Rodriguez took a seat. Kelly wandered up to the bow. We were still drifting. Still not headed anywhere special.
“Jake’s gonna be fine,” Rodriguez said. “They gave him some blood on the boat and stabilized him.” He pointed off into the fog. “Taking him to the hospital now.”
“Thanks, Detective.”
“You’re welcome.” Rodriguez took out a pack of cigarettes and offered me one.
I shook my head. “Don’t smoke.”
“I don’t either. Still, some days …” Rodriguez lit up. Kelly walked back. Rodriguez handed over the cigarettes, and Kelly disappeared again. Rodriguez took a single drag and tossed the butt into the water. “We’ve got a fucked-up situation here, Ian.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Not your fault. Hell, without you, where would we be? Not your fault at all.”
The boat creaked as a wave passed beneath it.
“Why are we still out here?” I said. “Why aren’t we headed in?”
“Good question.” Rodriguez nodded toward the two sets of boots. “Guess we can start there.”
“Z and Coursey?”
“What do we do with them? If we bring them in, we have to explain who shot them. And why.”
“I can explain.”
“Explain what?”
“Kelly had no choice. If he didn’t shoot Z, I’d be dead. If …”
“I’m not talking about the details. That’s not the problem at all.”
“Then what is the problem?”
“The shed you guys cracked open. The cooler and those cabinets.”
“You got a look?”
“A quick one.” Rodriguez pulled out the black Moleskine notebook. “If we go public with what happened and give everyone the real reason why …”
“Then all the blackmail comes out. And a lot of people’s lives are destroyed.”
“That’s right. Now if everything we find in that shed is true, I might not have any problem with letting it all come out in the wash. A handful of politicians get ruined. Maybe more than a handful, but so what? Thing is, some of that stuff … most of it probably … was the product of a frame. Either contrived evidence like your pal James Harrison, or a setup …”
“Like the one they caught me up in with Sarah.”
“Something like that, yeah.” Rodriguez studied my face. I knew where the cop was headed. The Needle Squad’s blackmail ring might have started in Chicago, but now it reached all the way to Washington, into the highest levels of government. Anyone touched would be ruined. Whether they were guilty or innocent.
“What do we do?” I said.
“You three made it happen. You, Jake, and Sarah. Paid a pretty good price, too.”
“So?”
“So what do you want to do?”
“I can’t decide that, Detective.”
Rodriguez grinned. “Who said you were gonna decide anything? I just want to know what you’re thinking.”
I shook my head. “I don’t know.”
“Good,” Rodriguez said. “At your age, that’s probably the right answer. We’re gonna take you in and put you in a car. You’ll be back in Evanston in a couple of hours. After that, you forget everything you saw today. The house, the shed. This boat. There’ll be some questions, especially when the professor here doesn’t show up for class. But you forget everything. Okay?”
“Okay.”
Rodriguez searched my face. “Any questions, ask ’em now.”
“Did you find Sally Finn?”
“She’s in the beach house. Doesn’t know her own name.”
“There have to be more people involved in this.”
“Best we can tell, only Z and Coursey knew the entire operation. Everyone else on the payroll just got bits and pieces. Police, prosecutors, a couple of reporters. Lots of hookers. We’ll have a talk with them. Advise the cops and prosecutors to find a new line of work. Roll up the rest and keep ’em quiet.”
“You think that’ll work?”
“It’s been done before.”
“What are you going to do with them?” I gestured to the two pairs of boots on the deck.
“Let it go, son.”
“You’re going to drop me off, motor back here, and dump them in the lake.”
Rodriguez stared at me. Kelly had reappeared at his shoulder.
“I can handle it, Detective.”
“Fine. That’s exactly what we’re going to do.”
“Then let’s get on with it,” I said.
