“I can kick the shit out of you.”
“You sure can run. Like I was saying, I don’t think you’re the muscle side. But there’re other ways to send a message. Were you supposed to break some windows? Get inside and smash up the place?”
“Lawyer.”
Drexel sighed. “You’re not under arrest, so you don’t need a lawyer.”
“Then I want out.” Bryce jerked his hands up. “Now.”
Drexel pulled the key out of his pocket and unlocked the handcuffs. “I know who you are now. If you’ve got something that can help me in this case, I’d appreciate it. If you were a part of it, I’ll get you.”
Bryce stood up, rubbing his wrists. He brushed past the detective and left the room.
***
At 6:00 p.m., Drexel answered the knock at his apartment door. Lily stood before him in an elegant black dress that dropped to below the knees and featured a series of straps that covered her chest and twisted to the back. Large pearl earrings and a simple pearl necklace. Warned in advance, both of the brothers wore a shirt, tie, and coat. Drexel dressed like he did for work, opting for a gray coat, white shirt, black tie, and black trousers. Ryan looked uncomfortable in dark brown slacks, a blue shirt, red tie, and dark brown coat. His brother had lost weight, noticeable around the collar, where a gap existed. The tie twisted to the right, and he kept pulling it straight.
Lily smiled at him. “You poor thing.” She walked up to him, grabbed the knot of the tie, and twisted and pulled down to center it. “You need a smaller shirt.”
Ryan grabbed the collar and tugged it. “It’s from a while ago.”
She brushed some lint off his shoulder and looked at him. “Ready?”
He slapped his hands together. “Let’s eat.”
The three of them walked down the stairs. Lily led them to a Lexus SUV. Ryan rushed to open the passenger door for his sister. From the driver’s seat, Wayne waved and smiled to them. The brothers sat in the back.
“Where’re we going?” asked Ryan.
Lily turned around in the seat to look back at them. To Drexel at that moment, her turn and looking back reminded him of their mother, whether for scolding or smiling. “A restaurant called, oh what is it?” She looked at Wayne.
“Empire. Supposed to be one of the hot places in town.”
Lily said, “There you have it.” She faced forward.
Driving under the still bright sky and the shadows of the buildings, Ryan and Wayne talked about the Cubs win over the Rays, which had ended a few minutes before Lily picked them up. A three-run homer in the bottom of the sixth tied the game. Two runs in the bottoms of the seventh and eighth innings sealed the deal. The win brought the Cubs back to five-hundred ball.
“How’s the conference going?” asked Ryan.
Wayne looked into the back seat via the rearview mirror. “It goes. Lots of talking. Lots of drinking.”
“Don’t be so modest,” said Lily as she pushed on her husband’s shoulder. “If you don’t tell them, I will.” She waited. “Fine.” She turned and looked back at them. “He presented his findings today on a new surgical technique for bypass patients. Well, a modification of an existing technique, but one that should help people live longer and with a safer surgery. Amazing stuff.”
Drexel saw the pride beaming in his sister’s face. Unsure how to respond himself, the detective said, “Congratulations.” And then with more force. “Congratulations.”
Ryan said, “So now I know who to go to for my heart surgery in the coming years.” He laughed.
Lily frowned and shook her head. “Don’t be morbid now.”
Wayne said his thanks.
A few minutes later, Wayne pulled into the valet parking lane and they all got out. Wayne handed the keys and a $50 bill into the driver’s hand before stepping up on the sidewalk. “We’ve got reservations, so let’s see if our table’s ready.”
The three siblings followed Wayne in, who walked up to the hostess stand. All four were then escorted to a booth by a window. The ceiling was twelve feet above them with lights hanging down by a cord throughout the dining room. The interior walls were a combination of brick columns and intervening chocolate wood panels. A server walked up behind the hostess and deposited an ice container of two large, glass, refillable bottles of water. The hostess asked, “Sparkling or plain?” They opted for plain. The hostess passed the sparkling bottle back to the server and then began pouring water in the glasses, starting with Lily’s. She thanked them for coming in and told them their server, “Sam,” would be with them soon.
