The Innocence Game (15 page)

“I visited a graveyard this morning.”

She didn’t expect that. Probably wished she’d just drunk her beer and kept her mouth shut. But now she was in for it. And so it went.

“Why?”

“I had a twin brother, Matthew. He died when he was ten. Today’s the anniversary.”

“I’m so sorry.”

It was the second time she was sorry for me. And I still hated it.

“Let’s just forget about it.”

“No.”

“Yes. It was a long time ago, and I paid my respects this morning.”

She was quiet for a bit, studying the dregs in her glass. “Can I at least ask how?” she said.

“How Matthew died?”

Sarah nodded.

“You don’t want to know.”

“What does that mean?”

“We were swimming in Lake Michigan and he drowned.”

“You were there?”

“Me and my stepfather. Matthew got caught in a riptide. They found his body three days later.” I watched her face pale as she realized what I was telling her. “That’s right, Sarah. Jake and I both had brothers who drowned when we were kids.”

“What does it mean?”

“Probably nothing.”

“It doesn’t freak you out?”

“I told you the other day, the Wingate letter bothers me. As far as my brother’s death goes, there’s no connection to Havens.”

“You don’t know that. What if the person who sent the letter knows about your past and is manipulating you as well?”

“How? I decided to take Z’s seminar myself. I didn’t tell anyone. No one influenced me. And I didn’t receive the Wingate letter. Havens did.”

“It’s still a little strange if you ask me.” Sarah’s phone buzzed. She checked the number. “It’s Jake.” She clicked on her phone. “Hey, we were just talking about you. Yeah, he’s right here.” Sarah reached over and squeezed my hand. “You want to come over?”

She pulled the phone from her ear. “He’s at Medill now.” She put the phone back to her ear. “Jake, we’re at a place called Clarence’s on Central. We’ve got a table outside.” A pause. “Cool. See you then.”

Sarah clicked off and slipped her phone onto the table. “He’s gonna come over.”

“Fine.”

“I think you need to tell him about Matthew.”

“There’s no connection, Sarah.”

“We don’t know that. We can’t know that.”

When I didn’t respond, she ordered us two more beers. With their arrival the dark talk vanished. At least for the moment. We were sitting and sipping when Havens walked in.

“You guys look like you’re having fun. What’s up, Joyce?”

I gave him a nod. Sarah patted the seat beside her. Our waitress materialized at Havens’s elbow. He ordered whatever we were having and sat back in his chair. “You go to the parade?”

“It was great,” Sarah said.

“Why were you at Medill?” I said.

“I was at Wingate’s school this morning. A couple more old-timers agreed to meet with me.”

“About what?”

Our waitress arrived with Havens’s pint. He took a sip. “Good beer. What is it?”

“Daisy Cutter,” I said. “Local brew. What did you get at the school?”

He studied me over the rim of his glass. “You need to chill, Joyce.”

“Sage advice coming from Mr. Intensity himself. I’m fine, Havens. Now, what did you find at the school?”

“Not much. They all remembered Wingate, of course. No one seemed to have any idea why it happened. I told them about the letter I got.”

“You shouldn’t have done that.”

“Well, I did.” Another sip of beer and a smug smile.

“Ian and I were just talking about the letter,” Sarah said.

“We were?” I said.

“Sort of.” She widened her eyes at me as if to ask permission.

“Go ahead.”

So she told Havens about my brother. And how he died. She didn’t go into all the details. Just a few, spare facts. Then she tried to tie it into what happened to Havens’s brother. When she’d finished, Sarah waited, but Havens demurred.

“Maybe we leave it for another day.”

I tipped my pint, the tiniest nudge his way. Sarah sensed the shift and acceded to it, spinning out a new thread of conversation. About the parade. The weather. Evanston. Medill.

We drank for another hour. Sarah cozied her chair up to Jake’s, dropping one elbow on the table and tucking a hand under her chin. The closer she got, the less he seemed to speak. I was like a discarded piece to a puzzle no one ever finished anyway. At least that’s how I felt. Sarah excused herself to go to the bathroom. And then it was me and Jake.

“You think Sarah’s got a point?” he said. “About someone targeting the two of us?”

