I spin in my seat. “Oh my God.” I breathe. It’s that guy, the skinny white guy I mowed down outside the murder scene. He’s just come in the back. His face is streaked with tears. He’s the most visibly upset person I’ve seen so far. Other people are turning now too. They don’t seem to like this dude. An angry murmur begins to rise around me. The guy seems to expect this, doesn’t look phased by it. That is until he notices me.
His eyes lock on mine, and suddenly they hold a potent combination of hurt, anger and accusation. Fuck, I panic, does he think I killed her? I have to talk to him. I’m compelled. I leap to my feet but as I do, so do several others. I spin my head briefly, looking for an escape route, but my row is blocked. Without further thought, I hop up on my chair and tip it over, freeing me to approach White Jacket Guy. This move appears to startle him considerably. I know the noise level around me has increased, but I can’t really hear it. I’m zoned in on White Jacket. I take a couple of steps in his direction, and he turns on his heel and bolts. Well, fuck that, I take off after him. He’s a fast little sucker. Too fast. Way faster than me evidently, because by the time I’m standing in the front yard of the funeral home, White Jacket is in a car that’s pealing out of the parking lot. I sigh, frustrated.
Now I feel a person standing behind my shoulder. I turn slowly. It’s a real person. It’s the curly haired girl with the bright eyes and the swirl of colored nimbus. “He has a lot of nerve.” She says gesturing in the direction White Jacket came from.
I nod. “He knows something. He has to.”
The girl looks at me seriously. A few other people from the service are clustered around out here within easy hearing distance. A couple of them look like cops. I light up a cigarette. Bright Eyes takes one of her own out of her purse. I give her a light. “You think he did it?” She asks, blowing smoke on her cherry.
“No.” I say it just a tad to strongly. “But he was outside the building the last time that I saw Madeline, and I just feel like he knows something.”
Curly hair nods. “Yeah well, I’m sure he does.”
“I wish he hadn’t run off. I’d have liked to talk to him.”
She smirks. “It didn’t look like you were going to talk to him.” She says. “It looked like you were going to kick his ass.”
I stare at her. “Why would I do that?’
She cocks an eyebrow. “You look so familiar.” It’s an accusation. I can feel it.
“You don’t.” I reply. “I’m Meegan Jones. Who’re you?”
She smiles. “Rachel.” She says, pointedly leaving off a last name.
“So Rachel,” I start. “What was up with White Jacket dude?”
Rachel takes a drag. “He was her stalker.” She says matter of fact.
“Really.” I say. “No wonder everyone got mad.”
She nods. “Yeah. Half of them think he did it. His name is Luis Finch, works at the 7-Eleven on Ashland. She used to go there sometimes 'til she found him in her closet one night. She got a restraining order. He posts angry love poems on the internet.”
I laugh. “Jesus.”
“Yup.” She says. “So... I’m still trying to place you.”
I shrug. “I work at Flagship.” I offer helpfully.
“You go to Loyola?"
“Nope.”
“Never.” Rachel says flatly.
“Sorry.”
“Where do you live? Did you used to live in the James Building?”
I sigh. “No. I live on Glenwood.”
“I could swear I saw you in the building, but it was a while ago and you had flaming red hair.” There’s a calculating look in her eyes and I don’t like it.
“I don’t think so. “ I say, but I’m looking at the ground.
“You must’ve known the roommates, Lexi and Sara.” Rachel winks. “It’s okay you know. I know ‘em too.” I smile nervously. Screw the cousin story. I decide to run with it and hope I don’t have to talk too much. I give a shrug that could mean yes. “I thought so.” She hisses. “How long since you partied?”
“Oh, like three years.” I say.
Her eyes go wide. “Don’t you miss the money?”
“Sometimes.”
She hits her head with her hand. “Oh, you got religion! I get it. Is that Schuyler Mills you were sitting with? It all makes sense now.”
Now I’m shocked. “How do you know him?”
A look of sympathy crosses her face. “It’s not like that, honey.” She takes my arm. “He has money that’s all, and his brother parties, and once his dad, great tippers. He’s the good one I’m told. I never knew him to party, but I guess he must have right? At least once. I mean, if he met you.”
