by Meg Lelvis
Jack told the hostess he’d wait in the entrance area for his other party. Since he disliked crowds, he was happy to see mostly empty tables. After several minutes, the door opened and Molly strolled in. Damn, she looked good.
“Hey, Jack.” She took his hand and gave him a half hug. He caught a hint of lavender as he stepped close. Her smooth hair looked shorter, both sides curved over her ears.
His heart skipped a beat. “Same place as last time okay?”
“Sure.”
The hostess led the way to a secluded booth in a corner. Jack indicated Molly sit first, then scooched in beside her. The décor was minimalist, with dark wood, red leather booths, and a modicum of wall hangings. A middle-aged waiter greeted them and asked for drink orders. The guy was half bald with wide-set eyes that bulged like a frog’s. Molly ordered a Shirley Temple, Jack, a Guinness.
Jack took in Molly’s white shirt and black and gray patterned jacket. Was it animal print? What did he know, but it looked fashionable to him. Her green eyes sparkled.
After making small talk about the weather, work, and Sister Anne, the waiter returned with their drinks. “Will you be having anything else?” The poor guy did resemble a frog.
“Not right now,” Molly said. “Maybe later.”
Jack held up his beer glass. “Here’s lookin’ at you, kid.” Upper lip pursed against upper teeth. A pretty decent Bogart if he said so himself.
Molly laughed. “Not bad.” She took a sip of her drink and set it down. Her smile faded. She eyed Jack. “I know we don’t know each other very well, but I felt a connection when we were here a couple weeks ago.”
“A week, but who’s counting?” Jack hoped this was leading somewhere promising. “Yeah, you could say that.”
“I’ve thought a lot about things since then, and I’m gonna go out on a limb here and be honest. At our age, we’ve been around the block a few times, and I wanted to tell you where I stand on goals and things. I’m not into the relationship games that younger couples play.”
Oh God, this didn’t sound good. Not ready for a commitment. He took a swig of beer. “Okay, I’m listening.”
His phone buzzed. “Sorry. Forgot to turn the damn thing off.” He glanced at the screen. His mother. Figured.
Molly smoothed her hair. A blue topaz ring sparkled on her right hand. “Anyway, I think we both have issues. I mean, they’re manageable, but issues. Maybe somewhat broken in places.”
This was getting heavy. “Just a minute here—” What was she? A shrink?
“Sorry, wait.” She held up her hand. “I want to finish and then you tell me what you think.”
She was moving too fast. Felt his cheeks flame. Hoped he wasn’t blushing.
He shrugged. “Sure thing.”
“I don’t mean to say we’re both too screwed up, but you know I’m a recovering alcoholic. Off the wagon last month. A constant battle. I’m prone to depression as well, so you see, I’m no bargain.”
“Molly, everyone has— “
“I know, but I’m hoping to find someone to be with on a steady basis. Not looking for marriage. Just someone to be with. As a friend and lover, and—now this is the hard part— “
“Ready to order anything else yet?” The guy snuck up on them.
Jack wanted to bare his teeth at him. “No thanks. I’ll let you know.” Didn’t mean to snap. Oh well.
Molly took another sip. “Some people can be friends. Companions to travel with, all that. But I’d want more. And—I can’t have that with you, Jack.”
His heart raced. “You’re moving way too fast, Molly. We haven’t even— “
“I know we haven’t slept together. But I know what’s coming. It’s happened before. You can’t help it, but you’re—you’re still in love with Karen. I don’t know if you’ll ever be able to love anyone else. I’m not blaming you of course— “
Jack scoffed. “Well, this is a new one. Pardon me, but you have some balls telling me how I tick. What my future is. How I feel about anything. I didn’t know you were a licensed shrink and— “
“Oh, Jack. Please don’t be angry.” Tears blurred her eyes. “I can tell when a man has a lost love he can’t get over. You can just tell. And I’m certain you are still entwined with Karen, whether through guilt or— “
“Now I’ve heard enough. You have no idea—” His voice rose. She’d overstepped into his private thoughts. Struck a nerve. The guilt.
