Deadly Interest (18 page)

“
Something like
that.”

I put my spoon down, and stared at him. “You
gotta be kidding,” I said. “Confidentiality is confidentiality.
What makes you think he’ll say anything that can be useful?”

“
You’re a sharp girl,” he
said. “And you’re good at what you do—getting information out of
people. Am I right?”

Careful nod.

“
I’m not even sure what
the shrink knows. Maybe nothing. But if we get you in there
checking it out, I’ll feel better.”

There was a compliment in there somewhere,
but I chose to ignore it.

The waitress took that moment to ask if
there was anything else we needed. We both demurred, not looking at
her. She dropped the check on the table. Lulinski grabbed it. “I
got it this time,” he said.

Yeah, like I was going to arm wrestle him
for it.

He stared at the bill for a long moment,
before answering my question. “He might not give us anything, but I
can’t afford to overlook a single possibility. Even though we know
about Diana’s record, and we have information on Laurence Grady.
Despite the fact that we know he’s in the area, we don’t know if
she’s been in contact with him, or what her relationship was with
Mrs. Vicks.”

I gave him a look that said, ‘duh.’ “She was
Mrs. Vicks roommate.”

“
Yeah,” he said with
enough hesitation that my mind made a quick leap to deduce what he
was getting at.

“
You think Diana had
something to do with Mrs. Vicks’ murder?” My skeptical voice had
gone up just a little, and I lowered it before continuing. “There’s
no way.”

Lulinski’s eyebrows arched in a resigned
way. “I don’t assume anything. I follow where the information
leads. And the more information, the better.” Pushing his plate
forward, he leaned on the table, crossing his arms. “Will you talk
with Dr. Hooker? Yes or no?”

I pressed my fingers against my temples and
took a long breath. “Okay.”

“
You’ll do it?”

“
That surprises
you?”

“
Frankly, it
does.”

I held off saying anything further for a
long moment. This would be the perfect opportunity to let Detective
Lulinski know that I’d agreed to investigate the story for both
Banner Bank and for Midwest Focus. Instead, I bit the inside of my
cheek and shot him a lips-only smile. “I want this guy caught. And
if you think my talking to Diana’s shrink will help, then I’m all
for it.”

His mission accomplished, Lulinski pulled
the napkin from his lap, wiped his mouth, and scooted out the side
of the booth. He handed me Dr. Hooker’s business card. “Here. He’ll
see you tomorrow afternoon at two.”

Lucy should have been home fifteen minutes
ago. Pulling on my leather jacket, I headed down my front steps to
look for her. Fat snowflakes, heavy in the predicted late-season
blizzard, came down so hard, it made me squint as I stepped
outside.

The days were getting longer, but it was
dark now. I’d worked late and the falling snow slowed traffic with
the not-so-subtle reminder that winter wasn’t over yet. Drivers
made careful progress over the late-season slick, knowing better
than to push their luck. Lucy waited for me to come home every
night, and on the slow crawl through traffic, I’d tapped impatient
fingers on my steering wheel, knowing I’d let her down, again. The
minute I got in, I called Aunt Lena to let her know I’d made it and
she could send Lucy home. Only after that did I peel off my work
clothes and snuggle into my comfy jeans, sweatshirt and gym
shoes.

The snow, accumulating on the ground, and in
tiny mounds perched between tree branches, brightened the
neighborhood with its fresh sparkle. If I hadn’t been concerned
with Lucy’s tardiness, I would have stopped to enjoy the sight.

Every night Aunt Lena watched Lucy make her
way on the three-house trek home. There was no danger of her
getting lost; she’d grown up in this neighborhood and it was as
familiar to her as her music was, but what with Mrs. Vicks’ murder
and the subsequent attack on our street, my aunt and I felt better
not letting her walk home unsupervised.

The sky poured white from its inky depths,
its intensity evident in the flakes rushing through the pink
streetlights’ glow. I wondered, briefly, if they’d cancel all
flights out of O’Hare tomorrow, leaving William and Caroline
snowbound in Chicago. I tamped down a grin. That’d be a nice
surprise, I thought, then berated myself for wishing rain, or in
this case snow, on someone else’s parade.

