The Fifth Floor (20 page)

“Fuck’s been going on here,” he said and poked my cellie with his nightstick. Marcus rolled over and faced the wall. The guard looked up at me.

“What happened here?”

“Slipped and fell,” I said.

The guard snorted. “Come on. Detectives want to talk with you.”

We walked down a short hallway and into a small holding room. Dan Masters was already there, thumbing through some paperwork.

“Uncuff him.”

Masters spoke without looking up. The guard did as he was told and left. I sat down and waited. After a minute or so, Masters restacked his papers and pushed them across the table. I took a look. The top sheet was a release order with my name on it.

“What happened to you?” Masters was looking at five fingers’ worth of bruises on my neck.

“Cook County’s Welcome Wagon.”

The detective shook his head. “That didn’t take long. You all right?”

“I’m fine.” I picked up the release order. “Tell me about this.”

“You’re out.”

“How do you figure?”

“Appears Evidence lost the murder weapon during processing.”

“Convenient.”

Masters raised his chin as if I’d asked him to fight. “No murder weapon, no case. In fact, the prosecutor’s not even sure there was ever a gun to lose.”

“Damn, by this afternoon Johnny Woods will have died from a massive stroke.”

The detective didn’t find me very funny. “If I were you, I’d shut up and run with it.”

Masters looked like he wanted to say more. Instead, he stood up and left. I sat at the table and read through the paperwork. It was all there. A guard took me to the front. Fifteen minutes later, I was processed and back on the street, wondering what in the hell just happened.

I walked out of the Cook County lockup a little after three in the afternoon. A Silver Audi pulled up near the corner of Twenty-sixth and California. Rachel Swenson was behind the wheel. I got in.

“They told me you wanted to post bond,” I said. “Thanks.”

“That’s okay.”

“You’re a judge. That took some guts.”

Rachel twitched her lips once and pushed the car into drive. We moved forward, slowly at first, and then with some purpose.

“You at least going to ask me?” I said.

Rachel flicked on the wipers at the first spattering of rain on her windshield. “Ask you what?”

“If I killed him?”

She moved her eyes back into the weather. “Sounds like he deserved it.”

“You think I shot him?” I said.

“As you said, I’m a federal magistrate, Michael. Probably shouldn’t be venturing an opinion on that.”

“I’m not saying I couldn’t have done it.”

I felt the car skid on the wet track. Then the judge straightened it out.

“Just that you could have?” she said.

“Just that I could have. That’s exactly right.”

Rachel merged onto the Stevenson Expressway and accelerated smoothly past seventy miles an hour. The rain was steady now, spiraling down in circles, tap dancing on the roof of Rachel’s car and roaring under the tires.

“Janet Woods was released from the hospital early this morning,” Rachel said.

“Nothing serious?”

“Depends on who you are and what you consider serious.”

She hit the accelerator. The Audi leaped forward, flashing onto the Dan Ryan, then the Kennedy.

“How does your gun disappear from Evidence, Michael?”

“I’m gonna find out right now.”

The judge flicked another look my way. “Do that. Because if that gun turns up again, you’re looking at murder one.”

“I know.”

We cruised for a bit, nothing but the storm to keep us company.

“You can get off here,” I said.

Rachel slid off the expressway at Fullerton and pulled to the curb near the corner of Halsted and Diversey. We sat and listened to the thump of the rain all around us.

“I need to tell you something,” she said, turning halfway to look at me.

“What’s that?”

“Sometimes you scare me.”

“Sometimes I scare myself.”

“I’m serious. You realize someone wanted you to take a very bad fall?”

“Yes.”

“And someone else broke a lot of laws to help you avoid the fall?”

“Yes.”

“And you don’t have any idea why?”

“Like I said, I’m close to some answers.”

She plucked at my shoulder with her fingers. “There are limits to what I can do, Michael. To what I will do. You understand that?”

“I understand it. The question is do you?”

“Excuse me?”

