A Shot to Die For (23 page)

Chapter Thirty-five

I went over to Mac’s the next morning. Hank had created some dazzling eye candy in the form a three-dimensional cube with transparent sides. Each side of the cube contained a shot from one of the locations we’d filmed at the Lodge. As the cube twisted and rotated across the screen, a freeze-frame from each location came full screen and then shrank back to its side of the cube. The effect was similar to one of those screen savers on your computer, but better. The pacing between transitions was deliberate but not sluggish, and each freeze-frame was a Cartier-Bresson moment.

My cell trilled while we were running through it.

“Ms. Foreman?” I recognized the honeyed voice right away.

“Detective Milanovich. How are you?”

“Excellent, as a matter of fact.”

I’d never heard him so cheerful.

“We think we may have found the pickup that was used in one—or more—of the sniper attacks. It was abandoned in the forest preserve. Off Dundee Road. Not far from you. I was hoping you’d have some time to take a look at it.”

I doodled uneasily on a yellow legal pad. This was a good thing, wasn’t it? Whatever they found—particularly if it led to the driver or the shooter—would put an end to all the speculation and conjecture. And lead them away from Luke. “Of course.”

“Good.” Milanovich reeled off an address in the Glen. “We’re borrowing the North Shore Task Force facility. When can you get here?”

An hour later I was in the part of Glenview that was once part of the Naval Air Base but had been sold to developers. I’d produced a video for the Glen for one of those developers. I drove down Patriot Boulevard and turned in to a parking lot in front of the new fire station. Hiking around to the back, I came upon a huge building that occupied most of an otherwise vacant field. The entrance was open so I walked in. It looked like an old airplane hangar with high ceilings and a concrete floor. Two white trucks with
NORTAF
stenciled on their sides were parked against a wall. The green pickup was parked behind them.

Milanovich was hovering near the pickup. He was wearing the same navy shirt and chinos as the first time I’d seen him. The truck had been raised on a frame rack and was hanging a few feet off the floor. Two men, who by their uniforms and bright purple gloves were probably evidence technicians, were working over the vehicle. One was dusting the surfaces with a thick gray paste; the other leaned into the bed of the pickup with what looked like a hand-held vacuum cleaner.

The detective greeted me with a rare smile. “Nice to see you again, Ms. Foreman.”

I nodded and started to walk around the pickup. “It’s okay for me to do this, right?”

“That’s why you’re here.”

The pickup was dirty, the camper shell had been removed, and the license plate was gone. I made a large circle and came back to Milanovich. “I don’t know.”

He looked disappointed.

“I only saw it for a few seconds. It looks like the same one, but I can’t swear to it.” I shrugged. “I’m sorry.”

He made some notes on a clipboard. “That’s all right.”

The tech who’d been searching the back of the pickup came up behind us. He was holding a small plastic bag. “Hey, Walt. You might want to take a look at this.”

Milanovich twisted around. Inside the bag was a small brass cylinder, less than an inch in length. Milanovich eyed it carefully, then arched his brows so high I thought they might stretch past the top of his head. “Well, now that’s a whole different kettle of fish.”

I peered at the bag, trying to figure out what the brass cylinder was.

Milanovich took pity on me. “It’s a shell casing, Ms. Foreman. The protective covering that wraps around a bullet.”

I blinked.

“If it matches the fragments we already have, I’d say we’re in good shape.”

“I got more good news,” the other tech piped up from the bed of the pickup.

Milanovich whipped around.

“I just lifted a great pair of prints.”

Milanovich looked positively joyful.

***

“It’s a problem,” Susan said as we walked the bike path that afternoon. A spring-like breeze tossed a cool wash of air around us. “How can you possibly believe this man?”

“I don’t think he did it.” I skirted a heavily leafed bush bowed over by its own weight.

“Right.” She sniffed. “Neither did Ted Bundy. Or Gacy. Or Andrew Cunanan.”