Right in front of my aunt’s house I saw
her.

“
Lucy.”

She turned, and reflection from the ambient
light caught the smile in her face even before she said my name.
“Alex!”

In the moment that she turned, I noticed
that she wasn’t alone.

She was talking with someone. A short man,
slim, wearing dark clothing, and a bright yellow knit cap. “Hey!” I
said, sprinting forward.

“
Thanks, Lucy,” he said,
then he raised his voice to add, “Catch you later.” I watched him
take off, but the thick snowfall kept me from getting seeing who it
was.

“
You! Wait!” I said again.
Then to Lucy. “Go in the house.”

I charged, passing her at a full run, glad
I’d changed into blue jeans and Reeboks when I’d gotten home.
“Stop,” I called, louder now.

He didn’t stop, but he did turn at my shout,
and for an instant in the light, I caught a good look at him. In
the quiet of the drifting snow I could hear my pounding breath and
his crunching footfalls ahead, far quicker than mine. I winced at
the pain the running shot through my still-aching bones. Even as I
pushed my speed, I watched the soles of his snow-covered shoes get
smaller and smaller. I listened hard, trying to follow the sound of
rubber hitting snow until that noise faded into the sounds of the
street.

I’d run for no more than twenty seconds, but
I’d lost him already. I kept going, another half-block, knowing it
was futile but unwilling to give up until I saw him turn a far
corner and disappear. I slowed, watching my breath curl out of my
mouth in big spinning clouds. “Damn,” I said.

Glancing back, I saw that Lucy hadn’t
listened. She stood outside our house, watching me. I waved, then
stuck my bare hands in my jacket pockets and made my way back.

“
Who was that?” I asked,
out of breath.

Lucy opened her mouth, but no words came
out. I saw the confusion on her face. She wore navy blue earmuffs
and her right hand drifted behind her head in a nervous gesture,
twisting her hair. “He didn’t tell me his name.”

A strange man had been conversing with my
sister, but he’d obviously learned her name. I had more questions
than I could get out of my mouth at once. “Where’s Aunt Lena?
Doesn’t she usually watch until you get home?”

Lucy smiled, eager and willing to tell me
everything. “She did. I got all the way up the steps when the man .
. .” she gestured the direction he’d run “. . .came up and said
‘hi.’ So I walked over to say ‘hi’ to him, too.”

“
Who was he?” I asked
again. “Why didn’t Aunt Lena do anything?”

“
I don’t know,” she said.
A tiny crease formed between her eyebrows as she searched for the
right answer. “I think maybe she went back into her house before he
came by.” When she shrugged, the small collection of snow that had
dropped onto her shoulders shook off. Lucy’s confused expression
told me that she didn’t understand my concerns. “He was nice,
Alex,” she said. “He just asked my name. Can we go in now? I’m
cold.”

“
And you told him?” I
asked, striving to keep the anger out of my voice. “Don’t you know
you aren’t supposed to talk to strangers?”

She looked at me with the most solemn
expression. “Alex,” she said. “I’m older than you are. You can’t
treat me like a baby just because I’m ‘special.’ I’ve been learning
how to take care of myself, you know.”

The last part of her little speech came out
just shaky enough that I knew she worried how I’d take it. I sucked
in a breath to keep myself from exploding. A man had attacked me,
had put Diana in the hospital, and someone, possibly the same guy,
had killed Mrs. Vicks. What I wanted to do was chew out Lucy for
being careless, for forgetting she was no longer safe within the
protected confines of the assisted living facility.

Instead I chose more neutral ground. “What
did he want?”

“
I don’t know. He didn’t
say he wanted anything.”

“
What did you tell
him?”

“
I told him that I lived
here with you and that you would be worried if I wasn’t home soon,
and he asked why and I started to tell him about what happened to
Mrs. Vicks.”

“
What did he say?” Bursts
of light shot through my head as a thousand questions ripped
through my brain at once. Panic and fear made me sick—thinking that
the murderer might have been standing in front of my house with
Lucy within his grasp. “Did he seem surprised about the murder? I
mean . . . “ I tried to slow myself down, “. . . a murder is a big
deal, Lucy. A very scary, very important event. Was he shocked when
you told him? Or did it seem like he knew about it
already?”

