by Julie Hyzy
Already tired of telling the tale, I gave them all the facts but very little flavor of the terror I’d felt on that icy rooftop. I told them all that we now knew that Mrs. Vicks had been killed by Owen Riordan, and that Riordan had been in collusion with David Dewars in a huge bank embezzlement scheme.
“One thing doesn’t make sense,” I said, turning to George. Uncle Moose had pulled out a few cans of pop and shoved a cold Pepsi into the detective’s hand. He’d handed me one, too, but I waved it off with murmured thanks. “Why would Dewars steal from his own bank? If he’s the owner—the majority shareholder—he’s only stealing from himself, isn’t he?”
“I’ll look into that,” George said. He propped his notebook on his knee and scribbled.
“What about Barton?” I asked, starting to feel the grip of the story take hold, bolstering my energy, again.
“That witness I told you about did see someone at the approximate time Barton was shot,” he said. “From the description of the man and his car, it sounds like Riordan killed Barton, too. We’ll know for sure once I have the witness look at a photo spread. Plus, not only was that stash of money missing, but you told me you’d made a duplicate set of those bank record copies for Barton, right?”
I nodded.
“There was nothing in the room that had anything to do with Banner Bank. Not a single thing.” George scratched his head. “We’ve taken a look at phone records. Barton called Riordan from his hotel room Saturday afternoon. What was said between them, we can only guess. Apparently Riordan paid a visit. Which explains how they knew you had the files.” He made a face of discomfort. “Riordan must have tailed you today, both to Maya’s and then to the bank. It’s the only explanation for how he arrived there so quickly after you did.”
I shuddered.
“I’m sorry,” George said.
“Why?”
“I shouldn’t have let you go there alone.”
I thought about that. “Well, if he was tailing us, then it was just a matter of time before he made his move, right?”
George nodded. “Probably.”
“There’s no telling how it might have gone down in another situation,” I said, sounding Pollyanna-ish with my explanation. “Maya and I survived. That’s all that matters.”
Lucy wrapped herself around my right arm and buried her head in my shoulder.
“So, it was Owen who attacked me and Diana?” I asked.
George nodded. “I got the guys running like crazy, trying to get all the pieces put together, but that’s what it looks like. The blood type fits.”
“He must have been looking for Mrs. Vicks’ proof.” I shook my head. “And it was in a safe deposit box somewhere else, the whole time.”
My family sat, staring, listening to us try to piece it all together. My aunt tugged her robe close around her ample frame. “What about Grady?” she asked.
“He’s in custody. I’ve got him charged with accosting Alex in the parking lot, but right now, there’s not much more than that, and jumping parole. Apparently, he had nothing to do with any of this.” George glanced at his watch. “It’s after midnight. You folks ought to get some rest. And we’ll know more tomorrow. I promise to be in touch.”
* * * * *
I declined Aunt Lena’s offer to stay the night. One good thing had come out of all this—I sensed that Lucy finally realized it had been need, rather than desire on my part, that kept us from having our day together. I promised we would, soon.
Tomorrow was out, because I had Bass’s deadline to meet, but after all this finished, I was determined to make her my priority.
George walked us the half-block to my house, Lucy holding tight to me. He waited till I had unlocked the door, then gave my shoulder an avuncular pat. “Good work, Alex. I’m proud of you.”
With all that had gone on, I wanted to call Bass right now and tell him that I quit, that I didn’t want to put my life on the line ever again. Common sense won the argument waging in my brain, however, and I shook my head, reconsidering.
I loved my job, and I knew that this story, with all its dangers, was an aberration. From here on out, I’d be living the safe life of a news researcher, behind my desk, and one day, when I was eighty years old, and looking back, I might recollect these past few days as fun and exciting. Right now, though, I needed to concentrate on kicking Dan Starck’s station’s butt with my coverage of this feature.
