“Yes. You look like you need a shower and a shave.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. In Regina’s case this was barely louder than a squeak and I had to strain to catch her words. “I saw you walking to the center this morning through the window upstairs. It’s obvious what you and Alice were up to last night. But don’t worry—I won’t broadcast it.”
“That’s well, because I don’t see how it’s any of your business.”
“Of course, who you sleep with is no concern of mine. It’s Alice’s choice of partner I find interesting.”
“I thought you believed in cripples banding together.”
“Oh, but Alice isn’t like that. She’s beautiful, you know. Though far too modest to tell you so herself.”
Not again, I thought. “Is there another point to this conversation? Because I really have to be on my way.”
“There is. I thought of something else that might interest you. If you’ll accompany me I’ll show you.”
I didn’t want to have to spend any more time in Regina’s company than I had to. I thought she was just playing games with me, daring me to take her seriously as a suspect. “Can’t you just describe it? You’ll have to do it when we’re there anyway,” I complained.
“I think it’s better if I show you.”
Without asking my permission, Regina took my hand and began leading me back through the center. She pulled me along rapidly on smooth, polished floors, through a series of corridors, up one ramp and down another, until we reached a door. There she pushed a button, taking us out into a small, dank space outside. From the muffled sound of traffic I surmised we were in a sheltered vestibule below street level. Regina explained we were now at the center’s rear entrance, near the parking lot where Shannon Sparrow was killed.
“You can’t see the parking lot from down here,” Regina said, “unless you are very tall, but it’s directly across the alley from us.”
She described the steps leading up to the alley, which were outfitted with a mechanized wheelchair lift on one side.
“I don’t like these things,” she said to me as she maneuvered her chair onto the lift. “I don’t think they’re safe. But Alice said there wasn’t enough money or space to construct a ramp like the one in the front. You can take the stairs while I go up.” She punched another button and the mechanism began its slow, jerky ascent. I climbed next to her until we were at the top. Regina stopped us there.
“We’re facing west. Right ahead of us, about twenty feet away, is the parking lot where Shannon’s body was found. It’s across a narrow alley, in poor repair. You’ll have to watch your step as we cross.”
The alley was gravel covered and pitted with holes. “This way,” Regina said, “and watch the crater on your right.” Ahead of me I could discern an open space delineated by the shadows of two larger buildings on either side. A stiff breeze was blowing through it, and it lifted the brim of my hat, almost taking it off.
The parking lot was a smoother surface that felt like it had recently received a fresh coat of asphalt. When we were in its center Regina said, “There are twelve spaces, arranged in three rows of four. There aren’t enough to accommodate all the center’s employees, but we were lucky to have this much. The spaces are all assigned to specific employees, except for two that are reserved for visitors.”
“Which one was Shannon’s?” I asked, visualizing what Regina had described.
“She didn’t have one. It was another item on her list of complaints. But Alice assigned them based on need and seniority, and there weren’t enough for Shannon. That’s the first thing I wanted to tell you. I thought it was curious that she was found here, almost where you’re standing.”
The reality of being so close to the place Shannon had died came over me then and I could almost see the body with Charlie huddled next to it. “How far away from the center are we right now?” I asked, trying to fill in the mental picture I was constructing.
“No more than twenty-five feet.”
“And the alley—is it open at both ends?”
“Yes. The south end, to our left, opens onto Fullerton, and the north onto Montana. We’re roughly in the middle of the block.” That fit in with the traffic sounds I could hear coming from Fullerton, one of Chicago’s main east–west thoroughfares.
“All right,” I said. “So you’re saying she shouldn’t have been parked here that morning. What would have happened if she was found using someone else’s space? Does the center employ a towing service?”
“Of course not. I suggested it, but Alice said she could never allow anything so mean-spirited. But there would have been a row, another dust-up involving Shannon.”
“From what you’ve told me there was nothing unusual about that.”
“But there’s more. My space is over there . . . sorry, at the north end of the lot, right next to the alley so I don’t have to travel far to get to the door. I have a van, with hand controls. The morning it happened, I happened to be here early. Lately it’s becoming more and more difficult for me to sleep at night, and I woke that day at five. I decided I’d have better luck taking a nap later on, so I called my attendant and asked her to come get me ready. She got me dressed and I drove down here myself. I arrived just after six thirty.”
“Was the lot empty then?” According to the medical examiner’s report, Shannon had been killed sometime between 7:00 and 7:30.
“Yes. But as I was leaving my van, a car came through the alley, going south. I didn’t get much of a look at it the first time, but it was a tan compact and the driver sped up when he saw me.”
“You’re sure of that—that the driver was a man?”
“Not entirely. Whoever it was went by very quickly and was wearing a hooded jacket. I can’t say for sure, but I think he was trying not to be recognized. I didn’t have time to catch the license number, but it wasn’t something easy to remember, like vanity plates.”
“And you say you saw the car more than once?”
“Yes. Not long after I’d gotten myself upstairs and settled in, I realized I had left some papers I needed in my van. I came back down and was almost at the top of the lift I showed you when I saw the same car again. I didn’t get as good a look the second time because my head had just cleared street level, but I was sure it was the same one, speeding past. I was irritated because the tires spit up gravel in my face. You see why this is so important?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “It could have been anyone.” I didn’t want her to know how significant I thought it really was.
