by KJ Kalis
Emily nodded.
“Anyway, when I was done yanking the books off the shelves, there was a big pile of them on the floor. I went to step over and saw the little notebook I just gave you.” She nodded her head towards Emily, “It had slipped halfway under one of the bookcases. I probably wouldn’t have even noticed it if it hadn’t been so small and red. It was nothing like any of the other books Vince had in his office. That’s how I found it.”
Emily thumbed through the little book quickly. It appeared to be in code, just a lot of dates and initials and numbers. If she had to bet her life, Emily would guess that it was a notebook a high-priced bookie had given to Vince to help him record his winnings, or if Anthony was right, his mounting losses. Glancing at the amounts, Emily was surprised at how quickly the numbers added up. A couple of thousand dollars here and a couple of thousand dollars there turned into tens of thousands of dollars and then hundreds of thousands of dollars before her eyes had to move far down on the page. There were pluses and minuses too, but knowing what game it was from or who the money was owed to was another issue entirely. But, holding the notebook in her hands, Emily had a glimmer of hope for the first time since Angelica had asked her to take the case. For the first time, Emily had a piece of solid evidence between her fingers, something she could study and learn from. Hopefully, it was just what she would need in order to get Vince to give the money back to Marlowe. At least if Emily could do that, then Marlowe would be able to continue on the Lakeview project. Whether she was able to succeed or if she would ultimately fail would be out of Emily’s hands. But, if that happened, at least Emily could walk away, knowing she helped someone her sister valued.
Knowing that there was a solid goal in front of her gave Emily a surge of energy. She was about to turn and walk away, thinking through the next steps of what to do with the information in the little red book when she glanced at Marlowe, whose skin had managed to gray even more than just a few minutes before. Marlowe began to wobble, looking like she was going to lose her balance. Out of instinct, Emily reached for her and eased her to the ground, “Are you okay?”
For a minute, Emily thought maybe Marlowe just hadn’t been eating or drinking enough. People who were under stress didn’t do a great job taking care of themselves. A few years before, Emily received a letter from a guy who’d been morbidly obese when she met him and solved the case of his wife’s murder. A year later, he’d lost more than one hundred pounds and ran a marathon.
Emily leaned over Marlowe, who’d landed on her hip, leaning to the side. She could barely keep her eyes open, “Are you okay?” Emily repeated.
“I don’t feel so good.”
Emily watched as Marlowe’s eyes slid down her legs. A dark red stain had soiled her jeans. Blood. Where it was coming from Emily had no idea, but she knew that if Marlowe was bleeding, they needed help and help quickly. Without thinking, Emily pulled her phone out of her pocket and dialed 911. “I need an ambulance. The person I’m with is bleeding heavily from between her legs,” Emily rattled off the location and then put the phone on speaker.
The next few minutes were excruciating. Marlowe was in and out of consciousness. There was nothing Emily could do but wait. As much as Emily would have liked to walk away and go about her business, that wasn’t an option, at least not one she could live with. No matter how difficult Marlowe was, she was still a human being. Emily couldn’t abandon her now.
Two minutes later, Emily could hear the scream of sirens approaching from down the street. A minute after that, she saw the white ambulance, lettered with Chicago Fire Department on the side, pull up in the parking lot, not far from where Emily had left her truck. Marlowe was groaning as the paramedics approached, clutching her stomach.
The first paramedic, a tall man with a buzz cut, knelt down, “What happened here?” he said, glancing up at Emily, who’d taken a step back.
“We were talking, and she just collapsed. Then I noticed the blood on her pants.”
The second paramedic, a young woman with wide hips and a long blonde ponytail readied the gurney and handed her partner their red first aid bag. He waved her off. Pulling a stethoscope off of his neck, he listened to Marlowe’s heart. “We need to get her to the hospital. It looks like she’s hemorrhaging.” He looked at Emily again, “Do you know if she’s pregnant or has any other health conditions? Endometriosis? Any other gynecological problems?”
