Lies in High Places

by Dana Killion

  He flipped through the documents as I summarized for him. “Okay, looks like he’s got something. But you could have passed this case on to a dozen different ASAs who would have been happy to do the legwork for him. Why are you pounding on my door?”

  “Look at the address. Englewood. Three blocks from one of the shooting locations. I think there’s a connection between these cases.” I leaned back in my chair and paused, crossing my arms over my chest. “There are others in his neighborhood who’ve been victims of this same company, LRM Property Holdings. Are you aware of any of this activity?”

  He tossed his glasses onto his desk and pinched the bridge of his nose as if a headache had just landed. I could see that I’d hit my mark. “I used to think your persistence was an attribute. Now I see it’s just a pain in the ass. You’re letting ambition fuel your imagination. Where is your evidentiary fact? Conflating this real estate scam with the shooting is beyond comprehension. I appreciate your chutzpah, but come on, Andrea, don’t lose all legal standards of evidence in the process of getting your story.”

  “Well, let me broaden the landscape. Setting aside LRM for the moment, there’s a company strategically buying up property in Englewood near the shooting locations. It didn’t exist six months ago. It has offshore financial dealings in the Caymans. And the attorney involved in these transactions is also working with a certain alderman to obtain more-favorable zoning. An alderman who has connections with a large real estate developer who also happens to be a well-known name inside the highest level of city government.”

  I let everything fly, my words tumbling out rapid fire as if I were afraid that a pause would be an opportunity for Tierney to shut me down.

  “Because I know you so well, Denton, that vein that’s been bulging in your right temple tells me that LRM Holdings is a name you’ve heard before.” He didn’t acknowledge my comment, just looked at me as stonily as he would a defendant. “I’ll leave you Quincy Harris’s file with the understanding that his situation will be properly handled, as always. I’ll pass on the additional victims as I have them.” I paused hoping for a response, but got none. I continued.

  “It’s clear that, at the moment, the rest of this conversation isn’t something you’re prepared to discuss. But you should know that I have every intention of continuing to pursue a connection between this real estate play and the highway sniper, despite your refusal to entertain that theory. If you want to talk about anything I’ve had to say today, you know how to get ahold of me.”

  I got up from my chair and turned to leave. Tierney kept his silence, but I could feel the shift in his energy as the cogs rotated and clicked into place.

  “One last thing,” I said as I reached the door. “The attorney that set up LRM Holdings is the same guy who set up the company now gobbling up property in Englewood. His name is Porter Gladwyn.”

  34

  I’d been on Lake Shore Drive for all of four minutes when brake lights pulled me to a dead stop and out of my thoughts. After seeing Tierney, I had run home to get my car and was now on my way to Mezey Development. I intended to walk in and see if I could sweet talk anyone into bragging about upcoming development plans. An unformed, ridiculous plan, but hell, why not?

  If Nash was to be believed, the sniper was a hired gun. But why? What was the bigger plan? Real estate development was the only answer that made sense. The shootings could be a device for price manipulation

  Can’t exactly get top dollar for your home when bullets are flying past the windows. But it was hard to comprehend men so greedy they were willing to kill for a project. The magnitude of what must be at stake floored me.

  The owners of those unsold properties might give me some answers. That is, if Brynn wasn’t striking out as badly as I was.

  I sure as hell wasn’t learning anything new about the impact of summer road construction on traffic patterns. I’d moved about twenty feet in the last five minutes. Maybe Michigan Avenue would be traveling at a better pace. Time to get off The Drive.

  I flipped my turn signal and nosed over toward the beat-up white Cadillac on my right, hoping a wave at the driver would open enough space for me to squeeze in. Success. As I inched over, my phone rang through the Bluetooth system. With my eyes on the car in front of me doing a last-ditch maneuver into the exit lane, I tapped the button on the steering wheel and took the call.

  “Hi, it’s Erik. I know you’re mad at me, but we need to talk.”

  Shit! Why hadn’t I looked at the screen? Leave it to Erik to find me when my guard was down.

