The Last Night Out

by Catherine O'Connell

  ‘You had an affair with a man,’ she said, surprising herself with her calm delivery of the statement.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Have there been others?’

  ‘Yes.’

  That’s when Carol Anne lost it. She threw herself at him, striking his chest with her fists. He took the blows without even trying to stop her. ‘You’re telling me our marriage is a lie,’ she screamed. ‘You bastard. You bastard.’ When she realized the violence of what she was doing, she dropped her hands to her sides and stared at him through teary eyes. ‘What about AIDS, Michael? What about me? Did you ever think about infecting me? Did you think of that?’

  ‘I always practiced safe sex,’ he said matter-of-factly.

  ‘Is that supposed to console me?’ She went to the table and sat down, resting her forehead in her hands. ‘You said this was about Angie in a way. What way?’

  ‘I saw Angie the night she was murdered. In a gay bar.’

  ‘What? I don’t understand.’ Carol Anne’s head came out of her hands and she stared at him in confusion. ‘Why are you telling me this now?’

  He stretched his hands toward her, opening and closing them as if reaching for something unattainable, his eyes rimmed red as he fought back tears of his own. ‘I had a visit from Detective O’Reilly this morning. Someone saw me talking to her in the bar.’ His shoulders hunched and he continued. ‘The night of your party for Maggie, after the card game broke up, I was feeling needy, so I went into the city to look for …’ He took a deep breath to fuel his next words. ‘Well, I went to a few places. Finally, I stopped in this place called The Zone, and who do I see there but Angie. She was totally messed up, but not too messed up to figure out why I was there.

  ‘She made some comment about the uselessness of marriage and left. I finished my drink and got out of there. Then at Angie’s funeral service, I saw this guy who had been eyeing me in The Zone that night. I was pretty sure he hadn’t seen me, so I decided I’d better not go to Angie’s parents after the service – just in case he showed up there.’

  ‘So there was no medical emergency that day?’

  ‘No,’ he admitted, looking her directly in the eyes. ‘But it gets worse. They want me to come in for a lineup. Supposedly, there’s some witness who can put me in the park carrying Angie’s body. Which is impossible, because I wasn’t there.’

  ‘A lineup? You can’t go in for a lineup. What if someone saw you? Think of what that could mean to your reputation.’

  ‘I know,’ he said, sounding defeated.

  ‘But Michael, when you came home that morning, you made love to me. It felt like you really meant it. Were you faking it?’

  ‘No. You have to understand how conflicted I am. I love you with all my heart. After seeing Angie in the bar, I got in the car and started driving just to think things through. I drove all the way to Wisconsin border. All I could think about was how horrible it would be to lose you and our family, and it scared the living shit out of me. You and the kids are the most important things in my life. So I made a decision to tell you everything and go into therapy to fight this problem. As soon as I made the decision, all I could think of was getting back home and making love to you. I want us to stay together. That’s the truth.’

  Carol Anne barely drew breath as she analyzed the situation. Her husband had just confessed to sleeping with men. That was devastating enough, but on top of that he was suspected of murdering Angie. Which was worse, she wondered, her husband being gay or being a murder suspect? She decided being a murder suspect presented the greater threat to their family at the moment. She could picture the headlines. Married north suburban doctor, renowned plastic surgeon, frequenter of gay bars, suspect in murder. It wouldn’t matter if he was guilty or innocent, he would lose his clientele. The damage would be done in the eyes of the public. And what about Cara and Eva? How would the other children treat them knowing their father was under suspicion for such a crime?

  If Michael’s therapy succeeded, which she wanted to think it would, what good would that do them if his career was ruined?

  The most critical thing was protecting her children from any harm. Angie’s case was high profile, and she couldn’t risk Michael being associated with it. She went to her husband and massaged the back of his neck the way she used to when he came home after long days of interning. She would take care of this if it took all her wiles and then some.

  He could not be part of a lineup. That was all there was to it.

  ‘Don’t worry, Michael. Everything is going to be OK,’ she reassured him. And it was going to be OK. She would see to it. Things were so much easier once you knew what you were battling.

