Grey nodded, but seemed deflated, rather than cheered, by this news.
‘Look, we can’t hold her, so tell me what we’re looking at here? She’s obviously an inveterate liar.’
‘That’s not fair –’
‘Look at her record. She’s repeatedly lied to the police, she’s lied under oath.’
‘And maybe she is lying. Because she’s involved … or because she wants to matter for once. Or it might be something more complex.’
Grey was silent now, watching him curiously.
‘My feeling is that she believes what she’s saying, that it’s real to her …’ Adam was almost talking to himself, as he concluded: ‘The question we need to answer is why.’
21
Kassie and her mother walked to the car in silence. They had had to park some way from the police station, which only made things worse now. Kassie wanted to be at home, in her room, as soon as possible. Anything to escape her mother’s fury and disappointment.
Faces passed by, but Kassie didn’t look at them, sidestepping them even as she kept pace with her mother, as if tied to her with an invisible cord. It was the only thing she could think of to do to show that she wasn’t being wilfully difficult, that she didn’t want to cause her mother embarrassment or pain. But it clearly didn’t register – her mother strode along the sidewalk, barely acknowledging her presence.
Eventually they made it to their battered station wagon. Her mother slid the key in the lock and Kassie waited dutifully for her to lean over and unlock the passenger door. There was a moment when she thought her mother might not bother, might drive off, leave her standing in the road. But, no, Kassie thought angrily as her mother leaned over, that would be too easy. Her mother was too much of a martyr to let this opportunity go.
Kassie climbed into the car and settled down for the long, silent journey home. But her mother didn’t move, didn’t even raise the key to the ignition, and as Kassie now turned to her, she was surprised to see that she was crying.
‘Oh, Mama … please don’t cry …’
Guilt-stricken, Kassie reached out a hand, but her mother batted it away. Kassie sat in her seat, holding her smarting hand, feeling utterly hollow. She wanted to do something to ease her mother’s pain. Wanted to say something to let her know that in spite of everything she did love her. But as she tried to speak, tried to find the right words, her mother’s response was brutal and crushing:
‘You’re a stain on this family.’
22
The sauce dribbled down his chin, but Adam managed to catch it just before it made contact with his pristine white shirt.
‘He really is a pig. I don’t know why you married him …’
Faith shrugged and rolled her eyes, before winking at her husband. Adam was a sucker for a hot beef sandwich – he always maintained that Chicago’s were the finest – and he and Faith visited Al’s Shack as often as they could. This time they had been joined by Adam’s best friend – and best man – Brock, and his wife, Fernette. Brock was a former college roommate. He was also a model train enthusiast, birdwatcher and IT geek, but Adam liked to joke that he didn’t hold that against him. They saw each other once, sometimes twice, a week without fail. Fernette, his long-term girlfriend who’d eventually become his wife, often attended too – her ready wit always enlivening their evenings together.
‘Look, I know he’s cute,’ Fernette continued. ‘And smart and loaded, but, really, how can you bear to watch someone do that. I mean it’s like he’s going to swallow it in one mouthful –’
‘Never come between a man and his hot beef sandwich,’ Faith intoned, just about suppressing a smile.
‘Wise words, Faith,’ Brock agreed, taking a healthy bite of his own. ‘This man’s on the case all day, every day. He needs brain food –’
‘And lots of it,’ Fernette butted in, to general agreement.
Adam played along – happy to be the object of their gentle jokes. It was good to kick back at the end of what had been a very disorienting day. Kassie’s testimony had unnerved him, as had his subsequent interview with Gabrielle. She had always been one of the saner, more reasonable officers, keen to use his services and follow his directions. But today she had seemed ill at ease, suspicious even, as if she feared having the wool pulled over her eyes.