“Right, I have no idea what Karen was like except she must’ve been one hell of a woman to capture your heart, Jack.”
“You don’t know the—” He wasn’t about the break his code of silence about Karen. That was sacred territory.
“And furthermore, before you walk out in a huff, I cannot and will not compete with a ghost.” She sounded frustrated that things were going south.
Jack flinched, drained his glass and slammed it on the table. Several people at a nearby table stared. He didn’t give a damn. He shifted himself out of the booth and stood. “I’ll pay the tab on the way out.” He leaned close to Molly’s face and said softly. “I’m outta here. Better luck with your next patient.”
Hmm, that went well, Jack told himself as he walked out of the restaurant after throwing down enough cash at the hostess station to cover the bill. Heart thumping, he climbed in his Beemer and burned rubber to get the hell out of there and away from that pompous broad forever.
How could he have misjudged her? Her words still reverberated with him. Could she be right? Maybe he’d never find anyone to be with. In disbelief, he felt a lump in his throat. He stifled the urge to bawl like a baby. What was happening to him? Wish he could talk to someone. Needed to vent. But no one available for that unless he looked up his old shrink from years ago. The image of Sowder’s doc, Kay Dunne flashed in his mind, but nah. Never happen.
After Jack arrived home, he lowered himself into his chair with a shot of Jameson with Guinness chaser and a bag of Doritos. Felt like the wind was kicked out of his balls. His answering machine blinked, but probably his mother. Ignore it. If it was Molly calling to apologize, forget that.
The beacon in his dismal life was the money he acquired from Buckley. Hell, the meeting was tomorrow already. How time flies when you’re getting crapped on.
Willing himself to compartmentalize Molly and all women, he thought about the case and how he and Sherk needed to get their shit together. Another thought crossed his mind. What if the coach’s killer thought Jack was getting too close to the truth? Could Jack’s life be in danger?
Chapter 35
Jack slept surprisingly well after drinking enough to put most men under the table the night before. Guess the booze kept nightmares at bay. Still licking his wounds from Molly’s unfair treatment of him, he drove to the station in a foul humor. He realized his life was full of gray areas, but in her case, she was wrong, he was right. Wouldn’t take long to forget about her.
He didn’t care that the clear sky promised a refreshing spring day, nor about the birds who warbled from budding trees. Determined to focus on the Bible thumper copycat, Jack arrived at the station ready to face the day. A recollection from yesterday popped into his brain. What was it? Damn, couldn’t come up with it.
On a brighter note, he was eager for his afternoon appointment with Stewart Buckley. Should be a life-changer.
When he reached his desk, Sherk greeted him. “Ready to face the day?”
“Am I ever?” Jack grabbed his White Sox cup. “Right back. Donuts?”
“Day-old cookies.” Sherk held up a half-eaten oatmeal raisin.
Several minutes later, Gary Calvin called out. “Bailey, over here.”
<
br /> “Got something interesting?” Jack walked to Calvin’s desk.
“Always do.” He held out his chest. “Just got this.”
The geek’s gray t-shirt showed a couple Crayola’s above words printed in black, I have neither the time nor the crayons to explain this to you.
“Damn, dude. Getting worse by the day.” Jack took a bite of cookie. “Ugh. Dry.”
“You don’t understand the nuances of sophisticated sarcasm,” Calvin said. “Anyway, f-y-i, your wacko guy is now in the psychiatric unit at Rush. Here’s his contact info.”
“Thanks. I guess.” Jack took the note. “Anything else?”
“What’s your take on a copycat? Think Sowder is talkin’ crazy? Any evidence?”
“You ask too many questions, Calvin. Besides, you should’ve heard everything by now through the internet or grapevine, both the same.”
