Easy Innocence (12 page)

He was right, but she glared at him anyway. He was starting to tick her off. Claiming she couldn’t get along without him. That she needed him more than he needed her. Were all men like that, or was it just Derek? Her father had his faults, but he didn’t put people down all the time. At least not around her.

Derek raised his palm in a so-what gesture.

“A private eye is working Sara’s case.”

A startled look came over him. “How do you know?”

“She came to the house today. Tried to impersonate a shrink.”

Derek’s eyebrows shot up. “She?”

“Name’s Georgia Davis. Said she was a social worker. Turned out she wasn’t.”

“No shit.”

“You know her?”

“Naw. But a chick. That’s pretty tight.”

Lauren shrugged. “It did take balls. But it’s not good. I had a little talk with her afterwards.”

Derek focused on something behind Lauren, as if intent on some inner thought. She’d been through a range of possibilities on the way over but didn’t have any answers. She certainly didn’t expect Derek to have any. He’d dropped out of high school last year. She wasn’t with him because of his smarts.

She twisted around to see what he was staring at. A tall, thin blonde was passing behind her. She was hot but had on too much makeup. The girl favored Derek with a smile. Derek smiled back.

Lauren snapped. “Not now, asshole!”

Derek flicked his eyes back. He was pissed. Good. At least the smugness was gone.

Derek leaned forward. “How much does this Davis know?”

“She knows Sara came to the Forest Preserve to talk to me.”

“She did?” Derek looked interested. “What did she want?”

“I don’t know. I never got a chance to find out.”

Derek’s eyes narrowed into slits. “I thought you knew everything.”

“Well, compared to some people...”

His eyes turned nasty. She should back off. She continued. “Listen. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t need your help. I tried to sidetrack her, and I think I did. But we need to make sure. Think, okay? Has there been any-thing—well, strange—on your end?”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know. People asking too many questions? Saying weird things?”

His gaze turned calculating. “You mean besides Sara?”

Lauren ignored the crack. “You know what I mean.”

He slouched in his chair, his brow furrowed. After a long moment, he shook his head. “I don’t like it.”

“Me neither.” Lauren said. A throng of noisy teenagers suddenly appeared and commandeered the table beside them. She had to raise her voice to be heard. “What should we do?”

“Lemme think about it.” He sat up, throwing a withering look toward the boys at the table. One of the boys threw an equally withering look back. Keeping his eye on the boy, Derek added, “But I’ll tell you one thing not to do.”

She glanced at the boy Derek had confronted. He looked younger, maybe about fourteen, but he glared at Derek like he was spoiling for a fight. Why did men always have to stake out their turf? All that testosterone with nowhere to go. “What?”

“Stop looking so freaked.”

“You think I’m scared?” When he didn’t answer, she shook her head. “You really do have delusions of grandeur.”

Derek’s eyes narrowed. “Delusions of what?”

She gestured to the comic book. “You’d know if you ever picked up a real book.”

“I don’t need books for the kind of work I do.”

“Fuck it, Derek. You work in a gas station.”

“I know what people want and how far they’re willing to go to get it.”

Lauren almost rose to the bait, but something inside told her this wasn’t the right time. She took a deep breath. “Just be careful, okay?”

“Always am.” He scooted the chair back. “Time to get back.”

She nodded. She’d have to be satisfied with that. “Anything new?”

“Maybe. If you hadn’t screwed it up.”

She looked at her watch. “I have time. I could stick around.”

“No way. I’m cool. Go home and jump into that fancy hot tub of yours. Let the water chill you out.”

Pity he didn’t know what a mixed metaphor was. It was a hundred and four degrees in her Jacuzzi.

CRISP MORNING
sunlight angled through the car window, highlighting the steam rising from Georgia’s coffee. She watched it dissipate into tendrils of fog. She was parked a few houses away from Jeff Ramsey’s home in Winnetka. A rehabbed Victorian on a quiet street off Willow, the house was large but not showy, and it blended well with the other homes on the block. She was surprised—she’d expected him to live on one of the private roads in Winnetka that were little more than driveways. She was grateful he didn’t. It would have been tough to stake out.