Inside, I got Lucy settled, then found myself wide awake with adrenaline-induced energy. I couldn’t sleep. Visions of everything that had gone on the past two days rushed through my brain in snippets that made me blink in reaction.
At one in the morning, I knew exactly what would make me sleep better.
Bass answered the phone, groggy, after the third ring.
I interrupted his grousing expletives with a quick summary of the night’s activities. “And here’s what I need by noon tomorrow,” I said.
* * * * *
By the time I made it down to our station’s studio the next morning, Bass had gotten everything I’d asked for: agreements for exclusive interviews with the board of directors at Banner Bank, the witness from the Tuck Inn motel, O’Shea Associates, the lawyers who’d drawn up Mrs. Vicks’ real will, and some bigwigs at the FDIC.
I’d spent the morning holed up in my office recording every detail. William was back from San Francisco and would need me to be as precise as possible, in order to accurately write up the story for filming later in the week.
By eleven-thirty I finished and left the complete packet on his desk with a note to call me if he had questions. I made sure to include my phone number, to prevent any confusion again.
I still needed to visit the studio itself to coordinate locations with the crew—to ensure that the shots of the bank, of the motel, and of Mrs. Vicks’ home, among others, would be set up just right. Since I was scheduled to appear on camera—I’d written up Gabriela’s in-depth interview of me—I needed to coordinate that filming, too.
After today, I was taking vacation, and the sooner I got this stuff done, the better.
Bass caught up with me talking with one of our technicians, just outside the soundstage. Taking long strides with short legs, he closed the distance between us faster than I would’ve imagined. “William’s looking for you,” he said.
“What for?”
“Don’t know. He got your notes. Seemed disappointed.” Looking around, Bass shot the tech a pointed, dismissive look. Taking the hint, the guy left.
“Disappointed?” I said, with not a small amount of anger. “How the hell can he be disappointed? I just about wrote the story for him. All he has to do is connect the dots.” I wiggled my head, totally pissed. “And they’re practically numbered, for crissakes.”
“Settle down, all right?” Bass forehead creased and he held up a restraining hand. “I have no idea what’s up with him, I just wanted to let you know, okay? Don’t shoot the messenger.”
“Whatever,” I said, rubbing my eyebrows.
“He’s coming down here to talk with you,” he said. “Wanted to catch you before you took off.” Bass looked from side to side then, as if to reassure himself that no one was listening in on our conversation. In a low voice he said, “I wanted to catch you, too.”
I folded my arms, ready for a fight. “What?” I said.
Bass looked up at me. His hazel eyes held a look I’d never seen in them before.
“What?” I said again, in a nicer voice. Now I was curious.
“You did good, Alex. Don’t get used to me saying that, but you did.” He worked his jaw muscles and I sensed whatever was coming next was big. “I talked to Hank about promoting you to on-camera reporter. He’s all for it.”
Speechless, I blinked at him.
“More money,” he said. “More exposure.”
“I think I’ve had just about all the exposure I can take.”
Bass shook his head. “Hank’s spoken with a few of our consultants already. We’
re thinking you might be our ticket to knocking UpClose Issues out of the number one spot.”
“You gotta be kidding,” I said. Then as it hit me, I added, “What about Gabriela?”
“You’d share feature stories. We’ll start you out doing a few small segments.”
“But,” I felt like I was sputtering, “what does she have to say about all this?”
“We haven’t told her, yet.” He winked at me as he left. “When you get back next week, we’ll talk.”
Fifteen minutes later, all I had left to do was my interview with Gabriela. She hadn’t yet shown up, so I headed to the break room to wait.
William was there.
“Hey,” I said, moving to the countertop to pour myself a cup of coffee.
“Alex,” he said, half-standing. “How are you? I heard about everything that went on. Are you okay?”
“I’m great,” I said. And I realized that was true. I’d been through trial by fire and my dad’s constant mantra to “not let little things bother me” suddenly seemed like the best advice I’d ever received.
