The Aquittal

by Anne Laughlin

  Sarah looked uncomfortable. “The only other thing that came out was Kelly was having an affair with another woman and Lauren had recently found out about it. That’s what I meant about Kelly and Lauren not being as happy as I thought they were.”

  It also gave Lauren a whopping motive. Josie contemplated what to say next. The case seemed tremendously fucked up and probably nothing but trouble. But it was a paying case—if she could manage to get hired.

  “Have you considered the possibility my investigation may prove Lauren did murder Kelly?” Josie asked.

  Sarah looked unconcerned. “There’s no downside. Lauren can’t be retried for the same crime. And after all, that’s the information the company wants an investigator to find.”

  “True, but perhaps it’s something you’d rather not know.”

  Sarah waved that away. “I’m not worried about it. I don’t believe for a minute she’d hurt anyone. But you can see how murky the whole thing is and why it’s important to remove that doubt.”

  Josie couldn’t, really. She’d think Sarah would thank her lucky stars for the acquittal and leave it at that. It seemed Lauren had.

  “I can check on the status of the police investigation,” Josie said. “I have contacts in homicide.” She thought that should impress Sarah. “What does Lauren think of this effort of yours? She doesn’t seem very interested in keeping her name untarnished.”

  Sarah fiddled with her water bottle. “She doesn’t know anything about it.”

  Josie stopped writing and looked up, careful to take the sarcasm out of her voice.

  “You want me to find the person who killed Lauren’s girlfriend, presuming it’s not Lauren herself, without her knowledge? Won’t she know the board hired an investigator?”

  “We’re not volunteering the information, but we’re aware she’ll find out as soon as the investigator starts interviewing people.” She paused. “You sound like you may believe she’s guilty. I need you to be on board.”

  Josie didn’t believe in causes. She believed in paychecks and getting the job done. She stole a look at her watch. She was going to be late for her therapy appointment.

  “I have an appointment I need to get to, so we’ll have to stop here. I have to think about this before I can agree to take your case.”

  “Of course. And I’ve not yet decided whether to hire you,” Sarah said. She pulled a thick file out of her bag and pushed it across the desk. “You’d find most of this on the Internet, I imagine, but I’ll save you the time of looking it up. These are the media reports and trial transcript. Maybe you could read them and we’ll meet again tomorrow morning.”

  Josie looked at the file skeptically. She wasn’t a particularly fast reader. She’d just finished the Lord of the Rings trilogy and that took forever. This was a very thick file. “I could meet you back here at four tomorrow afternoon. That’ll have to do.”

  Sarah rose and put on her jacket. “Fine. I assume all this will remain confidential?”

  “Of course.”

  There was a hint of a smile on Sarah’s lips as she turned away and left the office. Josie took a moment to whisper a thank-you for the possibility of a paycheck and another thank-you for all the medications that made it possible for her to take on this case. She grabbed the Lauren Wade file, found her shoes, and hurried to her fifty minutes of torture.

  Chapter Three

  Josie’s office was on the second floor of an old brick two-story building, similar to most of the buildings that lined the commercial streets of Chicago’s Lakeview neighborhood. Many had shops on the ground floor and a long hallway of offices on the second. She headed toward the rear stairway, passing the doors of two dentists, a Reiki practitioner, and Stan Waterman’s Shield Detectives. The lights were off in Stan’s office. He must’ve left after Sarah canceled her appointment. Shield Detectives was a bit of a hobby for Stan, something to do after he retired from the CPD and broke up his long partnership with Josie’s father, who still worked as a homicide detective.

  Stan Waterman’s presence was a drawback to signing a lease in the building, but the rent was as cheap as she could find in the area. The location was great, and best of all, it came with parking out back. As she approached her ancient Toyota Corolla she could see the car next to it parked way over the line, forcing Josie to climb through the passenger side to get in. She could practically hear the switch click on in her brain, instantly catapulting her into outrage. She didn’t know if it was despair or anger she felt whenever people acted as if they were the only ones who lived in the world. Whatever it was, her reaction was much bigger than the thing itself. She’d been told enough times to try not to let these things get to her. She wasn’t built to handle it. Her desire to take a tire iron to the offending car nearly overwhelmed her for a few seconds, and then she calmed down.

