Murder for Bid (21 page)

I wasn’t quite sure where I stood on the issue. I know that progress is necessary, but like many others, I’m concerned about our environment. However, I did think it weird that the court had changed its stance so abruptly. Was there something to those allegations against Judge Reiner? If so, did it tie into Amanda’s death?

I sighed, so much for focusing on my work. I glanced at the clock, 10:30. Not too late for a trip up north. With classes finishing this week, most Northwestern students would be moving back home for the summer. That meant dumpsters would be full with dorm room castoffs. Sure, it was a long way to drive for scavenging, but Sean did mention that Jessica Hansen, the missing girl, was a student at Northwestern. With any luck, I’d be able to plump up my inventory
and
find out some information about her. It wasn’t like I was putting myself in any real danger just by looking for the girl.

By mid-afternoon, I had quite the collection of items. My trunk was just about full, but I couldn’t resist a spin down Greek Avenue. Experience had told me that Greek sisters were ruthless when they cleaned out the house and
their
junk was always another man’s treasure.

The alley behind Greek Row was a checkerboard of large blue dumpsters interspersed with the regular thirty-gallon garbage cans. I picked my dumpster and headed down the alley with visions of salvageable merchandise dancing in my head.

I found several worthy items. Mostly text and reference books; probably cast-offs of graduating students who figured they wouldn’t need them anymore. Also, a ton of trashy romance novels-most with covers featuring a Fabio look-alike clutching a well-endowed woman in a peasant dress. I looked them over: 
The Betrothed, Reluctant
Widow, Heat in the Night
… whew … I was getting hot just from the titles. I gathered up all the ones I could find that were in sellable condition. I’d try and sell them on my on-line auction in lots of five. However, my best find, by far, was a set of four small ceramic bowls that were pale green with brown polka dots. The ‘cutesy’ type that the home design stores usually carried. They were crammed down in the bottom of a shopping bag with old term papers and a few used magazines. It must have been enough cushioning to keep them intact, because they were in great shape. I’d save them for the next flea market.

I was just making room in the back of the Volvo for my finds when I heard a voice from behind, “You! What are you doing here?”

I turned to see no other than Madeline Reiner, the judge’s wife, looming behind me. She didn’t look pleased to see me again. “I checked on you,” she said. “The
Tribune
had never heard of a Patricia Owens.” She gawked at my car with the cock-eyed bumper held up with a bungee and the trunk loaded down with junk. “You’re obviously not a reporter,” she stated with disgust. “What are you doing here at the Kappa Alpha Theta house?”

I looked up and realized that I was indeed parked in back of the KAT House, or Kitty KAT House as we non-Greeks used to call it, which was a lot better than the not-so-polite-name Pussy House, which was how most male co-eds referred to it.

“I’m here to help my niece move,” I said, thinking fast. There was no way I was going to explain to this woman what my real occupation was.

“Does she live in the house?” Madeline asked her eyes boring into me.  

“Well, no. She lives down that way.” I pointed down the alley at nothing in particular.

She glanced down the alley and then back at me with a frown. “Are you following me?”

Great, not only was she some sort perverted dominatrix, she was a paranoid dominatrix.

“No, why would I do that?” I asked innocently.

“I saw you at Amanda’s funeral. You were wearing some cheap disguise. Then you showed up at my house pretending to be a reporter. Who are you really?”

I resented the slam against my disguise but held out my hand anyway. “My real name is Phillipena O’Brien.”
             

She didn’t take it. Instead, she gave me a nasty once over. “What’s your game, lady?”

“
My
game?” I asked. “I should be asking you the same thing?”

“What do you mean?” she responded with indignation.

Maybe it was her attitude of superiority, or maybe it was just that I was hot and tired from climbing through dumpsters, but, whatever the reason, I was thoroughly annoyed with this woman. I decided to cut to the chase, “I
mean
what do you know about Amanda’s Schmidt’s death?” I said, trying to knock her down a notch or two. “You
do
know it’s illegal to withhold evidence in a murder investigation,” I added.

I stepped back and watched in amazement as her face distorted, morphing her into a bulging-eyed bull dog. I gulped down my fear and continued ahead bravely, “I mean is it really just coincidental that Richard Schmidt’s firm had launched an investigation of your husband
around the same time Amanda was killed? That, coupled with the disappearance of Jessica Hanson, your husband’s law clerk, adds up to a whole lot of suspicion.” I tried to keep my voice steady as I continued with one last dig. “So, Mrs. Reiner, let me ask you again, what’s your game?” I shot her a facetious smile.

“You little witch!”  

Uh, oh. I had an awful feeling that I was about to see Madeline’s dominating side.

“Who do you think you are? Stop spreading lies about my husband!” She had moved into my personal space—her foul coffee-breath mouth was so close to my face that I could see the bridge work on her back molars. I slammed my back hatch closed and tried to inch away from her, tripping over myself several times before making it around to my car door.

