She checked her watch. Ten till four. The entrance to the coffee shop was directly across from the bar. She remembered that coffee shop. She and Matt had come down for breakfast the morning they broke up. The weekend was supposed to be a special getaway, a few romantic days together. They’d planned it for months, making sure they both had the weekend off.
But when it came, everything went wrong. They didn’t make love, and Matt wouldn’t look her in the eye. When he ended it the next morning, he was mercifully brief. They hadn’t even ordered coffee when he told her he’d met Ricki Feldman and was in love with her. He should have canceled the weekend, but he didn’t know how. He knew how much she’d been looking forward to it. He was so sorry. Then he left.
A numbing coldness had swept over her, her face freezing into a block of ice. She didn’t dare move a muscle. If she did, she’d crack. So she stayed at the table—she never knew how long—trying to decide whether to go on living. Eventually, the hostess of the coffee shop walked over carrying a pot of coffee. “You look like you could use this,” she said sympathetically. She poured coffee into a delicate china cup, smiled down at her, and walked away.
Georgia could still see the delicate china cup. And the woman’s kind face. She wondered whatever happened to the woman. Was she still at the hotel, doling out free cups of coffee to jilted lovers? Georgia didn’t remember how she’d gathered the strength to go home. How she drove from the hotel back to her apartment. She was surprised to find she had no memory of the ride. In fact, she was so steeped in the past that she almost missed the swing of the revolving door. She snapped back. It was ten past four. She slid off her stool and slipped back into the shadows of the bar.
A man wearing a suit and carrying a brief case pushed through. He stepped into the lobby and looked around, as if he was expecting to meet someone. But he was at least forty feet away, and Georgia didn’t have a clear view of his face. She took a few steps forward, still hugging the shadows. When no one came to greet him, the man shoved a hand into his pocket. A moment later, when no one had yet approached him, he looked at his watch and tapped his foot in irritation. When another minute passed, he spun around to leave.
As he did, Georgia finally caught a clear view of his face. The man had blond hair, ruddy cheeks, small eyes, and a weak chin. Tom Walcher.
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
GEORGIA GRIPPED the wheel as she drove back to Sam’s. Tom Walcher was Charlie. Charlie was having sex with Sara. Sara had serviced her best friend’s father. Made possible by the actions of his daughter.
In one way, she wasn’t surprised Tom Walcher was catting around. His wife Andrea was a cold fish, and a hostile one, at that. She could understand Walcher seeking comfort elsewhere. But screwing his daughter’s best friend? An underaged teen? What would make a man so reckless? Was he that arrogant? Or just stupid? The website files said he’d hooked up over two dozen times. He’d put his entire legal career in jeopardy. How could he risk it?
She turned south onto Sheridan Road. It was one thing to discover a supposedly respectable lawyer was making it with a teenage hooker. It was another thing to accuse him of murder. She had no evidence Walcher was involved in Sara Long’s death. And it was possible his showing up was a coincidence. Still, she knew she should go to Kelly with what she did have. They had enough reasonable doubt to sink a battleship.
But something inside her rebelled at doing that. Maybe Kelly was right. Maybe she still was a cop at heart. Cops didn’t just create reasonable doubt. They solved crimes. Or maybe it was her ego. Maybe Georgia just wanted to prove to Robby Parker and the rest of the force that she knew what she was doing. Or maybe it was just that since the fire, the case had become personal. Self-preservation was an excellent motivator.
She stopped at a light just south of Winnetka Road. Twilight came quickly this time of year, cloaking everything in a hazy purple light. She glanced through the windows of homes she passed. Women were preparing dinner in cheerfully lit rooms. Kids lounged in front of the TV or sat at tables. As a little girl, she remembered playing outside on brisk fall afternoons, stopping only when it turned dark and she was sniffling from the cold. She loved coming inside to the warm, cozy house where her mother was waiting, where the aroma of a hearty dinner floated through the air. That stopped when her mother left. Georgia was twelve. She hadn’t seen her since.
Which brought her to another reason she wanted to keep digging. She’d promised to protect Lauren Walcher. No one else was looking out for her—no parent, no one in school, not even her friends. How many times had Georgia wished for someone to watch her back? If she went to Kelly now, Lauren’s life would be shattered. She wanted to delay that—at the very least cushion the repercussions—until she could find a way to shepherd the girl through them. A seed of trust had sprouted between them. She didn’t want to let her down. A shiver ran through her. Was this what it felt like to love a child?
Although she knew the route by heart, she stared through the windshield, suddenly unsure where she was. Dark shadows loomed on both sides of the street, and the landmarks she normally took for granted fell away. Was she still on Sheridan Road? Had she made a wrong turn and wandered into lost territory? The landscape looked eerie and alien, like a dream that was only half-familiar. She was about to pull over when the trill of her cell phone broke the trance. She snapped back. Yes. There was the strip mall with the 7-11. And the print shop next door. She pulled into the 7-11’s lot and answered her cell.
“Davis, it’s O’Malley.”
“Dan, I was just thinking of you.”
“Evanston told us about the fire. And the shooter. You okay?”
“I’m fine.”