“Susan, that’s not fair. There’s absolutely no evidence linking him to any of the rest stop murders.”

“I don’t have to be fair when it concerns my best friend. This is a man who refuses to talk about his sister’s murder, but yet his shirt shows up with her clothes. This is a man who claims to have been at his fishing cabin when the girl was killed at the rest stop, but you haven’t the faintest idea whether that’s true. Tell me, where did he say he was when the other man—Herbert Flynn—was killed?”

“I’ve been meaning to find out.”

“You do that. And by the way, if I recall, a month ago you were wondering whether he
was
involved in the rest stop murder.”

“I was wrong.”

“You thought he was an arrogant, spoiled, rich boy then. Were you wrong about that, too?”

I winced. “Yes.”

“Ellie, why don’t you go down to Cook County Jail and fall in love with a prisoner? It would be a lot safer.”

“Susan! Stop.”

She stopped and faced me. “I’m sorry. But did you ever think that possibly—just possibly—all of this is part of a rebound effect?”

I felt myself get tight. “What are you getting at?”

“What I mean is that—is this attraction a reaction to your problems with David?”

“David?”

“The two of you never really gave it a chance. You let yourselves be buffeted by events. Neither of you slowed down long enough to evaluate things. It’s not all passion and butterflies, you know.”

“I’m aware of that,” I snapped.

“Are you?” She peered over. “Sometimes I wonder.”

I picked up a stone and palmed it. Being criticized by a daughter, an ex-husband, even a father is one thing, but when it’s coming from your best friend, it’s quite another. “David and I aren’t together anymore,” I said slowly. “And whether I’m on the rebound or not isn’t the issue. The fact is that I don’t think Luke Sutton killed anyone. At the same time, I do concede there is a lot he’s not talking about. But that’s because his lawyer advised him not to.”

“Great,” Susan said. “Not only are you hot for his body, but you’re willing to look the other way at the gaps—I mean canyons—in his story.”

“Susan, why are you being so—so judgmental?”

She picked a leaf off a bush as we passed. “Listen to me, Ellie. What if the shoe were on the other foot? What if I broke up with Doug and got involved with someone who might be connected—hell, might even be a suspect—in not one, but possibly two—no, three—murders, if you count the caretaker.” She paused. “You’d be all over me in a heartbeat. What do I have to say? I’m worried about you.” She started down the path again. “And I’m not the only one.”

“What does that mean?”

She turned around and bit her lip. Then, “I swore I wouldn’t tell you.”

“Tell me what?”

“Your father called me.”

“Dad? What about?”

“You haven’t talked to him in over a week. He doesn’t know what you’re up to. Or why you haven’t called. He thinks you’re angry at him.”

I thought about it. Dad had called a couple of times since we had lunch. I hadn’t called him back. “Did he say why?”

“No.” She peered at me again in her expectant but knowing way. When I didn’t answer, she said, “Are you angry?”

I ran my fingers over the stone in my hand. “I don’t know. Maybe I am. Subconsciously.”

“Why?”

“Because….” This time I stopped. “I just found out I had a brother.”

Susan slowed. I told her about Joseph. Three horizontal lines appeared on her forehead when I had finished. Finally she said, “So you’re punishing him for not telling you about a brother who lived only a day or so, years before you were born?”

“I—I didn’t think I was. But I’m entitled to be upset, aren’t I?”

“Upset, maybe. Sad, certainly. Angry? I don’t know. This all happened before you were born. It didn’t affect you. It was something your parents had to deal with. Which they ultimately did, by having you.”

“Still, it would have been nice if they’d shared it with me.”

“Would it have made a difference?”

“It might have explained a lot about my mother—and my relationship with her. I always wondered why she was so—so remote. And my father—well, he basically admitted they should have told me.”

“Your mother had her reasons,” Susan said. “And while you might not approve of them, why hold them against your father?”

A wave of guilt started to bubble up from my gut. Susan was right. That’s what I’d been doing. “I—I’ll call him.”

Susan nodded, and we picked up our pace.