Rodriguez circled his hand over his head once. Behind me the diesel turned over and began to hum. Forty minutes later, I was standing on the dock of Sally Finn’s beach house, a cop close beside me. Rodriguez waved once as the Whaler slipped away from shore. Kelly stood beside him, staring at me. Then the boat was swallowed by the fog, and all I could hear was the beat of its engine.
47
In the end things went just about as Rodriguez said they would. Well, sort of.
Martin Coursey left a “note” for his two kids from a first, failed marriage. In it he told them he was leaving Chicago and wouldn’t be returning. He asked them to forgive him. And if they couldn’t forgive, at least forget.
As for Judy Zombrowski, what was left of her body washed up on the rocks along Lake Michigan’s shoreline, not far from where the wreckage of the Lady Elgin came to rest. Her death was announced to the university as a “tragic accident.” At Z’s request, her remains were buried next to Rosina Rolland’s in Calvary Cemetery. I was the only one who attended the ceremony. Along with Jake Havens.
Jake and I spent a lot of time together. He’d been in the hospital for a couple of weeks. The bullet hadn’t done any permanent damage, but he’d lost a lot of blood. Jake told anyone who asked that it was an emergency appendectomy. I thought it might be hard to fool his family, but they only visited once and seemed to buy it. Neither of us had heard from Sarah since the hospital. She’d withdrawn from school, and all her e-mail bounced back. I grieved in the best way I knew, but maybe that was how it had to be for now. Just me and Jake. After all, no one else knew the full story. Not like Jake and I did. Well, sort of.
We sat in my car, stalled at a red light, on the corner of Roscoe and Halsted. Chicago’s Boystown buzzed around us in a final burst of summer. Groups of men migrated across the street. Followed by even larger groups of women. People sat on curbs and stood on corners. Ahead of us a car doubled-parked as the driver rolled down his window and yelled into a club called Cocktail. A couple of men tumbled out of the place and jumped in the backseat. The stoplight flicked green, and we surged forward. Above us a guy leaned over a balcony and videotaped us with his iPhone.
I pulled into a 7-Eleven. A cop sat in the parking lot, sipping coffee and watching life in the side-view mirror. I slid into the space next to him. The cop backed up and left. Jake Havens looked over at me. He wasn’t happy.
“Seriously, Joyce. What are we doing here?”
“I told you. It has something to do with the Harrison case.”
“Yeah, and you told me it would all make sense once we got down here.”
“It will.”
“When?”
“Patience. You want something?”
He waved me away. I went into the store and came out with a couple of coffees. Jake took a sip. “You got any more sugar?”
I gave him a couple of packets and watched as he stirred one in. Jake had been out of the hospital for a month. The bullet had cost him twenty pounds and left him with a bloodless complexion. But Jake hadn’t lost his intensity. And he hadn’t lost his edge.
“How is it?” I said.
Jake took another sip of his coffee. “Getting better. So what’s the deal?”
I glanced in my rearview mirror. A bar called Chasen’s sat there. Its windows were swung open to the street, and the high stools were packed with patrons. Another cop car cruised past. No one in Chasen’s took any notice.
“I know who Skylar Wingate’s killer is.�
� I spoke softly, almost reluctantly. “He broke into my house a couple of months ago. I have a security camera in the basement. Got three minutes of him on tape.”
“The killer broke into your house?”
“Yes.”
“And you’ve got him on tape?”
“Yes.”
Jake studied me closely. “Fine. Let’s take a look.”
I shook my head.
“Why not?” Jake leaned forward and put his coffee in the holder between us. Best I could tell, he’d already drunk a quarter.
“You see that bar behind us?” I said.
He turned and looked.
“I’ve been up and down this strip for the last month, flashing this guy’s picture. Finally got a hit last week.”
“In there?”
“He’s been in there the last three weekends running. Looking for his next victim.”
“And why should I believe this guy’s our killer?”
“He is, Jake.”
“That’s it?”
“For now.”
“Fuck you, Joyce.”
We lapsed back into silence. Chatter from the street drifted through an open window.
