The Fifth Floor (26 page)

“You have that effect on all women?”

“Funny guy, Willie. I can’t take care of a puppy.”

“Mayor didn’t ask if you wanted his gift. If you understand what I mean?”

I looked down again at the pup, dug in and already offering up a light snore. I shrugged. What the hell.

“What do I feed her?”

“Instructions are in the box.”

“What’s her name?”

“You the daddy, Kelly. You decide. Now if I were you, I’d disappear. Sooner the better.”

Two minutes later I was out the door, mayoral pup still in my arms, trying to hail a cab. It wasn’t easy, but I made it home. Cabbie talked at me the entire ride. About crate training, housebreaking, and something called doggie day care. I nodded and wondered what the hell language he might be speaking. My new friend didn’t seem nearly so concerned. In fact, she didn’t crack an eyelid the whole way home.

The cabbie dropped me in front of my flat. I carried Her Highness upstairs and put her down just inside the front door. The as-yet-to-be-named pup took a look around and another look back at me. Then she made her way into the bedroom. I followed. She was sitting on the floor and staring up at my bed. I shook my head no. The pup had other ideas. She got a running start, bounced off the side of my box spring, and landed, snout first, on the floor. I laughed. The pup yelped. She might have considered it a bark, but, trust me, she was kidding herself. I leaned against the door frame and watched as she took another go at the promised land, otherwise known as a soft mattress. The pup came up short again, hitting the ground, butt first this time, with a thud. She got up a bit slower, walked over, and sat down in front of me.

“What do you want me to do?”

She cocked her head, wagged her tail, stretched her paws out in front of her, and wiggled her butt in the air. I’d discover later this was a signal. The pup wanted to play. At the time, I thought she was probably going to go to the bathroom. Instead, she yelped again. Once, twice. Then a whole series of them. Finally, I did what any new parent would do. I caved, picked up the pup, and set her down on the bed. She ran around in circles for half a minute or so, then found a spot on my pillow. Thirty seconds later, she was asleep again. I turned off the light and closed the door. What the fuck.

I was back in the front room of my apartment, thinking about the cold beer in my fridge, when I heard a light tap on the door. I forgot about the beer, picked up my gun, and thumbed off the safety. I had been home less than five minutes and figured my visitor to be no coincidence. Whoever it was had been waiting, watching, as I came in. The only encouraging sign, they were knocking at my door. Not knocking it down. I was half hoping for a certain female federal judge named Swenson to be on the other side. What I got was nothing close.

“Kelly, can I come in?”

Dan Masters was wearing a Lucky Strike T-shirt and smelling like fast food and cheap hotels. One hand held a cigarette cupped against his palm. The other rattled a set of keys to a rental car. The detective wasn’t wearing a badge and I didn’t see a gun.

“When was the last time you slept, Masters?”

“Don’t worry about me. Can we come in?”

Masters stepped back and I looked down the hallway. Janet sat on the stairs and looked at the wall less than two feet away. Taylor stood nearby, staring at nothing out the window. I leaned back in the doorjamb.

“My two friends,” I said, and turned back into my apartment. Masters followed, closing the door behind him.

“You want a drink?” I said.

“No, thanks.”

I opened up a drawer and pulled out copies of three insurance policies Vince Rodriguez had dug out for me.

“A hundred and a half in coverage on Johnny Woods,” I said, and threw them on the table. “Most of it taken out in the last three months.”

Masters turned his head sideways to look at the policies. Like he was looking at one of those modern paintings no one could ever understand or even know which way to hang. Then he straightened up and looked at me.

“You got a glass of water?”

I walked out to the kitchen. The detective got his drink while I waited. I was thinking about the two women in my hallway. I suspected Masters was as well. I don’t think either of us was happy about any of it.

“I knew about the insurance,” Masters said. “At least some of it. Two days ago, Janet tried to cash one of them in.”

I nodded and got that beer from the fridge. “Let me guess. There was a hold on payment.”

The ghost of a grin played at the corners of Masters’ eyes. “They told her the Chicago PD had been making inquiries. Then they told her if she had any questions, she should follow up here.”

