I took off after him, rounding the corner, not even thinking that my piece was upstairs in my purse, and then I skidded to a stop because he was waiting for me, his sprayer extended.
“Take a deep breath,” he said.
And then he squeezed the trigger, blasting me right in the face.
Chapter 23
LIKE I’D DONE AT the Hothams’ apartment, I closed my throat and sealed off my lungs, halting my breathing in mid-inhale. I also shut my eyes on reflex.
The chemical, or whatever it was, clumped onto my face and neck. It felt warm, slightly moist, almost like a beauty peel or a mud wrap.
I reached up to wipe the poison off, to get it off my face.
“Don’t touch,” the Chemist said. “That’s tetraethyl pyrophosphate. Also known as TEPP. It can be absorbed through the skin, and the mucus membranes. If you rub it, you’ll force it deeper into your pores.”
I stopped. Time seemed to stop too. I had one of those this can’t be happening to me thoughts, which did nothing to improve my situation.
“The first symptoms will be eye pain, headache, and cramps. That quickly progresses to chest pain, vomiting, loss of sphincter control, convulsions, paralysis, low blood pressure, and finally, death. Chances are, unless you can wash it off, you’ll be dead within fifteen minutes. Sooner if you inhale.”
I stuck my hands out, touched the fabric of his uniform, but he pulled away.
“Not on the first date, Jack. But maybe later. If you live through this. Bye, now. Best of luck.”
I heard him walk off, and then all I could hear was the beating of my heart in my ears, and it was beating much too fast for me to make it through this alive.
I pushed aside the panic, which wasn’t that hard to do because I had panicked so many times in the last few days, I didn’t have much left in the tank.
Officer Sardina wouldn’t be of help. She probably wouldn’t even look up from her crayon art. And I dared not open my mouth to yell, because some poison might get in.
I needed to wash this off. That meant a sink. There was one on this floor, but I wasn’t sure of the exact pathway. But on the second floor, I knew the bathroom was right down the hall from the stairs.
Could I make it to the second floor, with only half a chestful of oxygen, blind as a bat?
I had to try.
In my mind, I pictured where I stood in the Records room, tried to remember where the door was. Straight ahead, and to the left. I held my hands in front of me and began to walk in what I thought was a straight line.
I ran straight into a shelf, jamming my right pinky.
Readjust. Step to the left. Keep walking.
“Hey, don’t point that thing at me, Creepy Man.”
Sardina. Then she screamed. It was followed by choking. And gagging.
I had to focus. I walked fast, using the shelf as a guide. When it ended, I kept going forward until I reached the wall, and followed that left, seeking the doorway.
Vomiting sounds from Sardina. Then an eerie, pain-racked wail.
The wall stretched on. I bumped into a chair. Tripped over boxes. Walked fifteen steps. Twenty. Twenty-five.
Sardina began to scream. Wet, gurgling screams.
Where was that goddamn doorway? Did I miss it? Did I go the wrong way?
And then my hand met empty space and I fell through, onto my knees. The tile was cold, hard. I tried to think. The stairs were to the right. I began to crawl until I found the wall again, then followed it to the staircase.
How long had it been since I breathed? Thirty seconds? A minute? It seemed like a long time ago, and my diaphragm spasmed, wanting air, wondering why I wouldn’t allow it. The pounding in my head became louder, and my eyes had begun to sting. The first symptoms.
Again I fell when the hallway opened up into the stairs. I landed on my chest, and that knocked some precious stale air out of my lungs, but I couldn’t dwell on it. I was on all fours, climbing the steps, reaching for the handrail, coming up to where the stairs turned, taking them as fast as I could go to the second floor.
When I reached the hallway, I couldn’t remember if I needed to go left or right.
Panic worsened. The spasm in my chest was now a full-blown cramp, almost doubling me over.
Left or right? Left or right?
My office had been here for ten years. Dammit Jack, focus. This is an easy one.
Left. It was left.
