Boystown 7: Bloodlines (4 page)

I gave him a bit of time to see if he wanted to talk about this anymore, but he didn’t so I cut him a break and asked, “So what is it you like so much about the games you’re playing on the TV?”

He spent the next five minutes explaining the awesomeness of
Pac-Man
. I smoked another cigarette, managing not to give him one. He was explaining the idea of leveling-up when our meals arrived. Melody laid them out on the table and, when she was done, dutifully asked, “Is there anything else I can get you?”

Dipping a crusty shrimp into the surprisingly good tartar sauce, I asked, “Do you have any idea who your brother-in-law was sleeping with?”

“You asked me that.”

“No, I asked if you knew about the affair. Now, I’m asking if you’ve figured out who the affair might have been with.”

“Not a clue.”

“Did your sister really think she could collect on the insurance after she killed him?”

Melody almost laughed. “No. That was the stupidest part of the trial. Maddy didn’t even want to buy that insurance. It was all Wes’s idea. I mean it made sense to get insurance on Maddy, if something happened to her they were screwed, but him? He didn’t even have a job. If he died she’d actually save money.” She thought about what she’d just said and added, “I mean, if he’d died in a normal way. Anyway, it was weird that he wanted it so bad.”

“Why didn’t that come up at the trial?” I asked, putting a shrimp on Terry’s plate and earning myself a nasty look.

“It did come up. The agent said that he’d talked to Wes mostly but when he tried to say it was Wes’s idea to buy the insurance there were all these objections. Wes was dead so who could say whether it was his idea or not, you know?” I was chewing on a delicious shrimp so I wasn’t too fast with the next question. “Is that it?” she asked. “I have other tables, you know.”

With my mouth half full I asked, “Why is your last name Oddy?” It was just idle curiosity, but she wasn’t wearing a wedding ring.

“I was married long time ago. Before Maddy even. Guy was a jerk. Same kind of jerk as Wes.”

“But you kept his name?”

“I liked the way it sounded.”

Before we left Crawdaddy’s I gave Melody a fifty percent tip and got her to look at the remaining names on my list. She filled in few holes for me. The remaining people testifying for Madeline were her hygienist and one of her patients. Refusing to testify were her dental partner, a Dr. Caspian; the office manager, Cynthia Furlong; and two odd names. One was a woman named Emily Fante, who Melody was unfamiliar with, and the other was one of Madeline’s high school teachers, Roland Bowen. Melody seemed unhappy that there were things about her sister she didn’t know and, despite the generous tip, we left her in a bad mood.

When we got home, I insisted we watch TV instead of allowing Terry to play his game, while I slouched on the settee waiting for him to go to bed.
Coal Miner’s Daughter
was the Monday Night Movie, and I would have changed the channel but we were already past the part where a fourteen-year-old girl marries a grown man and nobody blinks an eye. I had the feeling that wasn’t the kind of thing I should be showing Terry and was glad I didn’t have to.

Toward the end of the movie, I fell asleep and woke up when Brian came through the door. He seemed surprised to see us in his living room, though it wasn’t quite ten o’clock. Behind him was a young man of about twenty-five with strong facial features he hadn’t yet grown into. He was nearly as tall as I was, and so thin I wondered if he’d fall over in the wind.

“This is Franklin,” Brian said. “Franklin Eggers.”

There wasn’t a reason in the world Terry and I needed to know this guy’s last name if he was just a trick, so he wasn’t. He was more than that. Franklin smiled in an insincere way and Brian made an awkward stab at explaining who Terry and I were. “Terry’s parents threw him out and Nick’s staying here for a while.”

I decided it might be a good idea to start looking for an apartment in the morning.
 

Chapter Three

That next day, I was up and out before anyone else woke up. On the corner of Brian’s block there’s a fancy coffee place where I would have loved to pick up a cup, but they didn’t open until seven so I swung down to the White Hen on Belmont. It was a long walk, so I had plenty of time to think. I decided to split the day in half. I’d spend the morning on Madeline’s case and the afternoon on Jimmy’s. I went over my conversation with Melody. I wasn’t sure I learned anything of value other than that she believed there was a mistress. She had no idea who that mistress might be. Would anyone else know?

