Duncan explained to Ms. Parnell and the Varners what we wanted to do with Felicity on this visit, and when no one objected, we made our way down to the basement bedroom where she was staying.
“How has she been since the last time we were here?” I asked Irene as we descended the stairs.
“A little calmer,” she said. “She still doesn’t engage with us much at all, but she hasn’t acted out or had one of her screaming spells like she did her first night here. She draws a lot.”
When we reached the bedroom door, I knocked and then opened it. Felicity was in the room, curled up in the corner, her knees drawn up, her arms wrapped around them. She was staring across the room, but her eyes had a vacant look to them that made me think she wasn’t seeing what was in front of her. Not that there was much in front of her. Other than some papers, markers, and crayons, and the mattress on the floor, the room was essentially empty.
I walked over to her and sat beside her while the others stood in the doorway, observing. “Hello, Felicity,” I said.
Her head turned to look at me, and her eyes focused. “Mack,” she said, deadpan.
“That’s the most response we’ve gotten from her since your last visit,” I heard Irene whisper.
“Yes,” I responded, giving Felicity a smile. “How are you?”
She didn’t answer me. Instead, she turned back to look across the room, once again taking on that vacant stare.
I reached for some papers and markers that were nearby and started drawing. I sketched a picture of a pizza slice with circles on it in brown to indicate pepperoni, and then drew an arrow alongside it. At the other end of the arrow I drew a car. When I was done, I pushed it toward Felicity. “When I smell pizza with pepperoni on it—which is my favorite pizza, by the way—I hear the sound of a well-tuned car engine. But if the pizza also has mushrooms on it, which I don’t like, the engine skips and coughs.”
I saw Felicity’s eyes shift down toward my drawing, but she said nothing and maintained her position. Grabbing another piece of paper, I drew a series of red splotches, hoping they looked like blood. Just to make sure of the connection, I drew a finger and made a red slash across it just above the red splotches. Then I drew an arrow, and beside the point of the arrow, I drew a trumpet.
“Blood has a smell to it,” I said. “And when I smell it, I hear trumpet music.”
From the doorway, I heard Parnell mumble under her breath, “This is a waste of time.”
“That woman has gotten more of a response from her than anyone else has,” Irene said, a hint of irritation in her voice. “So maybe you can let her be?”
I could only imagine the expression on Parnell’s face, because my eyes were fixed on Felicity. I took back my pictures and put a blank piece of paper in front of her, and then reached for the box of crayons, moving them closer. Then I took another sheet for myself and tried to draw an image of my father. My artistic talents were crude at best, and the end product looked little like him, but at least it looked like a man.
“My daddy died like yours did,” I said to Felicity. “I really miss him. He used to hug me a lot, and I loved his hugs. Sometimes, like now, I like to pretend he’s still alive. That’s why I drew this picture of him, so I can pretend for a little while. And you know what else I’m going to draw?” I traded in my current crayon for an aqua-colored one. Then I sketched out wavy blue lines with it alongside the drawing of what was supposed to be my father.
“See these lines?” I said to Felicity. She was looking at my drawings, and her gaze seemed focused. “Whenever my dad would hug me, I would see bluish-green waves of color like this. Isn’t that funny?”
Felicity let her arms fall at her side, and she shifted her position, tucking her legs beneath her so that she was on her knees.
“Did your dad ever hug you?” I said.
Felicity nodded.
“What did it feel like when your dad hugged you?”
Felicity reached down and grabbed the hem of her nightgown, a long, flannel, granny type of thing. She rubbed it between her fingers.
“Did it feel like that?” I said, and she nodded slowly.
From the doorway, Irene said, “We discovered she only likes to wear soft cotton material. We tried to give her some nylon panties, but she tossed them aside. She won’t wear anything polyester either. And she prefers loose-fitting stuff. I think she’d live in that nightgown if we let her.”
