The Governor's Wife (20 page)

M
arie stared dryly at her father’s body. “Was that the rest of your plan?”

“He never would have let it go,” I said. “You and Emma never would have been safe.”

She looked up. “And you think we’ll be safe now?”

“With your father dead, there’s a chance. Come on.”

I pulled her from the chair and led her back into the kitchen.

“Who shot him?” she said.

“Bones had a man planted across the street, watching this apartment. My guess is they were going to try to kill us both once your father got his money. Wallace took out their man while we talked to Bones. When Andrew was ready, he texted me.”

“Andrew shot my father?”

“He agreed it was the only way to keep you safe. All we had to do was get your father to the windows. I figured a chance to glimpse his granddaughter might do it.”

My phone buzzed with another text. I pulled out the phone and read it. Then I went back into the living room and picked up my gun off the table.

“Where’s Emma?” Marie said, her voice rising.

“Andrew’s headed down to the street right now. He’ll make sure she’s all right.” I walked to the front door and checked the lock. Marie followed in my wake.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Andrew just thinks there might be a second gun…”

“Emma.” Marie slipped the lock and bolted down the stairs. She hit the lobby ten seconds later and swung into the street. I was a half step behind her. The first slug tore a good chunk of wood off the door frame. I dove back into the doorway. Three more shots stitched me into a corner. Marie was crouched behind a Volvo. The gunman was almost directly across the street and moving to get a better angle on me. He’d have it in a matter of seconds. I rolled onto the sidewalk and came up against the side of an SUV. Iron Belly flashed between two cars, gun up, looking for me in the empty doorway. When he realized his mistake, he turned and fired two wild shots, shattering a windshield behind me. I drilled him twice in the stomach and watched him fall into a flower bed. Then I turned and looked for Marie.

I found her slumped against the front bumper of a rusted-out Toyota, arms awkwardly by her side, eyes open and full of sky. Best I could tell, one of Iron Belly’s rounds had come up off the pavement and caught her in the cheek. I figured she was dead before she hit the ground. My phone buzzed again in my pocket. It was Wallace. He had Emma and Amanda with him. The girl wanted to see her mother. I texted back and told him to wait. Then I closed Marie Perry’s eyes and carried her into my building.

C
hicago PD blocked off the street and pulled Iron Belly’s body out of the flower bed. By the time Rodriguez showed up, they’d found the other shooter in an apartment across the street. Andrew Wallace had put a .22 slug in his head and planted the weapon in Iron Belly’s car.

“So this needs to go down as a gunfight between the guy in the street and the guy in the apartment?” Rodriguez was sitting in my kitchen, sipping coffee from a Styrofoam cup and not believing a word of what he was saying.

“Will it work?” I said.

“Except for the fact that the weapons and angles are all wrong, sure. What about Marie Perry?”

I’d laid her out on the cool wood floor of my living room and sat with her until the police came. Then I’d watched, carving her features into my brain while they took their pictures and zipped up the coroner’s bag. No one said a word as they loaded her onto a stretcher and wheeled her to a van waiting in the alley.

“She was caught in the crossfire,” I said.

“Shit.”

“Have the coroner hold a press conference and announce that Ray’s dead. Leak Marie’s death as a suspected suicide a couple of days later. She wouldn’t care.”

Rodriguez walked to the front windows of my apartment and looked out. Down the block, a handful of residents and a couple of news crews had gathered behind the yellow police tape. “What about the press?”

“It’ll be a story tomorrow. Then Beacon will muzzle them. Trust me, they’re not gonna want anyone taking too close a look at any of this.”

“And when does someone come looking for you?”

“The whole thing dies with Marie and Ray.”

“Bones won’t let it go.”

“He’s dead, too.”

“Course he is.”

“You want to hear about it?”

“I guess I better.”

So I sat down at the table and talked. About the sixty million Ray skimmed. About his wife helping him disappear. About the little girl they had ten years ago. About her grandfather who hired a man to kill her. When I’d finished, Rodriguez just shook his head.

“Where’s the girl now?” he said.

“Safe with the woman who brought her up.”

“Does the girl know about her mom?”

“Not yet.”

“And you really think Beacon’s just gonna wash their hands of this?”

“Marie’s dead. Ray’s dead. Bones is dead. I’m guessing they write off the money and move on.”

Rodriguez sighed and got up from the table.

“Roderick Hampton,” I said.

“He’s already out. All the charges were dropped.”

“And Eddie Ward?”

“I took a quick look at the piece the guy in the street had on him when he went into the flower bed. Same caliber. Same brand of bullet. I’ll run a ballistics check tomorrow.”

“Good.”

“You gonna see the Perry girl again?”

“Tomorrow morning.”

“Tell whoever has her to get her out of the city. And make sure Bones stays put. Wherever he is.”

I
met Andrew Wallace the next morning at the Golden Nugget on Diversey. He’d driven all night with Bones McIntyre’s body in his trunk. Now the trunk was empty, and Bones was planted at the bottom of a freshly poured concrete footing for a bridge in Indiana. Seemed just about right.