  Since one of the reasons she was in therapy was to deal with her irritability, if that’s what they wanted to call it, she supposed she’d have a victory to report to Greta. She could feel the anger leaving her, and it did so much quicker than it would have in the past. She turned her thoughts to the Lauren Wade case and how it might make her feel good for the first time in ages.

  She drove as fast as she could up to Andersonville, buzzed at the ground floor of Greta’s office building, and took the stairs two at a time. She was a half an hour late. Greta was waiting at the far end of the hallway, holding her door open as she watched Josie trot toward her. She was a tiny woman, somewhere in her sixties, dressed in elegant clothes that didn’t seem the least bit fussy. Josie had spent months studying Greta’s wardrobe, wondering if she’d ever be capable of putting herself together as well and surprised to find she was even thinking about it. Perhaps better clothes would make people take her more seriously.

  “There’s no need to run, Josie,” Greta said.

  Josie stopped in front of her. “You’re not mad? I’m really late.”

  “Let’s say I’m curious. It’s not like you to be late.”

  They walked into Greta’s office and took their usual chairs, facing each other from a few feet apart. Greta’s side table was equipped with a clock, a box of tissues, and her ever-present cup of tea. She was Austrian, her accent thick, though she’d lived in the States many years. Josie had never known an Austrian. There were no Austrian neighborhoods in Chicago, no cultural festivals. The only things she knew about Austria were from The Sound of Music.

  “What’s going on?” Greta asked.

  “My first client walked through the door, that’s what. I couldn’t believe it. Sorry I’m late, but the whole thing was pretty involved. I couldn’t break away.”

  “Congratulations.” Greta looked genuinely pleased. Josie hated how much that meant to her, how a kind word from Greta sometimes made her want to cry. It was ridiculous.

  “It’s a huge case, too. This woman was acquitted of a murder charge and my client wants me to find the real murderer.” Josie bounced on the edge of her seat.

  “What?” Greta looked incredulous.

  “I know. It’s not your run-of-the-mill PI case. I can’t wait to get started.”

  “I don’t understand. Isn’t that something the police should be doing?”

  “I have to look into all that,” Josie said. “There’s a lot I don’t know.” Now Josie’s leg was swinging back and forth.

  “Is it even wise to take this on?” Greta leaned forward in her chair. Josie leaned back in hers.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Josie asked.

  “You’ve been doing very well for some months now,” Greta said. “Your mood’s stabilized, your sleep’s good, even your diet’s improved. I don’t want to see the stress of a case like this set you back.”

  Whatever elation Josie felt about her new career sank below sea level. Greta’s obsession with stress drove her crazy. She glared back at her.

  “I don’t think you’d be satisfied unless I worked as a janitor in a funeral home,” Josie said. “I can handle stress, and m
ore importantly, I can’t avoid it. Why can’t you be happy for me?” She could hear the agitation in her own voice.

  Greta smiled and Josie knew it was meant to placate her. “I am happy. I know success is important to you. I also know long periods of stress can trigger episodes.”

  Josie stared furiously at the clasped hands on her lap.

  “This is still very new to you,” Greta said. “I understand how much you hate it. But we’re still discovering how well you do with your medication, what supports your stability and what upsets it. When we talked about this before, you seemed certain you could run the business by working regular hours.”

  Josie reluctantly looked at her. “I still think that’s true ninety percent of the time. I got my ten percent dropped on me the first day. What are the chances?”

  Greta stared.

  “There’s no way I can turn this case away,” Josie said.

  Greta looked disappointed. “I can’t sign off on this, Josie. You’re sabotaging your recovery.”

  “That’s a little dramatic, don’t you think?”