“I bet she was pissed.”

Masters finished his water and filled up again. “Slightly. I figured it was you and Rodriguez. Wanting to flush her back to Chicago.”

“Looks like it worked,” I said, and walked back into my living room. “Maybe we should bring the ladies in and hash things out.”

“One more second.” Masters took a seat on the couch. I leaned against the wall. He took a final hit on his cigarette and rubbed it into an ashtray.

“I need this settled,” he said. “Tonight.”

“They killed him, Dan. Used my gun to do it. Then they sent me over there. Probably tipped the police to the house right after I left them. I’m telling you and I’d know better than anyone. I didn’t shoot Johnny Woods. I don’t know anyone else who could’ve.”

“And they would have expected you to lie down and take the rap?”

“Hell, no. But who’s going to believe me? Neighbors saw me trading fists with Woods outside his house. I’m talking from a jail cell. And it’s my gun. If you hadn’t come along and deep-sixed the evidence, they’d have been free and clear.”

Masters nodded. The skin looked thin around his eyes, and there was a sudden quiver making a living just below his lip. “Janet’s not what you think, Kelly.”

I thought of her. At a wonderful place called twenty years old. Enjoying her youth, her looks, her life. Waiting for the rest of it to happen. And here it was.

“You don’t know what I think about Janet Woods,” I said. “Let’s keep it at that.”

“Fair enough. What happens after we talk?”

“What do you want to happen?”

Masters shrugged. “Leave town again. Probably best for them. Either way, I need to go.”

“Downtown knows you grabbed the gun?”

“They know it, but can’t prove it. Still, it would be tough. I can drop a word before I leave that you had nothing to do with it. Or the murder.”

“Don’t bother. I’m good with the mayor. We all are.” Then I told him about the deal I had cut.

“So Johnny Woods is forgotten?”

“Forgotten,” I said.

“Why’d you do that?”

I thought about the night Dan Masters came home from the job early and found his wife. The night his life ended. Then I thought about Janet Woods’ face and her daughter’s future.

“Seems to me like no one’s getting a free ride,” I said.

The detective rubbed a hand across his lower lip. “You think I’m crazy to run with them. Maybe I am. One thing, though, I know for sure. If I try to go it alone, it’s a short walk to the gun.”

I couldn’t say he was right. But I wasn’t ready to take the weight if I was wrong.

“It’s your play, Dan. But if I were you, I’d sleep with one eye open.”

“You think Janet would come after me? For what?”

“Not Janet.”

I turned over one of the insurance policies. Highlighted in yellow was the name of the policy’s beneficiary: Taylor Woods.

“If I were you, it’s the kid I’d worry about.”

Masters led them into my apartment. Janet looked a little shook; Taylor, a little bored. He sat them down at a table overlooking the street.

It had been a week, but Janet’s face was still dark and puffy. It looked like it hurt to smile. She tried, anyway. Reached out and patted my hand. Taylor Woods sat in profile, near my front window, listening to an iPod and watching traffic that didn’t exist move on the street below.

“Surprised to see me?” I said.

“I’m sorry, Michael.” The minute the words were out of Janet’s mouth, I half wanted to believe her. Exactly the reason I almost spent a lifetime inside an Illinois jail cell. Needed to remember that.

“Don’t be sorry. You did what you did. We are where we are. Let’s deal with it.”

My client rested her eyes on mine and nodded. This part, at least, she could talk about. The rest would have to wait.

“Dan just told us about the arrangement you made with the mayor.”

“You mean about the murder you’re going to walk away from.”

“Johnny was a bastard, Michael. You know that.”

“I offered you help.”

“You offered me nothing. Can’t you see I needed to do this? Do it this way?”

“So you could look yourself in the mirror?”

“Something like that.”

“I wonder,” I said, and took a slow sip of beer. Janet pulled out some cigarettes and lit up. It was nice. Just like old times. Until I pulled out the insurance policies and pushed them across the table.

“I wonder,” I said, “how much of it you did to get rid of Johnny and how much you did for the money.”