“I’m glad to hear that,” he said, gesturing me into the seat across from him. “I guess I missed all the excitement.”
“I’m sure you had plenty of your own,” I said, with a light dose of sarcasm. “Just a different sort.”
He winced at that, changed the subject. “How come you left that write-up on my desk?”
“Why, was there something wrong with it?”
“No, not at all,” he said, looking confused. “It’s just that we usually go over them together. Talk them through. I thought you’d want to do that again.”
“It’s all there,” I said. “And if anything’s unclear, let me know.”
He closed his eyes for a long moment, as though weighing a momentous decision. “I’m sorry about that mix-up on the phone,” he finally said.
“What mix-up?” I asked.
“You know, when I called you the wrong name.”
“Oh, yeah,” I said, waving my hand indifferently. “Don’t worry about it.”
“I didn’t . . .” he began, then started again. “I wasn’t entirely truthful with you.”
I canted my head—smiled. “Really?”
He had the decency to blush. “Oh yeah, well.” He scratched at his eyebrow. He blew out a breath and I wondered what sort of confession he was about to divulge. Looking up at me, he squinted, as though anticipating my reaction to his next words. “She . . . that other person . . . was . . . an old friend,” he said quickly.
“An old girlfriend, you mean,” I corrected.
“Yeah.” He waited a beat before continuing. “She was one of the people running the conference. I had no idea she’d be out there, I swear. But she was. And we got to talking. It gave us a chance to reconnect.”
I waited.
Behind me, the coffee maker hissed.
William spoke again. “It was stupid of me to lie to you. I . . .” He shrugged and grimaced at the same time. “It surprised me when I realized I’d dialed wrong, and I wasn’t sure about how things were going to . . .” He stopped himself. “I just made up the first thing that came to mind.” One side of his mouth twisted downward. “I’m sorry if I hurt you.”
“Don’t worry about it,” I said, feigning lightheartedness.
Another couple of silent seconds passed.
I spoke up. “So,” I said, using his words to prompt the rest of the story. “You reconnected, huh?”
“Yeah.”
Rather than endure another long interval of silence, I decided I needed to know how things stood. “She lives in San Francisco?”
He nodded.
I kept my voice just this side of chipper. “And so . . . are you two picking up where you left off?” I knew my upbeat approach was making this easy for him, but, just like whistling in the dark, faking composure made it easier for me, too.
“I . . .” he said, hesitating. “Yeah.”
“Well, then,” I stood, plastering on a tight smile. “I wish you guys the best. I hope I get the chance to meet her sometime.”
He nodded, his look inscrutable.
Gabriela poked her blond head into the break room right then, and wiggled her perfectly manicured fingers my direction. “Alex,” she called in a singsong voice. “We’re ready for you.”
Chapter Thirty
Lucy and I drove to Navy Pier Tuesday morning. As we strolled along the perimeter promenade, I experienced a peculiar gladness in my heart that she’d chosen the pier for our first outing. Being here with her, in the daylight, helped to dilute my recent memories of my date with David Dewars.
Still, after lunch at McDonald’s, when she and I climbed aboard a Ferris Wheel car, I was struck by the promise I’d made to David less than a week ago to ride it with him. This morning I’d gotten an update on his condition. Paralyzed permanently from the waist down. He’d require years of physical therapy. Most of those years would likely be spent in prison..
“Whoa,” Lucy said, as our car cleared the base area. We sat opposite one another, on molded plastic seats inside big enough to hold at least six people. These cars reminded me of Alpine ski-lifts, with doors on either side, and enough ceiling height to allow me to stand upright.
The young guy who’d helped us get in, slammed our car door shut and locked it. “Have a nice ride,” he said as we drifted upward.
The wheel itself never stopped moving; passengers loaded and unloaded at snail speed. Lucy sat back, wide-eyed, her hands pressed against the seat at her sides, as if to steady us.
