Sulzberger and X had been friends for six months, but still, he didn’t know her name. She insisted that no names were to be exchanged between them. He only knew her as X.
“We have to protect our privacy, our identity,” she’d said. “What we’re doing is too risky, too illegal. It would risk it all if you knew my name.”
Sulzberger didn’t care. X was giving him what he needed—an escape from the life that he’d built. Their moments in the car after a steal were the highlights of his mundane days. He would think about them all week; the way she couldn’t keep her hands off him, the risk of being caught in the car, the adrenaline still coursing through his veins after a theft.
But he’d had his fill now. He was done with that life. Mundane was enticing to the tired and worn-out people of the world.
Choosing his moment to perfection, Sulzberger bent low, lifting a new laptop off the bench in one fluent motion, tugging just hard enough to pull the security cord from the wall. He tucked the silver computer under the arm furthest from the sight of the shop assistant.
The assistant didn’t even look his way. No one did.
As he approached the automatic doors, he felt no sense of exhilaration, no charge in his heartbeat, and when he realized that he would walk out of the shop without a hassle, he coughed brashly and switched the laptop into his most visible arm, gathering the immediate attention of the teenager.
“Hey!” the boy yelled. “Where are you going with that?”
Sulzberger’s reflexes had sprung into action—his muscles clenching, hands tightly gripping the possession, his legs exploding him forward out the door.
The teenager reacted, leaping into motion after the fleeing thief.
X lunged her left foot into the boy’s path. With a tangle of lanky arms and legs, he tumbled, grasping at X’s jumper on his way down to the floor. Sensing the chance to slow him even more, she feigned a fall, landing on top of his awkward frame, pressing her body firmly to his.
The teenager was stunned with a flurry of hormonal activity, forgetting about the chase for the computer, his face flush with an embarrassing redness.
With deliberate slowness, X raised her body off the teenager’s, the hair from her messy wig over his face, maintaining eye contact as she rose. He was slow to rise, having completely forgotten about his chase, and offered a stuttering apology for the mishap.
It took a few moments before the teenager realized that Sulzberger had well and truly escaped out the door, and when it dawned on him, he snapped his face toward the exit to see the doors wide open.
After apologizing for the fall, X left while the teen began his phone report to his boss, and then to the police.
Outside, in the smoky Chicago air, she searched for her man and found him waiting for her at their predetermined meeting point next to a bus station two blocks away, leaning against his car.
“What the hell was that all about?”
“What a rush, eh?” Sulzberger grinned as he pulled off his mustache and removed his sunglasses, forcing them into his backpack covering the stolen laptop. He stepped forward to embrace her, but she reacted, stepping back.
“What a rush? Are you serious? We almost got done! That kid saw you walk straight out of the shop with the computer!” She didn’t close the gap between them.
“We didn’t get caught.”
“It’s not about getting caught! It’s about getting the goods with minimal fuss.”
“And having fun.”
“A criminal record is not fun. Trust me—I’ve seen enough criminals to know that it destroys your life!”
“But it’s a good way to finish, don’t you think?”
“Finish?” X looked at the backpack sitting on the ground next to his car, the top of the silver product poking out of the bag, then looked at Robert. His pupils were dilated, his hands were shaking, and a wide grin was spread across his face. “What are you talking about? We can’t finish now.”
“I’m sorry, but that’s it for me.” He leaned forward. “I told you last time that I could only do it once more. It’s been amazing, but this is it. I told you that this couldn’t be a long-term activity.”
“I didn’t think you were serious.”
“I’m serious—I’m out. It’s been an amazing ride, but we’ve stolen enough. This isn’t healthy. I need to confront my emotions, not cover them up with distractions.”
X stared at him with confusion.
She had never loved a man this much. She had never felt this close to anyone.
Even though he didn’t know her name, she knew everything about him. A quick Google search had revealed everything that she needed to know. The countless nights of internet surfing that followed revealed everything that she didn’t need to know.
“What are you going to do instead? Start visiting prostitutes?”
“Pardon?” He looked at her strangely. “Why would you even say that?”
“That’s how most middle-aged men get their kicks, right? Craft beer and prostitutes. Your marriage has broken down, so you chase hookers and then drown your thoughts afterward,” she whispered, blinking back the tears.
“How would you know about my marriage?”
“You wouldn’t be sleeping with someone in the back of your car if your marriage was good.” She pointed towards the back seat, then folded her arms across her chest. “You can’t stop. Not now. We’re such a good team. What about us?”
“Us? There is no ‘us’. You won’t even tell me your name! How could you possibly think that there’s something between us if you won’t tell me anything?”
She drew a breath. “My name is—”
“Wait.” He held up his hand. “I don’t want to know. Not now. This is over. I—we—have to stop this. We’re pushing the boundaries too far. Kim is starting to get really jealous, and I don’t want to make her angry. She’s not a nice person when she’s angry, and I’d hate to think what she’d do to me, or you.”
“No,” she whispered. “Not now. Please.”
