Easy Innocence (37 page)

Anger stung her. “I could have told you he’d say that. I’m working for the defendant.”

“He said you and he used to be partners, but you got suspended. He says you never got over it.”

Her hands clenched into fists. She slipped them into her pockets. “If you’ve been anywhere near a TV recently, you know that’s bullshit. The women backed me up, didn’t they?”

“We’re already looking,” he said tiredly. “Especially into Perl. But as for the rest of it...” He shrugged. “It’s not our case, for starters.”

Georgia paced the room, trying to control her frustration. She should have expected there’d be no help from Robby Parker. But she was sure O’Malley would vouch for her, once he heard about it. Paul Kelly, too.

For the moment, though, she needed to focus on a more critical problem: Harry Perl was still out there. If you believed Tom Walcher, he was a loose cannon, particularly when he was crossed. And Ricki Feldman, her unhappiness over the environmental troubles on record, had crossed him.

“You know,” the dick said, “You’ve been through a lot tonight. You shot someone. Doesn’t happen often. I’ll bet the shrink who counsels cops in your area would be glad to see you.”

Georgia stopped pacing. She’d grapple with that on her own time. “I don’t need a shrink. I need to stop a killer.”

The detective eyed her. “I have no idea what you need, but if half of what you said is true, what you need is to be careful.”

They let her go home around seven the next morning. First she called Henry, a friend who had a body shop on Fullerton. He told her if she brought the car down he’d have it fixed in two days. She said she’d bring it in.

She couldn’t confront Perl—the cops had confiscated her gun—but she might be able to do some reconnaissance. Tail him or his goons. Make sure they weren’t closing in on Ricki Feldman. She told herself she should warn Ricki, too. She also wanted to check on Lauren.

She knocked on Pete’s door, hoping to catch him before work. He was there. She convinced him to lend her his Acura.

After a quick shower, she raced up 41 to Lake Bluff, a well-heeled village adjacent to Lake Forest on the tip of the North Shore. She wound through the village to a street that ended a few feet from Lake Michigan. Overlooking the water was a huge estate that looked like an Italian villa, with carved stone work, Roman arches and gargoyles above.

The driveway in front of the house was empty. Georgia backed up to the road and parked at the curb. Clear morning sunshine threw an innocent light over everything. She’d staked out the house for about thirty minutes when a dark Chevy turned onto the street behind her. She checked the rear view. At the wheel was a lean man with curly, dark hair. Her heart started to hammer. As he passed her and turned into the driveway, he glanced over, and their eyes met. Her breath sucked out, and she felt like she’d been punched in the gut.

***

Matt was still in the Chevy, his hands on the wheel when she climbed out of her car and went over.

“It
was
you.”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “Hello, Georgia.”

There were the same brown eyes she’d lost herself in. The curly hair she’d run her fingers through. And glasses. She liked it when he wore his glasses. They gentled him, she said. She started to speak, but her throat closed up.

“You look good,” Matt said.

Georgia gazed at him. Then she blinked it away. “You mind telling me what the fuck you’re doing here?”

“I work here.”

“For Perl?”

He nodded slowly. “It’s a long story.”

“The man’s a monster.”

“I know. “

“Walcher is dead.”

He looked shocked. “When?”

“Last night. I shot him.”

A gleam came into his eyes. “So that’s it...”

“What?”

“Perl and Lenny went out about an hour ago. They told me to stay here.”

“Lenny?”

“My—my supervisor.”

“We need to find them. “I think he’s going after...” She pressed her lips together. “... Ricki Feldman.”

“What?”

“It’s my fault. I set her up.” Georgia explained how she’d gone to her office and told her about the fake report. “If she didn’t already know about it, I was hoping, given her father’s history, she’d raise hell with Perl. And if she did know, I figured she’d warn him I knew. Either way, I figured I could use her to flush them out.”

Matt interrupted, a knowing look in his eyes. “It worked.”

“How do you know?”

“She called Perl. I was there.” He paused, putting something together. “Now it makes sense.”

“I should have warned her. I screwed up.”

He shook his head. “You did what you had to.”

“There’s more. I think Harry Perl had Sara Long killed.”

“The girl in the woods?” Matt looked worried. “That was before I signed on.”

“Walcher was screwing her,” Georgia said “She was a hooker. I think she heard something she shouldn’t have.”