“But you see? Lousy communication isn’t limited to the Suttons,” I said. “Lots of families have secrets.”

“But not every family is connected to three murders.”

“Listen to me. To believe Luke killed his sister, you have to believe he was capable of raping her, and then, for whatever reason, killing her or letting her drown. He’s just not that kind of man. No one knows what happened to Herbert Flynn. And as far as Daria Flynn’s murder is concerned, well, that’s just malicious gossip.” I paused. “Except now it turns out a former employee at the Flynns’ restaurant is dead.”

“Another body?”

I explained about Billy Watkins.

“My god, Ellie. There are dark doings in that town. Four murders, bloody shirts, rifles, meth labs….You know I love you, but this time, you might have gone too far.”

“Just a minute. Bear with me. We’ve already established that the communication in the Sutton family is miserable. That no one talks to anyone. What if Luke’s being pressured to keep his mouth shut?”

“By whom? Why?”

“I don’t know. Someone in the shadows?”

“Now we’re moving into conspiracy theories.” Susan rolled her eyes. “What is it you really want from me?”

“An open mind, for starters.”

“Now who’s being snippy?”

I stopped and spread my hands. “I’m sorry. I guess I am on edge. And I do know you’re only looking out for my interests. Thank you for caring.”

She ran a hand down my arm. “I’m sorry, too. I can get carried away.” She smiled. “Okay?”

“Okay.” I smiled back. We started walking again. “But I would like to do some research.”

“What for?”

“Turns out Luke managed the airstrip at the Playboy Club the summer of seventy-four. If we can prove he was working at the time his sister died, it might exonerate him.”

“Why don’t you just ask him?” Then she corrected herself. “Oh, right. He’s not talking.” She pursed her lips. “Why can’t his lawyers find an alibi for him? Why do you have to do it?”

“I don’t have to. I want to. It’s not a big deal. I’ll just put out a few feelers. Try to find someone who worked or was hanging around there that summer.”

Susan didn’t say anything.

“You think it’s a lousy idea.”

“You know I do.” We marched to the end of the path. The sun, released from the shade of the trees, cast a hard glare on us. Then she sighed. “I probably shouldn’t tell you this.”

“Tell me what?”

She turned around. “I’m going to regret it, I’m sure. But I know someone who worked up at the Playboy Club. She was a bunny.”

“A bunny? That’s perfect!”

“I don’t know when she worked there—it might not have been the same time you’re looking at. But she might know someone who was there in seventy-four.”

“Who is it? I’ll call her.”

She eyed me curiously. “You already know her.”

“Susan….”

“I want you to know I don’t approve of any of this.”

“I hear you. Now, who are you talking about?”

A tiny smile appeared on her lips. “Julia Hauldren.”

Chapter Thirty-six

This was turning out to be a day of making amends. As soon as I got home, I called my father. “I’m sorry, Dad.”

“For what?”

“I blamed you for not telling me about Joseph. I was wrong.”

“We should have told you.”

“Mother had her reasons. I just wish—well—it doesn’t matter anymore.”

“You always thought she didn’t love you.”

“How did you know?”

“I’m not totally oblivious, sweetheart. I could see how much you wanted her approval. And how your sweet little face crumpled when you didn’t get it.” He paused. “But she loved you, Ellie. More than life itself. She just couldn’t express it.”

My eyes felt hot. I wasn’t sure I could speak. “Thank you, Daddy,” I finally managed.

We were quiet. Then he cleared his throat. “Now, what’s this I hear about you and the Sutton family? I thought I told you—”

Susan. “Er…nothing, Dad.”

“When you say that, I worry more.”

“It’s just—I think someone is being falsely accused of a crime.”

“Someone who happens to have the name Luke Sutton?”

How much had Susan told him? I debated whether to ask, then decided not to. I didn’t need his disapproval, too. “Dad, I’m not in any danger. And I don’t intend to be.”

“Not the physical kind.”

“What are you getting at?”