For an hour or two afterwards, Adam had struggled to shrug off his anxiety, but slowly good food, better company and a couple of craft beers had lowered his blood pressure. He loved the resolute, light-hearted optimism of his friends, but most of all he adored spending time with Faith. He had always done so, but even more so now, when all he had to do was look at her and her perfectly rounded bump to make him smile.
‘You think I’ve had enough?’ Faith said, gesturing to her bump, then to her half-eaten sandwich. ‘You worried I’m getting fat?’
Adam snapped out of it, realizing he’d been caught staring.
‘Because if so, you know where you can go …’
It was said with a twinkle and, wiping the remnants of sauce from his chin, Adam leaned in close to her, nestling his nose in her thick curls.
‘I love you,’ he whispered, kissing her gently on the cheek. ‘Both of you …’
‘For God’s sake, get a room,’ Fernette complained.
‘Yeah, you’re making the rest of us look bad,’ Brock chimed in.
The conversation continued in this vein until they departed for Navy Pier. Chicago’s premier tourist attraction was thronging with revellers and normally Adam would have avoided it like the plague. But Faith had decided she wanted to go on the Ferris wheel for one last time as a couple. It was goofy and romantic, and, of course, Adam couldn’t resist. So they made their way towards the huge wheel, mentally preparing themselves for the steep ticket prices, but loving the idea just the same.
For the first time during what had been a difficult day, Adam felt at peace. Grasping his wife firmly by the hand, he strode along the pier cheerfully, losing himself in the busy Friday night crowds.
23
It was early morning and mercifully the roads were clear. Breakfast had been a long-drawn-out affair – why was it that Eden and Zack were such daydreamers? – but still Gabrielle had been on the road before eight. She drove in silence – the morning bulletins had been full of sensational reports about Jacob Jones’s murder and she had no wish to listen to the ill-informed speculation. Instead, she watched the world go by, noting the change in vista as she left her house in Albany Park and journeyed to West Town. Her neighbourhood was a little way from the city centre and had always been incredibly diverse, with large Korean, Mexican and African American communities. West Town might have been like that once, but not now.
Driving along West Chicago Avenue, Gabrielle took in the affluent moms breakfasting in gym gear and the hipsters drinking coffee outside the vinyl stores, marvelling at how one city could have so many faces. When she first moved to Chicago, nearly ten years ago now, she’d had a fond notion that she might live in a place like this. But one look at the realtors’ websites had put paid to that. She only visited these parts of town in her professional capacity nowadays.
Swinging off the main avenue, Gabrielle found herself once more on West Erie Street. The police tape remained in place, sealing off the Jones residence, and flanking it were several press trucks. The local reporters were busy, collaring local residents for expressions of sympathy and tidbits of information about the deceased. Deciding on the direct approach, Gabrielle drove right up to the tape, the uniformed officers raising it for her second-hand Pontiac to crawl underneath on to the drive.
‘Detective Grey, do you have anything to add to last night’s statement? Have you made any arrests? What’s your working theory?’
Gabrielle climbed out of her vehicle to be greeted by a cacophony of familiar voices, but she ignored them, heading into the house swiftly. Closing the door behind her, she took a moment to enjoy the silence – the cries of the hopeful reporters fading outside – then go
t down to business. She had seen the property yesterday, but it had been so full of activity, of bustle. She wanted a moment to take it in by herself.
It was exactly what you would expect a successful attorney’s house to be: tastefully decorated, expensively furnished and immaculately tidy. As Miller had indicated, nothing appeared to be out of place and there was no obvious sign of a struggle. Kassie Wojcek had confessed to breaking the side window, which meant the only other hints of a disturbance were the broken flashlight and disturbed dust patterns on the floor of the basement. Other than that, the house was exactly as it should be. Framed pictures of Jacob and Nancy decorated most of the surfaces and many of the walls – a loving couple with their whole life ahead of them. How cruel those images seemed now.
