Bloody Mary

Well, Libby did. I convinced myself it was her suit. Even criminals appreciated fashion sense.

We located Rushlo in the rec room, sitting at a steel table, reading a dog-eared People magazine. When he saw us, he freaked out.

“I’m not saying anything.” He jumped to his feet, head jerking this way and that, searching for an escape route. His cousin put a hand on his shoulder, squeezed.

“It’s okay, Derrick. They’re coming here with an offer. Hear them out.”

“I don’t want their offer. They tricked me before.”

I sat down, smiled easily. “You don’t have a choice, Derrick.”

Rushlo stared at me. Well, one eye did.

“I’m not talking.”

“You don’t have to.” Libby handed him some papers.

“What are these?”

Pludenza looked them over, then broke into a big grin.

“They’re dropping the charges, Derrick. You’re free.”

Rushlo turned a pasty shade of white.

“No…”

“I’ll have you out of here by this evening.”

“No… you can’t let me out.”

Libby winked at him. “We can, and we just did. Good timing too. Your buddy’s trial is almost over. You guys can have a nice little reunion.”

Rushlo began to whimper. I put my hand on his forearm, hiding my revulsion.

“I’d watch your step, Derrick. Fuller is kind of a

Rushlo went from pale white to bright pink. I thought he was going to pop.

“You have to protect me!”

“We’d like to help you, Derrick, but you haven’t helped us at all.”

I nodded to Libby, and we stood up.

“Please, help me!”

“We can put you into the witness protection program, Derrick. Change your name, hide you someplace. Or, if Fuller stays in jail, you’ll never have him to worry about again. Either way, you have to help us before we help you.”

His whole body began to shake.

“I… I can’t!”

“Have a nice life, Derrick. For as long as it lasts.”

We walked away.

“Please! PLEASE!”

Libby and I made it back to the courthouse with enough time to indulge in a vending machine lunch.

“Think he’ll crack?” she asked, her mouth around a triangularly cut cheese sandwich.

“I was going to ask you the same thing. I think so. The question is: Will he crack in time?”

“Closing arguments should only take a day. But even if the jury is deliberating, I can motion Judge Taylor to allow a surprise witness, and she can call them back into court. Rushlo’s got to come clean before they reach a verdict. If Fuller gets off, we can’t retry him. Double jeopardy.”

I had a bite of tuna on wheat. Soggy.

“Can you filibuster?”

“This isn’t Congress, Jack. If I try stalling, Taylor will jump all over me.”

“How about trying for some kind of extension or continuance?”

“I’ve tried, several times. Taylor kept reminding me we had three months to prepare. She’ll allow last-minute evidence, but won’t postpone the trial so we can get it.”

Libby ate more of her sandwich, and then glanced at her watch. A Movado, with diamonds around the bezel.

“Gotta get back to court. You didn’t like your sandwich?”

“It tastes like wet paper towels.”

Libby raised an eyebrow.

“You okay? Seem kind of off today.”

“Got a lot on my mind.”

“No kidding. Hey, all’s not lost yet. Rushlo might still spill.”

Everyone filed back into the courtroom, but didn’t stay long. Libby’s cross-examination of Fuller was a study in brevity.

“Mr. Fuller, I understand you were in the drama club at Southern Illinois University. What plays did you perform there?”

“I did Death of a Salesman, Merchant of Venice, and Waiting for Godot.”

“I bet you were excellent.” Libby sat down. “No further questions.”

Judge Taylor adjourned for the day, with closings to begin tomorrow.

When I got back to my office, Benedict was nowhere to be found. We hadn’t spoken since yesterday, and I didn’t like any bad blood between us. I called his cell.

“Where are you?”

“I’m meeting with my lawyer.”

“Can it wait? The trial is going to end any day now, and we have to finish cross-reffing these missing persons.”

“No, it can’t wait. Some of us haven’t gotten a day off in the past three months.”

I bit back my response, and hung up. I’d told him to file for reassignment out of anger, but now I was thinking it might be a good idea. I didn’t like the person Herb had become.

I tackled the project solo. Ruled out some names. Followed a few leads to nowhere. Cleared a small section of paperwork off of my floor.

By di

I didn’t feel very social, but I agreed because I’d blown off Alan for the past few nights. Maybe being around company would help get me out of my funk.

I couldn’t have been more wrong.

CHAPTER 40

“Hi, Jack.” Alan had been waiting in the bar, and gave me a hug when I entered the German place. He looked good, in black slacks and a gray cardigan. When I pecked him on the cheek I could tell he’d just shaved.

“I’m not in the best of moods,” I said.

“It’ll be fun.” He took my coat and led me through the restaurant. “This is an old friend of yours.”

“What old friend?” Then I saw.

Harry McGlade winked at me from his seat. He wore the standard Harry outfit: a wrinkled brown suit and a stained tie.

“Hiya, Jackie. This is my new squeeze, Nora.”

“It’s Dora.” Dora was half McGlade’s age, blonde with a streak of pink in her bangs, and the blouse she wore would have been tight on a Barbie doll.

“Yeah, Dora. Sorry, honey.”

“Harry called earlier.” Alan beamed like a schoolboy after his first kiss. “He wanted to thank you for something. Since you’ve been in a funk lately, I thought it would be nice if he thanked you in person. He’s the guy who was in that made-for-TV movie with you, right? I mean, his character and your character?”

“Yeah.” I tried to sound upbeat and enthusiastic. I failed.

Harry didn’t have to fake it. “I just got my PI license in the mail this morning. The Illinois Department of Regulations takes their time, but you made good on your word, Jackie. Di

“Great.” That sounded even worse.

The waitress came by, a woman in her sixties dressed in a dirndl. Her English was heavily accented with German. She made the mistake of starting with Harry.

“Something to drink, sir?”

“Got any German beer?”

“We’ve got the largest selection of imported beer in Chicagoland.”

“How about Schlitzkreig?” asked Harry.

“We don’t have that.”

“Krautweiser?”

She shook her head.

“He’ll have a Beck’s,” I told the waitress. “And so will I.”

“Make it three.” Alan held up three fingers.

“Diet cola with an orange slice, a lemon slice, a lime slice, and a cherry,” Dora said.

“Why not just order a fruit salad?” asked Harry.

Dora giggled. I shot Alan a pained look, but his nose was buried in the menu and he didn’t see it. I suppose I couldn’t blame the guy. Alan didn’t know Harry, and I’d never had any reason to mention him.

“Would you like an appetizer?”

“Swastikabobs.” This from McGlade, naturally.

“We do not have shish kebab.”

Harry shook his head. “No, I said-”

“We’ll think it over,” I interrupted. The poor waitress loped off.

Alan set the menu down. “I’m going with the wiener schnitzel.”

“What’s that?” Dora asked in a forced-cutesy way.

“It’s veal.”

“What’s that? Like pork?”

“It’s a baby cow.” Harry pinched her cheek. “You’re so adorable.”

Dora’s face bunched up. “You’re ordering a baby cow wiener?”