“Have the cops seen your tape?” Jake said.
“I figured we should talk first.”
“You figured wrong. Call Rodriguez.”
I took out my phone and placed it on the dash.
Jake looked at it. “You don’t think I’ll call.”
“It’s your choice.”
“You’re not the one who took the bullet, Joyce. You think I want another?”
“That’s why it’s your choice.”
He picked up his coffee and took another sip. “What is it you want to do?”
“Find the guy who killed Skylar Wingate.”
“You sound pretty sure of yourself.”
“I am.”
He shook his head and stared straight ahead. I turned up the radio.
He turned it off.
“What will we do with him? Once we have him?”
“You know the answer to that. You’ve always known.” I put the car into gear and pulled out of the lot. We circled the block and eased into a shallow alley that dead-ended at a dark and deserted laundromat. From the alley, we had a direct view of Chasen’s.
“You’re wrong,” Jake said.
“About what?”
“I don’t want to hurt this guy. Or whatever you have planned. I never did.”
I picked up my phone. “Then make the call.”
Across the street, a man stood in the gutter, hawking a Streetwise in front of the bar. On the other side of Halsted, a bum wearing a Cubs hat crouched at a bus stop and watched the crowds drift by. A cop at the corner talked to a skinny black kid.
“I know what’s going on.” Jake’s voice carried the burden of confidence, which told me he knew nothing. Or at least not everything he thought.
“What’s going on, Jake?”
“You really want to hear it?”
I half turned in my seat. “Maybe I’d better.”
He licked his lips. It was the first time I’d ever seen Jake Havens nervous. And I knew what he was going to say next. “It started with the cord used to strangle Wingate. The one we saw in the photos.”
“What about it?” I said.
“It looked like something you’d find in a school. At least it seemed that way to me. So I went back to Wingate’s grammar school and took a hard look at the staff. I got hold of some old payroll records and put together a list of names.”
“Sounds like a lot of work.”
“I came across a janitor named Edward Cooper. Left the school six months after Skylar was killed. Skipped town altogether a year and a half after that. I was able to trace Cooper to Nevada. He raped a boy out there and was sentenced to twenty-five years in prison. They released him seven months ago.”
“You got a description of Cooper?”
“There’s more.”
I nodded. Jake Havens was number one in his class at the University of Chicago. Of course, there was more.
“This guy had a family in Chicago back in the day. Wife and two boys. Twins.”
I glanced over. Jake’s eyes were wide and shiny. “Let me guess,” I said. “The mom’s maiden name was Joyce. And she named her twins Ian and Matthew.”
“You’ve known all along.”
“Edward Cooper was my stepfather. He lived with us until I was ten. And, yes, he killed those kids. The three back in the day and the two now. That’s why we’re here tonight.”
“I don’t understand.” The words came out thick and slow. Jake looked down at his coffee and back up at me. I took the cup from his hands and cranked back his seat. He tried to remain upright, but failed miserably.
“I couldn’t take a chance on you, Jake. You’re just too goddamn smart.” I threw the car keys on the floor. “When you wake up, drive yourself back to Evanston. Go straight to bed ’cuz you’re gonna have a mean headache. I’m sorry about that. And I’m sorry about the rest.”
Jake’s lips moved, but no words came out. I put my hand on his shoulder and waited until his eyes had closed. Then I took the remains of his coffee and dumped it in the gutter. I locked the car and left my classmate, unconscious, in the alley.
Half a block down Roscoe, I had a van parked in an empty lot. I found it and checked to make sure I had everything I needed. Then I walked back up toward the lights of Halsted. From the darkness of the side street, I studied the intersection. The cop was still on the corner. The man selling Streetwise across from him. The bum in the Cubs hat at the bus stop. And all the rest, sitting and drinking, enjoying their night. I felt the edge of the knife tucked into the belt of my pants, cold against my belly. Then I walked toward the lights.
