by Dana Killion
“I’ll do what I can to give you my full attention,” I said. “But surely you understand that stories don’t break according to your meeting schedule.” My comment was a little sniping, but I didn’t care. That was the news business. His other consulting clients may have the luxury of clearing their schedules; we didn’t. If the staff saw me sitting in a conference room all day rather than out pounding the pavement, they would make assumptions and follow my lead. A moment of paranoia popped back. Was that part of Ramelli’s plan? To bury us in consulting meetings so that new leads would slip through our fingers? If you wanted to get rid of someone, one of the best ways to do it was to throw obstacles in their way so they couldn’t be successful.
“Why don’t we start with an overview of the last few years?” Ryan said, ignoring my chastisement. “I’ve gone over the financials, and it looks like the business began to soften about a year and a half, maybe two years ago. That’s right around the time Borkowski was brought on board. Can you give me any context for what was going on in the company at that point?”
My stomach knotted immediately. Ryan knew exactly what was going on back then. Perhaps not the inner workings of Link-Media, but he knew the basics of what was going on in my personal life. Our night together had been the aftermath. And he had deliberately asked as a way to remind me. What was he trying to do? Rattle me? Instill some kind of misplaced guilt? Or was this some weird “Hey, why not pick up where we left off” comment? Well, I wasn’t taking the bait.
“Yes, Borkowski came on about two years ago, and I was about five months behind him. At the time, the board was pressuring Erik to think more conventionally about the staff. Subscriptions were soft, and their answer to those problems was to bring in some star power from the print world. Hence Borkowski. A respected Tribune journalist was an idea Ramelli and the others understood. Erik needed their backing, so he went along with it. One of his investors had just withdrawn, so things were tough. Borkowski quieted them down for a while.”
“And then there was the distraction of his marital problems.” Ryan looked at me, all sorts of accusations in his eyes.
“The only distractions were the ones Erik created himself,” I shot back, not bothering to control my tone. I wasn’t going to let Ryan turn this into some armchair therapy session. I’d done that work and felt no responsibility for Erik’s bad choices.
A text popped up on my phone. Michael letting me know there would be a press conference outside of Gavin Wright’s apartment in thirty minutes. Wright? Had Wright killed his wife?
“Sorry, Ryan,” I said, picking up my phone. “There’s been a development in one of my stories. I need to run.” I didn’t wait for a response, my mind jumping ahead, trying to fill in the blanks. A press conference likely meant they were arresting Wright. The man was out on bond over the embezzlement charges, so if any halfway credible information existed, the man would be under lock and key in a heartbeat. And if that was the case, then CPD had gotten lucky or had done some kick-ass police work overnight.
I returned to my office, grabbed my coat and my bag, then moved toward the hallway. Brynn flagged me near the elevator. “What’s going on with this consultant thing?” she asked. “I know you’re in the middle of everything and it’s a crazy time to ask, but I’m kinda going nuts myself. When can we talk?”
“I’m sorry. I owe you a more detailed conversation, but it sounds like they’ve just arrested Gavin Wright. I have to run. I’ll be back as soon as I can.” The look on her face told me I was skating on thin ice, but this couldn’t wait.
I grabbed a cab, jumping out on Michigan Avenue at the Wrigley Building. In a strange bit of a coincidence, Gavin Wright had leased an apartment in Erik’s condo building after moving out of the Lincoln Park home he’d shared with Elyse. A shiny glass-and-steel high-rise, it was nestled in a courtyard behind the iconic landmark.
Clad in white terra-cotta, the two towers of the Wrigley Building had been the star of Chicago architecture since their completion in 1924. Influenced by the White City of the Columbian Exposition, William Wrigley Jr. had commissioned the building for his chewing gum company. Situated on the north shore of the Chicago River, the clock tower of the south building rose to thirty stories with a face in each direction, making it instantly recognizable. As I walked under the arch created by the walkways connecting the two parts of the building, I was struck as I always was by the stunning architecture. The foresight and beauty created by the city planners and visionaries of the late 1800s and early 1900s never grew tiring.
