Derailed (44 page)

When we got to the door, I saw that Creston was right. Corky was sitting in her alert position, with her nose up to the door.

I loosened my SIG in its holster. “Corky, free.”

She bounced up, wagging her tail and grinning at me like she'd won a bag of treats and expected me to pay up right then.

“What's in there?” I asked Creston.

“I don't know. Just a utility closet, far as I know.”

“Stand back.” I swung the door open. “Well, look who we have here.”

How Corky knew the girl was in the closet, I
may never know. Ramona didn't have any drugs on her, and we hadn't given Corky her scent to track, but somehow she knew.

It wasn't the tears and pleading that got to me as I walked the girl back to the Amtrak Police offices. Anyone can wail and moan when they're caught. But the poor girl shivered like she'd spent the day in a Chicago blizzard. Trembling is involuntary. She was truly terrified. It was clear she'd been a decoy to distract Grace and Sam while Max made off with Grace's luggage, but Grace had probably been right. The guy had manipulated her into being his pawn, and I wished I could do something for her. We had only one interview room, so I locked her in the lunchroom with instructions to Phyllis, whose desk was just outside the door, to make sure she didn't get out.

When I returned to the interview room, Captain Gilson suggested we videotape Corky's response to Wagner's backpack to make sure no procedural questions came up during prosecution. We didn't have to encourage Corky in the least. She went right over and sat down, pointing her nose at Wagner's backpack in the classic alert stance. I grinned at Max. “Well, there you have it, my man, just as if you were displaying all that blow in plain sight.
Now
may we search your pack? Oh, don't bother answering, 'cause we don't need your permission anymore.”

All six packets were inside. We arrested Wagner and read him his rights. “But relax, it'll be a while before the CPD arrives to take you to Cook County Jail. They're busy at a restaurant up in Logan Square gettin' acquainted with a few of your friends.”

With a snarl of his lip, Max swore at me. “You think we don't have the best lawyers money can buy? You'll never make this stick.”

I just smiled at him. It would stick.

I left and wound my way through the cubicles until I looked over the divider where Grace and Sam were speaking to an Amtrak agent. “Ah. You're still here.”

“Mr. Bentley!” Grace turned. She looked relieved to see a familiar face.

I nodded toward the report form she'd filled out. “You lose something?”

Grace grimaced. “My suitcase was stolen.”

I grinned. “Well, I've got good news for you. We caught the perp red-handed and got your suitcase back.”

Both Grace and Sam gasped.
“What?”
Grace stared at me like I'd performed a miracle. “How . . . oh, my. I can't believe it.”

“That's the good news.” I said. “The bad news is, uh, Amtrak police need to keep your suitcase for a little while until they've completed all the paperwork. A list of the contents would be helpful to make sure everything's still there. I'll see that you get it back as soon as they release it. Hopefully it won't be too long.”

“Oh, Harry! Thank you!” Grace got up and gave me a big hug. “I'm going to tell Estelle to cook you one of her famous dinners tonight. You deserve it!”

“Uh, make that
Detective Bentley
here at the station.” I laughed to assure her I was joking, then gazed at her, wondering if I should tell her the whole story now that the danger was over. No, she still seemed too upset. “Okay, ladies, gotta go. C'mon, Corky.” But as I left, I winked at Grace. “Told you Amtrak security was on the job—even when you didn't know it.”

After such a busy day, Corky seemed particularly eager to head home, but with all the paperwork, it was after seven before we got out of there. Riding home up the Outer Drive as the setting sun
streamed through scattered clouds in the west, streaking the sky pink and amber, I
did
feel accomplished. We'd made a good collar on Marcel (Max) Wagner with close to $1.5 million of cocaine in his possession, though the purity awaited lab confirmation. In the meantime, the CPD—backed by the DEA—raided what they believed to be the Sinaloa cartel's Chicago headquarters, arresting eight people and confiscating another $1.7 million in marijuana, cocaine, heroin, and meth. In the haul they also grabbed eleven weapons, including two sawed-off shotguns, and eighty thousand dollars in cash.

I glanced back into Corky's carrier. “Not bad for a long train trip, was it, ol' girl. Too bad we never got to Disneyland, though. Maybe next time.” Corky whined and adjusted her position, her mouth hanging open as she panted happily.

I still felt bad about Grace. I'd convinced her to travel by train, and though I'd managed to keep her oblivious of the hurricane of crime and danger that had swirled around her, she'd been robbed right in our own Union Station. I'd called Estelle earlier not only to tell her I'd be late getting home but also to ask her to check on Grace. I hoped she was okay.

By the time I got home, it was nearly eight and Estelle had dinner waiting for me. Bless her! She'd even waited to eat with me, the table set beautifully with candles and Mom's china.

“DaShawn already ate. He's over at the Jaspers, supposedly doing homework.” She lit the four candles. “But if you ask me, DaShawn's gettin' sweet on that girl.”

“Who, Tabitha? I thought his only interest was playin' hoops with Tavis.”

“Hmm.” She set a steaming casserole with a flaky crust between us and moved our bowls of colorful salad aside to make room for a basket of fresh garlic bread. “I don't know. The hormones are surging by thirteen. But we don't have to worry about tonight. Rodney's pickin' him up from the Jaspers at nine when he finishes his run, for a sleepover.”

“Sleepover on a school night?”

Estelle shrugged and gave me a sly smile. “Why not?” She flipped off the dining room light and sat down across from me. “Oh—” She held up a finger. “—before I forget, when I checked on Grace this afternoon like you asked me to—took her some of this supper—she seemed real concerned about a young girl she'd met on the train. Said she disappeared. She mentioned something about a mean boyfriend.”

“Ah yes. The girl with the stained jacket.” I nodded. “She definitely disappeared. I'll have to tell you all about it.”

