5 Windy City Hunter (19 page)

“What do you know about her brother?” I asked.

“He’s a nice enough sort,” Terry said. “A little flaky maybe. I don’t get the impression he has much going for him, but he’s nice enough when he comes through here.”

“Do you know what his name is?” I asked.

“Mark,” Emma said. “I don’t know his last name. I would assume it’s Cole if it’s the same as Martha’s, but I’m not sure.”

I looked at Terry, but he shrugged his shoulders.

My phone rang. It was Detective Bentley.

I stepped off to the side of the lobby and answered with a greeting of, “Chuck!”

“Susan, I think we’re in good shape,” he said. “Jack has a great personal lawyer, and he’s already down here handling everything. Darby goes before a judge today at 3:30. If all goes well, he could be walking out with us shortly after.”

My voice caught in my throat. I was overwhelmed with relief. I didn’t want to cry, but my eyes watered immediately upon hearing the news.

“Are you ok?” he asked. “Don’t start crying now. This is all good news. And besides, you don’t want to be a mess when Mick gets here tonight.”

Mick. My stomach flopped again at the thought of him and Carol Bennington.

“I’m ok,” I said. “That’s wonderful news about Darby, but I called earlier to talk with Mick, and a woman said he’s not coming to Chicago.”

“He most certainly is,” the detective said. “I talked to him before his flight left at 5:15 London time. That was 11:15 this morning our time, and he’s scheduled to land at O’Hare at 7:10 this evening. He has the condo address and said he’d bring a cab in from the airport.”

Oh my gosh! Who was that horrible woman I talked with on the telephone, and why did she say Mick was out with another woman for the day? If I weren’t so happy with the news, I’d fly to England myself and club her with a statue of my own.

“Susan? Are you still there?” he asked.

I laughed a little. My imagination had started to take off with all of the things I wanted to say to that woman. “I’m here,” I said.

“Well, stay there,” he said. “Don’t go anywhere. When we get back, we can all grab a bite to eat and still be back to the condo before Mick gets in. Ok?”

“Sounds good to me,” I told him. “I’ll probably take a nap while I wait for you guys.”

I hung up my phone and practically danced back over to Emma and Terry. “Darby sees a judge this afternoon, and Jack’s attorney might be able to get him released, and my husband, Mick, will be here this evening.” I specifically turned and leaned in to Emma and said, “It’s too bad you won’t be here to meet Mick. He would make you swoon.” I gave her a big smile.

“I’ll see him in the morning if you’re still here,” she said.

“I don’t think we will be,” I said. “I don’t want to spend another night in Jack’s bed.” We both giggled.

I said good-bye to the two of them and took the elevator back up to the eighteenth floor. I exited and looked down the hallway toward Mrs. Fisher’s condo. When I was nearly to the door, I started tiptoeing. I crept up to the door and listened intently. Again, there was no sound from within. I slowly tried the door handle.

It turned.

The door made no sound as I pushed it open. There was silence in the condo. The kind of silence you hear and feel when no one is home. I slowly closed the door behind me.

Mrs. Fisher’s condo was a mirror image of Jack’s. It had the same three steps down to the living area, but the kitchen and dining area were to the right instead of the left. I glanced down the open hallway to my right and saw that one bedroom door was open, while the other was closed.

Unlike Jack, Mrs. Fisher had heavy brocade draperies at the large windows in the living room. They were opened exposing beige sheers. The sheer drapes allowed dim light to enter the room. My eyes adjusted, and I could make out the furnishings.

The living room was crammed with Victorian-era furniture. A settee and matching chair upholstered in bright red jacquard with dark wood accents was on one side of the room. It was facing an identical settee and chair upholstered in white jacquard on the other. Even in the dim light, I could make out the intricate patterns on the pieces.

There wasn’t a coffee table nor were there any end tables, but a curio in one corner held figurines. An antique bookcase was beside one of the settees, and an exquisite antique writing desk had been positioned between the living room and dining area.