“The Sutton family are bad news. Always have been.”

“Why? Just because their daughter died and the mother couldn’t handle it?”

Dad was quiet a moment. “Ellie, Charles Sutton is not a man to be trifled with. He’s powerful. And cunning.”

“How do you know?”

“The rumor is he tripled the family’s assets by his acquisitions and investments.”

“That’s bad?”

“Not necessarily. But he always seems to get what he wants.”

“He’s mostly retired now.”

Dad blew out a breath. “You think that means he’s relinquished control? Sweetheart, I know you and David are having problems, but—”

“It’s more than that, Dad. We’re not seeing each other anymore.”

There was silence. “I’m sorry.”

“So am I.”

Dad had always been fond of David. Part of it was the fact that he’d once been in love with David’s mother, but now something occurred to me. Was David, in some way, a surrogate for the son my father never had? I closed my eyes. “Sometimes you just have to cut your losses and get out,” I said quietly. “At least, that’s what someone who I know and love tells me.”

“You know you’ve had an impact when your children quote you,” he grumbled good-naturedly. “You just don’t know if it’s good or bad. But listen, sweetheart, about the Suttons—”

“If I didn’t have you, Dad, I’d be lost,” I cut in. I couldn’t hear any more. Luke wasn’t like his father, or the rest of his family. Was he? “I love you. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

***

The next thing I did was swallow my pride and drive over to Julia Hauldren’s. She lived a few blocks away in a small brick colonial that wasn’t much bigger than mine. In the front yard were a tricycle, a bike with training wheels, and a kiddie swimming pool, filled. A few twigs floated on the water’s surface.

Rachel looked shocked when she opened the door. “Mom. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, honey.” I gave her my most reassuring smile. “I just wanted to see how you were doing.”

She didn’t look convinced.

“Can I come in?”

She stepped back, and I walked into Julia’s living room. It looked like a tornado had touched down. The TV blared, and small plastic tubs of paint littered the floor. Newspapers had been thrown down haphazardly, and sheets of construction paper smudged with every imaginable shade of paint lay on top. In the center of the floor, like the eye of the hurricane, were Julia’s daughter and son stretched out on the floor, calmly painting. The little girl had red smears on her arm; the boy had suspicious colors in his hair. Rachel might be the Pied Piper of the preschool set, but her housekeeping skills were more like Pig Pen’s.

“Does Julia know you make this much of a mess?”

Rachel hung her head. “I clean up before she gets home.”

“You do?” I have to read her the riot act before she’ll deign to pick up anything at home. “When will she be home?”

Rachel glanced at a wall clock in the kitchen. “Actually, she should be back in a few minutes.” She came out and scurried around, picking up newspapers and sheets of construction paper, some of which were still wet.

While she straightened up, I looked around. Julia’s house was less than a mile from mine, and judging from the mismatched furniture, which on the North Shore we call “eclectic,” not shabby, she was on a similar budget. She had more of a knack for decorating than me, though. I spotted a faux-cloisonné enamel bowl that probably came from Tuesday Morning and an Oriental runner in the hall that I thought I remembered from Costco. Rachel stopped cleaning long enough to call over her shoulder, “Mom, I don’t need a ride home, you know. I rode my bike.”

“I know.”

She turned around and stared at me. “So why are you here?”

“Actually, I wanted to talk to Julia.”

“About what?” she asked suspiciously.

“It’s not about you,” I said. “Or your father.”

Rachel squinted as if she didn’t believe me. I shrugged. She opened her mouth but was cut off by the slam of a screen door. A voice called out from the kitchen. “Hey, guys, I’m home. Anyone here?”

“Hi, Julia,” Rachel answered. “We’re in here.”

Footsteps clacked across a narrow hallway, and Julia appeared at the entrance to the living room. When she saw me, she stopped. She was wearing cutoffs, a pink T-shirt, and sandals. Her blond hair was pinned up in a twist. “Ellie. Is something wrong?”