Although the new glass structure immediately to the west did nothing to inspire awe in me, I loved the dichotomy of old against new. The wind was too raw off the lake for the tourists who would fill this plaza and the neighboring Riverwalk in warmer months, but the sun glinting off the accumulated ice and snow made it beautiful nonetheless.
I tightened my scarf around my neck as I stepped out from between the buildings, then pulled out my gloves. Camera crews were setting up at the base of the multi-use tower wedged between the river and Wabash Street. Housing a hotel and a Michelin-rated restaurant in addition to condos, it had become yet another marker on the Chicago skyline, but that also meant pedestrian traffic.
With the building’s main entrance on Wabash, it appeared the cops were pushing the reporters over toward the east side of the building, trying to keep residents and hotel guests out of sight of the cameras. The last thing owners in this price point wanted was a camera shoved in their faces. The press conference may have been set up in the plaza, but Gavin Wright would not be paraded in this direction.
I stood at the edge of the press corps for a moment nodding at a few of the familiar faces and wondering how CPD had narrowed in on Wright so quickly. I also knew I wanted a shot of Wright doing the perp walk, and this throng wasn’t going to give me a proper vantage point.
But where would he exit? His attorney wouldn’t want the image of him handcuffed and escorted out of the front door by men in blue playing on all the news networks for the next five days. Nor would the hotel management.
If I were Wright’s attorney, I’d be pushing to have him slipped quietly out one of the service entrances.
Having an inside track on the layout of the building, maybe I could circumvent the crowd.
My colleagues seemed to be hedging their bets; many were stationed patiently at the side of the building waiting on the official word, but others were making backup plans and directing their attention to the front door.
The service entrance was on the west side of the building, but the path over had its own obstacles. A half-dozen news trucks sat double parked in front of the hotel, and four burly security guards in matching gray overcoats kept nonresidents at bay, drawing even more attention to the situation. Even people who didn’t know what was happening stood waiting at the fringes, aware that the cameras and the guards meant something big was going on.
A cluster of men blocked the sidewalk as I tried to make my way to the far side. I paused, debating whether to push through or to jump the snowbank and try to go around. Glancing around the perimeter, I wondered if I had a shot of getting past the throng elsewhere. The group seemed to be riled up, arguing with the two guards obstructing their path. I recognized one of the security guys who normally worked the night shift from my previous visits to clean out Erik’s apartment. If I could convince him to let me into the lobby, I could catch Wright coming out of the elevator.
I moved forward to the edge of the group of men and shimmied around the support columns. The group was about twenty strong and seemed to all be white men in their thirties. As I eased forward, angry rhetoric filled my ears.
“That bitch deserves what she got” seemed to be the prevailing sentiment. The comments made my blood run hot, and I looked at the men with a growing sense of unease. Who were these guys? Elyse Wright’s outspoken behavior surrounding the trial hadn’t earned her many fans, but this language was outrageous. It was another ugly reminder that chauvinism was sti
ll alive and well and that the lunatic fringe felt emboldened.
I made it to the front as the guys argued with the guard. As soon as I could catch his attention, I flagged him over.
“Hi, Joe. You’ve sure got your hands full today,” I said. “Any chance I can run upstairs?”
“Not a good idea, Ms. Kellner. Can you come back later? Cops want us to keep everybody out that isn’t essential staff.”
The group of men on my right changed their tack, shouting versions of “You letting her in and not us?” All eyes turned my way. I could see that the more I pushed my point, the more volatile the situation might become.
“No problem. Another time.”
I backed off, leaving Joe to hold his own as the men sneered at me. Now what?