“It’s been amazing, but it has to end here.”
“Think about the rush! Think about the thrill of it being dark, not knowing if the cops are coming, or if the security cameras have seen us… Think about the kick! You said it yourself—that’s why you do this. It’s the most exciting part of your dull life! Where else could you find something to match this?”
“Maybe dull is good sometimes.” He shrugged, standing tall. “Thank you, X. I mean it, thank you. It’s been incredible.”
A lustful affair with her would have been easier. It would have been easier to explain as well. How would he even start to explain to his wife what he had done over the past six months? But if he wanted a second chance with Kim, a second chance as a family, he would have to be honest, and he planned to be when the time was right.
“Have a good life, X. It’s been fun.”
After Sulzberger took his car keys out of his pocket, he flattened down his shirt, made sure it was tucked in, entered his car, and then began his journey home, away from the world of thrills and adrenaline, back to his middle-class, middle-aged world.
“She doesn’t even love you,” X whispered as he drove away. “But I do. And I’m going to make sure that she can’t have you.”
Chapter 14
Present day.
The man that sat in Tex Hunter’s office was a shadow of his former self.
His shoulders had slumped, his shirt was un-ironed, and his face was unshaven. If he’d had much hair left, that would most likely be scruffy as well.
The whole city knew how much Sulzberger had fallen apart. He was the lead story on every news bulletin, the lead talking point for every morning show, the lead conversation at every water cooler. If he sneezed, the city knew about it.
“At least you made bail.” Hunter stepped into the office, holding two cups of coffee, looking at Sulzberger slumped in an armchair in front of his desk. “How has the council taken the news?”
“I’ve
been forced to take a leave of absence.” Sulzberger drew a long breath. “I needed the break anyway.”
“By the sounds of it, you needed the break a year ago.”
With an office on the twentieth floor of a Downtown Chicago building, off busy West Jackson Boulevard, Hunter felt a part of the action, a part of the ever-bustling fight to work in the city.
He loved his office. It was his place to think. His place to move through a case. The space filled him with pride, a testament to the ability to overcome the worst odds to make something of his life.
But his office also left him within striking distance of the media news teams. If something on this case broke, they would have news crews in his building’s foyer before he could ride the lift down.
There was enough room between his desk and the door to dance the waltz, if he ever felt the need, or drink in solitude on the leather couch to the left, which he often felt the need. Law books lined the right wall, and a signed Michael Jordan jersey hung on the left. He’d never liked having stuff to fill a room. He would much rather sit in an empty room than one full of clutter. As such, his large dark oakwood table looked like it’d barely been used. His assistant insisted that he fill some of the space on his desk or his clients would doubt whether he did any work at all. As a compromise, he left a pile of files next to his computer monitor, but the gathering dust was a giveaway that they were nothing more than an ornament.
Hunter stopped at the large window to take in the view of Downtown Chicago, squinting in the natural light for just a few moments, and then sat down behind his hefty desk, comfortable in his black leather chair. He opened a file and scanned his eyes over the notes.
“We’ve had a long think about how to approach the not guilty verdict. We’ve got a play that we can go with, but first, I wanted to ask you about a plea deal.”
“No deal.”
“Will you even consider it?”
“No deal. Never. I’m innocent. I didn’t kill that woman. I had nothing to do with it. I won’t even entertain the idea of a deal. I don’t know how many times I have to say this—I didn’t do it.”
Hunter nodded. “If the prosecution presents a deal, I’m obliged to bring it to you. That’s how the system works. If they—”
“I’m not interested in what they’ve offered. What I’m interested in is how you’re going to play this? What’s your angle for this case?”
“X is our best chance of getting you off.”
Sulzberger threw his head back. He didn’t want to accept it. He didn’t want to accept any of it. “Why her?”
“X is our best chance to create an element of doubt in the courtroom. That’s what will get you off the charges—doubt. A reasonable amount of doubt in the courtroom. The prosecution doesn’t have a witness for you committing the crime, doesn’t have a witness that places you at the scene at the time of death, and doesn’t have direct evidence that you committed the act. That leaves the window open to create doubt in the minds of the jurors, but we have to be able to exploit it. We have to be able to take a window of doubt and rip it open.”
“But why her?”
“If we can prove that she exists, then we can frame the argument that it would be reasonable that this woman broke into your house and left the deceased in your basement. We might even be able to suggest that she had a key to your house, which makes our argument even stronger.” Hunter looked at his notepad for a moment. “But we have to be able to prove she exists.”
“I’ve thought over and over and over again about what I know.” Sulzberger rubbed his fingers along his brow. “I guess she’s a professional. She would have to be earning a wage because she was always well dressed, always had new, expensive wigs, and her makeup was perfect. Yesterday, I walked through a lot of the shops that we stole from, with my disguise on, hoping to see her, but I saw nothing.”
“That doesn’t help.”
“I’m just telling you what I know. And that’s all I can think of.”