“Everything’s fine.” I tried out a smile.

She didn’t return it. “Oh. You’re here to pick up Rachel.” She turned to Rachel. “I thought you rode your bike.”

“Actually, Julia, I came to talk to you. If that’s okay.”

The frown deepened, but she was polite. “Of course.”

I shot a sidelong glance at Rachel, who, despite her efforts at cleaning up, was listening to us with three ears.

Julia nodded. “Rachel,” she said sweetly. “Honey, would you mind throwing the kids into the tub while I talk to your mother?”

“They’re not dirty. We went swimming.”

Julia just looked at her. Rachel shot a sullen look at me, then Julia. “Come on guys,” she sighed. “You heard the drill sergeant.”

Julia and I exchanged smiles as they trooped up the stairs. Then Julia turned to me. “How about a glass of wine?”

I checked my watch. Barely four. I nodded.

“Follow me.” She led the way back into the kitchen. Two bags of groceries sat on a butcher block table. She got out two glasses, opened the fridge, took out a half-gallon jug of wine, and poured generous amounts into both.

“Thanks,” I said as she handed one to me.

She took a sip of hers and then started to unpack the grocery bags. “Hope you don’t mind.” She pulled out a box of Cheerios, lettuce, and a box of Wheat Thins, and started to put them away. Then she brought the box of Wheat Thins over to the table and ripped the plastic liner. “I love these.” She dipped in and brought out a handful. “Less than ten calories apiece. Much better than chips.” She pushed the box toward me. “So, what’s going on? Is something wrong?”

Shaking my head, I grabbed some crackers. “Everything’s fine. And I want to thank you for giving Rachel something to do this summer. It’s been a godsend for her.”

“For me, too. I don’t know what I would have done without her. During the school year, there’s time to regroup before three o’clock, you know? But in summer, with two kids underfoot all the time, it can be a long day.”

“Why don’t you send them to camp?”

“Can’t afford it.”

I stuffed three crackers in my mouth, embarrassed. “I’m sorry.”

Julia turned around. “No problem.” She hesitated. “Their father—well—he’s not that dependable with his support payments.”

“I know that tune,” I said between bites. Then I realized who I was talking to. “Oh, shit. I—I’m really putting my foot in today.”

“Don’t worry about it.” She started to giggle. “They’re all the same, aren’t they? Men, I mean.”

“Well.” I finished chewing and allowed myself a shy grin. “Well, not all of them.”

“Name two who aren’t. Excluding ex-husbands.”

I picked up my glass. “Not on a bet.”

She folded the now empty paper bags and put them in a closet. The sounds of running water drifted down from upstairs. I heard Rachel say, “Alley oop. In you go.”

Julia refilled our wineglasses and sat down. “Okay. What gives? I know this isn’t a social visit.”

I straightened up. “Okay. Here it is. You were once a Playboy bunny up at Lake Geneva, I understand.”

A look of surprise came over her. “Who told you?”

“Why? Is it a secret?”

“Not at all, but it’s not something I go around broadcasting.” She waved a hand. “At least in this neighborhood.”

“It was Susan Siler,” I confessed.

She nodded. “Nice lady. Your friend. Yes, I did tell her about it. I worked up there for three seasons. Made a lot of money. Put myself through college with it.”

“Really?”

“With more left over.”

“Wow.”

“I made close to fifty grand over the course of the summer. And that was twenty years ago.”

I whistled softly. “That’s serious money.”

“The tips were incredible, especially if they gave you a good schedule.” She sipped her wine. “People don’t realize that. The Playboy bunnies I knew were—are—some of the shrewdest, smartest, most ambitious women I’ve ever met.”

“Wasn’t Gloria Steinem one?”

She nodded. “We have these Bunny reunions every couple of years, and it’s amazing to hear what everyone’s doing now. Lawyers, doctors, horse owners, nurses, real estate entrepreneurs…all because they used their Bunny income as a steppingstone. In fact”—she looked around, a little sadly, I thought—“I’m about the only one who got married and did nothing.” She leaned back. “But you didn’t come here for a history of Bunnydom. What do you want to know?”

