by Dana Killion
Cai looked at me, compassion in her eyes. I smiled back, opened the back of the frame, pulled out the photograph, and ripped it in two, depositing the pieces in the trash bag.
“I will not let this man make me feel like shit after he’s dead,” I announced and picked up my pace, doing everything I could to suppress any misplaced sentimentality from the process at hand.
“Talk about work,” I said after a moment, wiping away tears. “Give me something else to focus on.”
“I don’t have anything fun to talk about. Just sorting through the mess of a case I told you about the other day. You, on the other hand, seem smack dab in the middle of another interesting story. I see that jackass Gavin has been returned to jail. Did he really kill her?”
Again, I heard an odd tone in her voice. I looked at her, trying to sort through what was behind the attitude but couldn’t place it. “I don’t know if he killed her, but CPD thinks he did. So what gives? This is the second time you’ve said something about Gavin Wright that makes me think you had some kind of personal run-in with him. Am I wrong?”
Cai stopped what she was doing and looked at me. “No, I don’t like the guy. We had an incident, but it was years ago. No big deal. We all have stories.”
“Are you forgetting who you’re talking to? An incident? What kind?”
“Oh, all right.” She shrugged and took another drink. “The guy made a move on me. I was working late one night. So was Wright. I went into his office to ask him a question. I can’t for the life of me remember what it was, but he used the opportunity to pin me to the wall and put his hands under my skirt. I kneed him in the balls and pushed him away, then got the hell out of there. But not before he threatened to end my career. I was a kid, just out of law school, and Wright, he was tight with a couple of the partners. I knew he could take me down. So I’ve kept my mouth shut.”
“Oh, my God, Cai. What a pig!”
“Look, it was a long time ago. We’ve all had run-ins with assholes like Gavin Wright. Women are used to playing defense and moving on with our lives. That’s what we do, isn’t it?”
Cai was right. Nearly every woman I knew had had an experience she looked back on with disgust.
“What if Gavin Wright never changed?” I said, my thoughts running in a new direction. “Or if he became even more aggressive over the years?”
“You mean, is he still a lecherous bastard? So what if he is? Or are you suggesting that this is tied in somehow to his wife’s murder?”
“Maybe? I found out that Elyse Wright was secretly monitoring his communication. She obviously thought he was hiding something. What if this was a pattern? What if he went further than copping a feel?”
15
No sign of Brynn. Good. I was feeling guilty for having pushed her off so much lately and wanted to get in to see Borkowski first thing this morning. It was unfair to have kept her hanging because I’d been too busy, and I was certain the delay was only adding to her anxiety. The last thing I wanted was for her to take another job before I had an opportunity to make this work.
I tossed my coat and bag on my desk, then went looking for him. It had been a late and emotional night, so I’d steeped my tea extra long this morning, needing a jolt of caffeine, but my head was still fuzzy. Last night’s martinis weren’t helping.
Physically and emotionally drained, a tough conversation with Borkowski wasn’t a pleasant thought at 8:30 a.m., but Brynn was counting on me. When I neared his office, I saw him and Ryan standing just inside the door, speaking in low tones, their conversation seemingly intense. He caught sight of me, and their conversation stopped. I looked from one to the other, wondering what I had interrupted.
“Yes?” Borkowski said, a flash of irritation crossing his eyes.
“I need a few minutes with you.”
“Give me five. I’ll meet you in the conference room.”
I nodded, trying to read their faces, but I didn’t like the vibe. Whatever was going on between them was not making me comfortable. I poured another cup of tea and went to the conference room. For the second time, I had the feeling that some secret activity was going on behind my back.
As I waited, I shot Lane a text letting her know we were on track with the listing. The boxes for donation would be picked up later today, cleaners would follow tomorrow morning, and the stagers would be ready to come in on Monday. With any luck, by next Wednesday, any bad mojo that still existed in the condo would’ve been eradicated and Lane could bring in her photographer. After that, it was in her hands to market; I had done my job.
Borkowski strutted into the room, his reading glasses bouncing on a leather cord around his neck, and he took a seat next to me at the head of the table. “You got any more on the Gavin Wright case? Hey, you got real lucky on that video. Doesn’t look like anybody else has the same footage. Nice job. Cops got any idea who the hit man was?”
He launched questions at me, not giving me time to respond. “No leads yet.” I held off on telling him about Elyse’s use of tracking software. I wasn’t sure how it fit in yet and didn’t want him to get excited before I knew what it meant. “Actually, I wanted to talk to you about Brynn. I want to give her a raise. There’s some stuff going on in her personal life, and we’re at risk of losing her. You know she’s doing great work, and she’s paid well below her peers here in the office.”
“It’s a crappy time to be bringing this up,” he said, pulling his glasses back up to his nose and glancing at his phone. “We need to work through any restructuring before I start thinking about pay. Yes, she’s doing a fine job, but the timing sucks. We’ll take care of her at review time, just like everybody else.”
“That’s months away. I know the timing isn’t ideal, but she isn’t going to be here if something comes along that pays better. I don’t want to lose her.”
Borkowski and I had yet to have our first disagreement on a personnel issue, but I could feel a showdown coming.