They all grabbed their copy of the menu and looked at it. Wayne pulled out a pair of glasses from his coat pocket and tilted his head back and forth until the words were in focus. Drexel noticed at the top of the menu, beneath Empire written in a Roman Empire looking set of block letters, “A David Hussain Restaurant.” He grunted.
“What?” asked Lily.
“Oh, it’s just that the owner’s name has come up in an investigation.”
Lily’s eyes widened and her head snapped up.
“Nothing bad necessarily. He was the mentor of the chef killed at Fling.”
Lily placed her hand to her chest. “Oh, thank god. I thought you’d tell me he was a suspect.”
Drexel shook his head and returned to the menu. He realized that the prices off to the side represented a good portion of his entire weekly food budget. He glanced at Ryan, whose eyes seemed to scan up and down the menu.
Lily lowered her menu and leaned over the table. “This is on us. No arguing.” She stuck a finger up and then raised the menu.
Ryan looked at Drexel and shrugged.
Their server came and took their drink orders. A Malbec for Lily and Wayne and beers for Ryan and Drexel. The server also left behind a small basket of rolls: wheat, white, and pumpernickel. After discussing what each other was getting, they ordered. Lily went with the sous-vide pork loin with balsamic glazed Brussels sprouts. Wayne with the sea bass with ponzu sauce. Ryan changed his mind and went with the feta-crusted rack of lamb. Drexel decided since he had never had squab, he would give that a try.
After Sam took their orders, she smiled and left. Wayne leaned over and said, “She’s a cutie for you there, Ryan.”
Ryan blushed and said, “She’s way too young for me. ’Sides, I’ve got a gal.”
“You do? Tell us about her?”
Ryan shook his head. “Not yet. Not yet. Don’t want to jinx it. May have already.”
Wayne waved his hand at Ryan and turned to Drexel. “So will you be talking to the owner? Interrogating him?”
“We typically call it ‘interviewing’—especially when it’s not a suspect. Makes it seem less threatening.”
“Hmmph.” Wayne rubbed his chin. “So like how do you do that? Do you ever need to get rough? Do you lie?”
Lily frowned. “Enough. I’m sure he doesn’t want to talk about it.”
“No, that’s fine,” said Drexel.
Lily mumbled, “Maybe I don’t want to hear about it.”
Drexel glanced at her but continued. “It’s a lot different than what you’d expect. The goal is to get the person talking. People like to talk. Like to tell things. And so if you let them talk, they usually tell you what you need to know. So we ask questions intended to keep it going. But yeah, we lie when we need to. There’s no rule that says we can’t. It’s fascinating really.”
“What? That you lie?”
“No, no. That you get someone to sit down and they start talking, and they don’t stop and they tell you their darkest secrets. Tell a stranger. Sometimes you have to play a role. I don’t know how many times I’ve said something like ‘You got mad. Everyone gets mad. So you clobbered him over the head. I get it.’ When I really don’t.”
“I don’t know how you do it,” said Lily.
D
rexel shrugged.
Wayne said, “It’s probably a lot like how you deal with idiots demanding weird contract terms.”
“It’s not, though,” said Lily. “My words carry legal weight. If I say something sympathetic, that can be construed as some sort of agreement. I prefer the direct method of communicating.”
Ryan laughed. “That’s another word for blunt.”
“Ass,” said Lily as she laughed.
Wayne said, “I think I could keep my mouth shut. I don’t like talking much anyway.” He tore off a piece of a whole wheat roll. “So do you think you’ll ever sit in the same room as the guy who killed Zora?” He rolled the piece in a sliver of softened butter on his appetizer plate and shoved it into his mouth.
Lily shook her head.
“I doubt it.” Drexel bit his lower lip and then rolled his tongue on the inside of it. “I’d probably kill him first.”
