myself a few times. So, yeah, I think I do.”
“Keep your money.”
She palmed the dollar and put it back in her wallet. Then she put the wallet back in her bag. “It wouldn’t be fair anyway.”
“How’s that?”
“I know Karen and you don’t.” She got up to leave. “Take care, Mr. Kelly. Let me know if you find out who you’re working for.”
“And if I find Ray?”
“You won’t find Ray, Mr. Kelly. That much I’m sure of.”
CHAPTER 13
A sloppy rain had begun to fall over the city. I hailed a cab on Broadway and made my way downtown. During his time in public life, Ray Perry had built a big part of his image on the back of a charity he and
his wife had started called Chicago’s Children in Crisis. The Perrys had run Three C together for the better part of a decade. Two years before Ray disappeared, Marie Perry walked away from the charity. Karen Simone took her place. And so the whispers began. I scrolled through a few of the articles on my phone as the cabbie maneuvered through traffic. It had started out innocently enough. A line in the Trib about the governor seen spooling pasta with an aide at a local restaurant. Then a second item about a power breakfast with a young woman at the Peninsula hotel. A free local rag called the Observer was the first to go for the red meat. Pictures of Ray and Karen Simone crossing the street together in Los Angeles. Back in Chicago enjoying lunch. Stepping off a private jet in Springfield. The idea of a possible affair had just started to percolate in the local press when the grand jury’s indictments for Ray came down and eclipsed everything. I dug into the body of the Observer story but couldn’t find any background on Simone. So I studied the grainy photos. The more I studied, the more I realized why Marie Perry had been willing to wager her silver dollar. The girl was small and lithe, with tangled blond hair, full, thick lips, and a well-scrubbed freshness that was the particular province of youth. She was the kind of girl men took risks for. It was etched all over Ray Perry’s face as he helped her out of the back of a car. And if I could see it in a news photograph, I was pretty sure Marie Perry had felt it in the flesh.
My cabbie pulled up to the front of Northwestern’s Prentice Women’s Hospital and mumbled something I couldn’t understand. I shoved some bills through the partition and got out. Prentice seemed closer to the Four Seasons than a hospital. Valet parkers in red coats scurried back and forth out front, picking up cars and dropping them off. Pregnant women and their male handlers pushed through revolving doors into a cavernous and carpeted lobby. To my left was a check-in area, to my right a flower shop, gift shop, Starbucks, and three separate lounges. All we needed was some booze and a decent bartender.
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