Emily shook her head, “I have no idea. This is only the second time I’ve talked to her. I don’t know her all that well.”
The paramedic squinted as if he didn’t believe Emily. “Do you know her name at least?”
“Marlowe Burgess.”
There was just a soft murmur of talk between the paramedics. They weren’t excited, just decisive in their movements, quickly sliding Marlowe onto a backboard and then lifting her onto the gurney, covering her with a white sheet and belting her in. With a click, the gurney extended up to full height. The blonde paramedic slipped an oxygen mask over Marlowe’s face. Marlowe’s eyes were still closed, her head rocking off to the side as they pushed the gurney away from Emily.
Emily called after them, “Where are you taking her?”
The lead paramedic called back over his shoulder, “Chicago General.”
Emily followed them as they walked Marlowe to the ambulance. It was none of her business what was going on with Marlowe’s health, but the least she could do was make sure that Marlowe got into the ambulance and off to the hospital safely. By the looks of it, whatever was going on with her could be serious.
With a click and a clatter, the gurney wheels locked into place in the back of the ambulance. The blonde paramedic slammed the doors closed as Emily watched the tall man lean over Marlowe, attaching a blood pressure cuff to her arm and reaching for his radio. What he said, Emily didn’t know. The blonde paramedic looked at Emily, “You can follow us if you want. Just don’t run any lights.”
Without any other discussion, the woman trotted to the side of the ambulance, got in and pulled away, the howl of the sirens starting before she left the parking lot. That wasn’t a good sign. If they weren’t concerned about Marlowe’s health being in jeopardy, they would run silently, just lights flashing. The sirens told another story.
Emily’s eyes traced the ambulance as it wove its way out of the parking lot and onto the road. She caught a last glimpse of it as it turned right, dodging traffic that had pulled off to the side. She said a silent prayer that Marlowe would make it, the question of what happened to her still ringing in Emily’s ears.
Walking back to her truck, Emily slid in, starting it up and turning the heat on. It seemed the temperature dropped in just the last few minutes, or maybe it was just the chill of watching Marlowe go down. Emily didn’t know. From out of her pocket, Emily pulled the red notebook, thumbing through it again. She set it down, knowing there was something else she needed to do. Picking up her cell phone, she sent a text to Angelica, “Marlowe just collapsed. I called an ambulance. She’s on her way to the hospital.”
Not more than a few seconds later, Emily’s phone rang. “What did you do to her?”
Angelica.
“What’d I do to her? Nothing! All I’ve done over the last couple of days is try to help your emotionally unstable friend. I met her at the park and all of a sudden she collapsed.”
Angelica sighed, “I’m sorry, Emily.” The way that she said it made Emily’s name sound like two separate names — Emma and Lee, with the accent on the Lee. It was probably from living in Europe for so many years. “I’ve been worried sick about her but didn’t know why. Now I do. Tell me what happened.”
Dr. Angelica, the kind, calm, cool and collected version of her sister had reemerged. Emily sucked in a breath, putting the truck into gear. There was no reason to continue to sit in the parking lot. The ambulance wasn’t coming back. Marlowe wasn’t coming back, and Emily wasn’t going to the hospital. Emily had what she needed. She glanced at the red notebook that sat on the
passenger seat. “I don’t know. She had a notebook she wanted to give to me. As soon as she did, her legs buckled and then I saw blood on her jeans.”
“Blood on her jeans? Where? Where exactly?”
“Between her legs.” Emily didn’t need to be a paramedic or a doctor to know what the location of the blood meant. It was likely that Marlowe was having some sort of hemorrhage in her uterus. Why that would be happening would be better left to the doctors to figure out.
“And you called an ambulance right away?”
Emily sighed, pressing her lips together. The inquisition had begun. In that respect, Angelica was like their mother had been before she died. Too many questions demanding too many details. “Yes. What else was I going to do with her?”
