Life Without Parole: A Kate Conway Mystery (29 page)

That was all I could get from her. After the interview, Victor tried Vera again, but no luck. I promised to stop by her house to check on her, though I was sure I’d find her rewriting her will to give millions to a poodle, or whatever it was rich people did with their time. That wasn’t fair, I scolded myself. Vera wasn’t
that
kind of rich person. But given that I’d lied myself into a problem with Detective Makina in order to protect her, I wasn’t in a mood for kind thoughts.

There was one stop I had to make before I could go to Vera’s. The heat in my car decided not to work, so I shivered my way north, until I got to Terry’s, the Wrigleyville diner that had shown up on Doug’s credit card statement.

According to Makina, Terry’s was also the restaurant Erik had gone to a few days before his murder. I was dying to see what made it so popular, but I was a little disappointed. It was one of those new diners made to look old, with silver flashing everywhere and bright red leather booths. The menus had pictures on them, and the waitresses were in crisp-looking tan uniforms, with red aprons and white handkerchiefs in their pockets.

“Coffee?” my waitress asked me. Without waiting, she poured me a cup.

“Yes, thanks,” I said. “It’s freezing.”

“Then you need pie. Heated up. We got a nice apple that goes good with a side of whipped cream.”

“Perfect.”

She brought me the pie, which I ate quickly. I drank the coffee and a second cup. Then I brought out Doug’s photo. I gave it to my waitress and she stared at it for a long time.

“He doesn’t have a memorable face,” she said. She handed it back to me. “Even if I waited on him, I’d forget him the minute he walked out the door.” Then she smiled. “You I’d remember.”

“Yeah? Why?”

“
Red hair with a few streaks of gray, a ratty sweater. Take some advice. You’d look pretty if you fixed yourself up.”

“You’re not the first person to say that,” I told her. “This guy, the one in the picture, he charged several meals here.” I grabbed the credit card bill and showed her the charges. “He’s gone missing and my aunt is really worried. He’s my cousin. Maybe I’m grasping at straws here, but I have to try everything.”

The waitress patted my shoulder, took the credit card bill, and walked to the counter. I watched her chatting with another woman, then she headed to the kitchen. I was beginning to wonder if she’d left with my evidence, but after a few minutes she returned with a third woman, a tall, heavyset waitress. “This is Anne,” my waitress told me. “I figured out why I don’t know your guy. These dates are all Sundays and I don’t work Sundays. But Anne works Sundays.”

Anne handed me back the credit card statement. I showed her the photo of Doug. “Do you know him?” I asked. The bigger question was, even if she did, so what? I’d proven that Doug liked this place. And why shouldn’t he? The pie was delicious.

“Yeah,” Anne said after examining the photo. “He comes in here for dinner. Doesn’t talk much, but he tips pretty good.”

“Does he come in alone?”

“Usually. But the last couple of times he’s had dinner with a friend.”

“A tall woman in her forties?”

“No. Not a woman. A man. Young, good-looking black guy. He asked for the recipe for our banana cream pie.”

Walt. But why would Walt and Doug meet at a diner? Why would they meet at all?

“Do you know what they were talking about?” I asked.

“I don’t listen to conversations,” she said.

“I understand.” I looked down at the ground, dejected. It was half put on, but it worked.

“Well, I did hear something,” she said. “Something about the investors. Your cousin, he said there were ten and the other man seemed surprised. But that was all I heard.”

“
Do you know where they went from here?”

She shook her head. “I did hear the other man, Banana Cream Pie, say that he lived nearby.”

Walt’s address, at least according to the release form he’d signed, was miles from here. “He didn’t say where?” I asked.

“No. But I think they were going there together.”

I paid my bill and tucked the photo back into my tote bag. “When’s the last time you saw my cousin?”

“Sunday,” she said.

“Are you sure?”

“Sure I’m sure. It was just a few days ago. I’m not that old.”

“Was he alone?”

“Nope. The same man was with him.”

“Sorry to be asking all these questions,” I said, leaving a large tip on the table. “But there was another man. His name was Erik Price; he was recently murdered at a restaurant—”

“The one in the fancy suit?” My waitress turned to the other. “I told you. When I saw his picture in the paper, I said I’d waited on him just the day before.”