  “Our attorneys can handle everything from here,” I said. “Under the circumstances, it’s best if we don’t speak without a referee.”

  “Ouch! Having thoughts of inflicting bodily harm?”

  “Only for the past four months.”

  Silence. Good.

  “I only need a few minutes,” he said, his voice losing its cocky edge. “I promise to be civil. I have a paycheck for you and a few documents. A couple minutes is all I need.”

  Items easily mailed. He must want something. I contemplated brushing off the request, but going in would give me an opportunity to pick up any notes Brynn had ready. The more data I had for Michael tonight, the better. I glanced at the clock. Tight, but I could still make it to Mezey before they closed if I didn’t let Erik derail me.

  “Fine. I can spare five minutes, but if this isn’t all business, I’m gone.” I tapped off the call before I could change my mind.

  Traffic eased up once I was traveling west on Randolph. Unfortunately, my mood did not. If Erik was expecting a kiss-and-make-up moment, he was going to be disappointed. Each block closer I got to the office, the angrier I was at myself for even agreeing to meet.

  I took a right on LaSalle and headed north, keeping my eyes peeled for a parking spot as I crossed Ontario. As usual, there was nothing. I circled, but wasn’t feeling patient. The quicker I got in, the quicker I could get out, so I pulled into the alley behind the office, parked in an empty spot reserved for a neighboring business, put on my flashers, and prayed I wouldn’t be here long enough for the owner of the slot to have me towed.

  Brynn’s face broke into a confused smile as I sauntered up to her cubicle.

  “Please tell me you’re back,” she whispered.

  “Nope.” I shook my head. “Just picking up some paperwork from Erik. If you’ve made any progress on those calls, don’t let me leave without a copy of your notes. I might have lined up some help.”

  Brynn gave me a quick nod and a lopsided smile as she threw herself back into the task.

  Might as well get this out of the way. I nodded at a few of the surprised staffers and continued back to Erik’s office.

  As I stepped into the threshold of the open door, I caught sight of Borkowski leaning over Erik’s desk. He was angled away from me and hadn’t yet noticed my arrival. Why was he in here alone? His hand was on the desk phone. I watched as he seemed to be scrolling through Erik’s phone log. Interesting.

  My cell pinged an incoming text and Borkowski turned toward the sound.

  “Oh?” he said, unable to come up with anything more eloquent.

  Nice try on the diversion, but I wasn’t buying it. What were you looking for? Calls from potential purchasers? I should probably chastise him for snooping, but in reality, I wondered if he’d found anything good.

  “Where’s Erik?” I asked instead. Whatever small bond we’d made earlier in the day would hold for now.

  “He, ah, went over to Starbucks. Said something about needing a double espresso.”

  “Seriously? We had a meeting. Tell him he missed his opportunity.” I turned toward the door as Erik appeared, coffee in hand.

  “I left that piece on your desk,” Borkowski said quickly before scurrying out, his tone all business now that the window had closed on his surveillance expedition. He nodded his head at the phone as he left, a silent message to me. Keep quiet? Or I found something?

  “Thanks for coming in
,” Erik said. “Things didn’t end well the other day. I know, understatement of the year. You’re probably not anxious to see me, but I’m glad you came.”

  “Do you have the documents?” I asked, trying to keep the conversation focused and emotions submerged. As much as I wanted to tell him what an ass he’d been, it wouldn’t accomplish anything. Old story.

  He unlocked a drawer in his desk and pulled out a file, but wasn’t anxious to hand it over.

  “What is it? Obviously you have something else you wanted to say. Please spit it out before my car gets towed.” I shifted my weight to the other foot and hiked my purse up onto my shoulder, ready to bolt if this conversation diverted into our personal life. When he said nothing, I held out a hand. “Those documents…?”

  He opened the file and gave me an envelope. “I had your payroll check cut early. Figured there was no reason to make you wait until next week.”

  I nodded thank you, appreciating his rare moment of thoughtfulness.