When I got to my office, the coffee was cold and the bear claw stale, though in its defense the pastry was stale when I bought it. While I chewed, I pulled out the Chicago Greater Metropolitan Phonebook and looked up Emily Fante. There were about twelve Fante’s. None of them Emily. I called them all and asked those who’d answer the phone if they knew an Emily. None of them did. I was looking for a woman named Emily Fante who didn’t seem to be related to any of the Fantes in Chicago. She must be from somewhere else originally, I thought, though it was hardly useful.
 

I followed the same procedure for Roland Bowen, who also wasn’t listed. I thought it was a strong possibility that he lived in the suburbs. Most of them were included in the Metro phonebook. But if he taught Madeline as a teenager that meant he was teaching in Park Ridge. I’d been to Park Ridge and knew it was a pricey suburb surrounded by several less pricey suburbs. As a teacher, it was unlikely that he lived in Park Ridge itself. I guessed he could have lived a half an hour to forty minutes further west, which might have put him into a different phonebook. Or, like Emily Fante, he had an unlisted number.

I suppose I could have dialed information and started guessing at which northwestern suburb he might live in, but instead I decided I’d take the easy way out and flipped to the yellow pages. I looked up dentists and found the number for Caspian Levine Dental Care. I patiently waited until the clock clicked eight and dialed the number. Unfortunately, I got their answering service and was told the office didn’t open until nine. Given people’s work schedules I suspected that there were appointments available before nine, so the office was open. They just weren’t answering the phone.

I turned on my radio and switched to a jazz station I liked. The news was still on and I learned that tensions in the Middle East were high now that Passover had begun, the Vice President was in Geneva working on disarming the Russians, and an announcement was expected soon as to the cause of AIDS which, according to the newscast, was some kind of cancer virus. That wasn’t too far off from the information in the brochure Brian picked up in New York,
How to Have Sex in an Epidemic
. In fact, I gathered from Brian that people had been saying it might be a virus for almost a year. But that didn’t make a lot of sense to me. A cold was a virus. If AIDS traveled like a cold, then why didn’t everyone have it? Unless, it was a virus that worked more like mononucleosis? Mono was called the kissing disease, but did it really transfer that way? Is that how AIDS transferred? Through deep kissing? No, probably not. If it were we’d have an even bigger mess on our hands.

Feeling lazy, I shoved the phonebook back in its drawer and called directory assistance. I asked for a number for Herb Dotson in Skokie. It wasn’t listed. I tried Lana Shepherd in Skokie but got nothing. In Chicago, the operator found an L. Shepherd on Lake Shore Drive. I took that number. Then something occurred to me. Something that should have occurred to me right off the bat. I hung up and dialed Cooke, Babcock and Lackerby. Owen Lovejoy, Esquire picked up his own telephone. It was still too early for a secretary to be there.

“Question. Why did you give me a sheet of names without phone numbers?”

“Oh, sorry. It’s the list that we’re preparing for the State’s Attorney. We don’t want to give them too much.”

“But I’m not the State’s Attorney.”

“Yes, but you do know how to find people without phone numbers, don’t you?”

“Absolutely. I just hate billing you to get information you already had.”

I felt like I was fighting with him and I didn’t want to be. I decided to throw him a bone and said, “I already talked to Melody Oddy.”

And of course, that was the wrong thing to say. “Sweetheart, I asked you to work on the other side of the list first. Did you not hear me?”

“Yeah, but Melody works in a restaurant and I was hungry.”

I could almost hear him shaking his head. “Well did you find anything out?”

“She gave me an idea why her parents won’t testify, which I wanted before I go see them.” I let the idea that I might know what I was doing sink in, then I asked, “Look, you know more than I do about all of this. Let me ask you a few questions before I run off and start bothering people.”

“I have five minutes then I’m in a meeting.”

“I’ll be quick then. Who’s Emily Fante?”

“Oh, that’s right…I should have mentioned her to you. Sorry. She’s a friend of Madeline’s, but when I brought up the name she wanted her taken off the list.”

“Madeline wanted her off the list? So why is she on the list?”

“It bugged me that she wanted her off. Melody was so sure she’d be helpful.”

“Melody? Melody gave you the name?”

“Yes.”

That didn’t fit but I decided to hold off a moment. “Did you talk to Emily about testifying?” I asked.