“She did,” Anne confirmed.

“Did he meet anyone here? Doug or the other man?”

“No,” my waitress said. “He ate alone. But he was like you, asking a lot of questions.”

A
s soon as I left the restaurant I dialed Walt’s number. He didn’t pick up. I was dying to know about Doug, but it didn’t seem the kind of thing to leave on a voice mail, so I consoled myself with the idea that in a couple of days I’d have a camera rolling. I would ask him when I could get a reaction for all the world to see. At least all the world that watches the Business Channel, one of the least watched cable channels out there.

Then I called Vera. Also no answer. I got back into my freezing car and headed to her Gold Coast brownstone. I tried calling her a couple of times on the way, but whenever I put the phone to my ear a cop would suddenly pull up next to me.

When I got to her house, no one answered the bell. And when I knocked, the door pushed open. I hadn’t been too concerned on the drive over, but now I was starting to worry.

“Vera?” I called out from the front steps. The house was suspiciously silent. Her dogs hadn’t run to greet me, or barked, or done any of the house-protecting things that dogs are supposed to be good for. “Vera,” I said again, louder.

Nothing. I walked in a few steps. On one hand, if Vera were dead in a pool of blood, I wouldn’t have to protect her anymore and could just tell Makina the truth. On the other hand, if I was the one to find her body, I’d probably end up convicted of her murder. Given the many times I’d thought of killing her after Frank left, maybe it would be a kind of justice.

“Vera! Dammit!” This time I yelled.

“What?”

I jumped.

Vera was coming through the back door with the dogs, and all three were covered in snow.

“Your front door is open.”

“I
know. Victor called a few minutes ago. He said you were trying to find me, that you were on your way over. I thought I’d leave the front door open just in case we were still playing in the yard,” she said. “I can’t hear the bell ring from the back.”

“Vera, on a good day leaving your door open is really stupid. But someone has been making threats against you, remember?”

“I remember. But Victor said you were on your way over. Would it have been better to just leave you standing in the cold?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll know for next time,” she said, without a hint of sarcasm in her voice. How does a person survive forty years in the big city without sarcasm, mockery, or disdain?

She grabbed an old towel and wiped the dogs’ fur, then let them loose in the rest of the house. She motioned for me to sit in the living room. It was the first time I’d sat in the room. It was filled with a mishmash of antiques from various periods, as well as several modern paintings I guessed were originals. The room should have looked like a decorating disaster, but instead the mix of styles and periods worked. It was comfortable and unique.

“What’s Doug’s relationship with Walt?” I asked once she came into the room with coffee.

“I don’t know,” she said. “They were nice to each other. Is that what you mean?”

“They’ve been seen together several times, including since Doug disappeared,” I said.

“Doug’s alive?”

“Oh, yeah, sorry. I should have said that first.”

Vera took a deep breath. When she spoke again, her voice cracked. “Do you know where he is? Is he okay?”

“I don’t know where he is now, but a waitress overheard him talking to Walt about investors. How many investors are there?”

“You’ve met them all. Doug, Ilena, Roman, and me. Walt isn’t an investor but also has a percentage of the restaurant, as did Erik.”

“Your two hundred and fifty thousand, what did that get you?”

“Ten percent of the restaurant.”

“
And you said Doug invested the same as you, so that’s another ten. Roman has fifty percent. That’s seventy, right there. What does Ilena have?”

“She started with thirty.”

“So that’s a hundred. So how do Walt and Erik get a piece of the action if the entire restaurant is already spoken for?”

“Out of Roman’s, I guess,” Vera suggested. “Or Ilena’s. She gave up points for Walt.”

“And if there are more investors?”

“Silent partners?” Vera asked. “That would mean someone was selling off bits of their share.”

“And that would be bad?”

“Depending on who was selling their shares, yes. Roman’s reputation, and Walt as the chef, those are the big draws. If they lost interest in the project, it could kill the whole thing. Restaurant people are waiting to see what they create together. That’s the excitement. And of course what Erik would have done.”

“But no one in the restaurant world was dying to see Erik’s vision come to life?”

