Life Without Parole: A Kate Conway Mystery (23 page)

I
used to love winter when I was a kid. My friends and I would put on snowsuits and build igloos and spend hours running around in the cold. Years later, when I was digging out my car and praying I could get out of the parking space without getting stuck, I griped occasionally, but I still liked it. I’d thought people who took up residence in Florida from November to March were cowards.

But this year winter was getting to me. I felt a near-constant chill. Spring—which usually came to Chicago around Memorial Day, lasted an hour, and then turned into a three-month heat wave—couldn’t come fast enough.

Winter did have one advantage, though: footprints in the snow. As soon as Ellen left, I took her advice and showered. Then I bundled up and went looking for evidence of Roman. In the middle of my neighbor’s lawn were footsteps. They were large, very large, which immediately prompted me to wonder if that old wives’ tale was true. If it was, perhaps Ilena had married Roman for more than his money.

They were also pointed directly at my house, just as Ellen had said. He’d walked toward my door, then doubled back, stepped on the lawn next door, and stood there for who knows how long, looking at my front door. And then he’d left, I guessed, after Ellen spoke with him. I could see the footprints moving toward the street.

Damn it. I was stuck in it now. Possible murderers, arsonists, my sister…everyone was showing up at my door, and there was no ignoring it. I did the only thing I could do in this situation: I went to the neighborhood bakery, got a hot chocolate and a cinnamon roll, and silently berated myself for caring about what happened to Vera. I blamed Frank for it. Although he’d been dead since July, it didn’t stop him from screwing with me. And somebody was going to pay for that. Someone aside from me.

I’d left my tote bag in the backseat of the car. I grabbed my files on the show, found the address I was looking for, and drove to one of Chicago’s
wealthiest suburbs, Lake Forest. Turnabout, someone once said, is fair play. And it was the only idea I had.

The house looked like it was on steroids. It was large, made from stone and a muddy brown brick. There were wings coming off each side, and a garage that looked bigger than my three-bedroom bungalow. I drove into the long circular driveway and parked my car close to the front door. I didn’t have a plan, but I was annoyed and sleep deprived, and that would have to do.

Ilena answered the door. “Kate? What brings you here?”

“Your husband came to see me this morning so I’m here to find out why.”

“He came to see you?” She was holding the front door open only enough to see me, but not enough for me to see inside.

“It’s twenty degrees outside,” I said.

“I’m a little busy right now. Perhaps we can meet for coffee later.”

“I’m writing the script for the show later, and in it I reveal your affair with Erik. I think the audience will really enjoy seeing what a hotbed of sex and lies your restaurant really is.”

Ilena glanced behind her, then bit her lip. “You can’t say things you can’t prove.”

“You’d be amazed by what I can say. Are you going to let me in?”

She stood back and let me walk past her into a large center hallway that looked as though a gold mine had thrown up on it. Every piece of furniture had gilding, statues of Greek gods stood on either side of the front door, two ornate chandeliers hung from a high ceiling, and the floor was a dark veined marble. It was Vegas, but with less restraint.

“Nice home,” I said.

“Thanks. I put a lot of myself into it.” She pointed toward a room to her left. It turned out to be a living room the size of a football field, with four couches, a grand piano, and a ten-foot painting of Roman and Ilena with two dogs at their feet.

“Where’s your husband?” I asked as I sat down.

“I’m not sure. He didn’t come home last night.”

“
Is that usual?”

“We have a place in the city, on Lake Shore Drive,” she said. “When he works late he stays there.”

“Has he called you today?”

“No. Is something wrong? You said he came to see you. What did he want?”

“I don’t know. He apparently stood outside my house this morning for a while, until my sister chased him away.”

She smiled. “Is your sister so intimidating she could scare Roman?”

“She is, actually.”

“Good for her. She has to tell me her secret sometime,” Ilena said. “I don’t see how I can help you.”

“Did you kill Erik?”

“Are you serious?”

“You were having an affair with him.”

Her eyes narrowed and she looked on the verge of throwing me out. “Can I offer you some coffee?” Without waiting for me to answer, she walked to a small intercom, pressed a button, and asked someone named Maria to bring two coffees to the sitting room.

“Ilena, I’m really not interested in who you sleep with,” I said. “But I am interested in who killed Erik.”

“You barely knew him. I doubt the Business Channel cares. They just want a wrap-up, if I understand it. A statement from each of us about Erik’s passing and some kind of announcement about whether we’ll continue without him.”

“You spoke to someone there.”

“I did. So explain to me why any of this concerns you beyond getting those statements.”

“Because the police think Vera killed Erik.”

Ilena laughed. I wasn’t sure if she was laughing at the absurdity of Vera being a suspect or at my caring that Vera was a suspect. I was about to ask when Maria came in with a sterling silver coffee service for two.

Ilena poured my coffee. “This is a dark-roast mix of beans from the best plantations in the world. Would you like cream and sugar?”

“Black.”

“
Just like Roman,” she said. “Personally, I can’t stand the taste of coffee unless it’s got lots of cream and sugar in it.”

“If you don’t like it, why drink it?”

She cocked her head. “It’s what refined people drink in the morning.”

I couldn’t help myself. As I sipped my coffee I felt sorry for Ilena. The rich husband had turned out to be a domineering bully, the house clearly intended to impress was in all likelihood the eyesore of this sophisticated neighborhood, the business that was supposed to buy her freedom was crumbling around her, and the man she’d taken to her bed was now lying in the morgue.

But that didn’t mean she was a victim. If she couldn’t help me with why Roman had come to my house, there were other questions she could answer.

“What were you and Walt doing last week at the restaurant? It was late. There was candlelight and wine.”

