The Innocence Game (21 page)

“I got you covered, Sarah. Whichever way it goes.”

“That’s what I told Rodriguez. I think he liked that.” She leaned back into me and we sat in the cool darkness of the hospital room. I thought she might have drifted off when she spoke again. “I’ve got something for you.” She reached down to the side of her bed for a thick manila envelope.

“What is it?”

“Something I was working on before everything happened. Detective Rodriguez brought it down from my apartment. I thought it could wait, but maybe you should have it now.”

“Sarah…”

“Jake filled me in on the Needle Squad. Told me you thought the two core members were dead.”

“Teddy Green and John Carlton.”

Sarah shoved the envelope into my hands. “Read through this.” There was a light knock on the door. “We can catch up on the rest later.”

I tucked the envelope under my arm. “Are you gonna be all right?”

“That probably depends on what you mean by ‘all right.’ ” A hard light came into her eyes. “Detective Coursey was in here last night. He said he needed to see my bruises, and I let him touch me. Just so he wouldn’t become suspicious.”

“I’m sorry.”

“If that man attacked me, I need to know. And I need for him to pay. Whoever did this needs to pay in a court of law. Can you understand that?”

“I think so.”

“Good.” The anger softened and Sarah Gold was suddenly, inexpressibly old. She spread her fingers and held her palm flat against mine. “There’s no going back, Ian. Not for me. Not for any of us.” She paused, giving me room to speak, but I didn’t. There was another small knock on the door. “You better get going.”

I leaned in and kissed her cheek. It was as cool as clay. I lingered another minute, then shoved the manila envelope under my shirt and headed for the door. On the way out, I took a look at the card on the flowers. They were from Jake.

I told Rodriguez I needed a minute, went into the bathroom, and pulled out Sarah’s envelope. Clipped inside were old lab reports on blood typing from the Wingate and Allen murders and hair and fiber analyses from the Scranton case. A different expert had testified in each trial, but the actual work had been done by one forensic scientist. Sarah had highlighted the analyst’s name on each of the old reports.
sally finn
. Sarah had also included a few newspaper clippings. They traced the rise of Finn from lab tech to chief of the Cook County lab in 1994 and then head of the Illinois State Police lab until her retirement in 2005. Sarah had highlighted Finn’s name again in one of the articles and written beside it in capital letters:
third core member—needle squad
??

I slid Sarah’s documents into the envelope and stuffed it back under my shirt. Rodriguez was waiting in the hallway. He took me down in the elevator and out a side entrance. Kelly sat behind the wheel of a car idling in the alley. Rodriguez shoved me into the front seat without a word, and Kelly pulled away. Two unmarked cars, flashers rolling, pulled up in front of the hospital. I ducked down in the front seat as Coursey climbed out of one and disappeared through the revolving doors. Then we were gone.

Kelly cruised north on Lake Shore Drive.

“Where are we headed?” I said.

“The Willows Hotel. Used to be called the Surf. You know it?”

“No.”

“It’s where they kept Richard Speck during his trial. Killed eight nurses back in the day.”

“Is that supposed to be funny?”

“You’ll have to ask Rodriguez, but I don’t think he has much of a sense of humor these days.”

Kelly got off at Fullerton and headed up Cannon Drive.

“Can I ask how this is going to work?” I said.

“How what’s gonna work?”

I flapped my hands at nothing. “This. Whatever it is Rodriguez wants you to do.”

Kelly glanced over. “Fuck Rodriguez. What is it you want to do?”

“Seriously?”

“Uh-huh.”

“I want to go after the pricks who attacked Sarah. Framed three innocent men. And then had them killed in prison.”

“The Needle Squad? Or what’s left of it?”

“You know them?” I said.

“I used to be a cop. They were the big guns. Never let anyone work on their cases, except for their people.”

“Now we know why,” I said.

“You think so?”

“Don’t you?”

“Who is it you want to go after?”

“Who do you think? Coursey.”

Kelly shook his head. “I know Marty Coursey. Dumb as a fucking doorknob. Kind of looks like one, too.”

“You’re saying he’s not involved?”

“I’d say he’s behind the attack on your friend, if that’s what you’re after.” A pause. “But he’s not the one behind it all.”