She pursued me, yelling obscenities that even I hadn’t thought about since junior high. I had one foot in the driver’s door when she yanked me back by my ponytail. I batted my hands behind me trying to connect to her face. Instead, I rammed my elbow into the side mirror. I howled out in pain, but she kept pulling. Before I knew it, my butt was on the pavement and I was looking up at a three-inch heel coming at my face. Thank goodness that one of the few channels that I receive on my jerry-rigged cable set-up ran re-runs of
Walker Texas Ranger,
because instinctively I knew how to react. I grabbed her foot, twisted, and shoved it forward. Just like in the show, she ended up face down, practically kissing the pavement.

Seeing my opportunity, I made a run for it. Within two seconds, I was in my car and pulling out at breakneck speed, my scraping bumper sending sparks up behind me.

I glanced in my rearview mirror just in time to see Madeline hurl something at the back of my car. I winced as the object connected with a loud thud against my side panel.

It hadn’t been a good week for my beloved Volvo.

*

Despite my newly acquired car dent, my encounter with Madeline had been a rush. If I were a cop, I would never tire of bringing down the bad guys. I smiled to myself, rolled down my window, leaned back, and cranked up the radio. I took the whole encounter with Madeline as an omen. It wasn’t just coincidence that I happened to run into her today; it was Divine intervention. This whole thing was bigger than logical human reasoning. I was
meant
to be here at this particular time.

Deciding that my reason for coming to Northwestern was justified, and with fate on my side, I didn’t feel guilty at all about what I planned to do next. First though, I put some distance between ‘Madeline the Mad Woman’ and myself before finding a fast food place and pulling into the drive-thru. After refueling with a number two supersized, I headed back to the heart of
Northwestern’s campus. 

Surprisingly enough, it wasn’t hard to find an open meter. I plugged in a few quarters and headed up the steps to the student union. I went directly to the information desk and asked for a campus directory and the local phone directory. There were over thirty
Hansons listed between the two. None were Jessica’s, but there were three J. Hansons. I copied down the numbers and found a quiet spot to make the calls.

A couple of minutes later, I had someone on the line. “Is this Jessica Hanson’s residence?”

“Who’s this?” a tiny female voice responded.

I took a chance. “This is her friend, Pam … Pam Olson.” I read somewhere that you should always use the same initials as your real name when fabricating an alias. I’m not sure why, but so far it had worked for me. Although I would need to brainstorm some new names soon, I
was quickly running out of P.O.’s.

“She’s never mentioned you.”

“This is important. I have something of hers,” I blurted out, sensing that the tiny voice was about to disconnect.

“What?”

Good question, what? “An envelope,” I finally said.

“An envelope?”

“Yeah, and it’s sealed. I don’t know what’s in it. Maybe money, who knows?” I said, appealing to her greed. Every college student I knew needed more cash. “Jessica gave it to me before she disappeared and told me that if anything ever happens to her that I was supposed to give this to her family. Only, I don’t know where her family is, do you?”

“I’m her sister.”

Bingo. “Perfect. I’ll bring it to you. Where are you?”

I waited through a long pause. “I don’t know about this. The police said that I wasn’t to talk to anyone about Jessie.”

Oh,
now
she was deciding to wise up. Never mind that she had already told a virtual stranger more than she should have. “We don’t need to talk. I just want to hand this over and be on my way. I have lots to do. I’m busy trying to find a new job. That jerk of a judge fired me.”

“Judge Reiner? Jessie hated him too.”
Another long pause. “All right, but I’ll come to you. Where are you, now?”

“I’m on campus.”

“I’m not far. There’s a café on the corner of Maple and Church.”

“I’ll find it.”

“Good. Meet me there in ten minutes.”

She disconnected before I had the chance to ask her what she looked like. Darn.

I needed an envelope and fast. I ran back to the desk, begged for a manila envelope and then headed out the door. I was sucking wind like an out-of-condition running back, but I made it to the café in record time. Helping myself to a pile of napkins, I crammed them into the envelope hoping that it would buy me enough time to get some information.

For the next few minutes, I plotted my strategy and watched for someone that looked like Jessica Hanson’s sister, whatever that may look like. I figured that she must be a looker if she was having an affair with the judge.

I was eyeing a willowy brunette when I felt a tap on my shoulder.

“Pam?”

I wheeled around and almost replied ‘no,’ but then I remembered who I was pretending to be. “Yes. I’m Pam. Pam Olson,” I gushed, overdoing it a bit. “Have a seat.” I motioned to an adjoining chair. Then I thought better of my suggestion. I wasn’t sure the chair would hold the hulking figure looming over me. She had to be at least three hundred pounds.

“Why should I sit down? I thought you just wanted to give me the envelope and then get on with looking for a new job?” she said.