  THIRTY-FOUR

  Ron

  With Kozlowski out after yet another sleepless night with the bad tooth, Ron had gone on his own to visit to the Evanston medical offices of Dr Michael Niebaum. Medical offices. Talk about a euphemism. The waiting room was more like a hotel lobby, right down to the coffee bar and the marble finishes. Or maybe a bordello, considering all the good-looking babes passing through.

  The good doctor had agreed to see him right away. He’d come clean when O’Reilly told him he was seen speaking to Angie in The Zone. But then he actually had the cojones to give O’Reilly some song and dance about driving to Wisconsin afterwards to do some thinking. More likely he’d driven east to Belmont Harbor and not north to the land of milk and cheese. The good news was Niebaum had agreed to a lineup. The bad news was O’Reilly needed to locate the peripatetic Ralph to make that lineup happen.

  Now he was back at Area 3, waiting for his regular breakfast of aspirin and coffee to kick in. His phone rang, and when he picked up he was surprised to hear the voice of Niebaum’s wife. He pictured the pretty, soft-spoken woman trying to cover her worry when they spoke in the parking lot on Sunday. Even if she was a liar, his heart went out to her for her being married to such a total asshole.

  ‘What can I do for you, Mrs Niebaum?’

  ‘Detective O’Reilly, it’s imperative that I speak with you as soon as possible. Could you come out to the house?’

  Imperative. Strong word. Maybe she was ready to confess that her husband hadn’t arrived home any time near midnight that night. She was a little late for that. Or was there something else she wanted to share with him? Though he had just gotten back from the northern suburbs, his head was throbbing and any excuse to get out of the ‘office’ worked for him. It had been a late night at the neighborhood tap.

  ‘I’m on my way,’ he said.

  The cigarette burned to the quick between her fingers. Quitting again is going to be really hard, she thought as she stubbed out the last embers in a saucer. After listening to Michael’s soulful confession, she had convinced him to go back to work. What were they going to do? Stare at each other? The moment he left she had called Detective O’Reilly. Now she had some magic to perform.

  The sound of Michael, Jr, crying upstairs caused a curse to slip from her mouth. She’d been optimistic to think he’d sleep much longer. She went up to the baby’s room and found him standing in his crib, his small fingers grasping the rails firmly, his face red with the anger of abandonment. Upon seeing his mother, his tears stopped like a faucet being shut off and a beaming smile lit his countenance. It was his first time standing. An unstaunched wave of love flowed through her at the sight. ‘My little miracle boy,’ she said, lifting him from the crib. ‘You will never know what a true miracle you are.’

  She was changing his diaper when the doorbell chimed. She hurriedly finished and rushed down the stairs with the baby clenched in her arms. The door opened to a tired-looking Detective O’Reilly replete with bloodshot eyes and rumpled clothes. His graying hair stood up at its cowlicks, giving him the appearance of having just rolled out of bed.

  She looked over his shoulder expecting to see his large partner shadowing him. ‘Are you alone?’ she asked.

  ‘Detective Kozlowski is indisposed this morning.’ He forced a smile meant to put
Carol Anne at ease. An awkward silence followed, punctuated by the sound of the infant’s gurgling.

  ‘Do you mind if we go into the kitchen,’ she said finally. ‘I can put the baby down in there.’

  ‘Don’t mind at all. I’m most comfortable in kitchens.’ As she led the way through the expensively decorated house, he couldn’t help but think of Suzanne Lundgren’s elegant apartment in the clouds. And of Natasha Dietrich’s Lake Forest mansion. Angie Wozniak’s friends sure did live high. Then he thought of Kelly Delaney’s cramped studio apartment. Well, some of her friends anyway.

  When they got to the kitchen, she put the baby in his walker and offered him a cup of coffee. ‘How do you like it?’

  ‘Black. And strong.’ His hand trembled as he raised the cup to his lips. The rich blend was far better than what they drank at the station. ‘So you wanted to talk to me about something, Mrs Niebaum?’