We’d barely driven two miles and already Kelly had me thinking, reconsidering. I’d have to keep an eye on him.

“Who then?” I said.

He shrugged. “Most of ’em are dead. Lead prosecutor. Chief of detectives. But someone’s out there. And they got something cooking. Something worth protecting.”

I thought about dropping the name of Sally Finn but decided I’d keep it to myself for now. We clipped past Diversey, swung a left onto Oakdale, and came around the block to Surf Street. Kelly found a spot in front of a hydrant.

“Your buddy’s in room 302. I put you next door.” He tossed over a key card.

“What about you?” I said.

“Don’t worry. I’ll be around.”

“So you’re all right with us going after these guys?”

“First, you need to figure out exactly who ’these guys’ are. But why not? I mean, who else will?”

“What about Rodriguez?”

“Let me worry about him.”

“He said you two were friends. Said he’d trust you with his life.”

“Rodriguez is a romantic. It’s the Latino in him.”

“Is it true?”

“You wondering if you can trust me?”

“Do I have a choice?”

“Not really. Going after Coursey alone might get you killed. Then again, doing nothing might get you killed.”

“So you think they’ll come after us?”

“They already have.”

“What about the FBI or something?”

“What about them?”

“We can turn over the evidence we have and let them start an investigation.”

“Is that what you want to do?” His words were clipped. The silence that followed appraised without judging.

“I don’t know,” I said.

“I wouldn’t look to the feds for protection. Not in Chicago.”

“What are you saying?”

“What Rodriguez wants to say but can’t. You got yourself into something. Get yourself out.”

“I think that’s what Sarah was trying to tell me.”

“Smart woman.”

“I’m not sure I could kill anyone,” I said and felt a dry patch at the back of my throat. “I mean, if I had to.”

“Follow the evidence. Let me worry about the guys with the guns.”

“So I
can
trust you?”

“I’d worry more about ability than trust, but let’s hope it doesn’t come to that. Speaking of killing, we haven’t talked about your buddy in there. Jake.”

“What about him?”

“You don’t agree with Rodriguez? About Jake looking to drop the hammer on someone?”

“Jake’s not a killer either.”

“I think you might be right.”

I blinked.

“You look surprised,” Kelly said.

“I am.”

“Cops make mistakes, too. Even cops as good as Rodriguez.”

“How about you?”

“All the time. I’d suggest you keep your friend on a loose leash. At least until I look into a few things. Now get out of here. I’ve got places to be.”

And then I was standing in the street, watching Michael Kelly drive away. I walked down the block to the Willows. Jake Havens was sitting on the front porch, peering at me through a stand of trees.

“How did you get here?” I said and sat down beside him.

“Z.”

“She call you?”

“She met me at the hospital. Drove up here with me.”

I thought about Jake Havens, sitting in the same corridor I’d just left. Standing by Sarah’s bed.

“What did Z tell you?” I said.

“That we should hole up here and quit digging around the Wingate case.”

“What about the rest?”

“Rodriguez filled me in on the cop. Coursey. Said if I wanted any details, I should ask you.” Havens bit off the last few words and looked like he wanted to punch me in the jaw.

“I didn’t touch her, Jake.”

“Rodriguez believes it.”

“How about you?”

“She told me about you and her on the beach.”

“It was nothing.”

“You think I care? Why were you stalking her?”

“I wasn’t…”

“Really? What do you call sitting in your car, in front of her apartment, in the middle of the night?”

“I’m sorry, Jake.”

“Don’t be. Just convince me I can trust you.”

“I don’t know how I can do that.”

A couple came out of the front door of the hotel and turned up Surf toward Broadway.

“They asked me for a DNA sample,” Havens said, “which means they took samples from Sarah’s body.”

I looked at the ground and kicked at a rock that wasn’t there.

“I told them I wasn’t with her,” Havens said, “and I wasn’t.”

“The DNA’s gonna come back as a match to me,” I said.

“I know. Rodriguez explained it all.”

“Do you believe him?”

Nothing.

“Would I be that stupid, Jake? Do I seem that stupid?”

“So your semen found at a rape is proof you didn’t do it?”

“I guess so.”