“Then maybe we should put more effort into getting through this evaluation project. I understand you’ve, ah, struggled to be available.” He cocked his head and looked at me, a scowl forming on his face.
“Stories don’t work around meetings, and they don’t come at prearranged times. Perhaps you should explain that to Ryan. He doesn’t seem to want to hear it from me.”
I felt the headache of last night’s intense emotion creep back up my temples. I didn’t have the bandwidth to deal with anyone else’s fragile ego right now. I got to my feet.
“Please give some thought to this situation with Brynn. It’d be a shame for her to jump ship and go to the competition just because we couldn’t be flexible with our timing.”
I didn’t have any confidence I’d made my case with Borkowski but knew I’d been heard. I also knew I’d pushed the limits of where I could take the argument, at least for today. I’d let him sit with the idea for a couple days. I left the conference room, and Brynn caught up with me just outside my office.
“Please tell me you have some good news,” she said, hope etched on her face.
I sighed and said, “Not yet, but I’m not done with him.”
Her body slumped. I took her by the arm and led her inside, not wanting our conversation to be overheard. “Listen, Brynn, you know how he is. He needs to think it’s his idea. Don’t make any decisions yet. I’m going to go back at this. I’ll figure it out. Trust me.” She nodded but didn’t look convinced, then turned and closed the door.
“I need to tell you something,” she said. “It’s about this guy, Molina. I’ve been checking him out, and I get the impression he’s got a game plan that isn’t obvious.”
“What do you mean?”
She scrunched her face, pausing as if about to tell me bad news.
“I have a friend at Midwest Regional Bank. He works in commercial lending. Molina has approached them for cash, millions of dollars in cash. It’s some new partnership he runs called Synthesis Group. My friend didn’t know what that money was
for, just that it was some big deal the bank is excited about.”
The pit in my stomach got deeper. “And you think this cash is connected to his work here?”
“Well, his partner in Synthesis Group is a name you’re familiar with. Wade Ramelli.”
I dug my nails into my hands reflexively. This whole thing was a charade, a goddamn setup. Ramelli had been telling me all along that he wanted to buy me out. Now, apparently, he had a partner. My initial instinct was to reach for the phone to call my attorney, but first I needed to keep Brynn from panicking. Who was I kidding? I needed to keep myself from panicking.
“Thank you for telling me,” I said slowly.
“What are you going to do?”
“Fight like hell. Please, don’t leave. Let me figure out how to fix this. Give me time to speak with my attorney and see what options I have. Okay?” I looked at her hopefully, feeling like I was begging. But I didn’t care. I was begging. Brynn looked at me warily.
“I’ll try. I’m sorry, Andrea. They’re complete assholes.”
That son of a bitch Ramelli. Apparently he wanted a fight. Well, he was going to get one.
16
Why the spy software? I couldn’t let go of it. Elyse had suspected her husband of something or was trying to gather evidence of other embezzlement scenarios, but was the spying related to her murder or simply incidental? One thing I did know, if Elyse Wright had concerns about her husband, it was likely she had talked to someone about it—a friend, a sister, a colleague, or, at the very least, maybe even the person she’d hired to set up the spyware.
First on the list, Julian Metz. Pushing her family so soon after her death was the height of rude; her employer, on the other hand, he was fair game.
Hidden in a nondescript office tower on Clinton Street in the West Loop, across from the French Market and walking distance to a dozen fabulous restaurants on Randolph Street, Jennus Creative occupied nearly half of the fifteenth floor. Frosted glass doors opened to cool gray terrazzo flooring. The reception area was open and bright with a video slide show of the firm’s ad campaigns playing on a huge screen.
I announced myself to the receptionist and asked to speak with Elyse Wright’s boss. She flinched but asked me to have a seat as she picked up the phone.
The advertising agency was a midsize firm with an international client base and a focus largely in the consumer product category. According to her website bio, Elyse had started with the organization as a copy editor directly out of college, rising to the position of senior account executive three years ago. It was a notable achievement for a woman in her early thirties. I thumbed through the company’s marketing material as I waited, impressed by the breadth and depth of the work they had done.
“Ms. Kellner?”
I looked up to see a man in his early fifties: hair slicked back, lightly spray tanned, and wearing an intricately printed open-collared shirt. I recognized the pattern from one of the designer boutiques on Oak Street and was well aware of its five-hundred-dollar price tag. He extended a hand. “I’m Julian Metz. I can’t tell you how broken up we are about Elyse. We’re all utterly stunned.”
I stood and shook his hand. “As am I.”
“I’m sorry you came all the way over here, but I’m not sure now is the right time for us to be speaking to reporters. I’m sure you understand.” He smiled at me condescendingly, as if quite used to getting what he wanted.
“I realize that the timing may seem a little, shall we say, inappropriate, but you might not be aware that I’m the one who found her.”
He looked at me blankly, the information catching him off guard. “No, I wasn’t. How horrific. Please, let’s go to my office.”