Regina clucked in irritation. “Why would the driver keep circling through the alley at that time of day if he wasn’t up to something?”
“Maybe he was lost. Or looking for a place to park on the street and came through here to avoid having to stop at a light. Drivers take those kinds of shortcuts all the time.”
“You’re not much of a detective,” Regina scoffed.
“Who do you think it was then?”
“It must have been that man—the one the newspapers are calling the Surgeon. Only the police were too stupid to see it.”
“Nice theory. But no one knows whether the Surgeon even exists. That’s just press speculation.”
“The method used to kill Shannon was the same,” Regina countered. “As well as the location and the time of day. If it wasn’t the same killer, someone went to a lot of trouble to make it look that way. Even you can see that.”
“Yes, but you’re forgetting about the hemlock,” I retorted, before I could stop myself.
“Hemlock?” she said quickly.
I went on, enjoying her surprise. “Yes. The Surgeon always leaves a calling card with his victims. The police have kept the information from the papers so they’ll be able to tell if some crackpot comes forward claiming credit for the murders. They didn’t find any near Shannon’s body, so it couldn’t have been the same man.”
“I had no idea . . .” Regina said meditatively.
“And while we’re
on the topic, I’d appreciate it if you kept that tidbit to yourself.” I was now chagrined that I’d had blurted out O’Leary’s secret so easily. Why did this woman always bring out the worst in me?
Regina said, “Of course. But if it wasn’t the Surgeon, who was it?”
“I haven’t the vaguest idea. Unless there’s something else you’ve been holding back from the authorities.”
“It’s not holding back if they don’t ask.”
I remembered Charlie then and changed my tone. “Regina,” I said pleadingly, “if there’s anything else, something you haven’t told me . . .”
“I’ve said everything I’m going to say to you. Now it’s up to you to put the clues together, Doctor. Or should I say, Sherlock?”
Seventeen
In the cab going home, I put aside my irritation with Regina and thought about what to do next. I briefly considered contacting O’Leary again. Sep had warned me to be mindful of my limitations and not to take chances with my safety. But the real murderer—whoever he was—couldn’t possibly be threatened by my stumbling efforts so far. My theory that Shannon had become pregnant on purpose was pure conjecture. I still didn’t understand why, much less how it might exonerate Charlie. Regina’s sighting of the strange driver could be important, but I didn’t see any way to follow it up. There must be a million beige compacts in the city. Without tag numbers the car would be impossible to trace. I thought back to my dinner with Alice, the expensive necklace that had to be insured. Maybe there was another way to go about this.
I got back to my place around eleven and went about tidying myself up. I considered leaving my day-old beard in place, but ditched the idea as overkill. I still shaved the way I’d always done, in the shower without a mirror. It’s not at all difficult, and I rarely cut myself. But that morning I purposely nicked my chin twice and didn’t put as much effort into taming my hair, so that a few of the livelier cowlicks still stuck out when it was dry. Using a handheld color identifier I selected a blue shirt and a loud tie to wear with a brown tweed jacket, along with mismatched socks and a pair of scuffed loafers. I replaced my regular cane with an old one that was patched up with a piece of electrical tape after an unfortunate run-in with a ComEd construction site. Just before leaving I scooped up my keys and change, and checked to be sure my bank card was in my wallet.
At the ATM on the corner I put on my ear buds and listened while the machine took me through the menu. I selected my savings account and made a withdrawal of a thousand dollars, which I inserted into my money clip. It’s heavy and gold and looks like something J. P. Morgan might have pulled from his frock coat when he wanted to reward the help, a long-ago gift from Annie that I never liked and seldom used. The wad of bills did a jig in my pocket as I trotted west on Grand and up the staircase to Michigan Avenue.
I felt excited, pumped up with nervous energy and wondering whether I could carry off the bit of theater I was planning. So I didn’t notice immediately when the squeaky-soled person showed up again. I had just emerged onto Michigan when I first heard the sound behind me. Once again it seemed to match its pace to mine. But the sidewalks were swimming with pedestrians. It could have been anyone with a pair of worn-down shoes. I told myself I was just dreaming and continued on.
The Chicago flagship of Tiffany & Co. has all the cool elegance typical of the chain, though it isn’t quite as large as the Manhattan outlet I once frequented. The catering to the poorer classes was instantly apparent from the thickness of the pile beneath my feet and the hushed silence of the room as I entered, broken only by the whispers of the sales staff hovering to the right of the door. One of these gatekeepers was on me the second I poked my way through the armor-plated entranceway.
“Are you lost, sir? Perhaps I can direct you to another establishment?” Central casting couldn’t have done better with the accent. He sounded like Basil Rathbone swallowing his r’s.
“Why I don’t know,” I replied, wagging my head from side to side like Ray Charles in the middle of a hot R&B number. “Is this the Tiffany store on Michigan?”