I smile and nod. I’m going to have to do a little research to be sure, but I’m getting an idea of where this is going. “Yeah. He has these spells you know.”
“Oh I know.” She says conspiratorially. “Listen, you’ll have to call me sometime. I’d like to have lunch, reminisce. You can tell me who you dated, and maybe give me some pointers. Get my number from Lexi. I’m sure you keep up with her.”
“In the James building.” I nod.
“Yeah.” She smiles real big. “And by the way, I liked what you said up there. It moved me, real sweet. Meegan, you said?”
“Yes and thanks.”
Rachel gasps. “I remember you now!” She lowers her voice. “You used to go by Kelly right?” I smile and shrug, all noncommittal again. “So.” She whispers, real close. “Is Meegan you’re real name?”
“What do you think?” I ask, and then I’m distracted. Schuyler is just now walking slowly over. “Gotta go. See you around, Rachel.”
“Bye, sweetie.” She waves.
As quick as I can, I hustle to latch onto Schuyler’s arm and I walk/drag him back to the Escalade. I cannot wait to share my information, but as soon as he gets in the car he snaps at me. “What was that about?”
“That was the guy from...”
He cuts me off. “No. Why’d you cross yourself? You don’t believe in anything. I felt like an asshole. I felt like you were making fun of my religion and...”
Now I’m cutting him off. “I’m not mocking you, fuck, sorry. It just seemed like the right thing in the moment. I didn’t know what to do.”
He shakes his head. “I don’t know why you had to get up and talk. You didn’t really know the girl, and you made it sound like you did.”
I turn to him. “I had to see people’s faces.” I say. “And besides that, I’m getting to know her. It’s starting to come together. Are you going to stay mad for long? Because I’ve gotta research some things, and if you don’t want to help, then you’ll have to drop me at home.”
Schuyler starts the car and taps the wheel once or twice. “No. I’m already not really mad anymore.”
I reach over and mess up his hair because I just can’t help myself. “I’m sorry you thought I was mocking you. I was just ad-libing up there, you know?”
He bobs his head. “Yeah, okay. I get a little touchy I guess.”
I smile. “You’re perfect.”
Now he smiles. “Hardly.” He says but his face says ‘aw shucks’.
“So.” I go on. “Want to hear what I learned?”
“Sure.” He angles the car south onto the two lane street.
“Madeline Cross was an escort. I have to do some checking, but I’m pretty sure that’s what I found out. Also, the guy in the white jacket’s name is Luis Finch. He works at the 7-Eleven on Ashland, but which 7-Eleven on Ashland I don’t know. He was Mads’ stalker and the guy I plowed into outside the warehouse where she was killed.” I pause to appreciate the shocked look on Schuyler’s face. “There’s more. Mads lived in the James building, wherever that is, went to Loyola, had roommates, or possibly friends who were roommates with each other, named Lexi and Sara. Lexi and Sara are also mixed up in the escort thing AND, and this is the biggest and ever, AND Kelly, whether or not that’s me, was an escort too.” I look at him and waggle
my eyebrows.
“Holy shit.” He says.
“I know!” I say back. I’m giddy.
“Do you think that’s true?” His voice is all soft and serious.
“I don’t know.” I say brightly.
Tsk, he goes. “But do you think it could be? Like do you think you’d do things like that?”
“I don’t know Schuyler. Oh and Rachel, who is currently an escort, knows who you are, and she believes that you helped me get religion and took me away from all that.”
He looks startled. “How does she know me?”
I give a lecherous look. “How does she know you?”
“I have no idea, honest.” He says, and now he crosses himself. “You freak me out a little.” He admits.
“That’s as it should be, son.” I say. “Oh yeah, I need you to stop by my house anyway so I can change clothes, and I forgot you’re shirt and socks, they’re on my counter. I washed them and everything.” He smiles but he still looks nervous. “Hey.” I say to reassure him. “We’re making progress here. Everything will be alright.” I crack the window and light up a Camel.