“Because of our brothers?” I shook my head. “No. They might have picked you out and sent the letter. Figured you’d take it personally once you knew the facts. But they didn’t reach out to me.”

“Maybe. Anyway, I’m sorry about Matthew.”

“Me, too.”

We touched glasses. In a splintered moment, we knew more about each other than we could in a million lifetimes. And none of it was happy.

“I was going to head into the city,” he said. “Got a friend who has a boat. He goes up and down the lake, checking out the different firework shows. Ten, fifteen people. Beers, some food.”

“Thanks, but I think I’m gonna stick close to home tonight.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah. I bet Sarah’s game.”

“I’ll ask her.”

They insisted on another round of drinks. I said no. Sarah all but dragged me out of my chair, demanding I go with them. To the boat. And Havens’s party. Again, I said no. She kissed me when they left. Told me she loved me the way you do when you’ve had too much to drink and that she’d call. Havens told me he’d pick me up tomorrow afternoon for our meeting with Moncata. Then they were gone. And I was alone. I wandered into the bar and ordered a fresh beer. The Cubs were on, in and of itself enough to make me call it a night. I was toying with that idea, along with a couple of others, when a hand plucked at my shoulder.

“Northwestern?”

I turned to find the young woman from the Street Ministry, dark hair with streaks of gold, smiling and sliding onto the stool next to me. She held out her hand.

“Remember me? Theresa.”

I took her just inside the door to my house. In the living room, on the coffee table. The next time I remember was in my bed, her hands running across my back, thighs gripping and squeezing. The last time she was above me, eyes closed in concentration, teeth shining, hips moving to their own sweet rhythm. If there was any more after that, it was news to me. I just hoped I had fun.

I woke up at a little after three a.m. Her scent was still on my sheets, but the girl was gone. I felt my way downstairs, the pounding footsteps of a headache close behind. Articles of my clothing were scattered around the living room. Nothing of hers. I sat on the couch and vaguely remembered a second bar after Clarence’s. There was a barber’s chair, me in it, head back, mouth open. Theresa stood over me with a bottle of tequila and some lime juice. Upside-down margaritas they called them. I licked at the lint in my mouth. Then I got myself a glass of water and five aspirin. I made sure the front door was locked and crawled upstairs. Before I went to sleep, I checked my phone. No messages. I wondered where my two classmates were and fell into the black again.

The Street Ministry burned down barely two hours later. Grace Washington hit my cell phone at a little after eight a.m. I was foggy on the details, but she said I needed to come down. Right now. Something in Grace’s voice told me I ignored her at my peril, so I dragged myself out of bed and got dressed. The aspirin and water must have helped because I didn’t feel half as bad as I deserved.

They had the street roped off with cops redirecting traffic. I found a parking space a couple of blocks away and began to walk. The implications of the fire started to sink in. As did Grace’s cryptic warning. And then I thought about Theresa. I wondered if she’d be there. That was when the headache returned in earnest.

Grace was standing in a pile of debris that used to be her office. Now there was nothing left. No roof, no walls. No building. Just a twist of melted plastic and scorched timber. I waited while she finished talking to one of the firefighters. No one else from the ministry seemed to be around. Specifically, no Theresa. I breathed a small sigh of thanks.

“What do you think?” Grace kicked at a pile of plaster as she spoke. There was a simmering anger in her voice, but I wasn’t sure where it was focused.

“How did it happen?” I said.

“How do you think? Someone torched it.”

“Are they sure?”

“Follow me.”

We stepped through the remnants of a wall and into an alley that ran behind the ministry. She walked down about twenty feet and pointed. A couple of firefighters were crouched over a smoking hunk of rubble.

“That used to be our back door. They say it was kicked in. They found gasoline poured along the walls and floors.”

“Was anyone inside?”

Grace laughed. “That’s the thing. Someone called an hour ahead of time. Told us they were going to burn it so we could clear everyone out.”

“What?”

“It was the police, Ian. Worse than any gang. They want to burn, they burn.”

“Did you see anybody?”

“Who wants to see? Then what? Snitch on a Chicago cop?”

A fireman dragged a length of hose down the alley and yelled at us to move back.

“They can’t,” I said.

“They can and they do. You think the neighborhood’s gonna care? Hell, they’ll throw a party.”