I wondered if this preference for certain materials was related to her autism, or if it was due to a synesthetic response. For me, anything leather gave me a nasty taste in my mouth, so I never wore it. And if I was ever near anything made of real fur, I heard a constant, repetitive, and irritating sound of rushing air, almost like an animal panting.
I decided now was as good a time as any to spring Peace’s picture on Felicity. She was engaged with me to some degree, and I hoped that because she seemed trusting and comfortable with me, it would temper any reaction she might have to it.
“Let me have your phone with the picture,” I said to Duncan.
It took him a minute to get out his phone and bring up the picture. He walked into the room slowly, handed it to me, and then returned to the doorway.
“Do you know who this is?” I said to Felicity. I put the phone in front of her, and her eyes drifted toward the screen.
What happened next came as a total surprise. Felicity reached out and slapped my hand, knocking the phone out of it. Then she pushed herself into the corner, as if she was trying to melt into the wall. A bloodcurdling scream followed.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake!” I heard Parnell say.
I hesitated, wanting to say something to Felicity to calm her, but her shrieks were so loud I doubted she’d hear me. Then, on instinct, I scooted over closer to her and slowly wrapped one arm around her shoulder. The shrieks continued, but she didn’t try to push my arm away or shrug it off, so I went ahead and snaked my other arm over her other shoulder. Slowly, I pulled her into me, wrapping her inside my arms. And then I began to hum the tune to “Row, Row, Row Your Boat.”
Felicity’s shrieks stopped. Though I half-expected her to try to wriggle away from me, or shrug me off, she did neither. She let me hold her.
“Wow,” I heard Irene say. “That’s amazing. She won’t let us touch her at all.”
After several seconds of hugging, I heard Felicity start to hum along with me.
I continued to hold her for another minute or so, and then I slowly released her. I stopped humming, and so did she. I put my face in front of hers and said, “Do you know the woman in that picture I showed you?”
She nodded slowly. “Little peach,” she said. And then she formed one hand into the shape of a gun and said, “Bang, bang!” so loud it made me jump.
Chapter 24
Duncan drove us back to the bar after I said good-bye to Felicity and the Varners. And yes, to Ms. Parnell, too. During our drive, I said, “It seems pretty clear to me that Felicity thinks Peace killed her father.”
“I don’t think she’s going to make a very good witness,” Duncan said. “We need something more.”
“What if Peace takes off now that she knows we’re interested in her?”
“I don’t think she will. At least not yet,” Duncan said. “She seemed genuinely interested in seeing Felicity, and until we let her do that, I think she’ll stick around. But I’ll put a watch on her in the meantime, just to be sure.”
“You’re not seriously thinking about letting her see Felicity, are you?”
Duncan didn’t answer right away.
“You can’t do that to Felicity,” I protested. “You saw how she reacted to just the picture of her. Can you imagine how traumatic it will be if she meets the woman face-to-face?”
“Well, that might be the evidence we need. We could tape the encounter, and it might be usable in court.”
“You can’t do that to her,” I said again. “And if you record her reaction to Peace, you’d have to do the sam
e thing with the other suspects. What if you brought Mal to see her and she did the same thing with him?”
“Maybe we should bring them together then,” Duncan said. “See what kind of reaction she has to Mal.”
The frustration I felt over this conversation was angering me, so I decided to switch topics. “When do you want to try to get a peek at Klein’s books?”
“Let’s see if Tiny is at the bar, and if he is, we’ll have a chat with him to see if he’s willing to help us. I can’t force him to, so I’m hoping he’ll want to play along.”
“I think he will. His sister’s murder all those years ago shaped his opinions and his outlook on this kind of stuff. He’s all about seeing justice served.”
We arrived at the bar, and after checking in with my staff, we made our way over to a table where the O’Reilly clan was congregated, enjoying a meal and some beers.
“Hey, Mack,” Connor said, proffering his beer to us as we approached. “Your elevator is officially done.”