It was excruciating to be unable to observe him as he took in my hair, the Band-Aid I’d stuck on my cheek as a last-minute inspiration, the uncoordinated clothing, and bedraggled cane.
“Why yes, yes it is!” He said it as though the thought had only just occurred to him.
“Thank goodness,” I said, trying to look relieved. “Usually I have my dog to take me places, but he’s ill. Cancer, I’m afraid. I should have him put down, but I just don’t have the heart to do it. He’s been such a loyal friend for so many years. I asked my housekeeper to write down your address on this piece of paper here”—I reached into my pants pocket and pretended to wrestle with something—“but no one would stop to read it to me and I couldn’t remember whether you were on Michigan between Superior and Walton or Walton and Huron . . .”
While I was removing my hand from my trousers I hooked the money clip with my forefinger and let it drop to the ground. “Oh, dear,” I said, feigning surprise. “What did I just do? Did I lose something?” I moved into a squat, holding my cane with my left hand and feeling about with the right.
“Please, sir—” the salesman said. I noticed he made no move to help me, as though I might be infected with Ebola.
“No, no,” I said loudly. “Don’t put yourself out. I can do things for myself. Just give me a minute or two.” I moved onto hands and knees and began groping the floor confusedly. “It has to be here somewhere,” I said, looking up with a daft smile. I continued kneading the carpet until I encountered a hard object, which turned out to be the salesman’s shoe. One of his coworkers stifled a cough and a woman at the back of the store stage-whispered, “Jesus, will you look at that? Why aren’t they helping him?” This was too much for my new friend and I found myself being pulled up by the armpits and held none too gently while someone else retrieved the money and my cane.
“Thanks,” I said apologetically when they were unceremoniously handed back to me. “I’m not usually this clumsy. Do you mind if I count it to see if it’s all there? Not that I think anyone here is out to cheat me, but a man in my position can’t be too careful.” The salesman agreed tepidly and stood by while I moistened my fingers with my tongue and slowly counted off fifty twenty-dollar bills.
“Did you wish to purchase something?” he asked when I’d finished, no doubt hoping to salvage something from the situation. I may have been an eyesore, but I was carrying around enough cash to boost somebody’s monthly commission.
“Yes, if it wouldn’t be too much trouble. It’s my wife, you see. She had this really nice necklace and I lost it and . . .”
He stopped me peremptorily. “Allow me to have one of our junior assistants help you. We maintain a lounge to the rear for serving our better patrons.” He barked over my shoulder, “Tanya? Can you take this gentleman there? Now, please?”
Tanya came at once and he handed me off to her like I was a vial of nitroglycerin.
Tanya proved to be less squeamish than her superior, helping me back to a comfortable seat and offering me a cup of tea. “That’s so sad about your dog,” she said.
“Thank you. He and my wife are all I have in this world. She’s a wonderful woman, stood by me through all of this”—I pointed at my eyes—“even though it’s been so difficult for her. She never complains and always treats me like a real man. Lets me open doors for her and everything. That’s why what happened with the necklace is so upsetting.” It occurred to me that I might be laying it on too thick, but she swallowed it like a peach smoothie.
“What was it?” she asked, laying her hand on my arm sympathetically.
“Well, I was washing the dishes one night last week—I always do the washing up because it’s one of the few things I can still do around the home—and I didn’t realize she’d left the necklace on the counter near the sink. I must have knocked it into the disposal because there was this horrible grinding noise when I turned it on and the next day my wif
e said the necklace was lost. I couldn’t tell her what I thought had happened, it was too embarrassing. So I lied and pretended to search all over for it. Still, I think she suspects something and . . . well, I just can’t tell her, that’s all. I thought if I replaced it with a new one I could hide it under a pillow somewhere and . . . You don’t have to tell me how cowardly that sounds, but I hate it when I can’t do things as well as other people.”
Tanya said soothingly, “It doesn’t sound cowardly to me. It sounds sweet. What kind of necklace was it, do you know?”
“Just what the saleswoman described when I first bought it—platinum with a diamond-studded pendent in the shape of a heart. I know that doesn’t help much, but I can only see what my fingers tell me,” I said, assuming a sorrowful expression.
“That’s no problem,” Tanya said. “We keep records of what our customers have purchased going five years back. If you’ll just give me your credit card number, I can look it up.”
I’d been expecting this and had another story made up. “That’s a problem too. I don’t use credit cards. I’m always worried someone will take advantage of me. Identity theft is a real problem for the handicapped, you know.” This was true, but mostly for the elderly and housebound, and I had fraud monitoring on my cards like everyone else. “That’s why I always pay in cash,” I added.
“Well,” Tanya said thoughtfully, “if it was delivered somewhere, we would have kept the shipping records.”
I pretended to brighten. “Really? I was hoping that. I did have it delivered—to my wife’s place of work.” I gave her the address of the New Horizons Center.
“Let me see what I can find in our system. What’s your name?”
I surreptitiously crossed my fingers before replying, “My wife’s name is Shannon Sparrow.”
“Why, what a pretty name!” Tanya exclaimed right away, not noticing that I hadn’t really answered her question.
“Yes,” I went on boldly. “It’s why she didn’t change it when we were married.”
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