Matt’s mouth opened and then shut.

“Where did they go? Do you know?”

When Matt shook his head, she pulled out her cell and punched in a number. “Is Ms. Feldman there yet?” She paused. “And you haven’t heard from her? Okay.” She disconnected. “She’s not at her office. Hasn’t been in all morning.” Georgia’s pulse started to race. “Where does she live?”

“Hold on.” Matt pulled out his cell phone and punched in a number. “Korman, Singer. I need a GPS fix on the SUV.” He paused. “Yeah. Call me back.” He disconnected.

“A GPS locator?” Georgia narrowed her eyes. “What’s that about?”

Matt didn’t answer.

“Who was that?” He still didn’t answer. “You’re working undercover!”

He didn’t answer for a moment. Then, “Yes.”

“For Olson?”

He shook his head. “When I got back from Israel, the U.S. attorney set me up with the Bureau. White collar crime unit.”

“How did that happen?”

“I’ve known Perl was dirty since Ricki and I were together. It grated on me. I came home to deal with it.”

“The avenging angel.” It came out sharp.

A guarded look came into Matt’s eyes. “Would you believe me if I said I wanted to make restitution?”

She wondered whether to apologize. “For what?”

His cell trilled. “Yeah? Where? Okay. I’m going there now. I need back up.” He dumped the cell into his shirt pocket. “The SUV is on Barberry Lane in Lake Forest.” He swallowed. “That’s where Ricki lives.”

“Let’s take my car.” She headed toward the Acura, then turned around and caught his arm. “Matt, I don’t have a gun. They took my Sig.”

“I can fix that.”

MATT DUG
a Glock 27 out of the trunk of the Chevy. He rummaged around, pulled out a box of .40 caliber bullets, and handed them over. She loaded the clip, chambered a round, then slid into the driver’s seat of Pete’s Acura.

“Where did this come from?”

“Lenny makes sure we’re well stocked.” He got into the passenger seat.

She started the engine and pulled away from the house. “What exactly do you do for Perl?”

“I’m his bodyguard. Among other things.”

“Were you the one who shot through my window and started the fire?”

He cleared his throat. “I shot wide.”

“It was you on Sheridan Road, too. The rear windshield.”

“You have to believe me. I would never have hurt you.”

“Why should I trust you? I could have been killed.”

“You wouldn’t have let me get into the car if you didn’t.”

He was right. She turned south on Green Bay Road.

“Why Perl?” She asked after a pause. “Other men have done worse.”

He hesitated. “I—I think it’s because he claims to be such a devout Jew.”

“Perl?”

“He has all the trappings. Keeps kosher. Goes to shul. Observes the Sabbath, at least, when it’s convenient. But he’s a hypocrite. He recites a
barucha
out of one side of his mouth and bribes a village official out of the other. And when he doesn’t get what he wants... well...” His voice trailed off.

“Maybe he thinks his piety gives him special dispensation. You know, larceny, pay-offs, and murder in God’s name?”

“You mean like a jihad for Jews?”

“It’s been done before.”

“Harry Perl isn’t spiritual. There’s nothing at his core but greed.” Matt sighed. “And Ricki wanted me to study Talmud with him.”

“You knew him before you left?”

“Ricki wanted to introduce us. She knew I was trying to be more observant, and I guess he was the most observant Jew she knew.” He grunted. “She thought we’d have something in common. But we never met.”

“Why not?”

“I was privy to some deals she and Perl were working on. I got suspicious so I started to do some digging. I didn’t like what I found, but I didn’t have the stomach to do anything about it then.” He looked over. “Ricki and I were wrong from the start. We should never have been together.”

Georgia tried to ignore the lump in her throat. She needed to keep on track. “Did you know about Fred Stewart and the property at the Glen?”

“Not until I got back. But there were other deals. Just as dirty. The Feds know about them.”

“When did you realize I was working the case?”

“I knew you were working the Sara Long murder, but I didn’t know it connected to Perl.”

She tightened her grip on the wheel. “So they wired you?”

“That’s how they cracked Greylord, remember?”

