Show of Evil

Eleven

The section known as Back of the Yards sprawled for a dozen square blocks, shouldering the stockyards for space. Its buildings, most of which were a century old, were square, muscular structures of concrete, brick, and timber behind facades of terracotta. The warehouses and old manufacturing plants were once headquarters for some of the country's great industrial powers: Goodyear and Montgomery Ward, Swift and Libby. Developers had resurrected the structures, renovating them and turning the once onerous area of canals, railroad tracks, and braying animal pens into a nostalgic and historic office park.

The Delaney building was six storeys tall and occupied a quarter of a block near Ashland. The brass plaque beside the entrance road simply: DELANEY ENTERPRISES, INC., FOUNDED 1961.

The executive offices were on the sixth floor and were reminiscent of the offices that had been there a hundred years before. As Shock Johnson stepped off the lift, he looked out on a vast open space sectioned off into mahogany and glass squares. With the exception of Delaney's office suite and the three vice presidents' offices that adjoined it, which occupied one full side of the large rectangle, all the other offices lacked both privacy and personality. Johnson thought for a moment of Dickens: he could almost see the ghost of Uriah Heep sitting atop a high stool in the corner, appraising the room to make sure everyone kept busy. The executive secretary, Edith Stoddard, was dressed to mourn in a stern, shin-length black dress. She wore very little make-up; her hair was cut in a bob reminiscent of the Thirties and was streaked with grey. She was a pleasant though harsh-looking woman; her face was drawn and she looked tired.

'I've arranged for you to use three VP suites,' she said, motioning to them with her hand. 'You got the list of employees?'

'Yes, ma'am, thank you,' Johnson answered.

'We have very hurriedly called a board of directors meeting,' she said. 'I'll be tied up for an hour or two.'

'Are you on the board?' Johnson asked.

'I'm the secretary,' she said.

Three teams of detectives were assigned to the VP offices. The forty-two secretaries, sales managers, and superintendents had been divided into three lists. Each of the interrogation teams had its list of fourteen subjects. Johnson and his partner for the day, an acerbic and misanthropic homicide detective named Si Irving, took the middle office. Irving was a box of a man, half a foot shorter than his boss, with wisps of black hair streaking an otherwise bald head. He was an excellent detective but was from the old school. As he had once told Johnson, 'Catch 'em, gut 'em, and fry 'em, that's my motto.' They suffered through a half-dozen dull men and women, none of whom would say an unkind word about 'Mr D.' and none of whom knew anything. Shock Johnson was leaning back in a swivel chair, his feet propped up on an open desk drawer, when Miranda Stewart entered the room. She was a striking woman, zaftig and blonde, wearing a smartly tailored red business suit and a black silk shirt. Her hair was tied back with a white ribbon. Johnson perked up. Irving appraised her through doleful eyes.

'Miss Miranda Stewart?' Johnson said, putting his feet back on the floor and sitting up at the desk.

'Yes,' she said.

'Please have a seat. I'm Captain Johnson of the Chicago PD and this is Simon Irving, a member of the homicide division.'

She smiled at sat down, a composed, friendly woman in her mid-thirties who seemed self-assured and perfectly at ease. She crossed her legs demurely and pulled her skirt down. It almost covered her knees.

'I want to point out that this is an informal interview,' Johnson said. 'By that I mean you will not be sworn and this session will not be transcribed, although we will be taking notes. However, if at some point in this interview we feel the necessity of reading you your rights, we will give you the opportunity to contact an attorney. This is standard operating procedure in a situation like this and we tell everyone the same thing before we start, so I don't want you to feel that bringing that up, about reading you your rights, is in any way a threat. Okay?'

'Okay,' she said in a sultry voice. She seemed to be looking forward to the experience or perhaps the attention.

'What is your full name?'

'Miranda Duff Stewart.'

'Where do you live?'

'At 3212 Wabash. Apartment 3A.'

'Are you married, Ms Stewart?'

'No. Divorced, 1990.'