“The jury isn’t going to buy that. If we present X as it is now, then it looks like you’re making someone up, and trying to divert the attention away from you. It’ll do more damage than good. No, we need evidence that she exists.” Hunter held his pen over his notepad. Although Esther had told him that he needed to start using the computer to take notes, he couldn’t resist using the old-fashioned pen and paper. He found there was much more freedom of thought, much more creativity, in the use of a pen. “Take me through the last time you saw the mystery woman.”
“The last time I saw X, we had just stolen a laptop from the Best Buy electrical store in the Joffco Square Mall and were outside the bus station on Roosevelt and Jefferson, next to my car. I told her that it was over, and I didn’t want to see her anymore. She seemed really upset, but not vengeful. I didn’t think she could do something like this.”
“Did you keep that laptop? Perhaps we could search for a fingerprint match?”
“No, I got rid of it. I left it at the charity shop like I always did.”
“I need you to list all the moments that you interacted with her.” Hunter placed a piece of paper in front of Robert. “We can then start to look at the CCTV footage for the times and places that you said she was there, and see if we can find anything.”
“I doubt very much that you will be able to find anything.” Sulzberger began writing the dates and places he could remember. “She was very good at what she did. It was always wigs, hats, glasses, even fake noses. The whole works. I barely recognized her when she walked up to me sometimes, and she always seemed to know where the cameras were.”
“Which means that she would’ve had access to that information.” Hunter stroked his chin. “Do you think she was a cop?”
“She was too prim and proper to be a cop. She could’ve worked in the department, but there was no way she was a detective or a beat cop.”
“Is there anything that might be able to lead us to her? Anything at all?”
“I’ve thought about it so many times. What she said, what she wore, where we were—but there was no pattern to it. Even with all this time to think, I’ve come up with nothing other than what I’ve already told you. I knew nothing about her. The best I can do is go to all the places that we stole from together and wait for her to return.”
Hunter looked down at the paper and flicked through the file to his left.
“As your lawyer, I’m obliged to advise you of the way to proceed. Right now, that would be to take a deal.”
Sulzberger grimaced. “Go on—if you must tell me. How long is the deal?”
“First-degree murder with a minimum sentence of twenty years in a minimum security prison.”
“Twenty years in prison? No way!” He leaped forward, stood up and started wandering around the room, his hand rubbing the back of his neck. “Not a chance. I wouldn’t last a year. You know that. I’ve already got a target on my back. The only way I would survive twenty years is in solitary confinement, and at forty-six years old, that doesn’t sound appealing. If I did survive, I’d be over sixty-six by the time I got out!”
“If we take this to court as it is now, we’re done. We can’t win the case as it sits. That’s the cold, hard truth.”
“Then it’s over. I’m dead.” He fell back into his chair, defeat etched on his face. “They’ll stab me before I can even get to my next birthday. Lucy will grow up without a father.”
“The best we can do is present another possible suspect to the prosecution, even a slither of evidence that X exists, and that’ll be enough to create the doubt in their minds. If we want a better deal, then we need to convince the prosecution that we’ve got a better case. They’ll only start to negotiate if they start to think they can lose this case.”
“Does that still mean prison time?”
“We can look at second-degree murder, and the minimum sentence for that still involves four years, but it depends on how well we present the case. With this sort of crime, any deal we strike will in
volve prison time, with part of it suspended, but that’s our best option. We can’t deny that the deceased was in your house. She was on your property, in your basement, while you were the only one home. The best we can push for is a suspended sentence.”
“Insanity?”
“Are you suggesting that you attacked her while having a PTSD episode?”
“I don’t know.” Sulzberger’s shoulders slumped further. “Would that help?”
“Possibly.”
“No, no. Forget I said that. I would never use that to get something.” He stared at the floor. “What can we reduce the sentence down to?”
“To get a reduced sentence, we have to trick the prosecution into thinking we have an amazing case. We have to make them think that we’re taking this to court and fighting it on the basis of a new suspect. They have to start to doubt their ability to win the case in court.”
“What would you tell them?”
“That we have a second suspect. It’s possible that, even if you were guilty, you didn’t work alone. There was someone else involved. We would have to find some CCTV footage that indicates that someone was entering your home—perhaps the view from a neighbor’s house.”
“But what happens if we can’t find X?”
“Then we find another suspect.”
“Who?”
“Your wife.” Hunter’s response had been blunt.
“Kim? No way. Not her. No.” Sulzberger shook his head. “She’s prone to violent outbursts, but not her. I’m not going to try to pin this on my wife. She was out on a hike. It couldn’t have been her.”
“Entertain the thought that it could be her for one moment.” Hunter paused, narrowing his eyes on Robert. “And then tell me why she would’ve tried to set you up.”
“I don’t know.” Sulzberger looked away. “Our lives fell apart. I think she would’ve known about X. She would’ve sensed it, and I guess, in the end, she hated me. But I don’t think she would’ve killed for it. I mean, why not just kill me and make it look like an accident? Poison me, perhaps. It makes no sense that she would’ve done that to the girl in the basement.”
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