I kept my hand on the wall, found a doorknob, but that was an office, not the bathroom. My head was screaming now, and my legs were giving out, and my vision through my closed eyes—already black—seemed to get even darker.
Dizziness set in. I’d need to breathe within the next few seconds, poison or no poison. Rational thought had been overtaken by animal instinct, and I felt the scream well up in my throat, my whole body beginning to quake.
And then I was in the bathroom.
I ran, my hip crashing into the sink, my shaking hands turning on the water and splashing it onto my face, over my eyes, wiping at my nose and mouth, and the. I was sucking in air, crying, still wiping and rubbing and splashing and I opened my eyes and saw they were bloodred, and I started screaming until everything went blurry and finally black.
Chapter 24
AN EXTERMINATOR HAD SEEN me crawling blindly through the hallway, and alerted some cops on my floor. Shortly after I passed out I was whisked away to the hospital. They revived me en route, and I semi-coherently informed them it was TEPP poisoning.
The ER nurses scrubbed my face and neck until I appeared to be sunburned. My eyes were irrigated, a process as painful as it sounds. I was given atropine. Pralidoxime. Activated charcoal.
Somehow Herb appeared at my side during the treatment. I gave him bits and pieces about what I remembered, but couldn’t give much of a description beyond the port-wine stain on the Chemist’s cheek, which I guessed to be fake. Even though Herb was no longer my partner, he dutifully took down the info.
I was in eight kinds of pain. The drugs made my heart jittery. My eyes itched, my skin was on fire. My nose and throat felt like I’d been sniffing broken glass.
“My face hurts,” I told Herb. I was setting him up for the punch line, “Yeah, it’s killing me too.” But he didn’t bite. He just stared at me, sadly, his walrus mustache drooping at the ends.
“I brought your purse. It’s next to the bed. We’ve also got a team on the way, to watch your room after you’re admitted.”
“Thanks.” It was painful to talk. “How’s Sardina?”
“She didn’t make it.”
I couldn’t take the way he was staring at me, so I turned away, focusing on the green ER curtain that surrounded my cot. Humble pie time.
“I’m sorry I called you a coward, Herb. You’re no coward.”
His hand touched my arm, above the IV.
“This has to stop, Jack. You’ve almost died twice in three days.”
It was actually three times, if you count the Hothams’ apartment in Cicero, but I saw no reason to share that. Instead, I spilled out everything else.
“Latham proposed and then got poisoned with BT, I made out with the Fed, my father is still alive, and I can’t catch the Chemist without you.”
Herb let it all soak in, and then said, “You made out with a Fed?”
I forced myself to look at him. “Out of everything I told you, that’s what you latch on to?”
“That HMRT guy?”
I nodded.
“I thought he was gay.”
“Why do men always think that all really cute guys are gay?”
“It helps us sleep better at night. So how far did he get? Second base?”
“Second base? What, are we in junior high?”
“Third base? Did he violate your Constitutional rights?”
“You sound like McGlade. Can’t we talk about my father, or the fact that I’m engaged?”
Herb lifted up my left hand, scrutinizing it.
“Where’s the ri
ng?”
“I didn’t say yes yet. Before I had a chance, he got sick. He’s critical. I almost lost him last night.”
“I’m sorry, Jack. I like Latham. You’re going to say yes?”
“Yes.”
Herb smiled. “Congrats. If you need a maid of honor, I look great in pink. And your father isn’t dead?”
“He lives in Elmwood Park. My mother admitted that he left us, and she told me he died to stop me from looking for him.”
“Have you spoken to him?”
“No.”
“But you’re going to?”
“I don’t know. I—”
I heard my phone beep. Herb handed me my purse, and I checked the number. Th. Hothams’ stolen cell.
“It’s the Chemist,” I told Herb.
He picked up his notepad and put his head next to mine so we could both hear. I answered the call, made my voice strong.
“This is Daniels.”
“I’m glad you’re still alive, Jack. You’ve got a great set of lungs on you, if I may say so. How are you feeling?”
“We’ve agreed to pay you. What are your demands?”