Flipping open her notebook, Gabrielle consulted her timeline. Jacob Jones had returned home the night before last – taking a call from a CPD officer at around 8 p.m. – and an hour or so later had vanished. Kassandra Wojcek was their only viable suspect – she clearly had some sort of animus against Jones and her alibi was weak, her mother having confessed to falling asleep in front of the television early evening – but was it possible that she had spirited away a grown man, a former college football player?
Lost in thought, Gabrielle wandered through the kitchen to the access door that led into the garage. Jacob Jones’s Lincoln had been driven from here the night before last, presumably with the man himself inside. Bound? At gunpoint? And from there he was driven … where? The black mud on the tyres suggested proximity to water – one of Chicago’s many rivers perhaps? The lake? It was impossible to say. The car, like the man himself, had simply disappeared until Edmundo and Pancho had stumbled upon it.
Frustrated, Gabrielle headed back into the house, but, as she did so, her phone buzzed. Pulling it from her pocket, she saw that it was Detective Montgomery.
‘What you got for me, Detective?’
‘Just some context, boss, but it’s interesting.’
‘Go on.’
‘I’ve been going back through Wojcek’s court history. Six months ago, she got a suspended sentence for assault and acting under the influence. She blamed her behaviour on medication she was taking, but the prosecutor didn’t believe her and neither did the judge. She was given a large fine and only escaped a custodial sentence because of her age. Apparently, the prosecutor tore her testimony to shreds. The state’s attorney that day –’
‘Was Jacob Jones,’ Gabrielle said, completing her deputy’s sentence.
‘Exactly. I’ve put the file on your desk.’
‘Thank you. Good work, Detective.’
Gabrielle hung up, feeling energized once more. They had been struggling to make sense of this brutal murder – struggling to find a possible motive – but finally they had a concrete connection between Jacob Jones and the mysterious Kassie Wojcek.
24
‘Does your mother know you’re here?’
Kassie looked up sharply.
‘Because, if so, I might need to organize some personal protection. I’m not sure she likes me very much.’
Adam was pleased to see that this earned a sheepish smile from Kassie. It was their first proper session together at his office and it was crucial to establish a relationship – a basic trust – before they could begin. Kassie was clearly still on edge and he was keen to put her at her ease.
‘I’m not sure she likes me either,’ Kassie responded quietly. ‘And, no, she doesn’t know I’m here. I told her – told school – that I had a doctor’s appointment.’
‘Which you do,’ Adam responded, smiling. ‘But we don’t need to let your mother know what type of doctor, do we? If we’re the only two who know about our chats, then that’s fine by me.’
Kassie nodded quickly, looking pleased – perhaps surprised – that she had an ally. Adam was beginning to get a sense of just how isolated this young girl was. She had no father, no siblings, no friends to speak of – she had moved around schools, often being asked to leave after cutting class repeatedly or for rebellious, even violent, behaviour. At first, he’d assumed that this was the outcome of undiagnosed mental health problems, but now he was beginning to wonder if Kassie had deliberately sabotaged her attempts to fit in, whether she had sought solitude, rather than had it imposed upon her. This intrigued him, as it inevitably threw her back on her mother’s company – someone she clearly had a difficult relationship with.
‘Now what can I get you to drink? Coke? Sprite? Water?’
‘Coke, please.’
Nodding, Adam crossed the hardwood floor to the fridge. Pulling a cold Coke from the fridge, he paused briefly to look out the floor-to-ceiling window towards Lincoln Park. This huge swathe of green space, which contained the city zoo, baseball pitches and much more besides, looked particularly beguiling in the morning sunshine, framed by Lake Shore Drive and beyond that Lake Michigan itself. Affording himself a brief moment of self-congratulation – this office really had been a find – he crossed back to Kassie.
‘Here you go,’ he said, handing the can to her. ‘I’d join you, but it gives me terrible gas.’
Kassie laughed – the first time he had seen her look happy. He suddenly realized how pretty Kassie was – when she didn’t appear so damn haunted.