I slid back in my own seat and watched her across from me. We rose up, very slowly, to breathtaking views of Chicago’s skyline with the sun bright overhead, but still not enough to warm this cold day. I blew out a cloud of breath, and smiled.
Maya and George, not surprisingly, had both agreed to be part of my feature story. Maya was already back home, and though bandaged and a bit bruised, she was eager to get the truth out and start her search for a new job.
And my good friend, George, had discovered a key piece of information I’d never thought to look at.
Even though David was indeed the largest shareholder of Banner Bank, he wasn’t the majority shareholder, like I’d been led to believe. He held only twenty percent of the stock. So, even though the embezzlement hurt the bank’s bottom line, he was still clearing more than enough to make the effort worth his while. The bank wrote off bunches, got the tax benefits of doing so, and David was, in essence, stealing profits from the other shareholders who owned the remaining eighty percent of the stock.
Nice work, if you can get it.
“You having fun?” I asked.
Lucy nodded with vigor, then shot me a panicked look when the small movement caused the car to rock. “This is the most fun I’ve ever had.”
I doubted that, but I didn’t doubt her sincerity.
She was quiet for a long moment. “I told you about Bobby, right?”
“Yep.” I made myself smile, even though I worried for her and her latest love. “I can’t wait to meet him this weekend.”
“Me too.”
She was quiet again.
I looked out over the city below.
“Alex?” she said.
I pulled my attention away from the gray buildings, bright sky, and sparkling water below. “Yeah?”
Her eyes had welled up, and she stared at me over twin pools of blue. “I would miss you if you got killed.”
The simplicity of her words caught me with a sting to the back of my throat. Moving slowly, so as not to upset the car’s balance, I took her hands in mine. “I’m here for you, Lucy. I’ll always be here for you.”
She sniffed, then jolted up suddenly to wrap me in a bear hug that made the car rock. We both yelped at the sudden swinging, and Lucy sat back in her seat, laughing. “Wow, that was scary,” she said.
“Yeah,” I agreed.
She had no idea.
And thank God for that.
&nbs
p; * * * * *
“How did it go?” I asked Dr. Hooker.
We’d stopped by his office later that afternoon. Lucy was trying to decide which of the many tea offerings she wanted to try. “Blackberry sage,” she finally decided, holding up a round teabag in delight.
“Help yourself,” Hooker said. He’d pulled over a third chair and as Lucy fixed herself tea I watched to make sure she didn’t spill the scalding liquid on herself as he brought me up-to-date.
“Diana took the news amazingly well,” he said. “I talked to her yesterday, before she was discharged. I thought that, just in case the revelation caused her a relapse, I’d rather she be in a hospital environment. She’s home now, and she called her mother. Theresa’s traveling from Iowa as we speak.”
“Do you think that on some level, she suspected that Mrs. Vicks was her grandmother?”
Hooker shook his massive head. “No. She was completely surprised. In a case like this I might expect her to harbor some anger, some bitterness for not being told the truth sooner.” He gave a big-bodied shrug. “But, rather than resent her mother and Mrs. Vicks, Diana is moved by the fact that her family cared enough about her to protect her.”
I leaned forward, craning my neck to check on Lucy again. She’d finished steeping the tea and moved to join us, walking slowly, concentrating on the mug so as not to spill.
“What about Barton? How does she feel about him having been her father?”
“That one, and the circumstances that surrounded her birth, are a couple of the issues we still need to work through,” he said. “But in time, I’m convinced Diana’s going to shine. She’s making great strides already.”
“And Laurence Grady? What’s going to happen with that situation?”
Hooker’s smile split his face into a contagious grin. “I’m a psychiatrist, not a clairvoyant. Only time will tell on that one.” He shrugged again, his eyes serious. “I can only promise you that Diana won’t have to handle it alone.”
* * * * *
Friday afternoon, as Lucy and I headed back to the house after a day of shopping and browsing up in the Long Grove historical village, my low-fuel indicator lit up.