“Well, I want to hear everything, soon as you give thanks for the food.”

I reached out and took Estelle's hand. “For food in a world where many walk in hunger, for faith in a world where many walk in fear”—
Like Grace Meredith
, I thought—“and for friends in a world where many walk alone, we give you thanks, Lord.” I paused a moment without letting go of Estelle's hand. “And Lord, thank you for the best wife you could've ever given me and for bringin' me home safe to be with her this evening. Amen.”

When I opened my eyes, Estelle was grinning. “Shepherd's pie?” She spooned a generous helping of meat and colorful vegetables onto my plate, the flaky crust sitting askew on the top. “What's this about bringing you home
safe
? Was there ever any doubt?”

I had no interest in scaring my wife, but we don't keep secrets from each other, so with the operation concluded, I told Estelle the whole story, including how Grace had been carrying a load of cocaine without knowing it.

“Harry Bentley! I can't believe you let her do that!”

“Didn't have much choice. In fact, at first I wasn't able to exclude her from consideration as the carrier—”

“You mean you
suspected
her? How could you? All you had to do was call me, and I could've told you that was impossible. That poor girl. I can't believe it!” She rolled her eyes and shook her head like I was a lost cause.

“Well, it wasn't as if I singled her out. I had to look at everyone who had any contact with that luggage.” I watched Estelle
continue shaking her head, totally unconvinced. “Give me a break, Estelle. I had to look at everyone. My list of suspects even included Rodney; he—”

“You also suspected your own son? Harry—”

I tried to explain the theory of a limo driver having enough time with the bags to accomplish the drug plant and retrieval. “. . . and then when I heard Rodney had not only arranged to pick up Grace yesterday but insisted on driving her today, I had to consider the poss—”

“This is too much! That boy was just being neighborly. He brought her home this evening after waiting all afternoon for her. Probably lost a couple fares while he waited. He'd be here eating with us right now except he had to work tonight. Suspecting your own son? That's scary, Harry Bentley.” She crossed her arms and glared. “Who's next? You gonna suspect me?”

Estelle was steaming mad. And an evening that began with high hopes for a romantic rendezvous—candles, special dinner with the love of my life, just the two of us alone—had turned into a scolding. Couldn't blame Estelle, though. I'd quaked in fear every time I thought Rodney might be involved. But what else could I have done? I wanted to explain, defend myself, prove that I'd done the right thing.

Instead . . . I hung my head and just sat with it a few moments. Thankfully, Estelle's fury seemed to burn itself out.

Finally, I looked up at her. The flickering candlelight blurred in my eyes as the woman I loved, the woman I wanted to respect me more than anything else in the world, sat perfectly still, her eyes closed as if in prayer.

“I'm sorry, babe,” I said. “I'm truly sorry. Can you forgive me?”

Her eyes opened, and I could see tears. “Yes, Harry. I forgive you,” she said in that velvet-soft voice of hers. “And will you forgive me too? I didn't mean to go off on you like that. I know you have a hard job, sometimes requiring choices that hurt more than I can imagine or understand. But thank you for being the kind of man who hasn't hardened himself to the pain of those decisions. That
truly would be scary. But you don't scare me, Harry Bentley, and I'm sorry for saying so.”

I got up, went around the table to take Estelle's hand as she stood up too, and we embraced for a long, comforting hug.

“Let me get the candles.” Estelle untangled herself and
whoofed
out two of them, handing the other two to me still lit. “Bring 'em with you. We can leave the dishes till tomorrow.”

After all the twists and turns, I was finally home.

Twilight turned the trees black and the houses
on Beecham Street dark shades of blue and gray under overcast skies, making the warm lights in the windows all the more homey and inviting. Twenty-some neighbors—nearly half of the people on the block—milled around, taking care not to step on the glimmering luminaries marking the walk up to the two-flat.

“Hey, Pops, can Tavis and I put out more of these paper sacks with candles in 'em?”

“Don't we have enough already?”

“We need a couple more up on the steps, you know, so it's like leadin' her right into her house.”

I looked at the first-floor unit, all lit up with bright lamps and clean curtains in the windows. It already looked welcoming, but . . . “I guess so. Be careful with those candles.”

There was just enough nip in the air that everyone welcomed the cups of hot chocolate Estelle brought around on a tray. I was delivering half sheets of paper to each neighbor.

“Tim, Scott,” I said to the neighbors from the bungalow two doors north as I handed them a sheet. “Good to see ya.”

“Wouldn't have missed it for the world,” said Tim.

“Where's Danny?” I asked. “Haven't seen him this evening.”

Scott thumbed over his shoulder toward the west. “He's visiting my mom in Glenview. She's about the only one in either of our families that . . . you know.” He shrugged and glanced at Tim.

“Sorry about that.” I couldn't help wondering what I'd do if it were my family. “Well, like I said, thanks for joining us.”

I moved on. “You might not be familiar with this,” I said as I handed a song sheet to the Jalilis, “but it's easy to pick up.”

Farid looked at the words for a moment. “Well, we never sang these words back in Iran, but I think we've heard people sing it New Year's Eve in the States. Right?”

“You got it. Estelle changed a few of the words, but . . . Glad you can join us.”

“Dad.” Rodney snagged me as I passed. “Don't know if you've met my boss yet. This is Lincoln Paddock. Lives at the end of the block.”

I felt embarrassed as I extended my hand. We'd been in the neighborhood over two months, and I hadn't yet met the lawyer and owner of Lincoln Limo. He was slim, handsome, mid-forties, and wore a black suit with no tie. We talked for a few minutes, and then I went looking for Grace Meredith who was standing at the edge of the gathering. A man I didn't recognize stood beside her with his arm loosely around her waist. I hadn't spoken to Grace since I'd returned her suitcase a week before.