As I removed myself from the friction, an unmarked door flew open in front of me. Two cops marched out, trailed by Gavin Wright, cuffed, with two more officers at his flanks. I whipped out my phone, immediately tapping on the video camera. CPD was hoping to hustle him into a waiting SUV before the crowd knew what was happening. No such luck.
The men behind me caught sight of Wright and readjusted, flocking toward the car. One officer assisted his charge into the back seat of the vehicle while the other three blocked the advance.
Angry chants of “Free Wright” and “He’s innocent” swirled around me as the men pushed forward toward the cops. Luckily for all of us, the vehicle sped off before anything other than ugly words could be exchanged. Feeling uncomfortable around the riled-up men, I lowered my camera and continued around the side of the building.
The majority of the camera crew had missed Wright’s departure. I typed out a quick text to Borkowski and sent him the video, letting him know CPD would issue a statement momentarily. He could figure out how to edit the clip. The story was Gavin Wright being charged with the murder of his wife, the group of overzealous chauvinistic supporters simply added texture.
A short while later, Detectives Janek and Hewitt rounded the corner and walked to the microphone that had been set up between two pillars next to the building. Apparently Janek had drawn the short straw today. He cast a disapproving eye, waiting for the reporters to settle down.
He was tall and lean with close-cropped hair and a runner’s body, and every time I saw him I thought FBI, not cop. Michael stood by his side, playing the sidekick role where I could watch him surreptitiously. Despite the occasional friction, the men had a strong bond, and I had no doubt each would take a bullet for the other. But where did I fit in the loyalty hierarchy? Where did I want to fit?
“Moments ago,” Janek began, “CPD arrested Gavin Wright for the murder of his estranged wife, Elyse. We have obtained emails that indicate Ms. Wright’s murder was a contract hit, arranged for by Gavin Wright. Although we have not yet identified the individual, we have every confidence that this person will be arrested as well. While the murderer has not yet been apprehended, we have no reason to believe this situation was anything other than a direct threat to Elyse Wright individually and that the public is not at risk. We will update you as additional information becomes available.”
Wright had ordered a hit on his own wife? Although the tension between the couple had been palpable, a hired hit was a bold move. It was one additional set of potentially loose lips. And how had CPD gotten into Wright’s email so quickly?
I jotted notes to myself with the immediate unanswered questions while Janek turned away from the microphone, ignoring the journalists firing questions at him. Michael followed, so I moved to cut them off before they got to their waiting SUV.
As I did so, the reporters around me became aware that another aspect of this story was right beside them, me as the person who’d stumbled on Elyse’s dying body. Suddenly cameras and microphones were in my face, with journalists pushing me for comment just as hard as they were pushing Janek. I caught Michael’s eye, and without missing a beat, he stepped toward me, grabbing my arm and ushering me out of the crowd with him.
“The things I have to do to get your attention,” I said, smiling at him.
13
“Guys, when do I get to see the email?” I directed the question at Janek largely to make sure it was clear I wasn’t trying to work around him.
I’d followed Michael and Janek out of range of the other journalists, and we stood in the alley next to Janek’s unmarked Chevy Tahoe. Although our relationship had improved since the sniper story, Janek wasn’t a fan of reporters, and he certainly wasn’t a fan of pillow talk between his partner and a reporter. I didn’t know for certain what conversations had gone on between Michael and Janek about my role in Michael’s life, but I was convinced there had been a fair amount of “It’s none of your damn business” on Michael’s end.
But that didn’t mean Janek was wrong to object. The optics were hard to ignore for anyone other than Michael, it seemed. I couldn’t imagine that he had run this latest idea of us living together past Janek. Although Michael was the one pushing for a commitment, he kept his feelings for me close to the vest at work. In my way of thinking, that meant he was as conflicted as I was, but apparently I was the only one noticing.
“You aren’t getting the emails,” Janek replied, “at least not before it’s made public to everyone. So you can just stop the sales pitch right there. Ain’t happening.” He slipped his sunglasses back on his nose and scanned the street behind me. One eye on your subject, one assessing for threats. Cop habits never died.