  “A year ago you were in the hospital with an uncontrolled bipolar I manic episode. You could end up there again,” Greta said, her stern expression setting Josie on edge.

  She stood, unable to stay a moment longer. She had an amazing opportunity to start her new career with a huge success and ease the memory of her humiliating exit from the police department. She couldn’t listen to Greta’s rationale. She’d never get anywhere if she did.

  “I’m going. I’ll be here on time next week.”

  Josie left the office and clambered down the stairs, her face hot with shame. She was a coward to flee Greta’s office, and God knew it wasn’t the first time she’d done it. But she had to make a living and have some purpose in her life. Her symptoms were under control. It was time to get on with things.

  She crossed through the stalled traffic on Clark Street. It was late Friday afternoon and everything was busy. People poured into Cheetah’s Gym for their pre-partying workouts, while others went straight to the restaurants and bars that lined the street. The September air was still warm and the sidewalk tables were filled. It felt like a village instead of a single street in an enormous city. Before her breakdown, this strip had been home, as much so as her nearby apartment. Now she avoided almost every place on it.

  One exception was Kopi Café, her hangout during the long months after she left her job. Going there kept her from being completely isolated in her apartment. She’d always have a book open on her table, next to her coffee cup, and the wait staff never mentioned that she rarely turned a page.

  Now she set up in the rear of the café and dug out a fistful of paper on Lauren Wade. Her coffee and scone appeared without her ordering, much like her brand of beer used to appear on the bar before she’d settled onto a stool.

  “You look busy today.” It was Casey, the guy who usually waited on her. “Or industrious, at least.”

  “Busy.” Josie smiled as she looked up at him. “I’ve got my first case.”

  “Case? Case of what?”

  “Client, I should say. You know—for my new PI firm.”

  Casey put the coffeepot on the table. “Josie, I don’t know what you’re talking about. Are you a private eye now?”

  “Yeah. I’m sure I told you about it. What’s so surprising?”

  Casey shrugged. “It’s not every day someone tells you they’ve become a private eye. What happened—did you wake up one day and say, ‘I know, I’ll be a private eye!’ It seems a little out of the blue.”

  “It’s not out of the blue,” Josie said, trying to not sound defensive. “Lots of ex-cops become PIs.”

  He pointed at the top page in front of Josie. “Kudos if your first case has to do with Lauren Wade.”

  Josie looked down at a photo of a dark-haired woman surrounded by reporters pointing their microphones and cameras at her. She covered the paper with her arms.

  “That’s confidential.” She felt her cheeks flame red.

  “Honey, I won’t say a word. Your barista is like your priest, only safer. I will say if your new case puts you in contact with Lauren Wade, you’re a lucky girl. She’s hot. Not as in sizzling hot. More like gorgeous and mysterious hot. And she may have killed her lover. How much more mysterious can you get?”

  Josie didn’t know what to say. She slipped the papers back into the file.

  “I’m glad she was acquitted,” Casey continued. “I never thought she did it. So what if her girlfriend cheated on her. It’s not like Lauren couldn’t have someone new in an instant.”

  “Right. The conveyor belt of love. Maybe they used that as a defense,” Josie said.

  “No, that’s where the mystery comes in. Maybe that’s where you come in. According to the papers, Lauren Wade wouldn’t defend herself at all.” Casey turned his head as someone called him to a table. “I have to fly. Don’t be a stranger.”

  Josie gulped her coffee, stuffed the scone in her bag, and left the café as quickly as she could. After a long afternoon of surprises and irritants, she needed to get home. She also felt strangely at peace for the first time in months. She finally had something to focus on other than her illness. She longed for involvement in anything outside her own head, work that would help her forget those god-awful weeks of manic behavior that landed her in the hospital; the behavior so mortifying she couldn’t bear to think about it. Greta constantly urged her to forgive herself, but Josie was realistic. There wasn’t a chance she’d forgive herself.