  Carol Anne had been rehearsing the lines in her head ever since hanging up with him. About what a good man Michael was, a good father, a talented and dedicated professional. About how damaging it could be if certain information got out. About how much she depended upon him. Now that it was time to speak, the words dried up before they could reach her tongue. She lit a cigarette to boost her courage.

  ‘Sorry, these are only temporary, but entirely necessary, I’m afraid.’ She took a deep drag and waited for the nicotine to deliver. Exhaling the smoke away from the baby, she stubbed the cigarette out and stared at it. ‘I understand my husband is a suspect in Angie’s death.’

  ‘We like to call it a person of interest,’ said O’Reilly.

  ‘Why? Because he was seen in the same bar as Angie?’ Her eyes were hooded as she looked to the floor in her personal shame. ‘Yes, he told me about being in The Zone. In fact, he’s told me a lot lately. More than I ever cared to hear. But his being in that bar has nothing to do with Angie’s death. It’s just a coincidence they were there at the same time. Nothing more.’

  And is it a coincidence that you have a boat moored practically yards from where her body was found? O’Reilly wanted to say. But he reined in the urge. Her vulnerability appealed to his sympathetic side. She was not only pretty, she seemed so decent, and her pale skin and dark frizzy curls reminded him very much of his deceased mother. While O’Reilly didn’t know for certain why Michael Niebaum was in The Zone at three a.m., he did know it couldn’t bode well for his marriage. His distaste for Michael Niebaum grew stronger. Whether or not Niebaum had anything to do with Angie Wozniak’s death, his lifestyle left another victim, his pretty wife.

  ‘Michael told me you want him to come in for a lineup,’ she said, her soft voice turning chill. She reached for another cigarette, but thought better of it. She turned to him, begging him with her eyes. ‘Detective O’Reilly, you just can’t put Michael in a lineup. You have to understand what it could do to his career. He has a reputation to keep up. If anyone were to see him in the police station, or wherever you do those things, it would ruin our entire family … our lives.’

  ‘Mrs Niebaum,’ said O’Reilly. ‘Why did you lie to us before? Why did you say your husband got home at midnight when he didn’t?’

  She knew she was strong, but a person could only handle so much. So many things were coming at her from so many directions, she felt she might implode. Though she worked to keep up her bravado, she was near the edge, her hands shaking from nerves and her vision blurred by banked tears. O’Reilly saw her dilemma and tried not to let his sympathy for this woman override his obligation as a homicide cop. He would not let himself be dissuaded by a woman’s tears. No matter how much she reminded him of his mother.

  ‘I don’t know why I lied. I’m not a liar,’ she confessed, gritting her teeth in an effort to maintain control. ‘Maybe I was embarrassed by the hours he was keeping. Maybe I sensed there was some kind of trouble. But you’ve got to believe me, Michael Niebaum never had any relations with Angie, and he certainly didn’t kill her.’

  O’Reilly wasn’t so sure about that, but a bulb lit in his skull when Carol Anne used the word relations. Niebaum was obviously queer or bisexual. What if he was having relations with multiple people? Like maybe he and Angie and the guy from New Hampshire were some kind of threesome. That could explain a lot. He needed to subpoena Niebaum’s phone records. Who a person talks to can answer a lot of questions. But getting a subpoena could take a lot of time, and O’Reilly was in a hurry. He looked at the desperate woman in front of him.

  ‘I’ll tell you what, Mrs Niebaum. If you’re so certain your husband had nothing to do with Angie’s death, there’s something you can do to help prove it. I’ll make you a deal. I’ll hold off on the lineup in exchange for all your husband’s phone records. Home and office. If I have to go through regular channels it can take days, but with your permission—’

  ‘We’ll provide the records,’ Carol Anne said, her face a picture of relief. For a minute, he thought she was going to throw her arms around him. ‘We’ll do anything to prove Michael’s innocence. Anything.’

  On his way back to the city, O’Reilly passed one of those chain restaurants that offered mediocre food served at a big square bar. He made a U-turn and pulled into the lot. After all, it was lunchtime and a cold one might help him back into equilibrium. His first beer disappeared in one uninterrupted gulp, and he ordered a second, sipping at it slowly as he rolled possible scenarios around in his head. Extramarital affair. Jealous homo lover. Homo love triangle. Too bad Koz wasn’t there to bounce things off of. Then again, if Koz were there, they wouldn’t be here. He ordered a third beer and paid the check.

