Cold Love: A Cillian Canter Mystery (Cillian Cantor Book 1)

by Conell, Zach

  “Thank you very much,” Cillian said gravely as he shook the receptionist’s hand. Rose followed his example.

  “Yes, thank you so much,” she echoed.

  The receptionist took it upon himself to escort them as they quietly exited the building through the same revolving door.

  “Oh my god, this is so messed up,” Rose expressed once they had begun walking back to the “L” station along the same street they had come from. She spoke softly but with animation in her voice.

  “Yes, I don’t even know what to say,” Cillian concurred, “but we obviously have no time to lose in tracking down Mulvaney and Duncan.”

  “We can try their cell phones again,” Rose suggested. “Although I fear that we will not be more successful than this morning.”

  “Yes, I also doubt that, but let’s try anyway,” Cillian said.

  A little farther down the street, they noticed a narrow dead-end lane to their left. They walked a few steps into it, until they were mostly out of sight from the main street. Cillian took out the prepaid cell phone Rose had insisted on buying him on their way here, as his previous number may have been compromised and she wanted to be able to reach him at all times. She had bought a phone for herself too. Cillian first tried Mulvaney’s number and then Duncan’s, but as before, no one answered the former while the latter seemed to have been discontinued.

  “I guess we will need to visit them at home,” Rose concluded after she put her phone back in her purse.

  “We can only do that with Duncan, unfortunately,” Cillian replied. “I think your father didn’t have Mulvaney’s private address, because the address he left for Mulvaney is his office at city hall. I looked it up last night. And since city hall is closed on weekends, there’s no point visiting him there today.”

  Rose sighed with disappointment. “Well, let’s hope Duncan is at home, then.”

  And that he’s still alive, Cillian added in his mind.

  According to Professor Erdmann’s information, Olivier Duncan lived alone on the fourth floor of an apartment building in the eastern part of Chicago. Cillian and Rose got there within half an hour. Whereas the neighborhood of Duncan’s alleged residence looked pretty decent, the building itself was a hideous, derelict eyesore, inspiring Cillian to speculate that the damage this concrete monstrosity did to the neighborhood skyline could be enough to significantly undermine the value of all real estate in the area.

  After establishing that the buzzer for number 405—which was supposed to be Duncan’s—was virtually the only one without a name tag next to it, Cillian pressed it without really expecting anyone to answer. After a few tense seconds of silence, he pressed it again.

  “I thought so,” Cillian determined. But he announced the corroboration of his assumption too soon, for just at that moment they heard a crackling noise followed by a thin male voice.

  “Hello, who’s there?”

  “Mr. Duncan?” Rose said into the intercom. “I’m Rose McCormick, the daughter of Professor Reinhart Erdmann. I’m here with my friend, Mr. Cillian Cantor.”

  “What do you want?” was Duncan’s blunt reply.

  “I know that you and my father were working on a story for the Chicago Transparent together with Mrs. Tiller before you resigned last week,” Rose spoke in a friendly but firm voice. “If you don’t mind, I would really like to ask you some questions…”

  “I have nothing to tell you,” Duncan interjected. “Please go away.”

  “Mr. Duncan, please, can you help us?” Rose pleaded. “We need to continue your investigation. Someone is orchestrating some really shady stuff in the South Side. You know that.”

  “I don’t know what you are talking about, and I don’t see how any of it is my business. Please go home, Miss McCormick.” Duncan remained stoic.

  “I know you are afraid, Oliver. So am I,” Rose presumed.

  “Why would I be afraid?”

  “Because my father was found dead in his office on Thursday, and yesterday they found the body of Mrs. Tiller,” Rose elaborated, sounding empathetic.

  Duncan was quiet for a moment. Cillian and Rose shared a hopeful glance.

  “Go home,” Duncan reiterated. “If you are half as clever as you sound, you will let this go.” His answer was followed by a crackling sound indicating that he was hanging up.

