by Ana Medeiros
She turned away from Liam and was about to quietly sneak out the front door when she came face-to-face with a toddler.
“Hi.” The little girl looked up at Meredith.
Meredith stared at her with both panic and surprise. “Hi,” she whispered back.
“Her name is Becca,” Liam said from his chair.
Meredith held the journals closer to her body. “I’m on my way out. Sorry if I woke her.”
“Did you find what you were looking for?”
Meredith had yet to turn around. She hoped Liam stayed in his chair.
The little girl took a step closer to Meredith, who almost automatically took a step back.
Liam chuckled. “She doesn’t bite.”
Meredith forced herself to smile at the little girl. “I’m just not very good with kids.”
Liam came up to them and Meredith held her breath. She wished she had a big enough purse to hide the journals. As he picked up his daughter, he saw the journals peeking from under Meredith’s arm. She faced him, waiting for him to ask her about it. If he didn’t press her to see them she could say they were some of his father’s financial research but if he did, he would catch her in a lie.
“You named her after your sister,” Meredith said, hoping to take his attention away from the journals. “Maybe she’ll return someday.”
Liam kissed his daughter’s cheek. “Rebecca’s dead.” He glanced at the journals. “I don’t want those back.”
He stepped aside and Meredith rushed out.
Liam might know the truth about the journals, she thought. When he had said that Rebecca had died, he could have been telling her what he knew, and not what he believed. Regardless, she had heard him loud and clear—he didn’t want to see Meredith again.
Chapter 21
“You went to his home?” Isaac held one of the journals in his hand. “What if Liam was a rapist? A murderer?”
“I got the journals. That’s what’s important.”
They sat on the floor of Isaac’s living room, surrounded by papers. It had been a couple of days since she had found the journals, but Isaac had been on the East Coast for work, making this their first chance to meet.
He flipped through the now yellowed pages. “Is there anything in here you can use?”
“The Raven Room is the legacy of the Everleigh Club, a famous Chicago gentlemen’s club owned and operated by the Everleigh sisters, Minna and Ada, that existed from around 1900 to 1911. Have you heard of it?”
“It was a brothel, right?”
“Yeah. Apparently Tribune reporters were among the clients.”
Isaac smirked. “I need to do a better job of enjoying my down time.”
“The Everleigh was extremely luxurious and selective,” Meredith continued. “I did some research on it and I read it’s considered the only brothel in American history that enhanced, rather than diminished, a man’s reputation. It closed because of prostitution reform but the men who frequented were spending between two hundred to a thousand dollars per visit. Do you have an idea of how much money that was in the nineteen hundreds?” Meredith asked. “According to Glendon’s notes, one of the Everleigh’s butterflies, which was the name they used for the club’s prostitutes, knew that even though the prostitution reform might have led to the closure of Everleigh, the demand was still there. Mary Tang, an immigrant from China, had worked at the Everleigh Club for years and learned the business from the sisters. Knowing she couldn’t run a brothel out in the open, she took everything underground and founded her own club—The Raven Room.”
“The club has been around since then?”
“Looks like it. She managed to secure most of the Everleigh’s powerful clientele, and because The Raven Room always existed outside of the law, it’s been part of every kind of activity organized crime can profit from: bootlegging during Prohibition, labor and gang racketeering, gambling during the Depression.” Meredith reached for one of the other journals. “And now drug trafficking. The Raven Room keeps adapting and evolving. It’s what organized crime does. It never disappears.”
“So who owns it?”
“That’s the section I’m looking for,” Meredith replied, her eyes on the journal. “Glendon wrote that the club is managed by an organization,” she tapped the page with her finger and showed it to Isaac. “The Wusun. I researched the word and it literally means grandchildren or descendants of the raven. It’s not clear if they just manage the club, or if they own it, too. But I thought, how about the building, right?” Meredith said, with a hint of excitement in her voice. “The Raven Room occupies four levels below ground but there’s a restaurant that operates above ground. Someone owns the building and I’m trying to find out who they are.”
Isaac gave Meredith a pensive stare. “This is a lot to wrap your head around.”
“Oh, but there’s more. Here,” she passed him a newspaper clipping that had been inside of one of the journals. “A Tribune article written by a reporter named Miles Leonard in 1964. It says that Michael Belfer, the son of David Belfer, who was the owner of South Works, mentioned at a party that he and his father were members of an underground club that controlled Chicago.” She passed him another newspaper clipping. “That’s Miles Leonard’s obituary. He died in a car crash a week after the article was published.”
“Damn, these people don’t fuck around.”
“It gets scarier.” She showed him another newspaper clipping. “The same day Miles Leonard died, a large fire broke out at the Emperor Hotel in Chinatown. It burned to the ground. Glendon believed it was the location of The Raven Room at the time. Either someone found out and tried to destroy the club, which I find unlikely, or the people who managed it decided it was safer to relocate and not leave anything behind.”
“Well, I guess Miles didn’t die in vain. At least he inconvenienced the motherfuckers. So where is the club now?”
