High Chicago

CHAPTER 16

"Homicide."

"Only you can make that word sound good."

There was a pause and then she said, "Hey, there." Not exactly warm, but not black ice either. She said, "I'm sorry about last night. Maybe I jumped to conclusions too fast, but you really threw me."

"I know. You feel any different today?"

"Not different enough."

"I was hoping I could buy you a coffee."

"I told you I'd call you. Anyway, I'm on a murder, and you know what they say about the first twenty-four hours."

"What if I can help you with it?"

"How?"

"Your victim. Martin Glenn. I know something that you should know."

"Like what?"

"A motive."

"On the level? This isn't some bullshit way of getting us together?"

"I happened to see him in a screaming match with someone a few hours before he was killed."

"Who?"

"You'll buy the coffee?"

"Jonah, you better not be messing with me."

"I'll be there in twenty minutes. You can decide for yourself." We met in the lobby of police headquarters at 4 °College Street, at the same coffee bar where I'd first looked into those eyes last June, when the cases we were working on converged. We'd agreed to meet here, instead of her office, to escape the prying eyes of her partner, whose dislike for private investigators in general was exceeded only by his antipathy for me in particular.

"Martin Glenn was working for a company called Cantor Development," I said. "They're putting up condo towers in the port lands and his company was cleaning the site."

"But?"

"Something went wrong. I'm not sure what exactly, but I think he was being asked-or paid-to sign off on something that wasn't kosher."

"Details, please."

"Like I said, a screaming match yesterday afternoon with the developer, Rob Cantor."

"You witnessed this?"

"I did. Cantor was warning him, telling him to think about Eric before he did anything rash."

"That being Eric Fisk?"

"I assume."

"What else?"

"Eric needed money. A lot of it, more than Glenn could afford on his regular consulting fees."

"For what?"

"You saw him."

"I did."

"He needs an anti-retroviral treatment that's available in New York but hasn't been approved here yet. He'd have to pay cash for it-thirty-five, forty thousand a year."

"So you think Cantor was paying Glenn to look the other way on something to do with the building site."

"Yes."

"But aside from the spat you witnessed, I don't suppose you have proof?"

First my brother, now Hollinger. What was it with people and their need for evidence?

"I don't have the authority or the means to search Glenn's home or office," I said. "You do."

"We've started on that already," she said. "But this might help narrow our focus."

I said, "You're welcome," just as a loud voice behind me cackled, "Well, if it isn't the cupcake."

Crap. Of all the coffee joints in all the police stations in the world, Gregg McDonough had to walk into this one.

"I was providing information to your vastly superior officer," I said.

"About what?"

"About Martin Glenn," Hollinger said.

McDonough lost a little of his swagger. "What would he know about Glenn?"

"Enough to make it worth listening."

"You know the listening thing?" I asked. "It's when you shut your mouth long enough to hear what other people say."

He was a big redhead and his complexion got redder, like a mercury thermometer heating up. "You know, Geller, I liked you last summer," he said.

"You hid it well."

"For a couple of murders, I mean. Maybe the Super has closed the books on them. Doesn't mean I have." And off he went to join the lineup at the coffee bar.

"How do you work with that lunkhead?" I asked Hollinger.

"I roll my eyes a lot. I sigh occasionally. Once in a while, I snap a pencil."

"There's something else I should tell you," I said.

"About Glenn?"

"Not directly. A couple of weeks ago, the developer's daughter, Maya Cantor, supposedly killed herself."

"Supposedly?"

"I don't think she did, Kate. She went off the balcony of a high-rise and I'm pretty sure someone helped her over."

"I don't suppose you have proof of that either?"

"There's proof she had plans for the next day."

"I doubt that will be enough to open an investigation. Have you seen the coroner's report on her death?"

"I'd like to. Think you could call their office for me?"

"I can call," she said. "But it's really a family member you need to make the request."

"Her mother will," I said.

And then McDonough was back at our table. "I'll be upstairs, boss. Working. Whenever you're ready to get back to it." Then he laid a paper plate down in front of me and walked away.

On it was a cupcake. With vanilla icing and sprinkles.

Hollinger rolled her eyes and sighed. If she didn't snap a pencil, it was probably because she didn't have one.

"You'll talk to the coroner?" I asked.

"Yes." Then she paused, looked into my eyes and smiled.

I said, "What?"

"One last question."

"What?"

"You don't have to answer."

"Try me."

"You going to eat that cupcake?"