“Unless she wasn’t trying to set you up. Unless she knew the girl and this had nothing to do with you.”
“What?” Sulzberger whispered. “She accidentally killed the girl?”
“If we look at the big picture, then Kim fits the profile of a suspect. She wanted revenge, she wanted you out of her life, she had access to the basement, and you made her angry. She smashed your car with a baseball bat a week before the attack. She has no alibi. At this point, without the evidence that X exists, she’s our best chance.” Hunter’s pen hovered. “Maybe she even knew the girl in the basement. She has many ties to community groups—ones that would deal with young women that sell their bodies for money.”
Sulzberger’s mouth dropped open. “But she said she was on a hike?”
“And conveniently, there’s no evidence of her whereabouts.” Hunter flicked open another file. “She refused to come into this office, but she has agreed to meet with me. If she really did this, then she will want to know where the case is heading, and whether or not she’s a suspect. Her curiosity is going to give us a chance. She’ll want to discuss the case with me, and that’ll be our chance to gather evidence.”
“It can’t be.” Sulzberger shook his head, mouth still hanging open. “Please, not her. Not Kim.”
Chapter 15
The frail woman that was waiting for Tex Hunter on the park bench looked out of place.
The park around her was abuzz with children’s laughter, a light spray from the Buckingham Fountain filled the breeze, and an atmosphere of joy hung around the park. Hunter couldn’t help but smile as a child ran past him with a red balloon, giggling as it bounced on the string. That pure joy was infectious.
And why wouldn’t the children be joyous? Here, in Grant Park, full of green space, flowers, trees and freedom, a child could escape the restrictions of the city that lay close by. The large park was in distinct contrast to the skyscrapers that lay close behind it; here, life felt open and spontaneous. Sitting on the edge of the Chicago Harbor, the feeling of freedom abounded. There was a sense of adventure, a sense that one could achieve anything if they were brave enough to sail out into Lake Michigan and take on the wide world.
The sun poked out from behind the cloud on the fall afternoon, bringing a sense of warmth with it, but even that warmth couldn’t comfort Kim Sulzberger.
A former army nurse, she was used to not wearing makeup, not spending hours in front of the mirror, or caring about her appearance at all. When she first returned to civilian life, she enjoyed getting dressed up, enjoyed feeling like a princess again, but now, in the midst of the chaos, after months of her marriage falling apart, her cosmetics cabinet had grown cobwebs around it. Her hairbrush had about the same amount of use.
When she’d woken up that morning, in anticipation for the meeting with her husband’s lawyer, she’d tried to brush her hair. It was a frazzled mess; she’d pulled hard to get the knots out of the tangled chaos, but no amount of anti-frizz spray made it less painful.
“Mrs. Sulzberger?” Hunter approached the woman waiting on the bench. Her arms and legs were crossed, her eyes hidden behind a pair of large sunglasses.
“Hello.” She looked up and attempted to smile, but her mouth cracked in the corners. It had been months since she’d last tried that expression.
“Thank you for finding the time to meet, Mrs. Sulzberger. I’ve got to say—I was happy when you suggested we meet here. Any chance to get out into the sunshine and absorb some vitamin D is a good one.” He sat down next to her on the wooden park bench, and she shuffled slightly to her right, away from him.
“Call me Kim,” she stated in a tone that was neither friendly nor attacking. “I’m not here to make small talk with you, Mr. Hunter; I’m here to talk about Robert only. What your parents did to those girls was awful, and I don’t want to talk with you any longer than I have to. I want to know what Robert’s been saying. Everything. I want transcripts of what he’s said.”
Hunter squinted. “I must tell you that anything discussed with a client is covered by attorney-client privilege, so I can’t discuss anything that he hasn’t said to you directly.”
“But I’m Robert’s wife.”
“Estranged wife.”
“Still married by law.”
“And I’m still bound by law not to discuss with you my conversations with him.”
She sat upright. “I’m here talking to you because I want to help my husband. I love him, even though it’s hard for us to talk at the moment. We’ve been through a lot, a lot of pain and heartache, and we haven’t talked about anything of substance in a long time. Maybe there’s a second chance for us. He’s in a lot of trouble, and it hurts me to see him so sad. I’m angry with what he’s done to that girl, in our house, but I still want to help him. He’s still the father of my daughter.” She stared at Hunter. “I want to know where the case is heading. I know things about Robert, things that may change this case.”
“Such as?”
“I know why he’s in this mess.”
“Go on.”
“Before all this happened, Robert was having a lot of trouble with where he was in life. He was lost. He had dedicated his life to helping others, serving his community, and when he finally made a decision that would benefit himself, when he finally put himself first, the people that he helped attacked him. He was persecuted for doing something that was good for the wider community, but bad for a small section of people. It hit him hard, and he fell into a deep hole, and I didn’t think that either of us would ever make it through, but then I started seeing a change in him.”
“What sort of change?”