I looked up into what would be a pretty face if it wasn’t accompanied by so many chins and a fresh round of pimples. She looked strangely familiar. “I would love to just get rid of this thing, except how do I know you’re really Jessica’s sister?”

She eyed me curiously, but moved to the chair. I sucked in my breath, waiting to see it was going to hold her girth. “How do I know you’re really her friend?” she asked.

Touché.

I leaned back. We sat in silence, eyeing each other suspiciously. I was searching my brain. She looked so familiar. Where had I met this girl before?

I contemplated several great lies before deciding to finally come clean and try the truth. “Listen Jessica’s sister, if that’s who you really are, I need to be square with you. I didn’t really work with your sister. I just said that so that you would meet with me.”

Her mouth worked into a thin line as she leaned forward, her bulky forearms taking up half the table. “What do you mean you didn’t work with my sister? Then what’s this?” She grabbed the overstuffed bundle in my hand and tore it open. “What? What is this?” She held up a wad of napkins.

“Just a ruse,” I explained.

“A what?”

This poor girl got the fuzzy end of the stick, I thought. She got neither the brains nor the beauty in the family. “Listen, uh … what’s your name?”

“Janie.”

“Janie.” Oh boy, a ‘J’
family. I bet there was a Jennifer or a Justin somewhere in the mix.

I decided to play on Janie’s sense of compassion. “A friend of mine was murdered. It’s been all over the news. Maybe you heard about it? Amanda Schmidt?” I put on a sad face and stared off into the distance, misty eyed. “Amanda was such a dear, dear person. She didn’t deserve to die the way she did,” I added for good measure.  

“So?”

So much for compassion.
“Well, I think my friend’s murder might be tied to the recent allegations against Judge Reiner.”

“You know about that stuff?” Janie asked.

“I know that it has something to do with the industrial park expansion up in Bensenville. That’s about it,” I admitted. “What do you know about it?”

Janie’s eyes kept darting toward the café counter. At first I thought she was worried that someone could overhear our conversation; then, after I noticed her practically salivating, I realized that she was just hungry. “Can I buy you a cup of coffee and a roll?” I offered.

“I really shouldn’t. I just started a diet. I’m not supposed to have carbs.”

“Oh, really?
Well, be careful; that can be dangerous. Everyone needs a few carbs in their diet.”

“Dangerous?”

“Yes, very. Without carbs you can slip into an insulin induced coma. Didn’t you know that?” She actually looked worried. Gosh, how gullible could this girl be? “Well,” I continued, “I guess it was only published in the medical journals recently. Physicians are cautioning people against following strict no carb diets.” I fished out a twenty from the bottom of my bag. “Here, I’m going to get a few rolls and a couple of lattes. Don’t move; I’ll be right back.”

I kept my eye on her the whole time I ordered, ready to chase her down if need be. There was no need. She stayed glued to her seat, and practically pounced on me when I returned with the tray. I had a feeling this girl would sell her soul for a couple of donuts.

“Okay, now that that’s settled, let’s get down to business,” I said after she was through the first cheese danish.

“What do you want to know?” she asked, crumbs falling from her mouth.

“How long had Jessica been working for Judge Reiner?”

“Oh, maybe a year.
She started interning with him her last year in school and then continued after graduation.” She reached for a second danish. “These are good! I haven’t had carbs for three days.”

I shoved the tray a little closer to her side, feeling a bit guilty about sabotaging her efforts. “Did she confide in you about the judge’s under-the-table deals?” I asked.

“No. The first I heard about that stuff was when the cops questioned me.”

“When was that?”

“A couple of days after I reported her missing.”

I tried to hide my disappointment. This was going nowhere. “Did she ever mention the name Amanda Schmidt?”

“No.”

I watched Janie reach for the last
danish. That was three in less than ten minutes. She was really putting it away. I needed to get my answers faster, my time was running out.

“Did she ever mention anything unusual about work? I
mean, maybe it didn’t make sense at the time, but now looking back perhaps you remember something that stands out.”

“No, she really didn’t talk much about work,” she replied, obviously annoyed that my questions were interfering with her eating.

I sighed, “Have you talked to your sister since she disappeared?”

“I haven’t, but she called our mother.”

“She did?”

“Yup, just to tell her that she was okay. Guess she didn’t want Mom to worry.” She held up her hand. “Don’t bother to ask. She didn’t tell me where she was going and I don’t have any idea where she is now.”

No, of course she wouldn’t. Jessica Hanson wouldn’t be stupid enough to give out that type of information to someone who could be bought off with eight hundred calories of sugar and starch, even if it was her own sister. I watched as she laboriously rose from her chair, iced latte in hand.

“Wait. What are you doing?” I asked.

“I’m leaving.” She began weaving her way through the tables, bumping several chairs along the way.