  As he walked back to the car, his thoughts turned back to Carol Anne Niebaum’s situation. Even the rich get to be miserable, he decided.

  THIRTY-FIVE

  Kelly

  Gitane’s had been its normal crazy, with people in suits rushing through lunch, ladies in designer wear doing exactly the opposite. Kelly arrived at work on the heels of a Biopsych exam she hadn’t done well on, leaving her distracted her entire shift. Twice she had forgotten to drop food orders until she noticed the customers craning their necks in search of her, and once she had even given a table the wrong check. Luckily they had noticed before she ran their credit card. Otherwise the error would have come out of her pay.

  But the exam wasn’t the entire reason for her lackluster performance. Her mind was still preoccupied with her belief that the man from New Hampshire was somehow connected to Angie’s murder. Telling the cops about the white truck hadn’t seemed to move them along at all as far as finding the guy. She had come to the conclusion there was no other option than to tell them the whole story.

  ‘Sorry, Maggie,’ she said aloud, as she dug in her apron for a quarter and headed to the pay phone outside the ladies’ room. She was happy to find O’Reilly at his desk. ‘I hate to be a nuisance, but I really need to talk to you about something important in Angie’s case.’

  ‘I don’t believe that for a minute, Ms Delaney,’ he replied. His hangover had improved after having a hair of the dog, but talking to her brought it back with a vengeance.

  ‘What? That I don’t have something important to tell you?’

  ‘No. That you hate to be a nuisance.’

  ‘Ha. Ha,’ she said without humor. ‘I really need to meet you.’

  ‘We’re pretty busy over here,’ he said, in hopes of putting her off. The last thing he wanted was to waste more time with this meddling pest. ‘Can’t you just tell me over the phone?’

  ‘I said it was important.’

  ‘All right,’ he conceded. ‘Where do you want to meet?’

  ‘I’m just finishing up my lunch shift. How about O’Dwyer’s on Dearborn in about fifteen minutes?’

  O’Reilly glanced up at the white dial on the front wall clock. It read two forty-five. ‘All right. Three o’clock,’ he said. And it better be good.

  Koz called in a minute later. ‘So good to hear you’re alive,’ O’Reilly chided him. ‘Where the
hell you been?’

  ‘In and out of dentith’s chairs. They finally pulled the thucker. Now Melissa’s all pithed off, because she hath a thing about people with mithing teeth. Says she can’t be around a hillbilly. Looks like I hath to get a bridge. Which ain’t cheap. There goeth the new fishing pole,’ Kozlowski lamented. ‘I mithing anything?’

  ‘Head over to O’Dwyer’s. We’ll be meeting with Kelly Delaney, so it’s probably a good thing you’re still anaesthetized.’

  ‘Ms Delaney. What’s up with her thith time?’

  ‘I don’t know, she wouldn’t tell me. Maybe she wants to join the force.’

  The first thing to hit Kelly’s nose as she walked in the door were the familiar smells of stale beer and rotting wood. A few of the old regulars sat at the bar, chasing their afternoon shots down with beer. She liked to stop in her former place of employment from time to time just to remember how bad it was, kind of like the Fitzgerald character who took one drink a day so he wouldn’t start to imagine liquor was better than it was. Except unlike Fitzgerald’s character, there was no way she could even have one drink a day. That much she knew.

  She sat down on a wobbly stool at a wobbly table in the window and nodded to Eddy, the bartender who had worked the day shift for as long as she could remember. He returned her nod with a lame smile, his stained yellow teeth as big as a horse’s in his bony face. He was drinking what looked like a glass of ice water, but Kelly knew better. The only water in that glass was the ice.

  The waitress came over and Kelly ordered a diet cola. It was déjà vu watching Eddy go through the mechanics. Glass, ice, soda gun, straw, give glass to waitress, sip his own drink. She wondered how much longer before Eddy succumbed to liver disease or stepped out drunkenly in front of a moving car.