  “You also have a severance check coming. Boss’s discretion can come in handy,” he said, watching me for a reaction. “Six months was the best I could do.” He handed me the file.

  “Erik, I don’t know what to say. Thank you. I didn’t expect this.” I flipped open the file, and instead of a check, legalese jumped out at me. Of course. I skimmed the document.

  “I see there are strings attached.” I closed the folder and felt my hands shake with rage as I glared at him. The brief moment of gratitude I’d felt had been squashed like a skunk on the expressway.

  “It’s a standard non-compete. Common in these situations. I’m sure you understand.”

  Common? No, but it would keep me on the sidelines and the highway shooting story locked on a flash drive, long past anyone giving a damn. Take the check and I’d be signing away any thoughts of a journalism career. I tossed the file back on his desk.

  “Thanks, but I prefer a life without handcuffs.”

  I gave him one last look and walked out. Had Erik really expected me to take the money and go quietly? From his expression, it seemed he hadn’t considered anything else. Sorry, good little girl went home long ago.

  Brynn was ready with the copies when I got back to her desk. I thanked her quickly, promised to call in the morning, then bounded out of the office before my anger could consume me. Hopefully, I wouldn’t be topping off my evening by having to cab over to the impound lot.

  The warmth of the sun on my back and Brynn’s notes in my bag were starting to ease my irritation as I turned the corner into the alley and moved past the dumpster.

  Relief. The car was still exactly where I’d left it, but another vehicle had me pinned in. Probably the owner of the slot I was borrowing. Hmm, white beat-up Cadillac. Wasn’t that the car that had followed me off the Randolph exit?

  I stopped, pondering the situation, when suddenly someone grabbed my left wrist from behind and pulled my arm back and up into my shoulder blades. I gasped, and my bag tumbled to the ground. Before I knew what was happening, a forearm was thrust into my upper back, and I was slammed into the brick wall. Blinding pain shot down the side of my face as I made contact. My forehead and cheek were ground further into the rough surface as my assailant pushed the weight of his body into mine.

  “Take my wallet,” I managed to squeak out.

  He yanked my arm higher until I cried out. My head foggy from the blow, my face pressed against the wall, I shot my eyes down the alley, hoping someone could see me. Could come to my aide.

  “Don’t say a word, bitch,” he growled into my ear. The stink of cigarettes wafted up my nose.

  My mind boomeranged, but in half speed, trying to understand what was happening, what he wanted, how I was going to get out of this. I blinked rapidly, trying to clear my head, trying to be analytical about the situation, forcing myself to notice what I could about the attacker I couldn’t see. He was taller than me by maybe four or five inches. I could feel the weight of him, the dense, compact muscles of his chest and legs as he pressed against me.

  His elbow now dug harder into my back, forcing soft flesh deeper into the rough brick. The surface was like razors tearing into my cheek, now warm and sticky with blood.

  “You’ve been hangin’ where you don’t belong,” he said, his breath warm against my face. “Askin’ questions that ain’t none of your business.”

  I forced myself to focus. Forced air into my lungs and out again. Forced the pain and the fear down deep inside so I could catch every nuance about this man and what he was saying. He released the arm across my upper back, but held tightly to the wrist pushed up between my shoulders. He pulled me back against him a few inches, my face now clear of the brick. His right arm came up along the side of my body, brushing the bare skin on my arm. I recoiled at his touch as he rested his palm against the wall. I could see the stubby fingers of his hand. The ragged nails. The elaborate tattoo that started at his wrist and sheathed his forearm. An eagle, a globe, an anchor, the words “Get Some.” Military? I stared at the image, trying to memorize every detail, before he moved his hand to my waist and pushed his pelvis into my backside.

  “You don’t listen very well. You were told to stay out of Englewood. To stop talking to cops. I guess I’ll have to find another way to get your attention,” he said, his hand moving up my body, across my stomach, over my breast. I stifled a gasp, but knew he could feel my panic as I tensed against his touch. His hand traveled to the low neckline of my blouse, fondling the silk until one finger reached skin. Then, in a single motion, he pulled aside shirt and bra, ripping off buttons and exposing me. Using the small bit of leverage that his movement had created, I brought one foot up against the wall, pushing and twisting, struggling to free myself as I screamed for help. In response, his hand became a vise on my breast until I shrieked in pain. Then with another yank of my arm, he shoved me back against the brick.