“Fucking great.” Havens shook his head, and we sat for a while. I felt nothing but shame. And it humbled me.

“Sarah got in my head,” I said. “The two of you got in my head.”

“You stalked us, Joyce.”

“I didn’t touch her.”

“Jesus Christ.”

“What do you want me to say?” At the end of the day he was either going to help me or not. And I needed to find out which. “Did Rodriguez tell you about the citric acid?”

“He told me.”

“What do you think?”

“I think we got them.”

“That’s right, Jake. We got them. And that’s why they attacked Sarah and framed me. Because they’re scared.”

“They’ve been scared all along.”

“Yeah, well, they’ve upped the ante big time. Have you met Kelly?”

“He’s supposed to protect us or something.”

“No one’s gonna be able to protect us. They know we’re onto something, and they’re gonna do what they do. Arrest us. Frame us. Kill us. And if we decide to disappear for a while, they’ll wait. We can’t live our lives in the Willows.”

Havens seemed surprised by the aggressive attitude, but willing. “What do you have in mind?”

“Do you trust me?”

“I don’t trust you, but I believe you. About Sarah, anyway.”

It wasn’t all I wanted, but it would have to do. “I’ve got an idea of how the Needle Squad worked. Who might be behind this. And what they might be trying to protect.”

“So?”

“So we go for it. Get them before they get us. If nothing else, we get them for Sarah.” I showed him the envelope of information she’d given me on Sally Finn.

“So you want to try to find this woman, Finn?”

“Not yet,” I said.

“I’m not following you.”

“We need to start with the first link in the food chain.”

“And who would that be?”

“Come on. I’ll explain on the way.”

“Z?” Havens glanced across at me. He’d stashed his car three blocks from the Willows. Now we were driving north on Lake Shore Drive, headed toward Evanston.

“She’s the first link in the chain.”

“How?”

“My brother drowned on the Fourth of July. Every year I visit his grave in Evanston, just as the cemetery opens. I was there again this year.”

“Three days ago?”

“That’s right. I saw one other person that morning in the graveyard. Dressed in black.”

“Z?”

“She was standing in front of a headstone. I couldn’t get too close, but it looked like she was crying. After she left, I got the name on the marker.” I took out a piece of paper and slapped it on the dashboard. “Rosina Rolland. Born October 3, 1972. Died July 4, 1992.”

“I don’t get it.”

“Neither did I. After the cemetery, I did a Nexis search for Rolland. Turns out she died in a late-night car crash on an access road feeding onto the Edens.”

“Let me guess. She was drunk.”

“Hardly. Rosina worked at an all-night IHOP just off the highway. She was in her uniform when the EMTs pulled her out of the car.”

“So what?”

“So why is Z mourning the death of a kid from the South Side of Chicago?”

“Maybe she was a relative?”

“Rosina Rolland was black.”

“Oh.”

“Did you know Z took a medical leave of absence from work? More than a year, from July of ’92 through August of ’93. I couldn’t find any explanation why.”

Havens was off the Drive and heading north on Sheridan. “What are you getting at?”

“Pull over.”

Havens cruised under the Loyola stop on the Red Line and pulled into a parking lot for a burger joint. I took a folder full of photos out of my pack.

“What are those?” Havens said.

“Rosina Rolland’s dad gave them to me. They’re from the accident.”

Havens flipped through the shots. Rolland’s car was on its roof. The entire front left side was caved in.

“Rosina’s dad has his doubts about whether this was a one-person accident,” I said. “When you look at the car, you can see why.”

“Who handled the scene?” Havens said.

“Chicago police. The accident was off the highway and just inside the city limits. Rosina’s dad also gave me this.”

I handed over a copy of the original police report. The chicken scratch was hard to read, but the cop’s name typed at the bottom was clear enough.
martin j. coursey
.

“Someone hit Rosina Rolland and killed her,” I said. “They called Coursey, and he came out to clean up the mess.”

“And you think…”

“I think that someone was Z. And the Needle Squad has owned her ever since.”

She lived in a Queen Anne–style home, a few blocks from the university. We had agreed that I would take the lead. Other than that, there wasn’t too much of a plan. I rang her bell. The front door opened almost immediately.