  “Oliver!” Rose tried, but it was in vain. “Dammit!” she cried, slamming her fist on the wooden panel to which the intercom was attached. “I really thought I had him when I mentioned Tiller’s death. I’m sure he didn’t know about it yet.”

  “I thought that as well,” Cillian responded. “Don’t fret about it—you did what you could. He is obviously too scared to talk. If we don’t take into account the threat your father received from Mr. X, my guess is that Duncan was the first one to receive a serious threat over the investigation, before your father, Mrs. Tiller, and Mr. Mulvaney—and unlike them, he decided to heed the warning and stay out of it.”

  “It would appear so,” Rose agreed. “So we’ll have to wait until Monday to see if Mulvaney has decided to clam up as well, assuming that he is still alive.”

  “I’m sure we can learn that from the headlines. The death of an alderman is bound to be a breaking story,” Cillian reasoned.

  “Good point,” she replied. “Let’s get out of here.”

  As they retraced their steps to the “L” station, it finally stopped snowing and the sky slowly cleared.

  “Where do you propose we go now?” Rose asked when they arrived at the station. “To the university campus? We still need to hand in Nineteen Eighty-Four, and more importantly, we can stop by Dr. Leamington’s office to check if she is in.”

  “Sure, we can hand in the book, but what do you want from Dr. Leamington at this point?” Cillian wanted to know. They instinctively walked over to a relatively desolate area at one end of the station, where they could talk without being overheard.

  “Well, I was thinking, if she’s there, we can try to pry some information out of her. And if she’s not there, I might be able to get some information out of her computer.” A sinister smile slid across her face when she mentioned the possibility of hacking into the dean’s computer.

  “I don’t know… I generally don’t like the idea of us both talking to her. In light of your father’s testimony, it is rather unfortunate that she spotted us together on campus yesterday. If she hasn’t already deduced that I’m working for you, she is bound to do so the next time she sees us together, and then it will be impossible to get any intel from her on anything,” Cillian predicted. “And as for breaking into Dr. Leamington’s office, that is simply a really bad idea. There are probably security cameras in her building, and there may even be one in her office, especially if she really has something to hide. Plus, anyone passing by her office could catch us in the act.”

  “I know. Never mind,” Rose conceded with a frown on her face. “It was more of a joke anyway. It’s just that I really want to know what she’s been up to, but I was unable to get into her email account this morning.”

  Cillian gave her a questioning look.

  “What? Her email address is written on the business card she gave me, and I just couldn’t resist,” Rose admitted with a mischievous expression on her face. “But I wasn’t able to guess her password like I did with my father, and I discovered that the university network is surprisingly well protected. I don’t think I can get in unless I have access to her personal computer.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that. Although it is probable that you wouldn’t have found anything if you had gotten access, because we don’t have any proof that ‘Mr. X’ ever contacted Dr. Leamington on her university email at all, since your father never saw any of the emails,” Cillian contemplated while meditatively staring into the distance. “It may seem counterintuitive, but I actually consider it to be quite likely that he approached her in person. The irony of the digitalized world we live in is that under certain circumstances it’s easier f
or people to cover their tracks when they engage only in personal contact and avoid other forms of communication, because they don’t leave a digital paper trail this way. And as you know better than I do, sometimes a digital footprint is more difficult to erase than a physical one.”

  “You mean that Mr. X could have made sure to meet Dr. Leamington in person somewhere in a public place where no one would pay much attention to them, perhaps even on the university campus where she was constantly meeting new people such as guest lecturers and potential donors?” Rose ostensibly meant this to be a rhetorical question, for she immediately proceeded to answer it herself. “In that case, she would have been the only real witness and the only ‘footprint’ that he needed to ‘erase’ in case things went awry.”

  “My thoughts exactly,” Cillian replied with a smile. “That would also mean your father was right to suppose that Dr. Leamington knew Mr. X personally. Of course it is still only an assumption at this point, but I think it’s important to consider the possibility.”