The silence lasted until the server returned and offered to refill their waters. The conversation restarted with a focus on the national news. Wayne went on a rant about the perils of socialized medicine, which the three siblings refused to engage. Drexel did not know either Ryan’s or Lily’s feelings on the situation, and he knew Wayne’s all too well. So his brother-in-law vented out his rage and the facts as he interpreted them. The food interrupted him. The squab was delicious, though he doubted it was worth the $50. The others seemed pleased with their meals. Lily gushed about the Brussels sprouts being “Maybe the best thing I’ve ever eaten.”
Drexel skipped dessert, opting for a Scotch instead: Lagavulin 16-Year Old. He savored the peat of the whisky as Ryan’s fork cut through a panna cotta with raspberry sauce.
Wayne paid the check, and then they stood outside in the warm Chicago night as they waited for the car. Drexel felt like turning and walking through the streets. His love for the city—the one he defended from crime—always seemed the most in the late evening and early night. The lights of Chicago sparkling and the darkness obscuring the wounds and sores. But he stood firm and did not turn from his family and walk into the obscurity of the city.
***
Ryan called it a night after he and Drexel entered the apartment, so Drexel found a glass and poured himself a short dram of bourbon. Hart followed his owner into his room, where Drexel undressed to his underpants and climbed into bed. He cracked open his copy of Montaigne’s essays as Hart jumped up onto the bed and curled up on the far corner. Drexel remembered he had a message from earlier in the day so he unplugged his phone and tapped through to the voice mails. He tapped the play button on the only one he had.
“Hello, this is Isaac Dervish.” A cough. “I’m calling for Drexel Pierce. A detective with the Chicago police. This is the only number I could find, so I hope—I hope this is the right number.” He sounded as if he were struggling to hold back sobs. “I’m from the ME’s office. I used to work there is what I mean. I, I worked your wife’s, Zora’s, autopsy. I’ve information you must have. Call me.” Isaac left his number.
Drexel was not sure how long he sat there with the phone in his hand. His mind racing through what it meant, but all so vague and unformed it was as if he were not thinking at the same time. He nodded when it clicked with him to return the call. He tapped the call back button and listened to it ring and ring. After eight rings, it bounced to voice mail. The greeting was generic, so Drexel hung up. Then he called again and left a message for Isaac to call him back. Drexel then called Nicole.
“Hello?” she asked.
“Sorry. Did I wake you?”
“Yes. Who is this?”
“Sorry, this is Drexel.”
“What’s going on?” Her voice lost the irritation and tiredness.
“Do you know an Isaac Dervish?”
“Yeah, why? What’s going on?”
“He left me a message.” Drexel took in a deep breath. “A message about Zora.”
“What?”
“He said he had information to tell me about Zora.”
“Okay. I guess that’s possible. But wouldn’t that have appeared in the report?”
“That was written by Dr. Emerick Jonas,” said Drexel, referencing Nicole’s predecessor.
“Oh.”
“What?”
“Well, Isaac was fired for drunkenness. Multiple times. Not fired. That was only once. But he came into work drunk multiple times. If Jonas hadn’t retired early, he would’ve been in trouble too. He signed a bunch of reports on post-mortems that Isaac did. Didn’t want a drunk ME on the stand. Not saying that’s what happened here, but it’s possible.”
Drexel said thanks and hung up. He laid awake in bed trying to fit this information into what he knew. He got up and pulled out the box of documentation he had on the autopsy and reviewed the ME’s report, supposedly written and signed by Dr. Jonas. He read it again and again. What the hell did Isaac Dervish have?
Dawn broke through the blinds to find Drexel sitting on the floor, holding and looking at the report. Hart curled up on the corner lifted his head and yawned, unconcerned with what a single voice mail message had wrought.
Chapter 19
On the way into the heart of the city, Drexel called and left another message for Isaac and then called and left a message for Daniela to meet him outside Hank Fulsom’s accounting firm: Lippel, Seal, and Dalton. The firm’s office was on Wacker Drive in the Pound building, called that because it resembled the shape of an octothorp. Built in the Brutalist style, the fifteen-story, tan, concrete, and glass building overlooked the Chicago River.