“I can read people, Rachel. Pretty damn well, in fact. You’re the kind who sticks it out for a friend. No matter what. That’s a rare thing. And a wonderful thing. But it can also be dangerous.”

Rachel’s face cracked into a thin smile. “Don’t want another woman on your conscience?”

“That’s not it.”

“Then what is it?”

I wasn’t going to tell her about the mayor. Or the ugly truth about her old boyfriend. But I felt the cold touch of fear for her all the same. It was the worst part of caring about someone. The worst part and, of course, the very best.

“We can’t talk about this right now,” I said. She nodded, but didn’t pretend to understand. I gave her a hug and slipped out of the car. The beautiful judge disappeared into traffic; the future between us simply left to drift.

On Halsted Street, the rain had reduced itself to a drizzle. I looked up and across the road, at the front door of the Hidden Shamrock. All things considered, a sight for sore eyes. I went inside and ordered a pint. Then I sipped and waited. For my answers to start walking through the door.

I had taken my pint down a good four inches by the time Dan Masters poked his head into the Shamrock. I was seated at a table by the window and saw him right away, but I waited until he got close before looking up.

“Detective, thanks for meeting me.”

Masters chuckled and took a seat. “Fucking Kelly. Guess this might as well happen now. You want to know how it is you got out?”

“I know how I got out, Detective. I want to know why.”

“Let’s just say I was returning a favor.”

“I think you made a mistake.”

Masters lifted a finger for the waitress. The detective ordered a Bud and a shot of Jim Beam. Then he got himself comfortable in the chair across from me. I could hear the creak of the gun on his belt and wondered how he’d take it when I told him.

“You’re a free man, Kelly. Not everyone likes it. I’ll give you that.”

Masters tipped up the long neck and let the better half of the bottle drain south.

“When did the thing start with Janet Woods?” I said.

Masters put the bottle down quietly and rubbed the back of his teeth over his lips.

“How did you know about that?”

I didn’t know anything about Masters and my client. But I could guess. “Why else would you want to help me by making the murder weapon disappear?”

“You’re a friend.”

“Cut the bullshit, Dan.”

Masters waved a hand my way. “All right. All right. So we started up a little something a few months back. Maybe more than a little something. Anyway, Janet told me you and her had some history too. So you did what you did. For my money, Johnny Woods deserved the bullet. Then I did what I did. Now we leave it. You finish up your drink and go on home.”

“I didn’t do anything for Janet,” I said. “And I didn’t kill Johnny Woods.”

A seam of flesh twitched under the detective’s left eye. “I don’t believe it.”

“What did you do with the gun?” I said.

“Why?”

“What did you do with it, Dan?”

“Left it with Janet this morning. She was going to dump it for me. For you.”

I wasn’t so sure I needed the help Janet was offering, but held my peace.

“I need the gun, Dan. And I need to see Janet and the girl.”

Masters took a sip of Beam and another slug of beer. “Last I checked, Janet Woods was your client. You need to see her, give her a call.”

“I don’t think it’s going to be that easy, Dan. Does she know I’m out yet?”

A shake of the head.

“Tell her. Then tell her I want to sit down and talk.”

“About what?”

“I’ll explain it when we all sit down. Just tell her I need to talk.”

Masters flexed his shoulders and finished his whiskey. The detective sensed deeper waters in our conversation. Like any cop, he wanted to steer clear. Until he knew exactly how deep.

“Stay on your cell. I’ll talk to her tonight and see what’s up.” Masters got up to go and stopped. Then he sat back down, pulled out an item from inside his overcoat, and put it on the table.

“Almost forgot. One more thing you might be interested in.”

The cover was faded, the corners rounded and white with wear and tear. I opened up the Sheehan’s and saw a red 4 stamped inside.

“Where’d you get this?”

“Taylor. Told me to give it to you if I saw you in jail.”

There was an envelope tucked inside the book. My name was written on it. The script was that of a young girl, a lot of rounded letters, and she used circles instead of dots for her i’s.