Jack gazed at him. “By the way, how was the funeral yesterday in Des Plaines. You grow up there?”
“Yeah, why?”
“Just came to me.” The memory Jack couldn’t grasp earlier. “That’s where the coach worked back in the nineties.”
Calvin eyeballed Jack. “The coach?”
“You know, Grant Adams, the third vic in Skokie.”
“Oh. That coach. Thought he grew up in Skokie.”
Jack gulped his coffee. “Nope, lived in Des Plaines back then. Taught at a high school there. Maybe you went to the same one. You have all the info, cuz you forked it over last week.”
Calvin clicked his keyboard, moved the mouse, looked at the screen. “Yeah, here. Carver Central High. Adams was a history teach and coach.”
“You go to that school?”
“No. That place was a pit. I went to Niles West.”
“You ever play Little League?”
Calvin stared at him. “No. Did you?”
“Nah. Sissy stuff. Gotta run.” Jack walked off and could feel the guy’s eyes piercing through his back. Maybe there were such things as coincidences. Lots of people live in Des Plaines.
When Jack returned to his desk, he replayed his conversation with Calvin to Sherk. “That’s a coincidence all right. I wonder why Gary didn’t mention he grew up Des Plaines when we first heard it. You’d think he would’ve unless— “
“Yeah, unless,” Jack said.
“I’m no psychiatrist, but I don’t see Gary as the perpetrator.”
“Yeah, but he has the tech know-how to pull off the details like getting the drugs and syringe used on the coach, not to mention knowing about the verses.”
Sherk shuffled some papers. “Our hands are tied until we get DNA on the dandruff. Hopefully it’ll match Donald’s. Then we know his copycat rantings are definitely delusional.”
“I’m gonna call Skokie and tell ‘em to run the dandruff DNA on the two cops and whoever else was screwing up the coach’s crime scene. They better get their asses in gear.”
Sherk busied himself with paperwork while Jack made the call. A couple minutes later, he hung up.
“That was quick,” Sherk said.
“Got right to Rossi, aka Vito Corleone himself.” He resisted the urge to assume the accent. “He’s sure the two cops at the scene would be happy to give their DNA, and he’d let us know. Get the idea he wants his department to shine and ours to suck.”
Sherk pushed up his glasses. “You’re a little paranoid.”
“And you’re a little naïve. For a German yet. You of all people should be wary, suspicious. Trust no one.”
“Ah, Jack. ‘Suspicion always haunts the guilty mind’.” Sherk looked smug. “Henry VI.”
“Sherk, if I didn’t sorta like you, I’d kick ya right in the ass.”
“No doubt, Jack. No doubt. Now let’s get busy.”
The next couple hours they spent on phone calls and paperwork. Regarding Donald Sowder’s status at Rush University Medical Center, one of Chicago’s finest, Jack learned Sowder was in testing and would not be available for a supervised visit until the next day at the earliest.
At noon, Jack told Sherk he had an appointment and didn’t know when or if he’d return. Sherk looked puzzled, but Jack wasn’t ready to talk about meeting Buckley. Save that for later. Maybe never.
After avoiding everyone in his path on the way out, Jack reached the parking lot and climbed into his Beemer. He entered the address of the Parkway Bank & Trust in Park Ridge in his GPS. He should have time to grab a quick sandwich from Jersey Mike’s Subs before meeting his former father-in-law at the bank. He drove up Halsted to 55, then took the 90 interchange toward Park Ridge, the usual familiar route. Sunny skies and light traffic made the drive easy.
Jack had arranged to meet Buckley and his friendly banker, the trustee of his portfolio. Buckley had mentioned the funds would be in a trust and doled out in increments of something over 200K per year, which to Jack, was big bucks. Jack knew his brother Andy, CPA in Arlington Heights, was on board to manage finances. Jack thought himself a quick study, but was smart enough to know when he needed an expert. What did he know about high finance?
. . . . .