  “Stay where you belong,” he snarled into my ear, then released his grip and walked away.

  As I listened to the sound of a car door slam and tires squeal down the alley, I clutched the wall, shaking, too terrified to move. I crumpled to my knees. My body trembling, I turned my back against the wall for support, closed my eyes, and pulled air deep into my chest, working the adrenaline out. Counting out the breaths in my head. In: one, two, three, four, five. Out: one, two, three, four, five. Slowly I regained control. The ripe smell of the dumpster that had shielded me from the street became tangible again. As did the rocks digging into my ass.

  Releasing another breath, I pulled clothing over my scraped and bloody flesh and wobbled to my feet. My bag lay spilled just three feet in front of me. Kneeling, I picked up a packet of tissues and dabbed at the knot on my forehead, pulling back blood. Hurt like hell, but the bleeding seemed manageable. Now what? Go back upstairs and ice my head, which meant giving Erik another reason to hang on? File a police report on a man I could only identify by his forearm, which might also bring my assailant back? Or could I pull myself together enough to drive the ten minutes back to my apartment.

  With unsteady hands, I gathered my keys and the contents of my bag and let myself into the car, quickly locking the door behind me. Leaning back against the headrest, I took a firm grip on the wheel to control the trembling, gathered what energy I had left, and allowed the tears to flow.

  35

  With fingers cramped from gripping the steering wheel so tightly I’d lost feeling, I let myself into my apartment. The tears had dried, the blood had dried. I remembered nothing of the drive home, focused instead on repeating over and over to myself the details of my attacker’s tattoo, the sound of his voice, the choice of his words. Norman, my doorman, had rushed to help as I limped into the lobby for a second time, battered and bruised, offering to call an ambulance, the police, Cai. I declined, wanting only the security of my own home. My own bathtub. My own bed.

  After securing the deadbolt, I bagged some ice, then shuffled off to fill the bathtub. Walter jumped up on the bathroom counter
, welcoming me home, as I surveyed the damage. Abrasion on my cheek, a nice welt on my forehead, and an inch-long cut that had been the source of the bleeding.

  I stripped, tossed the blouse in the trash, laid out the thickest towel I owned, and immersed myself in the hot water. Reclining as far as the slant of the tub would allow, I applied the ice pack and let the water be my release. Pushing all thoughts of anything other than feeling the heat of the water and the soft expansion of my lungs, I let my body float until sleep found me.

  Waking to bath water gone cold, I toweled off, wrapped myself in a thick terrycloth robe, and downed some Advil before padding out to the kitchen to make a cup of tea. I curled up on the sofa with my Earl Grey in hand and Walter purring on my lap. I had just one thought on my mind: I was getting close.

  The memory of my attacker’s hands on my flesh flashed back. The thrust of his pelvis, his hand on my breast, his voice in my ear. My breath caught in my throat, and I gripped the arm of the sofa as panic seized control of my emotions. Let it go. Slow it down. Focus. Fill your lungs and release.

  This is what he wanted. To put me into a cold sweat in the middle of the night, imagining how he would hurt me. To make me so afraid and weak that I would hide instead of fight. Instead he had given me a gift. He had shown me that someone wanted me off the story. And that meant I was pushing the right buttons.

  At 7:30 p.m. the phone rang: Norman announcing Detective Hewitt’s arrival. It had completely slipped my mind. After asking that he be sent up, I flipped open the door latch, then hurried into the bedroom to throw on jeans and a cotton shirt. As I heard Michael call out a hello, I took one last fruitless look in the mirror, dabbed on some concealer, and headed back toward the living room. There wasn’t enough makeup in all of Sephora to camouflage my run-in with a brick wall.