I followed him out of the reception area and into another large room lined with windows and a direct view west over the Kennedy Expressway. Here the firm’s employees sat ensconced behind huge computer monitors, with many desks supporting two or three. Metz’s office was in the far corner space, another glass-walled office, this time a corner view with floor-to-ceiling windows. The furnishings were sleek, modern, ridiculously expensive—if my last trip to the Merchandise Mart was any indication—and also looked horribly uncomfortable. Long on show, light on function. It was an interesting metaphor for the advertising industry. I was directed to a seat at a boxy, mirrored conference table. My first thought was to wonder how many times a day someone had to whip out the Windex to keep this piece free of fingerprints.
Metz cleared his throat. “I read that she didn’t die right away.”
I nodded. “That’s correct. She was still alive when I got to her house, but in bad shape. I was there with her, holding her hand when she died. But she was gone before the EMTs arrived.”
He looked at the ceiling and let out a breath. “At least she wasn’t alone. At the end, I mean. I can’t understand how this happened? And now to hear Gavin’s been charged, it’s unthinkable. I knew both of them. We had dinner together, company functions. I can’t understand any of this madness.”
“I know this is awkward, but did Elyse ever say anything about difficulties in their marriage? I mean, prior to the embezzlement charges being brought against Gavin?”
“Look, I’m not sure she would have shared anything like that with me. And quite frankly, I don’t think it’s something our firm should comment on.”
The slight hint of a smile around his eyes told me he knew exactly what I was talking about, even if he didn’t want to discuss it publicly. Office rumors? Or had he and Elyse dated?
“Were you aware of any threats she might have received?” I asked, deciding to unsettle him a bit. “Any problems she might be having with other people, coworkers? Clients, perhaps?” It was a long shot, but perhaps getting him to talk about his business would loosen him up.
“Oh no, of course not, everybody loved Elyse.”
For a brief second, a shadow crossed his face, then he moved quickly back into sales mode, his natural state. I couldn’t blame him. He’d probably been spending his time calculating how Elyse’s murder might affect his business and fielding calls from clients ever since he’d heard the news.
A young woman rapped lightly on the door and entered. “I’m sorry to interrupt. You said you wanted this immediately.” She looked at Metz expectantly. He motioned her in.
She walked in and handed him a file. Her eyes were bloodshot, and she held a tissue tightly in her other hand.
“Stacy, this is Andrea Kellner. She’s the one who found Elyse.”
She drew in a breath and brought a hand to her mouth, her eyes wide, and a tear spilled onto her round cheek.
Metz turned to me. “Stacy was Elyse’s assistant.” Stacy and I nodded solemnly at each other. The mention of Elyse’s name unleashing another torrent of emotion.
“I’m so sorry about what happened,” I said to her. “Had you worked for her for long?”
“About four years,” the young woman mumbled, fighting the urge to collapse in grief. What was she doing at work?
“Ms. Kellner was asking about difficult cases, conflicts that Elyse might have had with clients. I was just telling her how everyone loved Elyse. She was amazing, and her clients adored her. I don’t know how we’ll fill her shoes. Obviously, we have no insight into the intricacies of her marriage, but there can’t possibly be any other explanation.”
End of story. The message to me, and to Stacy, was that the problem wasn’t here. It’s all good. I looked again at Metz, his office, his dress, his grooming. This was a man to whom appearance meant everything. I had the sense he would proclaim record growth numbers even if the firm had just filed for bankruptcy. But then again, illusion was the job of advertising.
How did illusion infiltrate Elyse Wright’s life?
Stacy sniffed, dabbed at her eyes, and nodded weakly. “It’s nice to meet you,” she said.
I watched her leave the room, wondering if she was as practiced at fiction as Metz was.
“Are you sure there’s nothing that co
mes to mind about any tensions in Elyse’s life?” I asked, then for good measure added, “I’m certain CPD will want to speak with you shortly about this same issue.”
“I’m sorry I don’t have more information for you. Of course we knew Elyse was going through the trial. It was in all the papers, for God’s sake. But she was a pro. She kept her personal life out of the office, so I really can’t speculate about what might have been going on. I wish I could be more helpful.” He stood and gave me a practiced smile. Nothing more to say.
“Again, I’m sorry for your loss.” I extended my hand. “I’m sure it’s just devastating to the staff. I can find my way out.”
He nodded solemnly but didn’t object as I left. The moment his office door closed behind me, I pulled a business card out of my bag and scribbled on the back: “I’ll be in the French Market for the next hour, back seating area.” I caught Stacy’s eye and slipped the card onto her desk as I passed.
Once in the Market, I headed straight to Vanille Patisserie and ordered an Earl Grey and an almond croissant, resisting the luscious and more elaborate French treats, then slid into a seat at a table facing the main aisle. But would Stacy show? I answered emails and returned phone calls for forty-five minutes, thinking I had miscalculated her grief.
It was nearing the lunch hour, and the early diners had begun to fill the tables. The smells of donuts and Cajun food and grilled onions mingled in the air, reminding me that the croissant had been the only thing I’d eaten that day. I looked at my watch. I’d give her another twenty minutes, then succumb to the urge to eat something more substantial. The only question was banh mi from Saigon Sisters or empanadas from Lito’s?