High Chicago

CHAPTER 25

I made the easy phone calls first: flight, hotel and rental car.

Then I called my mother to let her know I'd be out of town-Jewish mothers must be kept apprised of such things-hoping to get her machine so I could keep it short and chipper, but I got her live instead and had to listen to an overlong lecture about upsetting my older brother.

"What happened?" she said. "You were going to call Daniel and thank him for sending business your way."

I said, "The case he referred to me, through his assistant, the simple family matter, turned out to be not so simple. And I had to push Marilyn's ex around a little and he complained to Daniel and Daniel butted in where he shouldn't have."

"I wish the two of you would just get along better…"

"This is not about us getting along, Ma. It's about me finding out what happened to Maya. I don't bill what Daniel bills, but my hours matter too. My days count."

"Doing what?" she said. "I don't know what you do anymore. At least when you were with an agency I had some idea."

"World repairs is what I do. Like it says on the door."

"Which means what here on earth?"

"Giving Marilyn her daughter back. Whether Daniel likes it or not." — I had to take a few moments to breathe and think my way through my story before I made the next call. Marilyn Cantor had come to World Repairs to find out why her daughter had killed herself. Now she was about to learn that Maya had been murdered. Never having been a cop, only a soldier, I had no experience at breaking this kind of news-only of living it. So I started by telling her that I was going to Chicago. "But don't worry about the expense," I said. "Your ex-husband is paying."

"What does Chicago have to do with my daughter?" she said. "And why is Rob paying for you to go? He didn't even want me giving you his number."

"Maybe you should come down to the office. It might be better if I explain it in person."

Such a smart guy: I couldn't have thought of this before I called?

"What is going on?" she demanded. "What have you found out?"

"This might not be easy."

"I didn't come to you for easy. Please. Spit it out."

I took a deep breath; deep enough for snorkelling. "Maya didn't kill herself, Marilyn. We believe-strongly believe-that she was murdered."

"Murdered… who would murder my daughter? She didn't have an enemy in the world."

"She made one," I said.

"A boyfriend?"

"No."

"Then who? And what the hell does it have to do with Rob?"

"I'm going to tell you what I know, but I need some assurance from you first."

"The hell you do."

"Please. I need to know that you'll wait until we find enough evidence to back up our theory before you do anything about it."

"Do you know what happened or not?"

"All right," I said. "Let me explain it as best I can. Everyone we spoke to had a hard time believing Maya had killed herself. No one thought she was the type to do it."

"I told you that myself."

"I know. And the more we looked into it, the more a different scenario began to emerge."

"Based on what?"

"Phone calls she had made and received before she died. An email found on her computer. A conversation I had with the coroner."

"He agrees she was murdered?"

"He acknowledged that it was possible."

"That doesn't sound very-"

"I'm getting there. We know Maya and a friend named Will Sterling had serious concerns about the Birkshire Harbourview development."

"Oh my God. Where are you going with this?"

"Hang on. They believed there were problems with the land itself-the level of PCBs in the soil."

"But Rob had all that cleaned."

"But a new problem cropped up that couldn't be cleaned. Not on time or within budget."

There was silence on the other end. Then she said in a tight voice, "Who are you working for now? Me or Rob?"

"You," I said. "And only you."

"Then why did Rob-"

"I'm getting to that. We talked to him today, Jenn and I. We got him to admit this problem. And that there have been casualties because of it."

"Casualties? What does that mean? Someone killed Maya over this?"

"Not just Maya. We think two other people were killed over it, to keep Birk's projects in Toronto and Chicago going."

"Not my husband, please," she said. "Don't tell me-"

"Simon Birk is the man we believe is responsible," I said. "That's why I'm going to Chicago. And that's why Rob is paying. He brought Birk into the mix. He bought into Birk's plan to pave over the problems. And he wants Birk held accountable."

A loud clashing noise rang painfully through my ear-the phone being dropped-and I could hear Marilyn crying on the other end. Wailing. All the anger she had been directing in at herself was seeking an outlet now, a place to lodge like an arrow. There was nothing to do but wait until she could gather herself and return to the phone. I made myself listen for moments on end as she gulped and cried and tried to speak and then cried more, apologizing to me as tears welled in my own eyes. I wanted that anger inside me when I got to Chicago. Wanted the fuel it would provide.

When she was finally able to talk, she spat, "That idiot."

"Birk?"

"My stupid fucking ex-husband, that bastard, that heartless fucking prick… I'm sorry, I shouldn't speak like that to you."

"Please. I've heard worse."

"It's all part of the same stupid need of his. Having a family and apartment buildings wasn't enough for him. He had to have the young girl, the big phallic towers, the world-famous partner. And look where it got him. Where it got his own daughter."

She asked if Rob had told Andrew. I said I didn't know. She asked what the police thought. I told her we'd been trying to make our case with Homicide. She asked how long I would be in Chicago. I said as long as it took.

"There's more money," she said. "If Rob's runs out."

"It won't," I said. "He's on the hook for every dime."

"Jonah," she said. "How sure are you he had nothing to do with it?"

"You were married to him half your life. Does he have it in him?"

She took her time before saying, "No. I don't think he could. Whatever else is wrong with him, and God knows there's a lot, he loved his children. He divorced me, not them. He's a selfish asshole at times, maybe most of the time-and I'm trying to picture it, believe me-I think I hate him enough to want to think he did it, but I can't. I really can't. But if for some reason I'm wrong?"

"Yes?"

"If there's any evidence at all that he had anything to do with it-anything-even if it was not knowing something he could have or should have known to prevent it, then tear up his cheque and I'll write you a new one. I don't care how much it costs."

"You're our client," I said. "Finding out the truth for you is the only job we have. And if Rob is in any way dirty on this, we'll tear up more than his cheque."