“With all the trouble that we went through, we decided to take a break from our marriage. I suggested it. I said we would still live together, but we were free to see other people, as long as we didn’t bring them home. He was reluctant, but I told him that it was for the best. After a while, he accepted it. I know that he started looking outside the home for support, and I know he found it. I instantly saw the change in him. He was dressing better, smelling better, going to the gym. He was a changed man.”
“What about you? Did you start seeing another man?”
She looked away, rubbed the tip of her nose, and crossed one leg over the other. “Not a man.”
“A woman?”
“It’s… It was complicated. We weren’t—I mean; I didn’t have a real relationship with anyone.” She brushed a strand of hair behind her ear. “Even though I wanted the break, even though I was meeting someone, I was heartbroken by what Robert did. The happier he looked, the more it hurt. I felt like I was the one being left behind, and he was off living an exciting life, even though I pushed for it.”
“What did you do about those feelings?”
“Nothing.” She shook her head. “But I should’ve done something. I should’ve made him pay for it.”
“What do you mean by ‘made him pay for it’?” Hunter leaned forward.
She turned to look at him directly again, her stare almost cutting through him. “I didn’t have anything to do with what he did to that prostitute. I didn’t even know that he was seeing prostitutes. What could he get from her that I couldn’t provide? Sure, she was younger, but that was it. I was right there. In his house. Why did he have to see hookers to get that?”
Hunter didn’t answer.
“I’m asking a question of you. Why did he do that?”
“What do you mean by ‘prostitute’?”
“I assumed she was a prostitute. How else could you explain it?”
“Did you know the woman found in your basement?” Hunter had slowed his speech.
“Me? No. Of course not. No. I’ve never seen her before, but I think Robert was seeing prostitutes. Hookers. Escorts—whatever the right term is for them these days. I thought she was another one of his paid helpers. Was she a prostitute?”
Again, Hunter didn’t respond.
“I read online on a website that there was no eviden
ce to say that they slept together before she died. Wait…” Her hand covered her mouth. “So that means that Robert hired her? He tortured her like some sort of kinky fantasy? Is that what this was? A kinky sex session gone wrong?”
Hunter shook his head. “What did he talk to you about?”
“I’m asking you—is that what happened? Was this some sort of dungeon fantasy? Oh my. This is worse than I thought. In my own house. In my basement.”
“What did Robert tell you?”
“Robert and I didn’t talk about anything in the end.” The tears began to build in her eyes, but she fought them back.
A woman with a stroller walked close to them, close enough to overhear their conversation, but that didn’t stop Hunter.
“Did you want him out of your life?”
“About one week before all this happened, I asked him to leave the house, move out to an apartment.”
“And what did he say?”
“He refused to leave. He said that this was his home and he wasn’t going anywhere.”
“So you devised a plan to have him sent to prison?”
“Pardon?” She stopped all movement in shock. “What are you saying? That I did this?”
“It’s very convenient that you were on a two-night hike by yourself when this happened. You drop your daughter off at your mother’s house, and then no one else sees you. No alibi and no phone reception. That’s very convenient. Nobody can verify your whereabouts, and you don’t strike me as the hiking type.”
“My therapist recommended hiking. He said I needed to get out into nature. Away from my phone. Disconnect. He said that social media was making everything worse for me.” Her voice was frantic. “I didn’t expect Robert to lose it like this when I was gone. I didn’t expect this.”
“If he lost it.”
“Are you saying that he didn’t do it? I’m confused.”
“I’m saying that it’s very coincidental that you were away for your first two-night hike in ten years, with no one there for an alibi, and then this happens to the man that you want out of your house.”
She bolted upright, shocked by the accusation. “I didn’t have anything to do with this.”
“If he was here, what would you say to him right now?”
“That he’s my husband and I never wanted to share him.” She hesitated for a moment, shook her head, gripped her purse, stood, and marched away from him, back towards the city, leaving a nervous feeling in her wake.
Hunter sat forward on the park bench, elbows resting on his knees, stunned by the final statement of Kim Sulzberger.
And now he has a suspect.
Chapter 16
“Fore!”
Patrick Hunter watched the ball from the tee flowing magically through the air, slicing like a slow-motion bullet shot from a sniper rifle. Despite his failings at the game, despite his anger towards his clubs, he kept returning for that unique feeling of power, technique, mastery, and precision all rolled into one single shot. That one perfect shot a round, that one perfect shot a week, wiped out all the other hundreds of mistimed, misjudged, and misdirected swings.
“We’re on a driving range. There’s nobody out there.” Tex Hunter shook his head.
“You’re right.” Patrick grinned broadly. “But I always yell that when I hit it so sweetly, even on the driving range. It’s just a natural reaction when you can hit a ball this well, but you wouldn’t know that feeling, would you?”
“You know, when I play golf, I always carry an extra pair of trousers in my buggy.”
“Why?” Patrick looked confused.
“Just in case I get a hole in one.” Hunter stepped up to the tee, took a practice swing, and then hit the ball just as sweetly.
The men followed its trajectory, watching as it took one bounce, then another, and then slowly out rolled Patrick’s shot.
“A lucky swing.” Patrick groaned.
