“Oh, you’re awake. Good. I wanted to talk with you before I left for Mona’s. I thought it over and I think you’re right that it’s best to get out of Chicago for the time being. But I feel terrible leaving you here.”
“Don’t worry about it, Mom. I’ll be fine. I’m getting my ass off this sofa today. I have people who can stop in if I need help.” This didn’t seem an entire certainty, but she wanted her mother on her way. She had things to do.
After her mother took another fifteen minutes to say good-bye, Josie headed to her bedroom and put on some fresh sweatpants. She matched them with a hoodie and made her way slowly to her dining room table. She spread out her notebook and other documents on the case and suddenly felt a surge of energy. Josie wasn’t as sanguine about leaving a case with loose threads as Stan was.
She pulled out every reference she had to Ann-Marie and tried to figure out what the discrepancy in her alibi meant. It wasn’t unusual for a witness to be rattled and misspeak, but it was equally likely the witness would speak the truth in the immediate wake of an event. She’d been interviewed the day after the murder. Nicholson said she was tentative when saying she went directly from the school of the Art Institute to her sister’s place in the West Loop. Why would she change that to include a stop at the grocery store? There were two reasons Josie could think of—she’d simply forgotten to mention it when first interviewed by Bill Nicholson, or she needed to avoid her sister saying something different should she be interviewed. Their stories needed to coincide. As it turned out, the sister was never interviewed, though her name and number appeared on Nicholson’s notes.
Josie swore as she clumped her way to the living room for her phone and then back to the dining room. A growing sense of excitement was keeping her upright, but she still felt like hell. Her pounding headache and steady diet of pain pills made her feel dull. But it couldn’t feel any worse if she called the sister with a few simple questions. Her number was in Nicholson’s notes.
“Hello?”
“Is this Mrs. Sexton?” Josie noticed the harried hello and the sound of children racing around the background. “My name’s Josie Harper of Waterman Harper Investigations. I’m looking into the death of Kelly Moore.” She liked the sound of the new agency name.
There was a silence on the line, which meant Ann-Marie’s sister was uncomfortable. Josie wondered if she knew her sister had been sleeping with a murder victim.
“Yes, this is she. You can call me Clarissa.”
“If you have a moment I’d like to ask you a couple of questions.” Josie sounded very mellow, which she attributed to the hydrocodone. She tried to find a comfortable position on her rigid wood chair; there was none.
“I’m calling to corroborate Ann-Marie’s movements on the night of Kelly’s death,” she continued. “Do you recall when she got to your place from work that night?”
There was another pause before Clarissa said, “As I recall it, Ann-Marie came home from work, changed out of her painting clothes, and planned to go out to the grocery store to get food for dinner. She was going to cook for me and the kids.”
“What time was that?”
“I don’t know. Maybe four o’clock? We were leaving to see Gina’s dance recital. We agreed to meet at home at seven, and Ann-Marie was just getting back when we arrived.”
“What about the rest of the evening? Did Ann-Marie go out?”
There was silence on the line. Finally, Clarissa said, “I don’t know for sure.”
“What do you mean?” Josie felt like a bird dog on point.
“Jim and the kids and I were downstairs watching a movie. Ann-Marie said she was spending the rest of the evening in her room. It’s possible she went out without us knowing.”
“That lines up with what Ann-Marie told both the police and me. Thank you.”
An uproar could be heard coming from her end. “I’ve got to go,” Clarissa said and hung up.
Josie added this new account of Ann-Marie’s movements to her list. How could it be the police didn’t confirm Ann-Marie’s alibi with her sister? The different alibis didn’t mean much in themselves. The murder itself happened later than the dinner she shared with her sister’s family. It was the fact that her story changed, now with a third version, that piqued her interest. Now there was also the distinct possibility Ann-Marie didn’t stay in the whole evening. She leaned back in her chair, wondering if she’d ever get any good at this stuff. She should have thought to interview the sister. Waterman Harper might become simply Waterman in pretty short order. She picked up the phone again and called Ann-Marie and Gabby’s house. No answer. She called each of their cell numbers. No answer. It was a Friday, so Ann-Marie could be at school. She called the Art Institute, but no one could tell her if she had been away from the school for an unusually long time. The department secretary told her she’d been there for her Wednesday class but she hadn’t seen her since.