“Did you work there in the seventies? Seventy-four, to be exact?”

She hesitated and then shook her head. “People tell me I look younger than I am. But I’m not that old. I was there near the end. In the eighties. Why?”

“I’m trying to find someone who might have been there the summer that Luke Sutton managed the airstrip.”

“Luke Sutton?
The
Luke Sutton?”

“Did you know him?”

“I didn’t know any of the Suttons. Everybody’s heard about them, though. The sister died, the brother’s a drunk, mother’s kind of crazy? He was supposed to be the only sane one. He got out.”

Susan and my father had said pretty much the same thing. An edgy feeling crawled over me.

“Is that the same Luke Sutton who’s been in the news recently?”

I nodded.

Her eyebrows lifted, but she didn’t say anything. She reached for the wine bottle and poured us each another glass. The sounds of shrieks, laughter, and splashing floated down the stairs. “I hope she took out towels,” Julia said.

I looked around. “I can’t believe how neat she is here. She doesn’t lift a finger at home.”

“She’s getting paid for it.” Julia shrugged. “Makes a difference.”

I nodded. She was right, of course.

We were silent for a moment. Then she jumped up and hurried over to the counter. “Hold on. I know someone who may have worked up there in seventy-four. I met her at a Bunny reunion.” She pulled open a drawer and dug out a personal phone book. Flipping through the pages, she screwed up her face. “Damn. I thought I had it.”

“That’s okay.”

“No. I can get it. I just have to make a couple of calls.”

“You wouldn’t mind?”

She smiled. “No problem.”

I brightened. “I really appreciate it.”

She nodded. We lapsed into another silence, but neither of us seemed to be in a hurry. I still had most of a glass of wine, and so did Julia. I suspected she had just as many questions as I, and I wondered whether either of us was brave enough to ask them. Oh hell. Someone had to start. “So, how are you and Barry doing?”

She looked as if she’d been expecting it. “Fine. He’s been nice to me.”

“No reason not to be. You’re a nice person.”

“Thanks.” She smiled. “And thanks for sharing your daughter with me. I know that had to be hard.”

“It was.”

She nodded. Another short silence, then we both started talking at once.

“Did you really—”

“How long have you been divorced?”

She answered first. “About two years now.”

“It’s been longer for me.” I sipped my wine. “But, of course, you already know that.” I put the glass down. “Shit, you probably know all the gory details, too.”

“Barry’s mentioned it once or twice,” she admitted. “But I take it all with a grain of salt.”

I looked up. “You do?”

“He’s a man, isn’t he?”

“Yes, he definitely is.”

“No more need be said.” She giggled.

I grinned. “All right, then.”

She laughed and raised her glass. “Men. Can’t live with them, can’t live without them.”

I raised mine, and we clinked. “But we’re trying.”

We laughed so hard that Rachel yelled from upstairs, “What’s so funny?”

That set us off even more. I gestured to the ceiling and then flattened my palm in a questioning gesture. Julia answered between giggles, “Nothing, sweetie. Your mother and I are just talking.”

It only took a few seconds for Rachel to scramble down the stairs and bounce into the kitchen. “What about?”

“Noth—nothing.” By now I was laughing so hard I had trouble getting the words out.

Rachel planted her hands on her hips. “Oh God, you’re getting drunk together. I’m telling Dad.”

That prompted another round of guffaws. I doubled over and pressed a hand on my stomach, which had started to spasm. “You didn’t leave the kids in the tub, did you?” I finally spit out.

“Of course not.” Rachel gave us an evil look and stomped out.

“She’s something else,” Julia finally said.

“Yes…she…is.” I gasped for breath, trying to control my laughter. Eventually, the spasms subsided. I took a breath, picked up my wine, and finished it off. “So, what went wrong with your marriage, if you don’t mind me asking?”