“Still in Chinatown,” Meredith replied, her attention on two folded pieces of paper. “I found these in one of the journals. It’s a couple of police reports from about ten years ago. Drug busts. One makes note that the dealer was under the influence of a designer drug at the time of his arrest—its street name Dali. He kept saying Dali had come from the Wusun.”
“What else you got in there?”
“There are ten pages of rules the members have to abide by. A lot of these have question marks and side notes, so I don’t think Glendon was completely certain of their accuracy.” Meredith’s eyes scanned through the beginning of the list. “Amongst the members, the membership is called a key, so instead of members they are keyholders. There are two different types of keys, a 78 key and a 22 key. The first one gives you access to this area.” Meredith showed him a drawing of the layout of the club in one of the pages. “The top three floors. A 22 key gives you access to all of those floors, plus this area.” She pointed to the lower area of the drawing. “The Raven Room.”
“Keyholders are allowed guests, right? You’ve gone to the club.”
“Yes, but guests are not allowed on the lowest level.”
“Why do you think that is?”
“To create further exclusivity within an already exclusive crowd? To charge more money?” Meredith recalled what Tatiana had told her when they had visited the club together. “Maybe they offer a selection of unusual sex services to the ones with a 22 key?” She leafed through the journal. “Glendon wrote that the club hires sex workers, both male and female. The women who died must have worked at the club.”
“When you were there, did you ever meet anyone who you knew, or suspected, to be a sex worker?”
Meredith shook her head. “No. Perhaps if I spent some time watching everyone closely I would have. Even then, I’m not sure I could tell who is a member and who is a sex worker. It would be great if I managed to speak with one of them for the piece.”
“What are these letters?” Isaac asked, his finger moving across the page. “They look like abbreviations.”
“E
ach room at the club has a name. All animals.” She circled the letters BD beside the top floor. “It stands for The Black Dragon.” She circled the letters RR at the opposite end of the drawing. “The Raven Room.”
“How does one get a membership to the club? Does Glendon mention that in the journals?”
“For a 78 key you need to be invited by three members. Then vetted by the Wusun. For a 22 key, he mentions that there’s a different process but there are no details.”
Isaac seemed to be lost in thought.
“What’s on your mind?” she asked.
“As much as I want to publish your article, everything I’ve just heard makes me think it’s a really bad idea.”
“I told you it was dangerous. I told you people died.”
“A crime organization over a century old runs The Raven Room. Powerful people are committed to protecting it. The police won’t go near it. Don’t you think this goes beyond what we both thought?”
“You believed it was only vulnerable women who’d been murdered. Now that you know Miles Leonard and Glendon might have also been killed, you’re hesitating.”
“Aren’t you wondering how Glendon got all that information?” Isaac asked. “It’s detailed. Someone knew what he was up to. And what made him look into The Raven Room in the first place?”
“I have a theory. When I spoke to Glendon’s son, Liam, he told me about his sister, Rebecca, who went missing when she was eighteen. She’d been on and off the streets, working as a prostitute, using drugs. It’s possible she got involved with the club. Glendon started to look into what might have happened to his daughter and somehow learned about the existence of The Raven Room. He was doing research, possibly to expose them.”
“Do you believe he committed suicide?”
“I don’t know…I’m starting to think this organization is capable of anything.”
“Fuck.” Isaac stood up and paced back and forth. “Who else, besides your professor and I, knows you’re writing this piece?”
“My stepmother.”
“I’m more worried about your professor. Call her right now and tell her not to mention your piece or The Raven Room to anyone. Tell her that if she does, her kids could get hurt.”
“Have you lost your mind, Isaac? I can’t tell her that. And if she did mention—”
“If you don’t call her, I will, Meredith.”
“It’s Saturday. She’s not in the office and this is not exactly the type of stuff you tell someone over voicemail. I’ll speak to her on Monday. She’s known about the piece for months. One more day won’t make a difference.”
“You and I will speak to her, together.”
“I told you I would do it,” Meredith said, raising her voice.
“Your stepmother.”
“What about her?”
“Can you trust her?”
Meredith didn’t reply.
“Can you trust her?” Isaac pressed.
She met his eyes and his expression changed. “Your own family would put you in danger?” he asked.
“You’re worried they’re going to put you in danger.”
“It’s your name on the piece, not mine.”
“Exactly. And I’m going ahead with it. If you won’t publish it, someone else will. What’s it going to be?” She hoped what Isaac lacked in courage he made up in ambition.
He continued to pace in agitated contemplation. Eventually he came to sit beside her.
“I still want the finished article by next month, Meredith.”
“Remind me to threaten you more often. You show how smart you really are.”
She didn’t mean it as a compliment and he knew it.
Chapter 22
When her mother first showed Meredith the Chagall Windows at the Art Institute of Chicago, she had been six years old and the cool blue glow shining through the vibrant and luminescent multicolored glass, made her feel like a mermaid swimming in the sea.
Now, she had come to seek comfort in a childhood memory that had always brought her joy. The simple, rough shapes—squares, rectangles, triangles—together formed a beautiful world. Whenever her life felt beyond her control, Meredith always found peace staring at its simplicity.