The note inside the envelope, like the girl herself, was anything but young.

Kelly,

I hate and I love. So much to say there and so little time to say it. I hated my stepfather and now he’s dead. Thank you for that. I loved the way you care about my mom. And tried to help us. I thought you might want to have this book as a keepsake. Not sure what it means. But it meant an awful lot to Johnny.

Till I see you,

Taylor

I read the note once, then again. Trying to see the spider inside the web. Hoping to find it before it found me. Then I closed up the Sheehan’s and drummed my fingers across the cover.

“Did Taylor tell you how she got the book?”

“Says her step-dad gave it to her. He must have taken it from the house on Hudson. Probably figured it would be safe with Taylor.”

“In case the mayor came calling?”

Masters smiled. “I’m guessing Johnny Woods liked his insurance.”

“Didn’t work too well for him last night,” I said.

“Yeah. Well, I don’t know how the book ties in, but if there’s hell to be raised, I’m sure you’ll do it. Just cut Rodriguez in for the glory if you can.”

“Sure.”

The detective threw a few dollars on the table and got up a second time.

“Masters…”

The cop rocked a bit in his heels and jingled a few coins in his pocket.

“I didn’t kill Johnny,” I said. “Still not sure who did.”

“So tread lightly?”

“Exactly.”

“Not a problem, Kelly. There’s one thing, however, you need to understand.”

“What’s that?”

The cop leaned close. Like only a cop can. “Janet loves me. They both do. And that counts for a lot these days.”

Before I could say anything more, Dan Masters turned and left. I ordered another pint and opened up the Sheehan’s Taylor had wanted me to have. It didn’t seem any different from the copy I’d looked through at the historical society. That was before I took a closer look at the binding-and found the book within the book.

I headed home and slept in my own bed. I woke up about ten p.m. It was quiet in my apartment. Nothing but the tick of the clock and the muffled sounds of traffic from the street below. I thought about my bunkmate in Cook County, how close I had come to a permanent berth there. Not a good thing to think about, so I stopped. Then I thought about the Sheehan’s and the document I had prized out of its binding. Both were now sitting in front of me, looking up at me, asking what I planned to do next. I picked up the document and felt its weight. Read through it for the fifth or sixth time, drinking in each word, then rubbing my thumb lightly along the faded print.

After a while, I folded up the document and put it under lock and key. Then I made a pot of coffee and pulled out the prints Fred Jacobs had sent me a night earlier. Laid them on the table beside the Sheehan’s. I picked up the phone. Rodriguez answered on the first ring.

“You just sit by the phone all night?”

“Heard you were out, Kelly.”

“There was a guy I shared a cell with,” I said. “First name is Marcus.”

“He’s in Cook County hospital. Three broken ribs and a busted spleen. Nice work.”

“He’s a killer. You want the case?”

Rodriguez did, so I gave him the details.

“He told you he killed this woman in 1998?” the detective said.

“Somewhere around there. I got the idea she was an old girlfriend. You should be able to find her in the cold files. When you do, tell Marcus it was courtesy of me.”

“You guys really got along, huh?”

“Best of pals. If you can, drop the tip to Fred Jacobs before you go public. I owe him.”

“Okay. What else you got for me?”

“Are we still working together?”

“Depends. Did you kill Woods?”

“What do you think?”

“I think no. Course, doesn’t help that you were playing around with the dead guy’s wife.”

“You heard that too, huh?”

“Half of Johnny Woods’ block saw you two. Duking it out at six in the morning.”

“It’s not what you think.”

“I told you. I don’t believe you killed him. Let’s leave it at that.”

“I need a favor.”

The detective paused. “Is it about Dan Masters?”

“What do you know about Dan?” I said.

“I know enough. What I don’t know is why.”

Rodriguez knew Masters had pulled the gun that killed Johnny Woods out of Evidence. I wasn’t sure how. But I wasn’t surprised either.

“The whys might have to wait,” I said. “Maybe a day or so.”