“Yes. Exactly,” Angelica said. “Was she talking when she left?”
Emily put on the blinker of the truck, turning right to get on the freeway. It was time to head home. “No. She wasn’t.”
“That’s not a good sign…”
26
Emily didn’t stay on the phone with Angelica much longer. They didn’t discuss their argument from a few days before. Emily didn’t expect Angelica to say she was sorry. Angelica didn’t do that. She saw it as a sign of weakness. Why that was the case, Emily wasn’t sure. In Emily’s business, genuine repentance went a long way. If people were sorry for what they did, Emily would have virtually no cases to work on.
But that wasn’t human nature.
Emily put the pickup truck back in the garage and closed the door. She walked to the back of her house. Inside, she could hear Miner whining and smell coffee. “How’d it go?” Mike said.
“The good part or the bad part?”
Mike glanced up at her, his eyes wide, “Did she freak out on you again?”
Emily shrugged out of her jacket, hanging it on the back of one of the kitchen chairs. “No. She decided to hemorrhage right in front of me instead. Had to call an ambulance.”
“What?”
Before Emily could answer, Mike was tapping away at his laptop. “Any idea which hospital they took her to?”
“Chicago General.”
Mike didn’t say anything for a minute, staring intently at his screen. From their other cases, Emily knew he could sometimes see medical records of patients. “Yeah, they show her in bed nineteen of the emergency room, but no details yet. They’re probably running tests. At least she got there, though. What do you think happened to her?”
“I have no idea. There was blood soaking through her jeans between her legs. Maybe she had an ovarian cyst rupture?” Emily slumped down in the chair next to Mike. As much as she felt bad for Marlowe, the last thing Emily wanted to do was spend half her morning talking about what could be wrong with the woman. She barely knew her. ”I got the notebook,” Emily said, setting it on the table.
Mike snatched it up, thumbing through it. He frowned, “This is going to be hard to figure out with no other information to reference it against.”
Emily nodded. Mike was right, but they had to figure it out. It was the only real lead they had that could tell them what Vince was up to in his off time. From what Emily could tell, the dates were fairly recent. It wasn’t like a notebook that Vince had used years ago. The information was fresh. How it played into their case, she wasn’t sure, but her gut told her the entire case could hinge on the information that was there.
Emily reached around the back of her head, tightening her ponytail. “I know. I have an idea who might be able to help with this one. I know old-fashioned data isn’t your specialty.”
Whether Mike interpreted that as a criticism or not, she didn’t know. It wasn’t, though. It was just a fact. Mike was a citizen of the digital world, the information hidden in nooks and crannies of servers interesting and alluring to him. That’s what made him so good at what he did. Emily wasn’t that way. Whoever gave Vince the red book felt the same way, too.
“I’ve got a call to make.”
Mike nodded as she stood up from the table. She took the notebook with her and walked into the other room. She dialed the number from memory and then waited as the call clicked, “Cold Case Division.”
“Lou Gonzales, please.” As the words left her mouth, Emily’s heart beat a little faster. She’d had no contact with Lou Gonzales, her former partner at the Chicago Police Department, in the years after she left. Lou, like everyone else, had turned his back on her after her arrest. She remembered at the time thinking that when it was over — when they proved she hadn’t done anything wrong — that she’d get her job back and all the relationships she built. That never happened. Even though she was vindicated by a couple of Anthony’s attorneys who found out that some latent jealousies in the department caused another officer to frame her, nothing returned the way she hoped. The Chicago Police Department didn’t want her back. The Cold Case Division turned their back on her. It was part of her life that was strung somewhere between resolved and unresolved at the same time.
The phone rang three or four times, but no one answered. Lou’s voicemail kicked on. Emily knew she needed to decide. Did she leave a message? Should she call again later? She had nowhere else to turn. A pit formed in her stomach, “Lou, it’s Emily. I need a favor. Call me.”