Janet leaned on her cigarette and blew smoke across the room. Toward her daughter, who was still doing a wonderful job ignoring us all.

“The insurance was her idea.” Janet dragged the words out in long ugly syllables. Dragged them out and let them sit. On the middle of the table, where they festered and then began to stink.

“Taylor was always about the money. The money, the money. If we were going to kill him, why not get rich as well.”

“I wouldn’t call a hundred fifty K rich,” I said.

“You got that right,” Janet said, and laughed. A hard and flinty thing. Taylor turned to the sound of it, her smile a knowing echo of her mother’s greed.

“Asshole still beat her silly.” That was Masters, stepping in again where he didn’t belong. “She showed me the X-rays. You saw it yourself, Kelly.”

I remembered her face, remembered the bruises. “Probably not as much as you think, Dan.”

Vince Rodriguez had done more than put a string on Janet Woods’ insurance cash. I’d asked him to run a check on the bartender at Big Bob’s. His name was Chris Granger. I threw a criminal jacket on the table. Janet picked it up and took a look inside.

“Your bartender pal,” I said. “How many of your bruises carry his name?”

She didn’t offer a response. Didn’t need to. Masters opened up the jacket and ran his eyes down Granger’s rap sheet.

“Armed robbery, petty theft, extortion. Three arrests for assault.” The cop looked up. “What are you saying?”

“Some of the beatings were probably real,” I said. “Maybe most of them. I’m guessing Woods was hitting her pretty regular. It just wasn’t enough.”

Masters dropped Granger’s jacket back onto the table. The excon’s mug shot peeked out from the file. “And you’re saying she hired Granger?”

I shrugged. “She was in the bar three times in the week and a half before Woods was shot. I saw her there once myself. According to his boss, Granger was bragging about getting some extra cash. About doing something kinky to a hot-looking customer. Something he’d do for nothing is what he told his buddies. I figure he gave her the last beating. At the very least. The one that got me over to the Woodses’ house.”

“She was almost dead, Kelly.”

“If it was going to work, she had to play it tough. To convince me. Convince the police. Convince whomever.”

Janet crossed one leg over the other and ran a hand across her cheek. “It’s called owning the bruises, Michael.”

I nodded. “Exactly. And you knew that going in. Let me ask you a question. Was any of it real?”

“He hit me, Michael. Johnny did that.”

“Used to be he beat me. Now it’s just hit.”

Janet dropped her eyes to the floor and studied the cracks in her life. We had shared a romance once that was wonderfully young. Years later, the echo of a consequence that was impossibly sad. Now there was nothing left. Nothing more my client could use to draw me in. And she knew it.

“Who pulled the trigger?” I said.

Janet didn’t look up. Taylor tapped her foot. I kept talking.

“I assume the original plan was strictly self-defense. You hire me. Get me familiar with the pattern of abuse. Whether the bruises were from Johnny or someone you hired-didn’t really matter. You shoot Johnny. I testify about what I saw and you walk away clean. Am I missing something?”

I waited. Still no answer.

“Then Taylor sees the gun in my office. The two of you figure out a better way. Why take the chance on self-defense when you can frame someone like me? With my own gun, no less?”

I glanced over at Masters. He was looking at the girl. I moved my eyes back to my client.

“The night at your house was part of it,” I said.

Janet finally looked up and shrugged. “We wanted you to stay the night.”

“Neighbors like to look out the windows,” I said. “You figured they’d see me leaving. Ties me in as your lover.”

“We didn’t plan on Johnny being outside. Funny thing is, he never said a word about it.”

“Whose idea was it, Janet?”

She angled her face to one side and blew more smoke into the mess that lay between us.

“Whose idea was what, Michael?”

“Letting me take the weight for Johnny’s murder. Leaving my gun at the scene. Putting it back in my office after the detective here screwed everything up by grabbing it out of Evidence. I assume the police would have been tipped to it eventually.”

I felt Masters flinch a bit at that. He hadn’t known about the gun resurfacing on my bookshelf. I didn’t think so. I continued talking to Janet, all the while drawing a bead on the brains behind the frame.