There was a large portrait above the red settee of the queen of diamonds. It didn’t look like a playing card with a queen at the top and an upside-down queen at the bottom; it was an actual portrait of the top half of the card. The large diamond shape was beside her head, and she was holding a yellow flower, but she was also wearing Mrs. Fisher’s valuable necklace. It was jarring, and the queen’s eyes seemed to be looking directly at me.

As my eyes further adjusted to the room, I noticed that all of the figurines in the curio were of the queen of diamonds. Smaller pictures of her were on the desk and in the bookcase. The area rug between the settees had a pattern of the queen many times over. A shudder ran through my body when I spotted a dark stain on the hardwood floor next to the rug. I wondered why there wasn’t a chalk outline on the floor. Don’t they do that anymore? Or did they ever? Television! I’d have to ask Detective Bentley about it.

I turned to leave. I didn’t belong here, and what did I think I would find anyway? Before I could open the door, something stopped me. A nagging feeling. What if Darby wasn’t released today? What if there was something in here that could help him? Someone was still searching for something. There was no one here, and I had to take the chance and look around.

The blood stain in the living room, coupled with the portrait staring at me, gave me the heebie-jeebies. I decided to search the bedrooms first.

The bathroom door was open as I tiptoed by. I peeked in. A nightlight over the counter created odd shadows in the room. I was surprised to see a shower curtain on rings rather than doors. A bead of electricity ran up my spine, ending in a full-body shudder. What if there was someone hiding behind the shower curtain? Were shower curtains supposed to be open or closed? Shades of Norman Bates in Psycho nearly sent me running and screaming from the condo.

I leaned against the wall outside the bathroom door and realized my heart was pounding. I took a couple of deep breaths and exhaled slowly in an effort to calm myself. There was no one in here, and how a shower curtain could set my fear off like that was just plain dumb. I had to face the fear before I could move on.

I tiptoed into the bathroom and stood to the side of the shower. I slowly reached out to push the curtain away, but only a little bit. I wasn’t yanking it back and surprising anyone.

I pushed the curtain, and it glided easily on the rings. It only had to move a few inches before the nightlight shed its dim light into the shower.

The face looking back at me was evil, and I couldn’t help the scream that came out. I fell back against the counter and banged my hip hard. My knees were weak, and I couldn’t find the sector in my brain that would tell my legs to run. I leaned against the counter and whimpered.

A few moments of whimpering turned into laughter. That eccentric, crazy, old woman had tiled her shower wall with a life-size image of the queen of diamonds. The shadows from the nightlight had made her eyes look like black holes. Of course, she didn’t have a smile, so the initial shock was almost enough to make me pee my pants. And I had to go.

My scream, whimpering, and laughter hadn’t brought anyone running to see what was happening, so I knew for certain I was alone in the condo, but I still closed the bathroom door.

When I pulled the toilet paper from the holder, I saw an image of the queen of diamonds on every other square, and just like Darby said, the towels were embroidered with the queen.

Was she sick? Was she simply a collector? I’d have to ask Jack more about Mrs. Fisher later. Maybe she was fun, and I was overreacting to her style of decorating.

After washing my hands, it was time to continue my search. The little bead of electricity ran up my spine again. Now I had to open the bathroom door. What if Norman Bates was on the other side holding a knife? What if the guy in the gorilla head was standing there?

Oh my gosh! This was ridiculous. “Susan, just open the door,” I said out loud.

I closed my eyes, yanked the door open, and let out a yelp. I opened my eyes. There was no one there, and I giggled. Wow, the mind was a funny thing. I had drummed up enough fear for a lifetime in just a few minutes.

I walked down the short hallway and into the master bedroom. The curtains were open here and it was much easier to see the furnishing. I quickly started to go through the dresser drawers. There was no jewelry, and there were no diamonds. The police had obviously taken everything either for evidence or simply for safekeeping.