That evening Jack lounged in his recliner, Boone at his feet. He’d met Buckley and the trustee of his at the bank, and gone over the details with a fine-tooth comb. Jack lost track of the papers he’d signed. After an hour, his was brain saturated with information; he couldn’t wait to get home and knock back a shot or two. Buckley had suggested they stop for drinks and dinner to celebrate, but Jack begged off. Needed down time to process his new financial status. Now he regretted turning Buckley down. After all, the guy just made Jack rich.
“Mum’s the word,” Andy had said, when Jack mentioned he wanted to hold off telling the family until sometime in the future. How would that go over? Meanwhile, he had a killer to find. Or from the looks of it, more than one.
Chapter 36
Still in a daze from his newly acquired wealth, Jack drove to the station the next morning determined to crack the damn case. No surprise, the first person he ran into was Daisy LePere sashaying down the hall.
“Bailey, good to see you right on time.” Why did she have to wear that damn rose perfume?
“Sarge, full of good humor as usual.” Jack continued on his way.
“Just one minute. What about the case?”
“What about it?”
“Cut the attitude. What’s Sowder’s situation?”
Jack sighed. “Transferred to Rush. Had testing yesterday. We’ll try to see him today.”
LePere brushed the shoulder of her white silk jacket. “What’s the latest from Skokie?”
“DNA doesn’t match other two stiffs. A couple cops might’ve screwed up the scene before CSI got there. Lookin’ into it.” He didn’t tell her about the dandruff. Didn’t want her words of wisdom.
“Think it’s a copycat or is Sowder blowing smoke?”
“Don’t know yet, Sarge. Gotta go.” He turned to leave, surprised she refrained from trying to stop him. Perhaps she sensed something in his demeanor. A self-assuredness. She marched off without a word.
By noon no significant developments in the case had arisen. The Skokie DNA on the dandruff should be ready by Monday, according to a detective Sherk spoke to.
“I’ll call Sowder’s shrink. Doubt if he’ll be ready for visitors, but won’t hurt to try,” Jack said. He placed the call and after several minutes of waiting and listening, hung up.
“Pay dirt. We can see him at three this afternoon for a supervised interview.” Jack had expected delay. Lawyers in cases of competence like Sowder’s usually cooperate with the cops,
figuring they’ll provoke the client into going off the rails, thus indicating a no-trial. That decision would be determined by the court at a later date, after muddling though red tape. A guy whose title Jack forgot, gave him directions to the appropriate building and unit.
Sherk stood. “How about lunch at Shinnick’s? Then we’ll head out.”
“I’ll even spring for it.” Hell, he could now buy the whole frickin’ pub if he wanted.
. . . . .
After a leisurely lunch and chatting with Charlie, bartender extraordinaire, the men drove up Thirty-first Street, turned right onto Loomis and headed north. Traffic wasn’t too thick off the freeways, so they made good time. They zig-zagged onto Ashland and drove north to the sprawling hospital complex of Rush Medical Center on Congress Street.
According to Sherk, the venerable facility, built in 1837, houses one of the first medical colleges in the Midwest. “Very impressive, Jack. Rush’s physicians and scientists are involved in hundreds of research projects.”
“Glad Sowder’s in good hands,” Jack replied. “Sure is a hodge podge of buildings.”
“Yes, obviously evolved over the decades.” Sherk indicated the mammoth steel gray high rise with semi circles of upper floor windows jutting out. “I have no idea what architectural design that is.”
“Dunno, don’t care.” Sherk missed his calling. Maybe an architect rather than professor.
Jack secured a designated parking space, and followed the contact guy’s directions in the rat’s maze of walkways and corridors. The interior was bright and modern, obviously one of the newer buildings, or towers as they were called. After taking the elevator to Donald Sowder’s floor, they showed their badges to the nurse manning the station and proceeded to Room 405. When Sherk rapped on the door, a woman’s voice said, “Just a minute.”