She shook her head, just slightly. “I don’t think he was quite at that level yet. Maybe he could have gotten there. I’m sure he would have, poor guy.”

“So what happens to Erik’s percentage now?”

“It reverts to Roman, I think. Erik hadn’t put up any money. He was just getting a token percentage as part of his compensation.”

“What about insurance?”

“Life insurance?” she asked. “Erik was pretty much an employee. As far as I know there wouldn’t have been any life insurance on him that would go to the restaurant.”

“He was replaceable.”

“That sounds bad,” she said. “But yes, in terms of the business, he was.” She started tapping the coffee table in that annoying way she has when she’s hesitant to ask me something.

“I don’t know anything more about Doug,” I said. “Just that he was there, meeting with Walt.”

“Okay,” she said. “Why
hasn’t he called me?”

“Because…” I wanted to say,
Because he’s using you
, but I couldn’t. If I’d learned anything from my marriage it’s that women don’t see what’s wrong with the man they love, no matter how many times their friends point it out. “Because he’s hiding for some reason. Maybe he’s protecting you.”

“You think?”

“Why not?” I said.

“Do you really believe that, Kate?”

A quick reassurance was one thing, but I wasn’t about to sign up for group therapy. “Vera, I’m trying to be nice here. Doug’s alive. That’s something. We can find out the rest in due time.”

“You’re right,” she said. “It’s enough to know that he’s alive. The rest can wait.” She didn’t sound sure, but at least we could move the conversation forward. “And I found out something too,” she added. “Since you said you didn’t want to look into Tim’s situation, I decided to. This morning I made some calls and I got the name of the detective that investigated the murder. He’s still on the force. I also found out that Tim’s neighbor, Cody, had a police record for assault.”

“Who did you call?”

“The family attorney. The one representing me. He called the police down there and got the information.”

“That was helpful.”

Vera smiled. “I really feel we’re getting somewhere.”

“It isn’t all good news,” I told her. “Makina doesn’t believe a word we’ve told him.”

“So let’s not talk to him anymore.”

“I’m doing an interview with him on Friday.”

“But that doesn’t count,” she said. “You’ll be the one asking questions.”

Somehow that didn’t make me feel better about it.

I
’ll go to Peoria after I interview Walt and Makina,” I said. “If this detective will talk to me, then we’ll have an answer on Tim.”

“And we’ll get him out of prison.”

“Vera, that’s a long shot. Even if he didn’t do it.”

“But what about all the new technology? All the ways they’re proving people are innocent?”

“Tim admits to being there. His wife’s blood was on him, so DNA isn’t going to help us. We need someone to say that evidence was planted, or that statements were made about Cody that were ignored because of his family.”

“Or a confession.”

“That would be nice.”

“I’ll go with you,” Vera said, suddenly brightening. “It would be fun to take a road trip.”

“It’s really not a good idea to double-team a police detective,” I said. “It’s better if I go alone. It makes sense for me to ask; I’m doing a documentary on the guy. But I couldn’t really explain your presence.” Mostly, though, I just didn’t want to spend a full day with her.

Vera nodded. “I’m hungry,” she said and jumped off the couch. When she came back she had a bottle of wine, some cheese, crackers, and a handful of Oreos. “If we’re going to help spring a man from prison, we need sustenance.”

“Cheese and crackers. I think that’s what Darrow ate during the Leopold and Loeb trial.”

“Really?”

“Sarcasm, Vera.”

“Oh.”

She poured me a glass of wine and then got one for herself. I let mine sit on the coffee table, but she drank hers quickly.

“Strange about Doug.”

I knew eventually she’d get back to Doug, but that didn’t mean I had to indulge her. “I’ll be at Dugan tomorrow. Is there’s something you want me to ask Tim?”

Vera wasn’t listening. “I think if he cared about me, even if he were in trouble, he’d have found a way to let me know he was okay. Don’t you think so?”

It would have been easier to lie, to be comforting. But I didn’t think it was fair. “You’d been getting those calls,” I said. “If Doug is in danger, he would have to assume you are too. And probably by the same person. So, yeah, I think he left you out to dry. You’re better off without him.”