I searched the closet and checked inside the pockets of coats and clothing. There was nothing. An ornate dressing table with a tufted stool was the last item to search. I sat down and looked into the mirror. It was an odd mirror. It appeared to be original to the dressing table, but it wasn’t a single piece of mirror. It was made up of nine mirror squares.

I suddenly felt sorry for Mrs. Fisher. How many times must she have sat at this table and readied herself for some soiree or ball? Or a date with a handsome man? She would have looked into this mirror and admired the diamonds she adorned herself with. Wes Bradley was a horrible man to have taken the life of such a wonderful woman. Now I felt angry that the chance to meet her and hear the story of her life had been taken away from me.

I picked up her brush and held it in my hands. The queen of diamonds was on the back. I returned it to the table. I went through the drawers, but found nothing. I noticed a small light bulb under a lip at the top of the mirror. There had to be a switch somewhere for the light. I ran my hands under the middle drawer and along the inner sides of the table. I found a toggle switch and pushed it.

The light had a rose-colored tint and was perfect for applying makeup. I noticed a change in the mirror. When the light came on, the top square on the right showed a faint image of the queen of diamonds. This was creative, but over the top, too. I was tired of this card queen. I stood and poked her in the nose before reaching down to switch off the light.

When I took a final look in the mirror, I noticed the square where the queen had been moments before was turned slightly sideways. I reached up to touch the panel, and it swiveled at the center. I turned the light on again and tried to look into the open space, but I couldn’t see anything. I stood on the tufted stool with one knee on the table and tried to get a better look that way. There was something shoved in there up and to the right. I could barely get my hand into the space to pull out the object covered with a cloth.

Once I had it firmly in hand, I hopped off the stool and pulled the cloth back. I gasped. It was The Queen necklace. But how could it be? Jack had the necklace and the paperwork as proof. Was this the original or was it a fake? Is this why Wes was still sneaking in and out of the condo? I would definitely be giving this to Jack and Detective Bentley when they came back.

I looked at my watch. It was 2:45. Darby would be before the judge within the hour, and we would know then what was going to happen to him. I still had time to check out the spare bedroom.

Without fear, I opened the door. The curtains were drawn, and this room was darker than Mrs. Fisher’s bedroom. It was a junk room. Boxes and furniture were stacked along the walls. The queen of diamonds in all sizes and on all types of objects was staring at me from around the room. There was a small twin bed with something familiar and dark on it. The gorilla head mask. I picked it up. I would take this with me, too. Maybe there was DNA inside the head to prove Wes was the one wearing it on the day Mrs. Fisher was murdered. My eyes were fully adjusted now, and I peered across the bed. There, tucked between the bed and a stack of boxes sat Wes Bradley.

I opened my mouth to scream.

“Don’t you dare scream,” said a man’s voice from behind me. A hard object was shoved into my side, and I heard the door close. My scream ended up being a little screech, and I knew the object was a gun. He must have been hiding behind the door. He flipped the switch for an overhead light, and I saw Wes was tied to the chair he was sitting on.

“Turn around slowly, and sit down on the bed,” he said.

I did as he said and sat down. I wasn’t surprised to find Martha’s brother, Mark Cole, pointing the gun at me.

“Well, well, what have we here?” he asked as he held out his hand for the cloth in mine. “Come on. Give it over.” He was wiggling his fingers as he held out his hand.

I handed the cloth to him. He looked inside, and let out a low whistle. “I don’t know how you did it. I’ve searched every inch of this condo at least a dozen times now. You show up and find it on the first try.”

I didn’t say anything. He shoved the necklace into his pocket and grabbed a chair that appeared to be precariously positioned on top of some boxes. He plopped it onto the floor and barked at me, “Sit.”

I moved from the bed to the chair. He tore strips of material from a blouse, and tied my wrists and ankles like he had done with Wes. I couldn’t understand why Wes hadn’t said anything since I entered the room. I looked at him again and realized he appeared glassy-eyed. He turned his head slightly, and there was blood, some of it dried, along the right side of his face and head.