“Yeah I know.” But he doesn’t sound convinced. He sounds like he’s silently re-evaluating whatever series of life choices he’s made that led him into this situation.
***
I'm sitting in a tall leather office chair on casters, angled so I can see over Schuyler's shoulder. Not that I need much of an angle. The monitor is twenty-seven inch plasma. I tap my fingers on the arm rest and get lost for a moment in the shine of his desk's high gloss, cherry finish. We're running a background check on Luis Finch, the kind you pay forty dollars for. I almost never go so far as to shell out actual cash for these things. You can get a person's last known address and telephone number for free, but Schuyler thought it'd be worth the cash to get a credit report and criminal history. Our earlier Google search turned up Luis's Facebook and Myspace, littered with angry love poetry as promised. Also his yahoo personal's file and a couple of references to him on other people's Facebooks, Myspaces etc. Interesting, anecdotal, but not as neat and clean as the credit report.
Together we've discovered that Luis loves photography, has four credit cards, three of which are over drawn, and lives on Dover Street. His work history is here too. It looks like he's been at 7-Eleven for about a year and a half, pretty good shelf life for a job like that. Additionally, it looks like he's been stalking Madeline for about ten months. Oh and he's composed a couple of electronica songs called Mad Glad and Going Mads, dork. I love the internet.
Next we tackle Madeline herself. There much less stuff here, but it’s more interesting. “Look at this.” Schuyler says opening up a link to the Tribune’s archives.
“Mads got busted.” I say.
“Yeah, in June.” He nods. At this point we’re both speed reading the article to find the next juicy bit first, so we can have the pleasure of announcing it to each other. “Kicked her out of the law program.” He says gravely.
“Put her on probation, more likely, they can’t kick her out for something like that can they?” I feel a little outrage in her behalf.
“I guess, ethics violation.”
“But she hadn’t taken the bar or anything. I’m sure that’s not legal.” I say. “Not if she had good grades.”
Schuyler shrugs. The article is frustratingly short. It tells what happened in the vaguest possible terms. There’s no mention of who she was busted with, if or when it goes to trail, even what she was charged with. It says, police bust suspected prostitution ring involving co-eds from Loyola and other universities. As I’m reading it I’m sort of surprised her name got mentioned at all. No one else’s did. It looks like a smear the more I think about it.
“Are there any more articles?" I ask impatiently. “What happened? Did it go to court? Was she sentenced? Any one else get named?”
“I’m looking.” Schuyler waves me off. “Not finding anything though.”
“Makes you think it didn’t stick.”
“Probably fucking someone important.” He sneers at the screen. I sense he’s got some guilt issues with sex and I wisely elect not to bring it up.
“Did you see her parents?” I ask. “They looked mortified. I imagine just one little article like this was enough to rock their world.”
Schuyler nods. “They looked pretty conservative.”
“You can’t tell by looks.”
He scoffs. “Don’t I know it.”
It’s like he’s begging me to bring it up isn’t it? “Tell me.”
His eyes dart from the screen to me. “Tell you what?”
I widen my eyes. “You’re issues with sex. What else?”
He blinks like he’s clearing his vision. “Why?”
“Huh.” I pause trying and failing to read his face. “It seemed like you wanted me to ask, so I did. I’ve been wrong before, guess I’m wrong now. Don’t tell me shit if you don’t want to.”
Schuyler leans back in his chair and stares at the screen. “What you said earlier about that girl knowing who I am. I’ve been thinking, and I’m sure she knows me from my dad or my brother. It’s bothering me. That’s all.”
“I’m sorry. “ I say. “Want to talk about it?”
He turns his chair to face me. “I... They...” He sighs. “What can I say? My dad’s a womanizer, at least in my opinion. And my brother, my twin by the way, Simon, tries to impress him. Not that I can judge them. I mean, I’m the crazy one. They’re both fine, and on top of that my dad pays for everything here, so I can’t say anything about the way he lives. Hearing that the girl knows them makes me automatically think one of them murdered your friend.” He laughs bitterly. “That’s just how my brain is though. Neither of them fits the physical description you gave of the killer, so I keep trying to choke back my anxiety over it... that’s all.” He smiles a wry smile. “Sorry I’m so weird.”