“Luck has nothing to do with it.” Hunter smiled. “That shot was a combination of chance, fate, and good fortune.”
“All those words are synonyms for luck.” Patrick laughed. “And that’s probably why you’re a very good lawyer.”
Patrick Hunter was a thoughtful speaker—his softly-spoken voice, slow sentence structure, and hypnotic green eyes captured attention everywhere he went. Although he looked meek against Hunter’s broad stature, his intelligence more than made up for his physical shortcomings. Patrick’s younger brother was blessed with more height, more width, and more speed, but while Tex Hunter spent his high school years playing football and smashing things, Patrick spent his time at school studying, his nose always in a book, and he hasn’t stopped ever since.
And that was why he was a very effective criminal psychiatrist.
“Had any good clients lately, Patrick?” Hunter stepped up to the practice tee again, watching other balls fly off the tees around him in the half-filled driving range, darting towards the distance markers. Just after 8 p.m. on the fall evening, the natural light was being replaced by the massive floodlights that highlighted the 300-yard fairway in front of them.
The men had taken up position in their usual spot—the bottom level, furthest from the stairs, of the Diversity Driving Range, north of Downtown, and close enough to Lake Michigan to feel the cool breeze. Giant oaks lined the edges of the fairway, shut off by a large chain-link fence, and the city skyline dominated behind them. The heaters had been switched on, the radio turned down, and the distractions were at a minimum.
Patrick Hunter waited for the man next to them to pack up his clubs. The man was dressed in the standard middle-class set—shorts, sneakers, polo shirt, and baseball cap, with expensive clubs to match.
The brothers had always felt that they could talk freely there, as most other customers were too obsessed with watching their balls bounce in the distance to notice the men or listen to anything they had to say. It almost felt like they were transported back to the time before their lives were torn apart, back to a time when they were part of a normal family, doing normal things.
“I’ve got one client that’s talking about committing more murders when he steps out of prison. Of course, I’ve reported him and added the notes to my report, but the parole board is going to review his file in a week.”
“Do you think he’ll get out?”
“I hope not. One of the people he talked about killing was me.” Patrick laughed with a mixture of humor, nerves, and unease.
While his younger brother went into criminal law to defend people like his father, Patrick Hunter went into criminal psychiatry to understand why his father acted the way he did. Unlike his younger brother, he’d accepted long ago that his father was guilty of being a serial killer. Acceptance was his key to moving past the pain that his family provided.
Ten years older, Patrick had felt responsible for his youngest sibling. As a young adult, going through a trial televised across the country was hard for him, but the infamy landed him many girls on Friday nights. To try to look at the trial through the eyes of a ten-year-old would have been devastating.
But the experience only hardened the younger sibling, and now, Patrick looked to Hunter for support.
“Any further leads with Maxwell?”
“We finally got something.” Patrick bit his lip, nodding. “He checked into a police station last week, in Englewood of all places. I don’t know if he was arrested or if he went in of his own accord; they wouldn’t tell me. All they would tell me was that he’s off the missing persons’ list, and doesn’t want to be contacted. He’s eighteen so he can do what he chooses.” His head dropped. “It was good to hear he’s still alive, but I wish I knew more. It’s been over a year since I’ve seen my son. Do you know what that does to you? It breaks you. It hits you where it hurts.” He tapped his chest. “He’s my family. He’s everything to me.”
“You did all you could. At least you know now that he’s alive. That’s a start. He may take some time before he comes back to you.”
&nbs
p; “I hope he does. I hope he forgives his mother.” Patrick shook his head again and looked back out to the driving range. “How’s the case with the politician coming along?”
Although Patrick talked about emotions and thoughts all day long, they were not his. Talking about his feelings, the way life was going for him, had always been difficult. Hunter was the only man he felt comfortable even talking to, but he redirected the conversation to his brother’s profession to avoid going any deeper.
“He went from weekend warrior to weekday slave.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Why do you always have to question my great lines? Why can’t you accept them for what they are?” Hunter swung the club again, the smash of his driver echoing through the air.
“Because there’s always something more to words. There’s always a meaning behind them.” Patrick practiced his swing. “And what sort of brother would I be if I didn’t question everything you did?”
“Spoken like a true psychiatrist,” Hunter stated, swinging his club hard again, aggressively, and then watching his ball sail well left, landing near the fence. “I meant that he went from a life of adrenaline in the army to a life of thrills on reality television to a mundane suburban existence. His job on the City Council, with all the time he had to spend chained to a desk, was in contrast to life as a sergeant and celebrity. That’s bound to turn anyone crazy. Deep down, he seems like a nice guy though.”
“Just because you’re nice doesn’t mean you’re a good person. Some of the nicest people I’ve ever met have been killers.”
“Remind me never to attend any more of your dinner parties.”
“Not in my personal life. At work.” Patrick groaned. “All I’m saying is don’t be tricked by a nice smile and nice words. They don’t mean anything. Action means something. Rude people can make a bigger difference in the world than nice people.”
Power and Justice Page 9