  When she got home to her third-floor apartment she opened the blinds on every window in the place. She’d been living like a mole for months, in the classic pose of the depressive, curled up on the sofa in her dark living room. Now she was in action and it felt great. She washed down some leftover Thai food with the one beer a day she allowed herself, though Greta said she shouldn’t even have that. Josie thought that restriction a bit much and didn’t she prove to herself every day that she wasn’t an alcoholic? One beer would not be enough for an alcoholic but it wasn’t a problem for her. So the hell with Greta. She was still mad at her anyway for not recognizing a fucking miracle: a murder case on her first day on the job!

  Josie put on her favorite sweats and her go-to Lucinda Williams CD and spread the Lauren Wade file over her dining room table. Sarah appeared to have searched deep into the Internet to find everything she could about Lauren Wade; she seemed obsessed with her. There were the expected Wikipedia and local newspaper reports about Lauren and her company, along with business articles and interviews found only through paid research services. She’d also used an online background-checking service to look for any evidence of hinkiness in Lauren’s past, but there was none. Interestingly, the report was printed before Kelly Moore’s murder. The other news stories about her business and civic life were also printed before Sarah should have had an interest in seeing how she could help Lauren.

  Sarah had been building her file on Lauren for quite some time.

  Josie read through the background material. What emerged was a profile of a forty-year-old businesswoman who ran a successful publishing company and was active in a number of civic organizations, including LGBTQ. An interview in the local gay press covered her involvement with a lesbian cancer organization. It also touched on Lauren’s private life, the only reference to it Josie could find in the file. The interview was dated a year before her arrest, and Lauren spoke warmly about her partner and their tentative plans to have children together. She sounded happy.

  The photos of Lauren at various banquets and galas showed a slender woman with dark eyes and prominent eyebrows. Her hair was black and perfectly straight, parted off-center and often partially hiding her face. She wore well-tailored pantsuits. Josie couldn’t find Lauren smiling in a single photo. The two of Kelly and Lauren together showed Kelly’s light to Lauren’s dark. In one shot, Kelly wore a short dress and impressive heels, clinging to Lauren’s arm with a big smile on her face as they pose
d on what looked like the red carpet for a film opening. Lauren’s face was a blank. Another photo was a candid shot at a fund-raiser held on a boat. With other couples around them, Kelly could be seen sitting on Lauren’s lap, throwing her head back and laughing, hiding Lauren’s face from the camera. Josie wondered if Lauren was smiling while holding a beautiful, laughing woman on her lap. She somehow doubted it.

  She read through some articles found in the trade press about Wade-Fellows. It was known for publishing high-quality design, craft, and fine art books. Lauren’s parents ran the company from the early 1970s until their early retirement in 2009. A press release issued at that time reported Lauren would lead the company, while her brother Tim was promoted to vice president of operations. Josie couldn’t find any indication Wade-Fellowes was in financial distress, but it was a privately held company and information on its finances was limited.

  Josie moved these papers into a new pile, which she referred to as the “good to know but doesn’t get me anywhere” pile. Like a snowdrift, it grew steadily higher as the evening wore on. Her running list of questions was over two pages long. Some of the questions she hoped Sarah DeAngeles could answer, but most were the questions she was being hired to answer herself. At least she hoped she was being hired. She needed to develop some plan of attack that would impress Sarah, a woman who didn’t come off as easily impressed.

  At nine she pushed back from the table and looked inside her refrigerator. There were the beers, lined up like soldiers, ready to march into her hand. And that was it. An assortment of frozen foods from Trader Joe’s were stacked in the freezer, covered in a burr of ice. Her cell phone rang. There were only a few people that called Josie; she wasn’t surprised to see her mother’s name on the screen.

  “Hi, Mom. Kind of late for you to be calling, isn’t it?” Josie said.

  “True, but I’ve been thinking of you and finally got a chance to pick up the phone,” she said, as if she’d been seeing patients all day instead of sitting at home watching the clock.