“I asked you a question, Lieutenant. How are you feeling?”
I spoke through my teeth, anger masking all of my symptoms.
“I’m fine.”
“Good. Because I want you personally to deliver my two million. Here’s how it will work. I want a hundred thousand dollars in cash, three hundred and thirty-two thousand dollars in platinum eagles, and the remainder in uncut diamonds, at least three carats per stone. No tricks, no transmitters, no laser-engraved serial numbers on the stones, no moissanite, you get the idea. If you screw around with me, I’ll be very angry. Put everything in a leather suitcase, and paint it bright yellow. Then stand outside the Daley Center, near the Picasso, at ten thirty a.m. tomorrow. Got all of that?”
I looked at Herb, who was furiously scribbling notes. He nodded at me.
“I got it.”
“Good. Have your cell phone on you, and wear some running shoes. You’re going to need them.”
“I know about Tracey,” I said, trying to catch him off guard. “And Dirk Welch. You killed him in prison. Were you cell mates?”
There was a pause.
“I’m planning something big. Very big. If everything goes well tomorrow, I’ll tell you what my plan is, and you’ll be able to stop it in time. If anything goes wrong, many will die. If you try to find me, many will die. If you pull any tricks or try to catch me, many will die. The el derly. Women and children. I know you don’t want that on your head. But it won’t stop there. I’ll come after you as well. You and everyone you know.”
He hung up. I stared at Herb. He didn’t say a word, but I could read his mind.
Burglars don’t call you up and threaten you and half the city. Robbers don’t spray poison in your face and put you in the hospital. Thieves don’t attack the people you love.
Yeah, well, he was right. But I couldn’t do anything about it.
A nurse opened the curtain and stuck her perky head in.
“We’ve got a room available, Ms. Daniels.”
I might have protested, demanded to be released, but the nurse divided into two identical nurses and I wasn’t sure which to talk to. Earlier, I’d been told to expect double vision. It wasn’t as much fun as I’d hoped it would be.
“Herb, I hate to ask...”
He held up his notes. “I’ll pass this along to the super. We’ll work out the details. You get some rest.”
“Thanks. Also, in Records, I was looking for the Alger case file for Tracey Hotham’s murder investigation. The Chemist was in the box. I don’t know if he took it or not. If he did, we need to see if the records are still on file at the two-four.”
“I’ll check.”
“There was a guy named Welch involved, died in prison.”
“Jack...”
“I know. We’re not partners anymore. Pass it off on a subordinate.”
Herb nodded, gave me an informal pat on the shoulder, and left.
I asked the nurse(s) for some water, and she gave me a cup and took my blood pressure. As she did, my whole body began to shake. First mildly, and then it became violent enough to make me spill water all over my bed.
“She’s seizing!” the nurse yelled.
A doctor rushed over while the nurse forced something rubber between my teeth. Then I couldn’t see anything else, because my eyelids were fluttering too fast.
“Administering diazepam push.”
I felt a calm flow through me, and the convulsions stopped. The nurse fished out the mouth guard, and I squinted at her, trying to focus.
“It’s okay,” she said. “You’re fine. TEPP can cause seizures. We gave you some Valium, which will work with the atropine and pralidoxime to relax your muscles.”
“Thanks,” I said. I was pretty freaked out, but the Valium went a long way to helping me over that.
The nurse draped a dry blanket over me, then promised to be back shortly. Whil. I waited, my phone rang again. A blocked number.
“This is Daniels,” I said. My voice sounded kind of thick.
“Hiya, Jackie. How’s it hanging?”
Harry McGlade.
“Hi, Harry. How’s the space suit?”
“A tax write-off. I cornered your superintendent, and she threatened to have me arrested if I didn’t vacate the scene. A real piece of work, that one. Feisty. If her cankles weren’t the size of hams, she’d be my type of woman. Speaking of dates, are you going to PoliceFest on Sunday?”
“No.”
“How about going with me? The mayor will be there, and you could get me an audience. He likes you, right?”
“I’m not going.”