“That’s good.” She heard relief in his voice. “I think it’s time for you to fold your tent, Davis. Things are—forgive me—getting too hot to handle.”
She ignored the lousy pun. “I’m fine, Dan. In fact, I was—”
“I didn’t expect you to say anything different.”
She transferred the phone to her other ear. “Look, I know you feel responsible because you handed me the case. But I’m making progress. I’ll have it nailed down soon.”
“Assuming someone doesn’t use you for target practice again.”
“I can take care of myself.”
“Look, I’d feel better if you turn it over to us. We’re on it.”
“Does that mean Parker is rethinking the Cam Jordan angle?”
“It’s clear there’s something else going on besides a mental running around the Forest Preserve.”
“I appreciate it, Dan, but I’m not quitting.”
“I figured you’d say that, too. Can’t blame me for trying.” He sighed. “Listen… do you still have your—what you need to protect yourself?”
“I’m fine, Dan.” She assured him. “Don’t worry. Now I have a question. I know it sounds crazy, but, have you—or did anyone say they’d seen Matt recently?
“Matt Singer?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Not for a long time. Last I heard he was running around the Holy Land finding religion. Why?”
She frowned. “Nothing. Hey, take care of yourself, okay?”
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
GEORGIA SPENT another night at Sam’s going over the events of the past few days. Tom Walcher figured prominently in Sara Long’s activities. As Harry Perl’s lawyer, he might also have been involved in a land deal that was, at the very least, suspect. He might have some connection to Derek Janowitz’s death. Maybe even to the attempt on her life. At any rate, she had enough questions about him to warrant a closer look. But to do that, she needed help.
She woke up early the next morning, dressed, and crept out of the apartment without waking Sam. Twenty minutes later she was staked out down the street from the Walcher home. About 7:45 Lauren’s Land Rover rolled down the driveway and turned onto the street. A few minutes later, Tom Walcher left too. Andrea Walcher was alone.
Georgia slid out of the Toyota. She was about
to walk up to the house when Andrea Walcher emerged at the end of the driveway. She was wearing a fancy warm-up suit, and a sweat band was stretched across her forehead. She looked both ways, but didn’t appear to notice the Toyota. She started to power walk down the street in the opposite direction.
Georgia followed her, hugging the trees to stay inconspicuous. But after a few minutes, Andrea broke into a jog. It was a crisp, sunny November morning, and Andrea was in good shape. Georgia was too, but her thick work boots and jeans slowed her. Within a few minutes Andrea lengthened the distance between them. Georgia abandoned her pursuit and trudged back to the car.
Thirty minutes later, Andrea walked slowly back up the street, breathing deeply, her arms pumping. Georgia waited until she was walking up her driveway. She stepped in front of the Toyota.
“Mrs. Walcher.”
The woman turned around and looked at Georgia. A mix of emotions: surprise, recognition, and anger roiled her face. “Get away from me, or I’ll call the police.”
“That might not be a bad idea.”
Andrea’s eyes narrowed.
“I know about your brother Fred. And the land deal he was involved in.”
“So?”
“Someone tried to kill me, and it could be connected to the sale of that land. I need you to tell me what you know about it. And what role your husband played in the deal.”
“You can’t just show up here, make wild accusations, and demand that I talk to you. Who the hell are you? I won’t do it.”
“I understand completely. In that case, maybe you’d rather talk to the police. Or the State’s Attorney.”
A flash of panic streaked across Andrea’s face. “You can’t do that.”
Georgia stood her ground. “Someone took a shot at me a few days ago. I haven’t given them your husband’s name. Yet. But I will, if you don’t talk to me.”
“What are you talking about?”
Georgia explained.
“You can’t possibly think my husband was trying to kill…” she paused. “… you?” Her face was a mask of annoyance, but Georgia could see an underlying anxiety. Andrea fixed her eyes on Georgia. “What do you really want? How much?”
“I don’t want a dime. But I do want to know who took a shot at me the other night. And who killed Sara Long. And if they’re related.”
“Related? How could they be? You’re grasping at straws. People like you—you’ll do anything to get at us. Take us down.”
Georgia shrugged. “If that’s the way you want to play it, fine. But you might regret that choice.”
“Are you threatening me?”
Georgia tried to remember that rage was the flip side of fear. No one could sustain it indefinitely. “Of course not.” She made her voice sound conciliatory. “It is in your self-interest to talk to me, Mrs. Walcher. There are things going on that aren’t right. And your husband is in the middle of them. It might take me some time, but I will get to the bottom of whatever he’s doing, be assured of that. This could be your last opportunity to help yourself. And your daughter.”
“Opportunity? How can you call it an opportunity when you strongarm your way onto my property?”
“You’ll understand after we talk.”
Andrea gazed at Georgia, seemingly trying to gauge her seriousness. She ran her tongue around her lips. Then she took a quick look around, as if checking to see whether anyone was watching them. Finally, she capitulated. “You’d better come in.”
She went to the kitchen door and opened it. Georgia followed her in. Andrea motioned to one of the stools at the granite-topped island and went to the coffee pot. She poured herself a mug, then held the pot up.
Georgia nodded and sat down at the island. Andrea filled another mug and brought it to the counter. “What is it you want to know?”