Spray from the hose kicked back on us as the fireman began to water down the rubble. We walked inside. Or what was left of it. Grace lit up a cigarette. I didn’t think the firemen would appreciate that, but no one was around to stop her.

“I’m sorry,” I said.

“Thanks.”

“Will you have the money to rebuild?”

She gave me a tight smile. “That’s the flip side to dealing with the Chicago PD.”

“What does that mean?”

“We keep our mouth shut, let them burn us out, and maybe, maybe, they help with the insurance. Write it up so we get twice as much as the building’s worth.”

I shook my head.

“Uh-huh.” Grace pointed the lit end of her cigarette at me. “Now, you’re learning.”

“Why did you call me down here?” I said.

“Why do you think?” She took a final drag and dropped the butt to the ground. Smoke streamed out both nostrils as she spoke. “You’re the only fresh face that’s been in here for a year and a half. Got to be you.”

I didn’t want to believe it, but I did.

“That’s not all,” Grace said. “You know the young girl at the desk the day you came in?”

I felt the blood rush to my face and pound in my ears. When I spoke, my voice seemed far away. “The girl?”

“Theresa. Small, Latina, dark.”

“Yeah, I remember her.”

Grace looked at me out of the corner of her eye. I don’t think she liked what she saw. I couldn’t blame her.

“She was on the phone. Day before yesterday. Mentioned your name to someone.”

“Me?”

“None other. Heard it myself.”

“Who was she talking to?”

“Don’t know. But she’s worked with the police before.”

“Worked with them?”

“Theresa’s a user. In and out of rehab. Been known to snitch off to the cops to save her skin. I let her work here, but I think that was a mistake.”

“She mentioned my name?”

“Yep. I checked the number after she got off, but it was restricted.”

“Who do you think it was?”

Grace shrugged like I should know better.

“And you think the cops burned this place down because of me? Because I came by asking about James Harrison?”

“One of the firemen told me whoever did it took special care with this office and our files. Made sure everything burned to a cinder.”

“But you gave me nothing, Grace. The inventory report on the jeans, but what the hell is that?”

“They don’t know what I had. And they don’t know what I gave you. But there’s something out there they’re worried about. Have you gone to see Sam Moncata?”

I shook my head.

“Go see Moncata. He’s a smart man. And the cops aren’t likely to mess with him. Better yet, give this whole thing up altogether. The people who did this will hurt you if they have to.”

“I’m fine,” I said.

Grace snorted. “And stay away from Theresa. Girl’s nothing but trouble. You hear me?”

I heard her. In my ear, all the way back to my car. That’s when my cell phone buzzed. I half expected it to be Theresa, dropping the other shoe. Instead, it was the father of a dead girl, wanting me to buy him lunch.

I met Ned Rolland at a Popeyes on California, just a block from the Criminal Courts Building.

“They only give us a half hour,” he said and moved his eyes toward the line at the counter.

“Maybe we should order?” I said.

“Good idea.”

He got the six-piece fried chicken dinner with sides of Cajun rice and mac and cheese. I ordered a large Coke.

“You ain’t gonna eat?” Ned looked like he didn’t trust anyone who didn’t eat, so I got a two-piece dinner. We took our food to a booth by the front window. He dug in. I picked at my food and watched.

“What do you do at the courthouse?” I said.

Ned stripped a chicken leg naked and dropped the greasy bone onto a small but growing pile. “I clean the bathrooms.” He took a sip from his soft drink. “You been down to the courthouse?”

“Not yet.”

“Uh-huh.” Ned laid waste to a second leg of chicken and opened up the container of rice. “You smell like smoke.”

I smiled. “Been a long morning.”

“You said something in your message about my daughter, Rosina.” Rosina Rolland was the name I’d copied off the tombstone Z had visited in Calvary Cemetery. Ned was Rosina’s father. I’d done some research online and called him after I left Calvary. “Playing a hunch” is what journalists in the movies called it. Felt like fishing without a pole to me.

“I’m a student at Northwestern’s journalism school,” I said. “I’ve got this class where we reopen old murders and try to find out who really did them.”

“Rosina wasn’t murdered. She died in a car accident.”

“Your daughter’s buried in Calvary Cemetery in Evanston.”