“
I don’t know,” Lucy said.
“That’s when you came out and he ran off.”

Inside, I called Aunt Lena, trying to
balance my concerns without sounding like I blamed her for not
being more conscientious. No matter. She apologized repeatedly,
promising never to let Lucy out of her sight again. A prickle of
guilt wormed its way through my brain. “Aunt Lena,” I said finally,
“Lucy is my responsibility. I’m just so very grateful that you’re
willing to keep an eye on her during the day. If it was any other
time, I think she’d be fine, even alone here. But with all that’s
been going on. . . .” I took a deep breath. “I should probably take
some vacation time and stay here with her myself.”

“
No, honey, no.” I
couldn’t see Aunt Lena shaking her head, but I knew she was. “You
do this investigation and you find out all you can. Lucy will be
safe here. I promise you that. You trust us, right?”

What could I say? “Of course.”

“
Then that’s
settled.”

Once Lucy had gone to bed, I felt
comfortable enough to put in a call to Detective Lulinski. I dialed
the cell phone number he’d given me and was surprised when he
answered.

“
What’s up?”

“
Don’t you ever sleep?” I
asked.

I didn’t know the man well, and I wasn’t
even sure I liked him yet, but I liked his answer. “Not when
there’s work to be done.”

“
Listen,” I said, feeling
suddenly stupid for calling him so late. “This might not be
anything, but . . .”

I gave him a quick rundown Lucy’s encounter
and my lame chase.

“
Why didn’t you call me
sooner?”

I hedged. Decided to go with the truth. “I
didn’t think of it. Not till about fifteen minutes afterward. I was
just so afraid for my sister.” I stopped myself from
over-explaining. “By then he was long gone. So I waited till she
went to sleep to call you. It was after hours and I thought I’d get
your voicemail anyway.”

“
No such thing as after
hours,” he said. “Next time, call me first. Got that?”

I nodded. “Yeah. Sorry.”

“
And, hey, give me a call
when you have some time tomorrow. We can go through mug shots.
Maybe you’ll recognize the guy.”

“
Sure. What time’s
good?”

“
Anytime,” he said. “I’ll
be here.”

Near midnight, I checked on Lucy before I
went to bed. She slept curled up on her left side, covers pulled
close to her chin, her mouth open, lips twitching as though she
wanted to whisper secrets in the quiet night. Standing there in her
doorway, with my arms folded, and fear crawling around in my brain,
I wondered if this was how mothers felt late at night, when the
cold wind howled and the only thing keeping their children safe
from the bad things outside were the flimsy walls around them and
their own careful diligence.

* * * * *

David picked me up precisely at seven the
next morning. I’d expected him to be late because of the snow, but
he called and suggested we meet underground on Lower Wacker. A
silver Rolls Royce, with the distinctive double-R hubcaps pulled up
in front of the service entrance beneath my office building. The
driver got out, came around, and opened the back door with a
gray-gloved hand. David Dewars smiled out at me, patting the gray
leather seat. “Good Morning, Alex,” he said.

Coupling this chauffeur business with
David’s description of the breakfast restaurant as a place where
we’d have plenty of privacy, I’d conjured up a vision of something
hushed and intimate, with an attentive but unobtrusive wait staff
bearing silver platters of eggs benedict to our tiny table for
two.

We emerged from Lower Michigan at Grand and
traveled about two blocks to a corner restaurant with a small
hand-painted sign that proclaimed it “The Outland Café.” It
couldn’t have been more different than I’d expected.

David placed a restraining hand on my arm as
I started to reach for the door handle, his bright eyes squinting
in amusement behind the tiny rimless lenses. “Roger will get
it.”

Of course. Not only did Roger open the door,
but he efficiently cleared a neat pathway for us to walk up to the
establishment’s front door, first. That meant I didn’t have to wade
through foot-high drifts in my shiny navy pumps. Chalk one up for
David here. I was impressed.