‘Seriously, my wife bans me from drinking it with clients for precisely that reason.’
This seemed to amuse Kassie – the idea of a figure of authority embarrassing himself – which made Adam wonder how many austere doctors, police officers and teachers she had faced during her short time on earth. Settling himself into his chair, he turned to face her.
He was pleased by what he saw. When she’d arrived, she’d been monosyllabic and anxious, avoiding eye contact and generally looking like she’d rather be anywhere than here. She had sat scrunched up, her legs tucked in, her arms folded, as if trying to make herself as small, as closed, as possible. Now, however, she appeared to have relaxed a little. She still wouldn’t look at him, but she was perched on the edge of her comfy seat, swinging her legs back and forward, looking around the office with undisguised interest. He watched her for a moment, before eventually breaking the silence.
‘So, Kassie …’
She ceased swinging her legs.
‘I asked to see you again because I’d like to talk further about Jacob Jones. As you know, I’m talking to you now in my capacity as a psychologist and anything you say is strictly confidential. I am not acting on behalf of the Chicago Police Department – my only interest is in helping you.’
‘Will I have to pay?’
‘Only if I put you on my books, which I’m not minded to do yet –’
‘I’m not a charity case,’ she interrupted, the first signs of attitude surfacing.
‘I know that,’ he responded calmly. ‘And that’s not what this is. If I contact your health insurer, then inevitably your mother will have to become involved and I’m not sure either of us need that right now.’
Again, a small smile from Kassie.
‘I’d like you tell me more about your experience with Jacob on North Michigan Avenue. What you felt, saw, sensed …?’
He deliberately avoided words like premonition or vision. He knew they wouldn’t be helpful – would perhaps reinforce Kassie’s own analysis of her experiences – and he wanted to keep things grounded.
‘Well, I bumped into him, like I said. He actually hit me quite hard, so I ended up on my ass.’
‘Was he apologetic?’
‘Sure. He helped me back up, asked me if I was ok, if I needed a cab.’
‘And then?’
‘Then I looked up at him. Which is when it happened. That’s when it always happens …’
‘So this occurs regularly?’ Adam queried, intrigued now.
‘Every day of my life.’
Adam noted her weariness. With life? With herself? He made a quick note, then continued:
‘How exactly does it happen?’
‘If I don’t look at
them, then it’s ok. But if I look at them, if I look into their eyes, then I see it.’
‘The eyes being the window to the soul?’
‘Something like that,’ Kassie said sharply, as if fearing she was being made fun of.
‘And what did you see this time?’
‘The images came in a rush. It was somewhere dark and gloomy. I could smell paraffin … or something like that. It was a basement perhaps … Or a workshop … There were these shadows dancing around me …’
She was checking his reaction as she spoke, darting quick looks at him to see if he had reacted with disbelief, even amusement. But Adam’s facial expression was deliberately neutral and she lowered her gaze once more, seemingly satisfied that she was safe from ridicule.
‘But it wasn’t what I could see,’ she continued. ‘It was what I felt …’
‘What did you feel, Kassie?’
‘I felt cold. Really, really cold. My feet were pressing against something smooth and lifeless. I couldn’t tell what it was, but I didn’t like it at all.’
Adam’s mind leaped to the plastic sheet that Jacob Jones had been found in, but he pushed the thought away. He knew better than to jump to conclusions.
‘And then?’
‘I felt someone’s presence in front me, then something cold and hard pressing against my skin …’
Kassie had her eyes clamped tight shut now – she was talking so fast that Adam struggled to keep pace with his note-taking.
‘Then … I couldn’t breathe. It was like I was drowning …’
Adam paused in his note-taking to look at her. Even though Kassie was describing someone else’s pain, it was as if it was actually happening to her.
‘And I was scared … so scared … my heart felt like it was going to burst, because I knew this was it … that I was dying and then …
Her hand went up to her mouth and her eyes opened suddenly.
A Gift for Dying Page 6