She checked her watch. Barely seven. She didn’t have to be here, but she felt more in control of a case when she could ID the people involved. Not that she ascribed motives to people based on their looks—people were consummate actors—but she liked to watch how they carried themselves, whether they looked you in the eye, how they interacted with others. And since she had no reason to contact the Ramseys directly and probably wouldn’t get through if she tried, this was the best she could do.

She riffled through the pages she’d printed out last night. Thanks to Google and Kroll, a security company with a huge electronic database that she could access for a fee, she now had solid background on Jeff Ramsey. Raised in the New Jersey suburbs; graduated fourth in his high school class. Had a scholarship to Penn—the Wharton School—but majored in political science. Ended up at Columbia Law, where he met his wife, Janet. Worked his way through law school—at least partially—playing the piano at private parties and corporate events. Clerked for a federal judge in New York, then got hired by the DA’s office where he emerged as a star trial lawyer with an impressive won-lost record. Came to Chicago four years ago in one of Daley’s sweeps to find fresh talent.

His wife Janet was a lawyer, too, although she didn’t practice. She was the Executive Director of the North Shore seniors organization. She was also active in local politics, and there were rumors she planned to run for the Village Caucus. Monica was their only child.

Two ambitious overachievers in one house. That could put stress on a marriage. Not to mention a teenage daughter.

The front door to the house swung open, and a man with wavy brown hair falling over his forehead came out. Georgia glanced down at the photo she’d printed out. Ramsey. He was followed by a young girl in jeans and a pink sweat shirt.

Monica was about five-four. Her dark hair was pulled back in a ponytail. She hoisted a backpack on her shoulder and started down a bricked path to the street. She stopped when Ramsey called out to her. Georgia rolled down her window hoping to catch his words. She was still too far away, but Monica nodded, threw him a kiss, and proceeded to a red Honda Civic in front of the house. Wide-eyed, with a pug nose and bow-shaped lips, she was pretty in a fresh, wholesome way. She looked sweet, too. Not like someone who might club another girl over the head with a baseball bat. Then again, Ted Bundy had been a handsome charmer who walked with a cane.

Monica slid into the Honda, and Ramsey cut across the grass to the garage. He was average height and wore a blue pinstripe suit and a red tie, and he walked with an easy, charged grace. Georgia’s throat suddenly went dry. He walked the way Matt did. It had made her smile, Matt’s walk—until the day she watched him walk away from her.

Ramsey watched his daughter drive off, then raised the garage door and climbed into a silver Beamer. He backed out of the driveway and disappeared around the corner. Georgia considered hanging around to check out Janet Ramsey but decided it could wait. She finished her coffee, pitched the cup on the floor, and started her car. As she doubled back to Hibbard, she punched in Kelly’s number on her cell. It was still early, and she reached his voice mail. Rather than leave a message, she hung up and headed for the gym.

She reached him after her workout.

“Kelly.” His morning voice was thin and gravelly.

“Hi, Paul. This is Georgia Davis.”

“I didn’t know if I’d hear from you again.”

“Hey. Does that mean you missed me?”

He groaned.

“I’ll take that as a ‘yes.’ I’ve been checking things out.”

He paused. “And?”

She told him about her interviews with Claire Tennenbaum and Melinda Long.

“How’d you get the Long woman to talk to you?” He sounded impressed.

She told him how she’d dropped into New Ideas and ended up at the woman’s house.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” She told him about Melinda‘s feelings about the speed of Cam’s indictment and the hazing.

Kelly muttered something under his breath.

“Excuse me?” she asked.

“Nothing.” He cleared his throat again.

Georgia let it go. “Her husband wasn’t as... open-minded.” She described how he’d come home from work and promptly asked her to leave.

“That’s more like it,” Kelly said. “Still, we might have some leverage. You think the mother’d testify for us?”

“I’d say it’s a long shot. She’s getting pressure from her husband to steer clear of us. I guess it depends on what else we find.” She told him about the expensive clothes in Sara’s closet. “I’m gonna talk to her boss at the bookstore just to confirm things. But that’s not the best part.”

“You got more?”