“That’s fantastic,” I said. “I can’t thank you guys enough for giving up your time and your lives to come here and do this for me.”
“We’ll do just about anything for free food and beer,” Patrick said.
“Hear, hear,” Ryan said, holding up his beer.
A chorus of “Hear, hear,” combined with the sound of clinking bottles, followed as all four of them toasted this sentiment.
“How’s Mal doing?” Colleen asked after they had all taken swigs of beer.
“Better,” Duncan said. “He’ll be fine. But our suspicions were confirmed regarding his boss. I don’t think he knows Mal is a cop, but he might think Mal is a spy of some sort, and that puts him, and you guys, in danger. We’re not sure if he knows who Sheldon suspected or not. He says he doesn’t have a clue, but I’m not sure we can believe him. Hopefully, we’ll have some resolution soon.”
“We have plans to return home tomorrow,” Connor said. “Any chance we can see Mal before we go?”
Duncan gave this request a few seconds of thought. “Okay, let me see what I can do.”
“At least you’ll get your apartment back after tonight,” Colleen said to me. “Thanks so much for putting us up.”
“I’m the one who needs to say thanks,” I told her. “You’ve done me a huge favor. Consider yourselves family from here on out. Anytime you’re in Milwaukee, come on by. The food and drinks will always be on me.”
“I see some trips to Milwaukee in our future,” Ryan said, and he and Patrick high-fived each other.
“It’s a great city,” Connor said. “Thanks for the sightseeing suggestions.”
“Yeah, the brewery trips were a definite highlight,” Patrick said with a devilish grin.
“Well, enjoy your last evening here,” I told them. “Order anything you want to eat or drink. What time is your flight tomorrow?”
“We need to be at the airport by noon,” Connor said.
“Then I’ll make sure you have a hearty breakfast to see you off.”
After one more round of vociferous thank-yous going both ways, Duncan and I left them. Duncan once again wanted to use my office to make some calls and do some work. I gave him my key and then headed upstairs to the Capone Club room. Tiny wasn’t there, so I pulled Cora aside out in the hallway and asked her if she was expecting him to show up this evening.
“I am,” she said. “He said he’d come by after work. Why?”
I told her what we had in mind. I wasn’t sure what her reaction would be, but if she had any hesitation about Tiny putting his job and, potentially, his life on the line, she didn’t show it. What’s more, she was quite excited about her role in the plan.
“I’m sure he’ll want to do it,” she said. “And I have to admit, it’d be nice to get out and do something a little more exciting than tapping computer keys.”
“Great,” I said. “Thanks, Cora. Duncan and I will both really appreciate it.”
We returned to the room and the curious stares of the others.
“What’s up, Mack?” Carter said. “You haven’t been around much. Busy day?”
Because there were no newcomers, just the usual crowd, I once again reminded them that what I was going to tell them needed to stay with the group. Then I filled them in on the Janssen case, though I kept the part involving Tiny and any information about Mal out of it.
“What about Oliver Knutson?” Sonja asked when I was done.
“I have some good news to report on that account,” I told them with a big smile. Then I shared my theory of the case with them, and the discussion we had with the ME.
“You’re brilliant, as usual!” Joe said when I was done. “Now all we have to do is figure out a way to prove it.”
“Yes, therein lies our dilemma,” I said. “Duncan has an idea on how we might be able to do it. Time will tell.”
“Can you share the details?” Carter asked.
“Not yet. But I’ll let you guys know as soon as I can.”
I could tell they were frustrated by this answer, but they accepted it, knowing my new relationship with the police department put some dampers on the information I was willing to share and when.
The group was discussing the brilliance of Caroline’s method of murder when Tiny showed up. Before he could have a chance to settle in with the group, Cora and I steered him back out of the room, saying we had a new menu item we wanted him to try. I doubted the others bought that excuse, but once again, they had little choice other than to accept it.
Cora and I escorted Tiny down to my office. Duncan was on my laptop computer when we went in, and he stopped what he was doing to get up and greet Tiny.