Next Josie called the fire house and talked to Gabby’s lieutenant.
“Gabby missed a shift yesterday, which is very unlike her. She’s a wild thing, always getting into trouble, but when it comes to her job she’s dedicated. We’re giving her until next shift, which is midnight tonight, before we call the cops. We can’t get her on the phone so the betting is she’s shacked up with someone.”
Josie was convinced that wasn’t the case. She had to get to Ann-Marie. There was either nothing to the confusion in her alibi—maybe she was simply an absentminded artist—or there could be something very big about it. Her gut told her it was big. She picked up the phone again.
“Hi, Bev. It’s Josie again. Yeah, I miss you, too. Listen, something popped in those notes of Nicholson’s and I need your help to see it through.”
“I’m listening,” Bev said. Josie could hear sounds of the station behind her. She told Bev about the discrepancies in Ann-Marie’s alibi and the fact that both Ann-Marie and Gabby seemed to be missing in action.
“Give me their address. I’ll take a ride over there,” Bev said.
“Oh, no. Not without picking me up first. If I start now I’ll be at the bottom of the stairs before you pull up.”
“Josie, there’s no way you’re going with me. You’re not well enough, number one, and you’re not authorized, number two.”
“I say bullshit to both. I’m getting around fine, and you wouldn’t even know about this if I hadn’t told you. I’ll see you in fifteen.”
Josie could hear Bev swear as she disconnected, but knew she’d be heading to her car to come get her. She hurriedly put a thick sock over the toes of her plaster-encased foot and a sneaker on the other. She never knew she had such contortionist abilities. The pain was bad and she thought about taking a pill. But she was going to have to gut it out. She stuck her gun and her burglar’s tools in the kangaroo pocket of her sweatshirt. The worst bit would be getting down the three flights of stairs. It took almost the full fifteen minutes to get out on the street, but it was worth every moment of agony. The fresh air felt glorious. There was color touching the leaves of the trees lining her block and it was still warm enough for a light jacket. The air dried the sweat from her face, hiding the effort it had taken to get this far. She wanted to look strong for Bev.
Chapter Thirty-five
Bev didn’t offer to help Josie into the car. She probably was assessing her abilities. Josie pulled her casted leg into the car with a smile on her face and said, “1752 Olive Street, James, and make it snappy.”
Bev snorted and hit the gas, following a series of one way streets until she pulled up in front of an old frame two-story house on Olive, near the commuter train tracks. The blinds were all drawn.
“So this is what I was thinking,” Josie said. “We’ll both go to the front door and say we’re checking in on everyone involved in the investigation of Kelly Moore’s murder, in light of Lauren Wade’s recent suicide.”
“Why would that make any difference to them?” Bev asked.
“It probably wouldn’t. I
t’s a nonsense question. Go with me on this. Once we have them in a conversation, even though you’re a cop and that’s usually a conversation stopper now that I think of it…”
“Josie,” Bev warned.
“I’ll ask Ann-Marie if Lauren’s suicide makes her think any differently about who killed Kelly. Does it seem more likely now Lauren did kill her? Then I’ll ask her about her alibi again.” Josie seemed satisfied.
“I think once Ann-Marie hears the word ‘alibi,’ she’ll clam up,” Bev said.
“Then we’ll know it’s a touchy point for her. That’s good information. Come on.”
Josie pulled herself out of the car and trailed Bev to the front door. She pushed the doorbell and got no response.
“Maybe they’re both working,” Bev said.
“No. Remember I called both their work places? I wonder if their car is here?”
Bev trotted down the gangway to the garage in the rear and was back in moments. “There are two cars in the garage.”
Josie rang again. After they waited another five minutes, Josie said, “I have a very bad feeling about this. I want to get in.”
“I can’t go in there, Josie. There’s no probable cause.”