“Do I.” She told him about her visit to the Walcher home. “They weren’t cooperative.”

“Walcher? Who the hell are they?”

She explained the relationship between Lauren and Sara. “Of course, it might have been my fault.”

“Why?”

There was no sense keeping it from him—he’d find out eventually. She told him how she’d impersonated a social worker and had been caught.

“Why in hell did you do that?”

“It was kind of—well, it just happened. I didn’t plan it.”

“Sure you didn’t.”

“It’s true.” She wondered why she was defending herself. She didn’t have anything to prove to Paul Kelly. “I wanted to try to get something before they shut down.”

“Yeah, but showing up at their house under false pretenses? He could make trouble.”

“It wasn’t... that deliberate an action. It was more like taking advantage of an opportunity, but you’re right. It won’t happen again.”

Silence.

“I think we can work around it,” she added.

“
We
?”

Georgia kept her mouth shut.

“What do you want from me?” He sounded pained.

“Tom Walcher—the girl’s father—is a lawyer. He claims he’s not involved in the case. But I’d feel better knowing for sure. Could you check him out?”

More silence. Then, “Maybe.”

“Thanks.”

“Anything else?” He groused.

“As a matter of fact, there is.” She told him what she’d learned about Monica Ramsey. That Sara had apparently stolen someone’s boyfriend, possibly Monica Ramsey’s. That the Ramsey girl might have been in the Forest Preserve at the hazing. That she’d staked out the house.

“Hold on,” Kelly cut her off. “Are you saying the Ramsey girl might be involved in the Long girl’s murder?”

“I’m saying we ought to find out more about their relationship.”

“Whoa. Stop. Right now. What proof do you have that she was even in the Forest Preserve?”

“Two of the girls said so.”

“There was no mention of Monica Ramsey in the discovery documents.”

“That’s true, but—”

“So you’re going to take the word of a couple of teenagers?”

“I can get corroboration.”

“Jesus Christ. You can’t do this. I knew this was a bad idea. I should never have let Father Carroll talk me into—”

“You were ready to plead him out.” She reminded him. “Without any investigation.”

“I’m a lawyer. That’s what I do.”

“Send innocent people to prison?”

“Cut the drama, okay? We both knew this was a long shot from the get-go. Davis, you can’t go after Ramsey’s daughter. What are you gonna tell me next? That he covered up news of the hazing? That he’s railroading Jordan to protect his daughter?”

Georgia forced herself to stay calm. “I’m not
going after
anyone. I’m just following the evidence.”

“What evidence? Where?” Kelly’s voice was as sharp as a razor blade. “From where I sit, you’ve got nothing but gossip. Can’t even call it hearsay. It’s—you’re...” He sputtered. “Do you know what the State’s Attorney could—could do to me? And you?”

“I understand. But—”

“No. I don’t think you do. I could lose my license. You could never work again.”

“If that happens you’ll have the insurance business to fall back on.”

“Is that a joke?”

“Well, you don’t seem to be working the legal angles too hard.”

A cold silence followed. Then, “Back off the Ramsey girl, Davis. Even if she was in the Forest Preserve, there had to be twenty other girls there, too.”

“Paul, if there’s a chance any one of those twenty is implicated in the death of Sara Long, I need to follow it.”

She heard an exasperated sigh.

***

It was still early, and the aroma of roasting coffee coated the air inside the bookstore. Georgia sniffed her way to the café and bought a latte, hoping the milk would neutralize the acid eating away her stomach. She sipped her drink and looked around, trying not to feel intimidated. She’d never spent much time in bookstores. Her high school English teacher, a shriveled old nun who used to quote Shakespeare at the beginning of every class, tried her best to introduce Georgia to the world of literature. Sister Marion had waxed eloquent about the worlds that would open up to her through reading—except it never happened. Georgia had struggled just to make sense of the words. She found out later she’d been dyslexic: her brain didn’t want to read letters in the right order.

Now, she wandered over to the counter where a twenty-something guy with lots of earrings punched through his eyebrows was working the register. There was only one customer in line, a woman pushing a stroller. Georgia waited until the woman left. “Hi.”

The guy looked up from the register.

“Is the manager here?”