48
I watched him hunt for an hour. His genius was preparation and patience. My job was to stay close yet remain invisible. To my surprise, I was pretty good at it. Like stepfather, I guessed, like stepson.
I took him in the very heart of the night. The bars were letting out. Sidewalks swollen with people. He was intent on his prey. A young boy, maybe thirteen, alone, wearing a black T-shirt, black jeans, and featuring spiky blue hair. He’d been watching the boy, on and off, for the better part of an hour. Now the boy was heading toward an alley, probably for a smoke or a piss. My stepfather started to follow. We bumped shoulders as he passed, knocking him off stride and into an empty doorway. I moved with him, finding the flesh in his thigh and pressing the needle home. His hand gripped my wrist, but it was too late. I got one look at the rim of yellow in his eyes, maybe a flicker of recognition. Then the eyes fluttered shut, and he slumped against me. I picked up his Cubs hat and helped him down the street, telling anyone who asked he was drunk. No one cared about a bum. Least of all, the cops. Less than a minute later, I had him in the back of the van, strapped down, mouth taped, hands and feet cuffed. I wanted to look at him, but there was no time. And my heart was suddenly popping in my throat. So I climbed into the front of the van, turned over the engine, and headed back to Evanston. It was so much easier than I ever could have imagined. The beast conjured far worse than the one slain.
“What do you remember about this place?” I said.
He blinked and tried to move. The strap across his forehead forced him to look at me.
“You remember that?” I pointed to a square hole cut into the floor. His eyes flicked down and back up.
“You’re in the basement. Your old basement.”
There was contempt in his gaze. Or maybe it was just boredom. I gripped the black handle and cranked a notch on the rope that held his right leg fast. The tendons in his leg pulled tight.
“I got new ropes, but it’s the same winch and pulley. Oiled them up. Same table, too.” I rapped my knuckles against it. Then I flicked at the flex-cuffs that pinned his hands and left leg to the wood. “I could have hooked you up all around, but you know that.”
I reached for the handle and cracked an
other notch. My stepfather bit at the gag in his mouth. His right leg twisted outward at the knee and ankle.
“You’re probably enjoying this,” I said. The cords in his neck swelled as he struggled to lift his head off the table.
“You want to talk?” I made a move to remove his gag, then pulled back. “Fuck you.”
I took it up two more notches and was rewarded with a heavy grunt through the gag.
“That’s four notches. I remember because that was when Matthew screamed. I screamed with him. You turned up the radio. Then you cranked it five more times.”
I put my hand on the handle. Edward Cooper’s mind was already broken. Why not a leg? I leaned into the job. A voice whispered from across the room. At first I thought it was my own. The pathetic ghost of a boy. Watching his twin being murdered. And wondering why it wasn’t him. Then Sarah Gold stepped out of the shadows. And saved my life.
49
She stood there, arms wrapped around her waist, cupping her elbows like she was holding the pieces of herself together.
“Go away, Sarah.”
“If you’re going to do this, you’ll do it with me watching.”
“You think I won’t?”
“I was there tonight, Ian. In Boystown.”
My hand slipped off the handle. The pressure eased back a notch. “Why?”
“Jake thought we had things under control. I agreed with him. Turns out we were both wrong.”
“No kidding.”
“Jake’s fine. In case you were wondering.”
“It was just a sedative. I wouldn’t hurt him.”
“I believe you.” Sarah edged closer. For the first time I noticed a yellow envelope clutched in her hand.
“What’s that?”
“X-rays. From Matthew.”
A small sigh escaped from my lips and I stumbled back from the table.
“It was Jake’s idea,” she said. “He pulled your brother’s old school records. That led us to the hospital reports. A broken wrist. Three ribs. A cracked sternum. Two days ago, Detective Rodriguez got a court order to exhume your brother’s body.”
I sagged to the floor and felt the cold run of bricks against my spine. Sarah’s voice cut through the black smoke of time and memory.
The Innocence Game Page 20