  “I think so too. But in case it is true, isn’t it crucial that one of us tries to win Dr. Leamington’s trust as there might not be another way of uncovering the identity of Mr. X?” Rose inferred with an irresistible twinkle in her eyes. “Besides, we currently don’t really have another lead to go on, other than visiting the South Side ourselves, and I only want to consider that as a last resort.”

  “I am not considering the latter at all,” Cillian stated with conviction. “But I agree with you that we don’t have much else to go on. Hopefully we can inspect your father’s body tomorrow, and there’s a slight chance that we can get Mulvaney to talk to us on Monday, but that’s it. So naturally it would be interesting to try to find out exactly where Dr. Leamington stands and what she knows. However, I am skeptical that either of us can visit her without further arousing her suspicion.”

  “What if you tell her that we’re dating?” When Rose raised her eyebrows flirtatiously, Cillian let out a chuckle.

  “Sure, that wouldn’t seem like an unlikely coincidence at all,” he replied sarcastically. “Right around the time that Professor Erdmann gets into trouble over a private investigation into the shady dealings of the city administration, his daughter starts dating an unlicensed PI.”

  “Well, that’s just life—full of crazy coincidences, chance meetings, and twists of fate.” Rose laughed and playfully poked him in the chest.

  Cillian felt like teasing her back in the same way, but he suppressed the urge by pulling a straight face and adopting a serious tone. “I think it could be useful for me to meet with Dr. Leamington,” he reflected, “but only if I do the opposite and lay my cards on the table.”

  “By telling her that you work for me?” Rose asked skeptically.

  “Yes. In that way I’ll give her a reason to believe me. And if I then alter the facts ever so slightly by implying to her that I’m unconvinced that there was foul play in the case of your father’s death, I might get her to open up to me a bit without her fully realizing it,” he hypothesized.

  Rose stared pensively at her shoes, apparently weighing his arguments.

  “That’s pretty clever,” she concluded as she looked back up at him. “Yes, I like it, I think it could work. So what if we take the subway to the university and then split up? You can go to Dr. Leamington’s office to see if she’s in, while I go to the library to hand in the book and wait for you there.”

  “It’s fine if you hand in the book, but please wait for me at the cafeteria next to the library so I don’t have to pass those metal detectors again.” Cillian indicated his right hip and left ankle, where he kept his pistols.

  “Ah yeah, I forgot about that. Will do, sir,” Rose teased.

  “Thank you, madam,” he responded as they made their way to the platform.

  Chapter Thirteen

  It was almost five o’clock in the afternoon when Cillian knocked on the closed door of Dr. Leamington’s office. He did not expect her to be there on a Saturday, especially at this time, but it didn’t hurt to make sure.

  “Come in,” Dr. Leamington’s voice called from behind the door.

  Surprise, surprise, Cillian thought while he opened the door.

  “Cillian Cantor, as I live and breathe!” the dean exclaimed when she saw him come in. “Take a seat, dear. What brings you here?”

  She was sitting behind her desk and indicated a chair on the other side of it. He sat down without taking his coat off.

  “I’m sorry to disturb you…” he started, but she didn’t let him finish.

  “Oh, but I’m happy to see you again, and so much sooner than I expected.” She beamed with false excitement.

  “I’m glad to hear that. I actually didn’t think you would be in on a Saturday at this time.”

  “Oh, I’m in here about thirty days a month, at least it feels like that sometimes.” The statement was followed by an unnatural-sounding, high-pitched laughter.

  Cillian remembered how Dr. Leamington used to giggle in this over-the-top manner at her own remarks all the time when he worked for her. Back then it had seemed like a nervous tic to him, but now it rather resembled an obnoxious habit.

  “I see. Well, I hope you’re not working too hard, but in this instance I am happy to find you here. I happened to be in the neighborhood, and I decided to stop by to see if you were available to answer a few questions I have,” he explained.