“Haven’t seen ya in a while,” Tiny said, shaking Duncan’s hand.
“It has been some time,” Duncan said. “Listen, Tiny, I wonder if I could run something by you. There’s a case I’m working on, and I could really use your help with it.”
“You want me to help?” he said, looking skeptical.
Duncan nodded. “It’s about your job, your current one.” Tiny looked confused. “You’re working for Wade Klein, right?”
“Ya, dats right.”
“We have reason to think Klein is involved in some illegal activities,” Duncan said. “We had an undercover cop working there for a time, but he’s no longer able to do that.”
Tiny’s look of confusion turned into one of enlightenment. “Oh, ya, da guys on dat job were saying dere was a guy who disappeared, and dat maybe he was a spy or somet’in like dat.”
Duncan nodded. “That was probably our guy,” he said. “It was Mal.”
Tiny looked appropriately surprised.
“While he’s no longer able to work there,” Duncan went on, “he was able to get a look at some books Klein keeps in his office. We think those books might be the evidence we need to finally arrest Klein.”
“What do ya t’ink Klein is doin’?” Tiny asked.
“Money laundering,” Duncan said. “And perhaps some bribery. There has been talk of him doing shoddy work on some of his jobs and paying inspectors to look the other way.” I noticed he left out any mention of suspected drug trafficking. “There’s a good chance these books are records of some of his illegal transactions.”
“Some of da guys on dat job did say some t’ings about shortcuts dey didn’t like,” Tiny said, looking troubled.
“Have you worked for Klein before?” I asked.
Tiny shook his head. “Naw. I have a guy I work for most of da time, but he’s out right now because of some surgery he had to have. So I got somet’ing temporary.” He sighed. “So what da ya want me ta do?”
Duncan described Klein’s mobile office to him.
“Ya, I’ve seen it,” Tiny said.
“Klein keeps the doorknob to that office locked so no one can get in without knocking. As far as we know, he and Mr. Janssen are the only ones with keys. So every time he leaves the office, the door locks behind him.”
“You want me to tr
y to steal his keys?” Tiny said, looking alarmed.
“No,” Duncan said. “I don’t want you to steal anything. We found a ring of keys in Mr. Janssen’s house, but there are dozens of keys on it and we don’t know which one is to the trailer. So we need you to do something else.” Duncan outlined the plan for him. When he was done, he said, “So what do you think, Tiny? Are you up for it?”
Tiny looked over at Cora. “What da ya t’ink?” he said.
“I’m totally up for it,” Cora said.
“Okay, den,” Tiny said with a big smile. “Count me in.”
We spent the next half hour discussing the specifics of the plan and arranging to meet the next morning. When that was done, Tiny and Cora went back upstairs, and Duncan and I headed out again. Our next stop was Mal’s lakeside hideaway, with a stop along the way for some burgers and fries I told Duncan I could easily have made at the bar.
I was delighted to see Mal looked much better. His color had improved, his step had some spring to it, and his attitude was upbeat. I hugged him—carefully, so as not to irritate his wound—and offered to change his dressing for him. He readily agreed.
“It’s hard for me to get to the part around back,” he said. “So I’d appreciate your eyes and hands for it.”
I gathered the necessary supplies while Mal removed his shirt and settled onto a stool by a bar at one end of the room. He and Duncan dug into the food, and started chatting about the Janssen case. It didn’t take me long to realize Duncan had been in regular contact with Mal, keeping him updated.
When it came time to disclose the plan we had cooked up for getting a better look at Klein’s books, Mal was eager to get on board.
“This place is starting to get to me,” he said. “I’d love to get back out there and actually do something.”
We stayed and chatted a while longer, discussing the morning plans. I ate my burger and some fries in silence, finding them a poor example of the fare compared to my own. When the talk finally ebbed, I finally interjected my own thoughts.
Last Call Page 24