Josie dug into her jacket pocket for her set of burglar tools. She’d taken them from a man she’d arrested for a series of burglaries in Lincoln Park. She shouldn’t have taken them, but he had two sets. No sense letting one go to waste. “You’re such a stick in the mud, Bev. There aren’t many rules when you’re a private cop. You know how I feel about rules,” she said as she tinkered around with the pick and the lock. Suddenly the sound of a gunshot exploded from above them. Josie stepped away and looked at Bev. “There’s your probable cause.”
Josie stepped back farther as Bev drew her gun and blew open the lock. She flew up the stairs that were to the right of the doorway, leaving Josie in a jumble of door, screen door, and crutches. She freed herself quickly and then heard a bloodcurdling scream.
“You shot me, you stupid motherfucker.” It was Gabby and she continued swearing until everything suddenly went silent again. Josie guessed Bev had just entered the room.
“Put your gun down and your hands in the air,” she heard Bev say. Shit. A Metra train came by, a long rush-hour commuter that masked the sound of Josie’s crutches. Josie was on the fifth of ten steps, her knee screaming. She picked up her pace, unable to imagine what trouble Bev might be in. Gabby had recommenced her cries of outrage, which told Josie she wasn’t gravely injured. She heard nothing from Ann-Marie.
She finally reached the top of the steps just as the train passed and saw Bev was in the bedroom straight ahead. There were four bedrooms laid out in a square. She put down her crutches and lay flat, crawling her way toward the room. She had to pull her gun from her pocket so it wouldn’t scrape along the wood floor. She could see part of Bev standing in a shooter’s pose. From the direction she was pointing, it looked like Ann-Marie and Gabby were near the west wall of the room.
“Put the gun down,” Bev said. “It’s the last time I’ll warn you.”
“You can stop your bluffing, Detective. If you shoot me, I’ll shoot Gabby, which you can see I have no problem with. If you don’t mind that blood on your hands, do what you have to.”
“What will it take to let Gabby go? We need to get her to the hospital, Ann-Marie,” Bev said, cool as she could be.
Bev stepped back so Josie could see her whole body. She knew Bev was aware of her and carefully not letting on. “Tell me what you need, Ann-Marie.”
“I need people to treat me better.” Ann-Marie’s voice was harsh, bitter. Josie could barely recognize her.
“That’s probably true,” Bev said. “But killing Gabby isn’t likely to help you there. What’s something I can give you in exchange for Gabby?”
Josie could tell from their voices they were sitting along the west wall of the room, with Ann-Marie on the left side, probably holding her gun on Gabby. She crawled to the edge of the door. Bev moved toward the north wall, drawing Ann-Marie’s eyes away from the door.
“Stop moving or I’ll shoot her,” Ann-Marie said.
“Calm down. I’m not doing anything. This way we have a better look at each other.”
Gabby let out a moan. “I’m not kidding. I’m bleeding out here.”
Bev’s voice took on new urgency. “Ann-Marie, we can’t mess around anymore. I need you to pull yourself together so no one else gets hurt. You don’t want that, do you? Now I’m going to hold my gun flat in the palms of my hands like this. See? I’m offering my gun to you in exchange for Gabby.”
“How does that help me?” Ann-Marie asked.
“Simple. I’ll take Gabby to the hospital and you walk away. There aren’t any other cops here. I won’t tell what’s happened here.”
“I’m supposed to believe that?” Ann-Marie said.
“I’m only interested in getting Gabby to a hospital. I’m getting to my knees now, Ann-Marie. See, my gun’s not even pointed at you. I’m going to put it on the ground like this, and when I count to three I’ll shove it over to you.”
Josie was poised at the doorway; she could see Ann-Marie and Gabby. She held her gun in a two-handed grip and hoped she wouldn’t have to fire it. If her shot was less than totally debilitating, Ann-Marie could fire at Gabby or Bev. Probably Bev. If Josie shot at her gun arm, she’d likely miss. If she went for the hip or leg area there was a chance Ann-Marie would hold on to the gun and fire. Anything less than a certain removal of the gun from Ann-Marie’s hand put them in danger.