“Where’s Amanda?” I said.

“She’s gonna meet me here.”

“Is she okay with this?”

Wallace had ordered a stack of pancakes and smeared butter and syrup on them. “Why not? She loves the girl and her husband’s dead. Nothing to keep her here.”

“Where will they go?”

Wallace cut into the stack and shook his head as he chewed. “Probably better if you don’t know.”

He was right.

“How about you?” I said.

“I’ll get them situated, then I’m done.”

“And the money?”

Wallace poured a little more syrup over his cakes. “I’ve got it somewhere safe. When the time’s right, I’ll spread it out, move it around, and eventually circle it back to the girl.”

“Nothing for you?”

“Amanda wanted me to take five.”

“Leaving fifty-five for the girl?”

“Amanda wants to funnel a good chunk of it to the families of the accident victims, as well as a few charities Marie had identified. But the girl will never want. That’s for sure.” Wallace looked out the window. A Checker cab was pulling into the lot. “That’s them. I know we talked about this, but Amanda wants you to take a cut.”

I shook my head. “I’ve already gotten more than I wanted from this job.”

“You sure? It’s a lot of money. A life-changer.”

Outside Amanda Mason was paying the cabbie. Then she and her two girls were standing in the lot, blinking against the morning sun.

“I’m sure.” I pulled out a letter and pushed it across the table. “Tell Amanda to give this to Emma when she’s old enough.”

Wallace picked up the envelope. “What is it?”

“Just a letter. Telling her about her mom.”

Wallace stuffed the envelope in his pocket and stood up. “You think they’re gonna come after us?”

“Beacon?”

“Whoever. That’s a lot of cash.”

“You buried their last lead in Indiana. Besides, in Chicago there’s always a new meal ticket getting punched. Onward and upward.”

“You’re probably right. Either way, I gotta scoot.” Wallace stuck out his hand. “Marie was right. You’re a good man.”

“Thanks for the help, Andrew.”

“I’ll be seeing you. Not.”

I watched him walk out into the sunshine. Amanda looked back at the restaurant, and for a moment I thought she might come in. But Wallace herded her and the girls to his car. They climbed in and drove away. I sipped at my coffee and pulled a second envelope out of my pocket. Inside was a flash drive with a couple of hours of video recorded in Rachel Swenson’s apartment. Rodriguez had pulled the stuff off a computer they’d found in Bones’s office. I wasn’t sure if there were other copies, but we’d all have to take our chances. I pulled out my laptop, plugged in the flash drive, and deleted all the files. Then I pocketed the drive and called for the check. I was about to pay when my phone buzzed with an e-mail.

Mr. Kelly,

Andrew gave me your letter. I’ll make sure Emma reads it when the time is right. And I’ll make sure she knows about you as well. Last night I asked Andrew to set up an interest-bearing account for you and wire two million dollars into it. There’s a secure link below and details on how to access the money. I know you don’t want this, but I also know Marie would have wanted you to have it. So it’s there, collecting interest, if you change your mind. Thank you for giving Emma a new life. Myself and my daughter as well. Please be safe.

Amanda

I reread the message. Then I accessed the account and looked at the outstanding balance. A lot of zeros. All of them drenched in blood. I finished my coffee, paid the bill, and left. On the way out, my phone sang again. Another e-mail. This one was from Elena Ramirez. She was going to have a baby girl. And she was going to name it Kelly.

As with all the Michael Kelly books, I’ve tried to be as accurate as possible when it comes to Chicago’s geography, buildings, and institutions. Where necessary, however, I’ve taken certain liberties to fit the needs of the story. Sterch’s, for example, was a real bar on Chicago’s North Side. Unfortunately, it closed a few years back. I decided to resurrect it for
The Governor’s Wife
mostly because Sterch’s was Kelly’s kind of place. And there aren’t many bars like it left in Chicago—or anywhere else for that matter. If you want to read more about the place, check out the Chicago Bar Project,
www.chibarproject.com
.

I’d like to thank my editor, Jordan Pavlin; her boss, Sonny Mehta; and all the people at Knopf and Vintage/Black Lizard for their unwavering support of the Kelly books.

Thanks, also, to my agent, David Gernert; Chicago writer Garnett Kilberg Cohen; and my family and friends for all their support and encouragement. Special thanks to Chase Ehrenberg for her discerning editorial eye and wonderful way with words.

Thanks, finally, to everyone who has read my other novels. Hope you enjoy this one.

That’s it. Love you, Mary Frances.

A NOTE ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Michael Harvey is the author of
The Chicago Way, The Fifth Floor, The Third Rail, We All Fall Down
, and
The Innocence Game
, as well as a journalist and documentary producer. His work has won numerous national and international awards, including multiple news Emmys, two Primetime Emmy nominations, and an Academy Award nomination. He holds a law degree with honors from Duke University, a master’s degree in journalism from Northwestern University, and a bachelor’s degree, magna cum laude, in classical languages from Holy Cross College. He lives, of course, in Chicago.