“Now you’re asking me if I’m sleeping with Walt?”

“Well, if you are, I’m even more curious why Roman was there.”

She blinked, looking a little confused. “How do you know that?”

“I was spying on you.”

Ilena put her coffee on the tray, scratched her neck, and patted her hair. She was looking toward me but not at me. Buying time, searching for a response.

“Why?” she finally asked.

“I was in the neighborhood.”

“Well, you misunderstood what you think you might have seen.”

“That’s quite a lot of qualifiers, Ilena.”

“I’m not really sure I want to do the show,” she said suddenly, and stood up.

“Speaking of the show, I have one person who I still need to book for an interview. Detective Makina,” I said. “I need to drive over to talk to him, give him a rundown on everything I know.”

She said nothing. For a moment I thought maybe she’d pull a gun, like what happened in all of Humphrey Bogart’s movies. Ilena had a vintage dame quality about her, the kind of woman in all the black-and-whites
from the forties. But there was no gun, no sudden moves, no rapid-fire dialogue. She just stood there.

“My husband is a very powerful man,” she said finally. “He doesn’t like people who get in the way of his business.”

“Is that supposed to frighten me?” I asked.

“It frightens me,” she said.

T
he Makina thing had been a bluff. I didn’t want to go anywhere near the guy. But still, I knew I needed him for the interview, and given Ilena’s veiled threat, it was probably a good idea to share some of what I knew with him.

When I called he suggested I meet him at his office at Area Four headquarters, but when I got there he seemed surprised to see me.

“The last person I expected to see,” he said as he led me to a small room. There was a desk and two chairs, but little else.

“I called and told you I was coming.”

He smiled a little. “That’s what I didn’t expect. You didn’t seem interested in cooperating with this investigation.”

“I’m interested in the right person being arrested,” I said. “And I hope you are too.”

“Would you like some coffee?”

“No thanks,” I said. “I’ve had enough caffeine for today.”

He motioned for me to sit down, and as I did, he sat across from me. He seemed a little shy. He’d pegged me as an uncooperative witness, and now my coming to see him, I could tell, was throwing him. “What can I do for you?” he asked.

“I’m working on a television show about the restaurant,” I said.

“I know that.”

“I’d like to interview you about the investigation into Erik Price’s death.”

“It’s an open case, Mrs. Conway,” he said. “There’s very little I can share with you.”

“I’m sure my bosses will be happy even if all I get is a quote saying that you’re doing everything you can to find the person who shot him.”

“What makes you think he was shot?”

“I don’t know a lot about bullet wounds,” I said, “but he did have holes in his body, so I figured that was what happened.”

“
And Ms. Bingham owns a gun,” he said a little smugly, correctly guessing why I’d assumed Erik had been shot. “Mr. Price was stabbed. Eleven times.”

“Any defensive wounds?”

“A few. Why?”

“Someone must have been pretty angry with him. Someone strong enough to stab him without Erik getting the knife,” I explained.

“That depends on where he was stabbed first. He was on his feet for three of the wounds, then the M.E. says he was on the ground for the last eight.”

“Sounds like a crime of passion.”

“Does it?” Detective Makina sat back, crossing his arms and looking at me. “So you want me to do an interview?”

“Yes.”

“On one condition. You have to answer a question for me.”

“I’ll do my best,” I said.

“Why are you protecting Ms. Bingham?”

“I didn’t know I was.”

“But you like her.”

“I really don’t know whether I do or not. She’s not a friend, exactly. She’s just…I don’t know, but you’d have to know her. She means well, and she’s so…guileless, I guess, she makes you want to make sure she’s okay.”

“You don’t think she could be taking advantage of you?”

“You think I’m that stupid?” It was, despite my indelicate wording, a sincere question. Maybe I was that stupid.

“I don’t think that. But if, as you say, Ms. Bingham is so guileless, maybe you thought by backing up her story you could help her.”

“Trust me, Detective, I’m not one of those people who like to help,” I said. “I mute the TV when those commercials come on to sponsor hungry children. I walk right past homeless people even when I have change in my pocket. I’m not helping Vera because I need to help. I’m helping—” I stopped myself. I was on the verge of confessing to a lie. “I believe Vera is innocent because I saw her the night Erik died. She was every bit as freaked out as I was. Besides, she doesn’t have a motive.”

“
She has two hundred and fifty thousand motives.”

He had me there. “Vera is a very wealthy woman,” I tried again. “She’s heir to Knutson Foods. Did you know that?”

“So?”

“Two hundred and fifty thousand dollars is hardly going to be a game changer for her. She probably spends more on shoes every year,” I said. “And it wouldn’t be the first time Vera’s given money to a friend starting a business. She’s never killed anyone over it before, so why start now?”

I don’t play chess, but I sensed I’d just captured his queen. He shifted in his chair and changed his line of questioning. “You mentioned that Erik spoke to you about his argument with Ms. Bingham,” he said.

“He did.” I placed my hands in my lap and dug my fingernails into my palms. I knew what was coming.

“When?”

I’d planned for this moment. Every lie needs a backup plan, which is why lies are so difficult to keep up when someone applies pressure. “Erik drove away right after the argument, and then Vera got one of those threatening calls.”

“The call Victor Pilot recorded.”

“Yes,” I said. “Naturally we were all focused on Vera at that point. We checked her car, because we believed the reference to slashing had to do with her tires, but that wasn’t the case. So then we went back to the restaurant. When we were leaving a few hours later, I saw Erik’s car parked down the street. I walked over to it and saw Erik inside. That’s when he told me.”

“He didn’t call you or ask you to meet him?”

“No.” I knew Makina would be checking phone records, so there was no point in pretending there had been a call.