She nodded. They’d studied the scandal at the Academy. Twenty years ago an Assistant State’s Attorney, upset with the operations in Cook County court, which included regular bribes to judges, suddenly became a defense attorney. He insinuated himself with the people who were lining the judges’ pockets. No one knew he was wearing a wire. Over 92 people, including 13 judges, were eventually indicted.

Aloud, she said, “How did you land the job with Perl?”

“We let them think I was on the take and was moving ‘product’ in Israel. Arms, mostly. It worked.”

She was quiet for another long moment. Then she turned to him. “What you’re doing—it’s gutsy, Matt.”

“I don’t look at it that way. It’s just something I need to do.”

“I know.”

His eyes softened. His cell phone rang again. “Yeah?” A pause. “Okay.” He put the cell down. “They’re on the move.”

“Where?”

“They’re heading south on Green Bay. We have a choice. We can follow them. Or we can go to Ricki’s house. Make sure she’s okay.” “Back up’s on the way, right?”

Matt nodded.

“Let them check the house. We should follow the SUV. She could be with them.”

Georgia kept driving. “Where do you think they’re going?

“Depends what they’re planning to do.”

“What does Lenny carry?”

“He has a frigging arsenal. A Remington Bolt action rifle, a few semi-automatics, a couple of revolvers.”

Green Bay jogged east and then south again. “What about Perl?”

“I’ve never seen him handle anything. But that doesn’t mean he couldn’t. He might have one of the revolvers. Or a snub nose.”

His cell phone rang again. He listened, then put it down. “They’re moving east on Tower Road.”

“East?” Georgia scowled. “There’s nothing there. It’s all residential.”

“There must be something.”

“Shit! I know where they’re going.”

“Where?”

“The Lagoons!”

***

The Skokie Lagoons, which are actually located in Winnetka, are a series of marshy ponds just east of 94. Originally built by the Civilian Conservation Corps in the 1930s, the Lagoons have been restored. Now there’s fishing, boating, bird-watching, and if you happen to be looking west, you might see the sun set over the water, a rare treat for Chicagoans. Surrounded by woods and thick underbrush, the Lagoons offer something else of value: a treasure trove of hiding places.

“They’ve got plenty of choices,” Georgia said. “If they do it right, the body might not turn up ‘til spring.” She gestured to Matt’s cell. “Find out if they turned south on Forestway.”

Matt called his handlers and asked. He listened, then nodded. “We’re there in five,” he said into the phone, then disconnected. “They did.”

Georgia turned south onto Forestway, a street with the Forest Preserve on one side, the Lagoons on the other. The trees, now bereft of leaves, seemed bowed by the brittle air. On the Lagoon side were parking areas, behind which were stretches of grass and dirt, and finally the shoreline. She slowed down.

“We’re looking for a dark Ford Explorer.”

They came around a sharp curve. A parking area appeared on their right. No car. Georgia kept going. She drove around another curve and reached another parking area. A Black SUV was parked at the far end.

“There it is,” Georgia said.

“Keep driving,” Matt said.

She cruised past the car until they were out of sight, then bounced the Acura up on the curb and parked. They got out and jogged back to the SUV.

Georgia felt the hood. Still warm. A pale sun hung in the cold sky, but everything was quiet. No sound of moving water. No birds. No breeze rustling the tree branches. Even the faraway noise of passing cars and trucks on the Expressway was hushed. It was the silence of impending winter. And death.

Matt pointed to the ground. The dirt hadn’t dried out from the rains of the past few days, and she could make out some partial impressions. They looked like striated shoeprints, prints that could have been made by a man wearing rubber-soled shoes. Matt started to follow the tracks. Then he stopped, turned around. He held a finger to his lips and motioned straight ahead.

In front of them was a thicket of cattails, canary grass, and other prairie grasses. Through it she caught a glimpse of nickel-colored water. Georgia closed her eyes to concentrate. Gradually, she became aware of faint sounds: Rustlings. Grunts. Then a higher-pitched sigh.

She opened her eyes and tiptoed forward. Matt tapped on her shoulder, gesturing for her to go one way. He’d go the other.

She nodded and let out a breath. It left a tiny cloud in the air. She waited while he circled around the thicket. Then she started to pick her way through from the other direction, going slowly, trying not to make any noise. A moment later, a twig snapped under her foot. She froze. Nothing. After a long moment, she edged forward again. The underbrush started to thin, and she could hear voices. Low. But urgent.