  “By all means, Cillian. But does it have anything to do with that lovely young lady I saw you with yesterday? I’m sorry if I’m being too forward—I’m generally not a nosy person, but I was positively overjoyed to spot you with a pretty woman,” Dr. Leamington chattered on.

  Only a few sentences in and Cillian had already caught her in her first lie, albeit a trivial one, for she was by far the nosiest person he had ever met. At every single encounter, she had harassed him with questions about his love life, family, upbringing, and a billion other personal details he didn’t want to share. He had mostly kept her in the dark, mentioning only that he came from Indiana and hardly had a need for human companionship. Cillian figured that she had probably intended to be more subtle about her curiosity now, but she apparently just couldn’t help herself.

  “I don’t mind,” he lied in turn, “but it’s not what you think. Rose is just a client.”

  “You don’t say?” She was obviously expecting this answer and yet pretended to be surprised by gasping theatrically. My god, she’s an abysmal actress, Cillian thought.

  “Yes. I’ll be honest with you,” he responded, lowering his voice and looking intently at the dean, “she hired me to look into the death of Professor Erdmann, her father.”

  “Really, what on earth for?” Dr. Leamington continued her unconvincing performance by dramatically covering her mouth with the palm of her hand.

  “Because the coroner’s report stated that Professor Erdmann died of heart failure, while his heart was in excellent condition. At least, that is what his doctor claimed only two weeks ago.”

  “That’s it? That is her only reason?” Dr. Leamington shot him an incredulous glance.

  “Yes, I know. So far I am not inclined to consider this a proper case for investigation,” he continued cynically, “but I really need the money, so I am fine to ask a few questions on her behalf before returning to her with the obvious conclusion that she is being delusional. I mean, I will be tactful about it, but that will be the gist of it.”

  Cillian scrutinized the dean’s face. The muscles around her eyes seemed to relax a little as she processed his comments. Maybe she’s really falling for it, he judged.

  “Well, that is very frank. I, well…” Dr. Leamington hesitated.

  “I’m sorry if I sounded insensitive,” Cillian interjected cordially.

  “No, no, I understand your position, dear. I just hope that she will take it okay when you tell her.”

  Cillian couldn’t tell if Dr. Leamington meant to appear sympathetic or if she was simply admitting that she wan
ted Rose to terminate her investigation into her father’s death.

  “She’ll be fine. This whole thing is just part of her grieving process, I guess,” Cillian said reassuringly. “So is it all right if I ask you a few questions anyway?”

  “Yes, of course. What do you want to know?” the dean replied. She still came across as a little reserved to Cillian, but she definitely seemed more levelheaded and laid-back than at the beginning of their meeting.

  “I will get the most unpleasant question out of the way first: where were you on Thursday morning, the morning Professor Erdmann died?”

  Cillian paid close attention to Dr. Leamington’s face as he asked this to see if it displayed signs of disquiet, but she remained remarkably composed as she answered.

  “I was in a meeting with the staff of the sociology department from eight a.m. until a little before ten o’clock, when a colleague of Erdmann from the political science department entered the conference room to inform me of his death. This colleague, Dr. Mitchell, was among the first people to hear about it from the police officers who found Erdmann’s body, as her office is in the same corridor as his was. She decided to track me down and inform me straightaway.”

  The answer didn’t surprise Cillian, as he had not expected Dr. Leamington to be the killer.

  “How well did you know Professor Erdmann?” he proceeded.

  “Quite well. We have worked together for years,” she replied formally.

  “But was your relationship strictly professional, or did you consider him to be more than just a colleague?” Cillian asked to encourage her.

  “Well, I don’t know,” Dr. Leamington answered nervously, evading his inquisitive look. “I guess we were quite intimate at some point,” she eventually reflected. “I mean in a purely platonic manner, of course.” Cillian noticed that her left eye twitched as she added this. She’s full of it, he reckoned.