“Let’s start with your brother’s gas station. Did you know the land underneath it was contaminated?”
She took a sip of coffee. “Yes,” she said quietly.
“And did you know it got a clean bill of health in record time?”
“I was the one who told Fred. After Tom told me.”
“And?”
“And what?”
“How did your brother react?”
“He—Fred—was angry.”
“Why?”
“Because—because he knew it couldn’t happen that fast.”
“He told you that?”
Andrea looked at the floor and nodded.
“Suppose you start from the beginning.”
She hesitated. Then, “After the stroke Fred was very weak. It was clear he couldn’t go back to work. We all thought—Fred included—that selling the place would be the best idea. He’d have some money to take care of himself; he wouldn’t have to worry. So Tom helped Fred sell it.”
Georgia took off her jacket and draped it over the back of the stool. “To Harry Perl.”
Andrea looked up. “Perl wanted the land and was willing to pay top dollar. It seemed like the perfect solution. Tom brokered the deal.”
“What about the fact that it was contaminated?”
“My understanding is that Tom promised Fred that Harry would take care of it. It was part of the negotiations.”
“Didn’t you wonder how the land came to be cleaned up so quickly?”
“I didn’t think anything about it.” She shrugged. “Not my business. But when Tom mentioned it was done, I told Fred. He knew right away something was fishy. He said you can’t have toxic ground on Monday and then find it’s gone by Tuesday. He said he was going to look into it. And that he might have to go to the authorities.” Her lips tightened. “He always wanted to do the right thing.”
“Did Tom know Fred was upset?”
She nodded. “They had a fierce argument about it.”
“When?”
“It was—must have been a couple of days before he died.” Andrea stopped herself. “Oh, God.” She clapped a hand over her mouth.
Georgia didn’t say anything.
Andrea’s face crumpled. “I—I don’t want to know any more.”
“You don’t have that luxury, Mrs. Walcher.”
Andrea squeezed her eyes shut. Then she slowly opened them. Her voice was tight. “I’m sure you’re wrong. There’s probably a perfectly reasonable explanation for the speed of the clean-up. And the attempt on your life. It could have been a random shooting. Evanston isn’t nearly as safe as people think.”
“Right.” Georgia shifted. “Tell me about your brother.”
“Fred was the only one in my family I talk—talked to.”
“Why is that?”
“The rest of them—well, they were just looking for a hand-out.” Andrea looked around her kitchen. Georgia followed her gaze, taking in the granite counters, the hand-painted tiles, all the latest appliances and gadgets. She looked like it might be the last time she ever did. “We didn’t come from money. It was always a struggle. We were what you call ‘lace curtain Irish.’”
Georgia winced, then tried to cover it up.
But Andrea caught it. “You know what I’m talking about, don’t you? An abusive father, a mother who hid the bottle under her bed, siblings always in trouble. The only one who looked out for me was Fred. I got out of there as soon as I could. Became a legal secretary. Met Tom. Put that part of my life behind me. Except for Fred. When Tom found the gas station, we arranged the down payment, and Fred moved up here.” She bit her lip. “It was the least I could do.”
“Until now,” Georgia said.
Andrea gazed around the room one more time. Then her eyes landed on Georgia. “What do you want me to do?” She whispered.
Was she ready to trade off her husband for her brother’s memory? Or was she just trying to protect her life-style? Either way, Georgia knew she had her.
“I need to know how that property came to be cleaned up so quickly,” she said. “I have my suspicions. But I need proof. I want to know whether anything related to the environmental
situation precipitated Fred’s—well, I need to find what lengths they went to get that clean bill of health. I want you to keep your eyes and ears open, and call me with any information you find. Does your husband keep records at home?”
“He has an office upstairs.”
“That’s a start. I need information. Documents. Records of meetings or conversations between Perl and your husband. Or any other people. Jimmy Broadbent, for example. Anything else you come across about 2500 Chestnut. You need to report back on anything. Even if you don’t know if it’s important.”
A calculating look came over Andrea. “I thought you were investigating Sara Long’s death.”
“That’s right.”
“How is that girl’s death tied into this?”
Georgia didn’t like Andrea Walcher. She considered telling her about her husband and Sara Long. Maybe the woman’s shock and revulsion—and fear of reprisals—would persuade her to be even more helpful. But she couldn’t tell Andrea about “Charlie” without revealing Lauren’s part in it, and she wasn’t prepared to do that yet. “There might be a connection.”
“How? What?”
Georgia shook her head. It took an effort to muzzle herself. “Not now. Not yet.”
Andrea’s nostrils flared. “How am I supposed to tell what’s important? I don’t know the ins and outs of real estate.”
“You’re smart,” Georgia said. “You know more than you think.”
“And in return? What do I get out of this?”
“In return, I’ll try to protect you. And your daughter.”
Andrea wrapped both hands around her coffee cup, took a sip, and gazed at Georgia over the rim. “You’re going to destroy my life, aren’t you?”
“Your husband started down that road a long time ago, Mrs. Walcher.” She stood and shrugged into her jacket. “Just keep me informed.”
Easy Innocence Page 26