But today, Meredith no longer felt like a mermaid.
It frightened her how fast all her close relationships were deteriorating. Without Julian, Pam, and her father, she was left with many acquaintances and a small group of friends that she would never call family or confidants. Colton and Isaac had entered her life because of her desire to know more about The Raven Room. As for her connection to Tatiana, the tragic circumstances of Tatiana’s situation had forced the two of them to develop a relationship she didn’t know how to categorize. The Raven Room had taken over Meredith’s life in every way, and even though she knew it was all her doing, she didn’t like it.
She moved closer to the Chagall Windows but she didn’t feel any happier or more serene than when she had arrived. On the contrary, now she also missed her mother more keenly.
Meredith’s stomach growled, a reminder that she had forgotten to eat lunch.
She glanced at her phone to check the time and was surprised to see it was almost five o’clock. Glad she had picked the end of the day to visit the Art Institute—being surrounded by large crowds, unaware of who might be watching her, made her nervous—she started to make her way toward the exit facing Michigan Avenue. Going home to order some food and work on her article sounded like the best option for the evening.
She entered the spacious Alsdorf Galleries and was about to pass the large statue of the Seated Buddha in the center of the room when she heard hushed voices coming from her left. She glanced at the two people standing close to the wall.
The man’s silver hair made her stop. Upon a second glance, Meredith realized it was Steven Thompson. In a controlled, low voice he spoke to the woman standing close to him.
Meredith quickly stepped to the opposite side of the statue. She peeked around it to get a look at the woman with Thompson and, suddenly, she froze. From her new angle, she recognized her stepmother.
At that point, Thompson, his arm in a cast, wrapped his other arm around Pam. They hugged, holding onto each other as if they weren’t in a public place. He kissed her hair and she hid her face in the curve of his neck.
Meredith had been aware that Pam and Thompson had known each other since college, but she had no idea how close they were. Meredith was certain that her father also didn’t know.
Afraid she would be seen, and thankful she wore flats and not high heels, Meredith snuck out of the gallery. When she reached the grand staircase, she picked up her pace until she made it outside. She called Tatiana, even before she got to her parked car.
“I need to see you.”
“You sound out of breath.”
“It’s about your husband and my stepmother.”
“Just get over here,” Tatiana said before abruptly hanging up.
As soon as Meredith entered the condo, Tatiana rushed her toward the guest bedroom.
“What did you find out about Steven and your stepmom?” Tatiana sounded apprehensive.
“I was on my way out of the Art Institute when I saw them in one of the galleries. They were talking. I watched them for a while. I couldn’t hear what they were saying. They looked like they were concerned about being seen…but then they hugged each other. He kissed her hair.” Meredith replayed the scene in her head. “It was intimate. Friends don’t act like that.”
“Are you sure they didn’t see you?”
Meredith nodded. “Do you think—”
“They’re sleeping together?” Tatiana finished for Meredith. “Maybe. I don’t care. Listen to me.” Tatiana cradled Meredith’s face between her hands. “She’s the detective investigating my sister’s murder. Steven dislikes Julian, and everything I’ve heard about your stepmom tells me she shares my husband’s feelings. That’s not good.”
“Do you think they would incriminate Ju
lian?” Meredith asked. “I wasn’t with him the whole night and yes, I admit, there have been moments when I wondered, but I know Julian would never hurt your sister. He didn’t kill her. Neither Thompson or my stepmom can change that.”
Tatiana sat on the bed with a heavy sigh.
“Lena and your sister aren’t the only ones. Three other women have been murdered,” Meredith continued. “My stepmother knows that but she hasn’t done anything about it. I saw the files.”
Tatiana now stared at the floor, lost in thought.
“Whoever killed Sofia didn’t kill the others.”
“Meredith, what are you talking about?”
“There are too many differences. Sofia is the only one that didn’t have drugs in her system. She didn’t die from an overdose. She wasn’t involved with The Raven Room.”
“And these four other women were?”
“I don’t know that for sure, but from reading their files I found out that all of them have had run-ins with the police before. They were poor, uneducated, without close family…it’s not a far stretch to think they could have been involved in the sex industry. The club hires sex workers.”
“Who told you that? Julian?”
Meredith hesitated, unsure if she should mention Glendon’s journals. “Yes.”
“What’s wrong with him? He’s going to get both of you into serious trouble.”
“Don’t you want to know who killed those women?”
“No. I don’t.”
Perplexed, Meredith stared at Tatiana. “Why?”
“Because I’m trying to stay alive. And you need to be careful, too. The more you know, the worse off you are. Your dad might be a federal judge and your stepmom a detective, but they won’t always be able to protect you.”
“My stepmom—” Meredith started to say, but then stopped herself.
“What about her?”
“I used to admire her, you know? This strong woman who fights for what she believes is right and is good at what she does. Doesn’t take shit from anyone. She let me down.”
“Every time someone disappoints you it hurts less and less,” Tatiana said, her voice softer. “I promise.”