“One,” Bev said, her voice steady. Josie got in position, exposing herself a bit. Ann-Marie’s eyes were glued on Bev.
“Two,” Bev said. “Remember, I’m sliding this to you. That’s giving you all the power, Ann-Marie. I don’t want you shooting me because I’m shoving a gun your way. Understand?”
Ann-Marie remained silent, but she could see her tighten her grip on Gabby.
“Three.”
The gun skidded across the hardwood as Ann-Marie turned her gun on Bev. Josie brought her arm around the door and shot. The only shot she could take. The shot she was trained to take at the academy. Shoot the middle. Ann-Marie slumped and didn’t move. Josie pulled herself into the room and managed to prop herself against a wall. She was panting and sweating. Bev gave her a concerned look before checking Ann-Marie’s pulse. She looked at Josie and shook her head. Then she frisked Gabby.
“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me,” Gabby roared. “I’ve got a bullet in my leg, for Christ’s sake. Call an ambulance!”
Bev stood and turned away from Gabby. She pulled her radio out and called in the scene before finding a towel to press to Gabby’s wound.
“Hold this and shut up,” she said to Gabby. Then she walked over to Josie and sat next to her.
“Crap. Now I’ll never know if Ann-Marie killed Kelly,” Josie said. “I think she did, don’t you?”
“Oh, yeah.”
“I bet between Gabby abusing her and Kelly dumping her, she kind of snapped,” Josie said.
They were silent for a while, watching Gabby push herself away from Ann-Marie’s body. She didn’t look heartbroken.
“Thanks, by the way,” Bev said.
“No problem.”
“I owe you one.”
“No, you really don’t,” Josie said. “It felt good to be a partner.”
Bev turned to Josie, who felt only a little better than death warmed over. “You were always a good partner, Josie.”
Josie put her arm around Bev’s shoulder as they waited for the cops to get there. They came too quickly as far as Josie was concerned.
Chapter Thirty-six
Thursday, September 19
Josie thought she’d proved herself capable of any sort of physical endeavor with her cast on. Her head didn’t hurt anymore, and her ribs were less sore every day. It was time to get out of the apartment. She clunked her way down the three flights of steps and got out into the fresh a
ir. It felt cathartic. The air was crisp, the breeze light. She felt as if she’d never noticed these things before.
Even on crutches it took her only a few minutes to get to Kopi. As she reached the corner of Clark and Summerdale she stopped to rest for a minute on one of the benches set along the corner. The sky was a brilliant blue. She put her sunglasses on, propped her leg on the bench, and stared out into the street. She’d found sitting and staring wasn’t as boring as she once thought it was. She didn’t always think about anything in particular, and she wasn’t anxious about anything either. This was fairly delusional, she knew, since she had plenty to think and be anxious about. But she’d enjoy it while she could.
Lucy lived a block away from where she sat. She thought about Lucy when she did all that staring into space. She remembered how much she liked her, how safe she felt with her, how adorable she was. Other times she felt only remorse, embarrassment, and shame for treating her so badly. Would Lucy ever understand that it was the beginnings of a mania, the excitement of a case, that made her see everything through such a skewed lens? Probably not. Now, on the bench, she thought of what might have been as she stared onto Clark Street.
She felt a hand on her shoulder and her left leg went to the ground as she tried to look behind her. She saw it was Lucy, who was gently pushing her shoulder down so she’d stay where she was. She sat on the edge of Josie’s bench. Her crazy hair was tied in a knot of top of her head. Her hoodie had a large recycling logo on it.
“Is it okay if we talk?” Lucy said.
Josie felt alarmed. Her heart rate had picked up noticeably. “Of course. I was hoping we’d be able to talk again. I didn’t know if you’d ever agree to.” Josie arranged herself to sit more comfortably and looked at Lucy, who gazed back at her.
“I think I saw the Josie from last year, the part of you that’s ill.”
“Ill perhaps, but the symptoms are remarkably similar to assholitis.”
Lucy laughed. “Yes. I was confused for a bit over the diagnosis. What happened to you?” she asked, pointing at Josie’s cast.
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