As Emily ended the call, leaving her number, the pit in her stomach grew even bigger. It felt like it swallowed half of her insides. Would he call back? Emily wasn’t sure.
The next couple of hours went by quickly. Emily took Miner for another walk even though Mike already had, leaving him to follow Marlowe’s case at the hospital while Emily cleared her head. Stepping outside, Emily noticed the day had turned breezy, the wind pushing a few wisps of her long hair into her face as they walked. Miner, like most dogs, was happiest when he was doing something. It worked out fine for Emily. She needed time to think.
As she passed Sammy’s butcher shop, she saw Carl behind the counter. He waved with a big meaty hand. She waved back but kept going. The images from the morning flashed in her memory — the corpse-like color of Marlowe’s face, watching her knees buckle, the spread of blood on her jeans. For a moment, Emily wondered what happened to her. Had Marlowe been having health problems and Emily just didn’t know it? Not that it was any of her business, she thought, switching the leash to her other hand.
Emily stared ahead, thinking about Vince, his trip to the bar and then to Lakeview and the red notebook. Why had he left that behind in the office? Vince had to know there was an eviction order on the space. It didn’t make any sense to leave that information behind, given how recent it was.
The press of frustration rose within Emily. As usual, the pieces of the case simply weren’t fitting together the way they should. It was as if she was trying to construct a giant jigsaw puzzle with only twenty-five percent of the pieces and a foggy version of what the final outcome should look like. As she turned Miner back towards her house, she stuffed one of her hands in her pocket, feeling her cell phone vibrate. She pulled her phone out and stared at the screen. It was Mike. “Update on Marlowe. They’ve ordered a rape kit.”
Emily shook her head slightly and then picked up the pace. A rape kit? That didn’t make sense. Instead of texting Mike back, she called him, “A rape kit?”
“That’s what the records say.”
“How is that possible? She never mentioned any attacks or issues with men. Neither did Angelica.”
Mike didn’t answer for a moment. “I have no idea. I haven’t even met the girl.”
“Okay. I’ll be home in a few minutes.” As Emily ended the call, she realized Mike wouldn’t have the answers. There was no reason to ask him questions he couldn’t help her with. Emily’s brain searched for a possible answer. Had Marlowe been out that night before, partying and got herself into trouble? With Marlowe’s recent state of mind, Emily guessed that anything was possible, although she knew Marlowe had little money. How she could afford to go out on the town, Emily wasn’t sure.
Turning the final corner towards
home, Emily stared down the block, seeing an elderly man pushing a cart with a wobbly wheel. She needed to clear her mind. She was getting caught up in too much information. It was clouding her judgment and confusing the case. Was the request for a rape kit pertinent to what was going on with the relationship between Marlowe and Vince? Probably not. Emily needed to focus. That was the only way she was going to get the case solved.
27
As soon as Emily walked in the back door of the house, she dropped the leash. Miner trotted off to get a drink of water. Emily pulled her jacket down off her shoulders and hung it on the back of the kitchen chair where she had been sitting before she left. The red book was sitting on the table where she left it. Emily slid down into the seat, flipping open the pages. It was the first time she had taken a minute to study the information inside.
The way the pages were laid out was like a miniature ledger. She had seen full-size ledgers as a kid — her father kept all of his business records in an enormous three-ring book with pale yellow ledger paper that had dirty green lines. Emily doubted any business used paper ledgers anymore, at least legal ones, she thought, turning the page. More people used online versions that reconciled automatically. Nonetheless, the little red notebook was just a small version of the ledgers she’d seen as a child. In the first column, there were dates. The second column had initials, neatly written in script. The rest of the columns had numbers and more initials. What they meant, Emily wasn’t sure. She slipped the book closed, slamming it on the table and standing up, crossing her arms across her chest, a wave of rage growing inside of her. Another mystery to complicate the case, she thought.