“Of course you’re going. Every cop in the Midwest is going, and this year it’s in Illinois.”
“Every cop but me.” I grinned. Valium was a pretty nice drug.
“You owe me one, Jack.”
“Ask the super to take you. Maybe she’ll do it if you promise to rub lotion on her cankles.”
There was a long silence, which was unusual for Harry.
“Jack, I...I gave up my business. No more private investigating.”
“Chicago will never get over the loss.”
“It isn’t funny. Could you stay a cop if you lost your gun hand? I suck lefty. Hell, I can’t even wipe my damn ass lefty. I’m completely useless with a gun. And I had to sell my baby, my Mustang, because of the goddamn stick shift. My electric bill was sent back because they thought a retarded child had signed the check. I even had to pay for sex, because no woman wants to sleep with me.”
“What does that have to do with your hand?”
“Dammit, Jack, my life is destroyed. Show some sympathy.”
Maybe it was all the medication, or the residual effects of the TEPP, but I actually felt for him. “That’s too bad, Harry.”
“If the city doesn’t let me open up this bar, I might as well shoot myself. And I’d need your help doing that too, because I’d miss my fricking head.”
“You think? You have a pretty fat head.”
I laughed at my drug-influenced assessment. He did have a fat head.
“Take me to PoliceFest. Introduce me to the mayor. Help me get the liquor license. And I promise, I’ll never bother you again as long as I live.”
“That’s a tempting offer.”
“We were partners once. I know I did wrong by you, but I’ve helped you out several times since then. Please. I need this.”
Harry McGlade had caused me more annoyance than I cared to recall, but in a warped sort of way he was kind of a friend. A friend who needed a hand. Really.
“Fine, McGlade. But I can’t promise the mayor will go for it.”
“Thanks, Jackie. I’ll drop by Sunday morning. You still at the place on Addison?”
“No. I’m a suburban girl now. I live in Bensenville.”
I gave him my address.
“Se
e you Sunday. Maybe afterward I can buy you a beer.”
“Maybe.”
“And after that, sex.”
“Good-bye, Harry.”
“I’ve got this attachment for my prosthesis—”
I hung up before he could finish. Then I took a deep breath and closed my eyes, thinking about PoliceFest with Harry ...
PoliceFest with Harry? What the hell was I thinking?
Maybe I’d get lucky, and the Chemist would kill me tomorrow so I wouldn’t have to go.
I fell asleep, strangely comforted by that thought.
Chapter 25
THE CHEMIST SHATTERS the last bottle of vodka over the garbage can, spraying glass and alcohol on his heavy work gloves, a shard bouncing off the facial netting on his helmet. He’s in his greenhouse. It’s dark, quiet. Night is the best time to work, because insect activity is minimal.
He reaches into the glass shards and fishes out the bottle neck, moving with speed and efficiency. He’s getting near the end, a culmination of years of effort. This should be savored. But all of the recent excitement has put him behind schedule, and he has to catch up.
He places the bottle neck on his workbench and uses a hammer and pliers to break all of the glass away from the aluminum cap. When he’s finished, the cap, with its tamper-proof ring along the bottom edge, is intact.
Next he selects an identical brand of vodka, and twists off its top. The tamper-proof ring separates along the perforated line where it is attached to the cap and remains on the bottle neck. He snips the ring off using nail clippers, pours out four ounces of vodka, and adds an equal amount of colorless, odorless ethylene chlorohydrin. It blends invisibly with the liquor.
Then he takes the intact cap—the one he removed from the broken bottle—and carefully screws it onto the full bottle. It now appears to be new, unopened. He places it in the cardboard box next to the eleven other poisoned bottles of alcohol, and gets started on the beer.
Beer is even easier to tamper with. A local brewing supply shop, the same place he got some of his hydroponics equipment, also sells bottle cappers. He carefully pries the tops off of a dozen pop ular import beer bottles, adds a few drops of conotoxin to each, and then uses the bench capper to reseal the caps until they’re as tight as when they left the brewery.
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