“So we’re supposed to believe Wright paid off some thug to get his wife out of the way?” I asked. “Why? Maybe I should say, why do it now? Their divorce was nearly final. She’d already testified against him. The timing makes no sense.”
“Sounds like a classic case of revenge to me. Maybe he thought the missus would stand by her man and keep her big mouth shut, but she surprised him.”
“That’s funny, Janek. Anybody who’d ever met Elyse Wright knew keeping quiet and standing on the sidelines were two things she never did.”
I wasn’t ready to concede to Janek, but his theory fit with the slash wounds to her mouth. Someone wanted her quiet. I turned up the collar on my coat and looked at Michael, but he wasn’t going to contradict his partner.
I was also thinking about Elyse’s comment that Gavin had threatened her the day before she’d died. An accusation I hadn’t taken seriously. Would it have mattered if I had?
“Unless you’re telling me these emails are a year old, it doesn’t make sense. Timing, I mean. And how would killing her now help Wright? There’s a big difference between trying to get yourself out of an embezzlement rap and conspiracy to commit murder. I don’t buy it. There’s more to this.”
“I just catch them,” Janek replied. “It’s up to your friends in the state’s attorney’s office to figure out why.”
“So is that confirmation that these emails were generated recently?” I slid in the question hoping he’d budge.
Janek shot me an irritated glare. “No comment.”
I looked back at Michael, who just gave me an amused shrug. “Come on, you know you’re gonna release this information anyway, and it had to be something pretty easy to find. The woman hasn’t even been dead twenty-four hours. What am I missing?”
I was stuck on the logistics—both the timing of when Gavin might have made the threat and how CPD had come up with evidence so quickly. Scouring his computer thoroughly for a hidden threat would have likely taken a few days, if not longer, in my experience. So how had they struck pay dirt so fast?
Janek just shook his head and let out a breath. He had no patience for the fine art of negotiation, preferring silence or a bulldozer. Typical cop.
“Wait a minute,” I said, a new thought popping into my mind. “It wasn’t Gavin’s computer. It was Elyse’s. Or the family desktop sitting right there for the taking. He communicated with the hit man before he moved out. That was about four months ago, if memory serves,” I said, recreating a timeline in my head. The men said nothing, but I caught
Michael stifling a smile.
“You may as well fess up,” I said. “After all, you do want me posting accurate information, don’t you?”
“I’m going to give you a pass based on what you went through last night, but as usual, you are pushing your luck.”
“Come on, Janek. Just tell me if the email exchanges started before or after they charged Wright with embezzlement?”
“After he was charged and after he moved out of the house. The missus obviously didn’t trust the man for some reason before they split up. Somewhere along the way, she hacked his account or had someone else do it. Then she installed software that allowed her to monitor his text messages, his email, and his phone. We got into her iPad, and that was our way into his.”
“Sounds like handy software,” I said, wondering how long the monitoring had gone on for and what Elyse really knew about the threats. “These emails, are they direct threats leveled at Elyse or vague communication between Gavin and the person he hired? Did Gavin say to flat-out ‘get rid of her’? Have you identified the other party?” Questions were flying through my head faster than I could get them out, not that Janek was going to suddenly tell all.
If Elyse had shared any of this with Victor and he’d been able to brush it aside, that meant the language had been vague. Or that Elyse hadn’t recognized the emails between Gavin and the killer for what they were, instead staying focused on Gavin’s words to her.
“That’s all I’m gonna say. Forensics is still working through the data. You’ve got enough for now.”
“Never,” I said, smiling at the men. “But thank you for the tidbit.” Then to Michael: “I guess we’ll talk later.” Michael gave me a wink before he and Janek got into the SUV.
I headed back toward Michigan Avenue. It was time to ask Victor what he knew of any threats Gavin Wright had made against his wife.