“No. I left her a message and then when I called back again the phone had been shut off. I haven’t had a chance to ask Melody if she’s got the new number.”

“Melody says she doesn’t know Emily Fante.”

“Oh? That’s rather curious.”

I was tempted to say “quite” as though I was in some English drawing room mystery, but instead I said, “It might not mean anything. Melody may have thought the woman was a friend and then found out she wasn’t.”

“Then why not tell you that? You should find Emily Fante and talk to her.”

“Do you think she’s the mistress?”

“At the moment, dear, I don’t know anything more about Emily Fante than you do.”

“All right. What about the high school teacher? Do you think he’s important?”

“No, I don’t. They spent a lot of time trying to make Madeline look stupid enough to murder for insurance she couldn’t possibly claim. I think she just wanted someone to testify that she’s smart.”

“But he won’t?”

“He sounded pretty old when I talked to him. I don’t think he actually remembers her.”

“Do you remember where he lives? I couldn’t get his number.”

“Oh, I don’t. It’s really far though…look, I really do need to go now. We’ll talk later, all right?”

I agreed and hung up. I had a decision to make. I could continue with my morning as I’d planned it or I could drop everything and focus on finding Emily Fante. I decided to stick with my plan. I could drop it later if I got more information on the Fante woman.

Since it was after nine, I called Dr. Caspian’s office again. A woman answered with a cheerful, “Caspian Dental Group.” They’d changed the name. I wondered if they even bothered to wait until the guilty verdict came in.

“Could I speak to Cynthia Furlong?”

“Speaking.”

“This Nick Nowak, I’m working with Madeline Levine-Berkson’s attorneys on her sentencing. Do you have a few moments?”

“No. But I imagine you’ll just call back.”

“Yes, I will, I’m afraid.”

She sighed as though she spent her entire day talking to annoying private detectives. “Look, I’ve already said I won’t testify for her, so why are you calling?”

“I’d like to know why you won’t testify for her.”

“She killed her husband. She should go to prison for that.”

“The sentencing hearing isn’t about whether or not she’ll go to prison. It’s about how long she’ll go to prison. She could go to prison for twenty years. That’s a very long time.” It seemed wise not to mention four years of probation was also a possibility.

There was silence on the other end of the phone. I could hear another line ring in the background. She said, “Hold on a second,” and was gone. The radio played Marvin Gaye. They’d been doing that a lot, even though I wouldn’t exactly call him a jazz musician. I guess when you’re shot by your own father people are willing to stretch a point. Finally, Cynthia came back. “Look, Dr. Levine-Berkson has hurt a lot people and I think she deserves whatever she gets. Now, if you’ll excuse—”

“Two quick questions. Do you know a woman named Emily Fante?”

“Maybe. I don’t know. Dr. Levine-Berkson got personal calls from someone named Emily. She never left a last name.”

“Do you know anything about their relationship?”

“Relationship? Dr. Levine-Berkson was a lot of things but she was
not
a lesbian.” The distain she threw onto the word lesbian suggested she thought sapphic affection was a far worse crime than killing your husband.

“People have friendships. People have business relationships. People even have relatives. Was this Emily woman any of those?”

“I’m sure I don’t know.”

“All right. Is Kimmy Crete there? I’d like to talk to her.”

“Kimmy doesn’t work here anymore. And that’s it. I’m not saying anything else. Goodbye Mister… I’ve forgotten your name. Don’t call back.” And with that she hung up on me. I was left with an unsettling thought. How exactly had Madeline hurt the people she worked with?
 

I smoked a couple of cigarettes, finished my very cold coffee, and dialed Nan Dotson. According to Melody she was a neighbor of her sister’s in Skokie where the Levine-Berksons lived. The phone was answered and someone said “Hello.” I thought it must be a child since the voice was high pitched so I said, “Hello. I’m calling for Mrs. Dotson.”

“Speaking,” the child said.

I forged on. “Mrs. Dotson, this is Nick Nowak, I’m working with Cooke, Babcock and Lackerby on Madeline Levine-Berkson’s case.” That was a mouthful.

“Yes.”

“I understand that you’re going to testify in support of Ms. Levine-Berkson.”

“Yes, I am. Absolutely.”

“So you know her well?”