Drexel waited across the street, his back against the stone railing along the river. The Marina Towers loomed behind him as well, across the river. For him, those towers more than the Sears Tower or the John Hancock Center building spoke to him of the city. Something in their circular design and the lower level carport and the residents in the upper floors looking down on the river and the Loop. Or maybe he just thought of The Bob Newhart Show and its opening sequence.
He drank the last of his coffee and turned to face the river. Zora had loved the river. She had said that the lake made Chicago a big city, but the river made Chicago a magnificent city. She had never altered this opinion despite his finding bodies floating in it or the tributaries.
“Whatcha thinking there, boss?”
He turned and saw Daniela’s smiling face. He smiled back. “Nothing. Let’s talk to Hank Fulsom’s employer.”
As traffic stopped to await a light change, they zig-zagged their way through the cars, getting a few horns blown for their jaywalking. One driver flipped them off.
They walked into the lobby, checked in with the front desk, and took the elevator to the fourth floor. The elevator opened to a hallway, which they walked down to the Lippel, Seal, and Dalton office. A solid wood door opened to a receptionist area with a small center table and two couches in front of the receptionist desk. Behind the desk, sat a man dressed in a sharp, gray suit with a white shirt and red tie. He said, “Welcome to Lippel, Seal, and Dalton, how may I assist you?”
Drexel walked up to the desk. “I understand a Hank Fulsom works here? Is that correct?”
“Yes, he does. Let me call—.”
“No need for that. I want to talk to his boss.” Drexel pulled out his badge.
“Oh. Um. I see. Okay.” The receptionist looked up and nodded. “His boss is Sara Jenkins.” He picked up the phone and dialed. “Mrs. Jenkins, a detective is in reception and wants to speak to you. Okay. Yes. I’ll let him know.” He hung up and turned to Drexel. She’ll see you. Take that door,” he pointed to the only door other than the exit, “walk straight back until you hit a wall. Turn right and you’ll see her office a few down from there.”
“Thanks,” said Drexel. He held the door open for Daniela and then followed her into the quiet office. They walked the short grey-green carpet in a diamond pattern through a path b
etween cubes. Offices and conference rooms hugged the real estate along the windows. Over the tops of the cubes, he saw heads staring at computer screens. Daniela turned right in front of him, and she looked at the brass name tags on the doors. They stopped in front of the partially opened door that stated, “Sara Jenkins, Senior Vice President Midwest Region.”
“Come in,” said the husky voice from inside the office.
Drexel followed Daniela in. The same carpeting and the walls were painted a light gray. Her view looked across Dearborn Street at the Leo Burnett Building. He imagined the Leo Burnett advertising agency as more rambunctious than the accountants on this floor. On the wall hung several abstract paintings so common to so many businesses he had entered over the years. Sara Jenkins walked from behind her desk. She wore navy blue slacks with thin white pinstripes and a matching blazer. The white shirt had ruffles and a large pointed collar. A blue and white bead necklace hung from her neck and she wore white heels. Her wavy dark brown hair with hints of blond dropped below the shoulder. She was tan, and the rings on her right hand shimmered. “Hello, I’m Sara Jenkins.”
Daniela shook Sara’s hand. “Daniela Longfurd.”
“Drexel Pierce.” He shook her hand. “Detective with the Chicago police.”
Sara nodded and gestured for them to sit at a small table with four chairs. “Please have a seat. Water? Coffee?” Without waiting for a reply, Sara walked to the door and leaned out. “Ross, can you get us some coffee and water please?” She closed the door behind her.
All three sat at the table. Drexel said, “I’m here to talk to you about one of your employees, Hank Fulsom.”
Sara nodded. “So tragic what happened to his wife. I can’t imagine what that’s like. He was so in love with her.”
“How so?”
“The way he’d talk about her. He put her on a pedestal. Thought the world of her.”
“Did you ever see them together?” asked Daniela.
Sara curled her bottom lip into her mouth and paused. “Only once that I recall. A holiday party a few years ago. Hank brought her. It was right before she started on that show. They were both really excited.”
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