“Nonsense.” I say. “Perfectly reasonable. What about your mom?”
He shrugs. “Don’t know her. She left us when I was little. I remember she was pretty, but everybody says that don’t they? The absent mother was always pretty.”
“That’s just how kids see their parents, wonderful.” I sigh. “Well, this is depressing.”
He nods. “Kind of yeah.”
“So.” I say. “Change of topic, what’re you going to be when you grow up?”
He laughs. “I thought I’d try out trust fund baby. I think I’m qualified.”
“Okay so what else?”
“I never finished school, went crazy too soon. If I had, I’d maybe have a physics degree and work with my brother in R and D for dad’s company.”
“Which is?” I prompt.
“Milltech.”
This is like pulling teeth. “And what do they do?”
“Better mouse trap, that sort of thing.” He looks over and fiddles with the keyboard one handed, closing out our searches and leaving just the eerie, lightning desktop picture.
“So you’re good at physics?”
“Genius actually.” He grins. “Simon’s not nearly as smart, but he’s sane, and he’s not an idiot, so dad’s grooming him for corporate bureaucracy.”
“Okay.” I say. “What do you do then, besides live in a pretty apartment and grocery shop at three AM... and chase down shadows with me?”
He smiles. “I paint.”
Uh oh. I brace myself. This could suck. "Show me?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “No.”
I balk, but secretly I’m relieved. “No?” I mean what if he’s not any good? Or he could be great, but not to my tastes. He’d see it on my face and he’d never like me again.
“No.” He affirms. “You and everyone else can see them when I die.”
“Oh, hey, that’s never for me because I get to die first.”
“Bullshit.” He kicks my foot lightly. “You’ll live to one hundred and ten. Lots of ornery, promiscuous smokers live to one hundred and ten.”
I laugh
. “It’s getting late.”
“You mean early.” He says.
“See, I knew it. There had to be something wrong with you. You’re a day shifter at heart.”
“I’m an every shifter.” He says. “Insomnia.”
“I’m sure that’s not good for you.”
“Whatever.” He stands up and reaches out a hand to pull me to my feet. I except, but I guess he over estimates my weight, because I end up almost knocking him over. We grab each other for balance and fall painfully against the desk. He flushes red.
I try to smooth it out by continuing the conversation. “Whatever back.” I say. “Lack of sleep can be very hard on your body.” Hmm, I think I said that wrong. I step away from him, but Schuyler’s hand lingers on my lower back. I’m all warm from it. It’s so nice. I sigh. “Yeah I need to pick up some groceries so I should go now.”
“Yeah.” he says. His voice is all horse with some kind of emotion that I don’t try to interpret.
We’re quiet as he walks me through the cavernous living room and past the big, gleaming kitchen to the nine foot, double, oak front doors. “See you soon?” I say.
He nods, his hand resting on my shoulder. He’s always touching me this guy. “I’ll call you.” He says opening the door.
Before he can stop me, I wrap my arms tight around his waist in a huge hug. I can’t say why, just that I want to. He responds but gingerly, like he’s afraid to break me. Oh well. I need a cigarette.
Chapter Six
It's finally dark in here and now I have to get up. Damn it. I haven't slept more than forty five minutes at a stretch all day, fucking sunshine. At least my stupid neighbor was at work. There's no telling how exhausted I'd be if I'd had to listen to his stereo all day. He's home now though, turd burglar. Thud, ch, thud, ch, thud, ch. Thing with music through a wall is it’s all basically electronica when you can’t hear the treble. Who knows? Maybe his taste is okay. I can’t tell. At least it’s not a video game. Those sound tracks drive me nuts.
I’m up so early I have time for coffee. I stumble through the process of starting it, and collapse onto my couch to stare uselessly at the walls 'til its ready. I’m just starting to feel human when the phone vibrates. I check the number. Its Melody. Did I miss an appointment? Probably. I steal myself for apology making and answer the phone.
Chasing Shadows Page 9