'How long have you lived at that address?'

'Since 1990. Three years.'

'And how long have you worked at Delaney Enterprises?'

'Eighteen months.'

'What did you do before you came here?'

'I was the secretary to Don Weber, the vice president of Trumbell and Sloan.'

'The advertising agency?'

'Yes, in Riverfront.'

'And what is your job here at Delaney Enterprises?'

'I was recently appointed Mr Delaney's new executive secretary. Edith Stoddard - she has the job now - is getting ready to retire.'

'So you haven't started in that job yet?'

'Well, I've had some meetings with Mr Delaney. You know, about what he expects of me, my responsibilities. Things like that. I know what I'll be doing.'

'Have you been working with Mrs… Is it Mrs Stoddard?'

'Yes, she's married and has a daughter going to UC.'

'What's her husband do?'

'He's crippled, I understand.'

'And have you been working with Mrs Stoddard during this period?'

'No. Mr Delaney said he wanted me to start off fresh.' She smiled. 'Said he didn't want me carrying over any of her bad habits, but I think he was kidding about Edith. I mean, everybody knows how efficient she is. I think he was just, you know, looking for a change?'

'Do you know how long she's had the job?' Johnson asked.

'Not really. She's been here forever. Maybe fifteen years?'

'What we're lookin' for here, Ms Stewart, is if any bad blood might've existed between Delaney and people on his staff or maybe his business associates. Know what I mean?' Irving's voice was a raspy growl. 'Arguments, disagreements, threats… bad blood.'

'Well, I don't know about his business associates, you'll have to ask Edith about that. He seemed to get along fine with the people in the office… of course…' She stopped and let the sentence hang in the air.

'Of course, what?' Irving asked.

'Well, I don't think Edith was real happy about the change.'

'Was she bein' demoted, that what you mean?' said Irving.

'She was, uh, she was leaving the company.'

'Did she quit?'

'He said, Mr Delaney said, that she was taking early retirement, but I got the impression that it was an either-or kind of thing.'

'Either-or?' Johnson asked.

'Either retire or, you know, you're out on your…' She jerked a thumb over her shoulder.

'So Mrs Stoddard wasn't happy about it?'

'I got that impression.'

Johnson said, 'Did Delaney discuss this with you?'

'No, it was just… just office gossip, you know how people talk. See, it wasn't really announced yet, about me taking that job.'

'So you're the only one that knew officially?'

'That I know of.'

'Did his wife know?'

'I never met his wife. She never came up here. I've seen her picture in the society pages, at charity things and stuff, but I never saw her face-to-face.'

'That wasn't the question,' Irving said bluntly. His tone was brusque and formal compared with that of Johnson, who was warmer and tended to put people at ease.

'Oh. Uh, I'm sorry, what was the question again?'

'Did his wife know you were taking Mrs Stoddard's place? That was the specific question,' Johnson said.

'Oh. I don't know.' She shrugged.

'When did he first approach you about takin' over Stoddard's position?' Irving asked.

'This was about two months ago.'

'Was it mentioned when you first came to work here? I mean, was it kinda, you know, in the works?' Irving asked.

'It was mentioned that if I lived up to my resume, I could move up rapidly.'

'Specifically to be Delaney's exec?'

'That was mentioned. He didn't dwell on it.'

'So it was kinda like a carrot on a string for you, right? You do good, you could nail the top job? That's what it is, ain't it, the top woman's job here?'

'There are some women in sales, but you know how it is, working that closely to the boss and all, it's a very personal thing. A very good job. For a person with my qualifications, it was one of the best jobs in town.'

'So then, two months ago, Delaney offered you the position, that it?' said Irving.

'Yes.'

'Let me ask you something, Ms Stewart,' said Johnson. 'Are you under the impression that Mrs Stoddard was upset by all this?'

'I never talked to her about it. I worked on the first floor, she's up here on six.'

'But you said earlier, when you were talking about Mrs Stoddard leaving… uh, you implied it was "an either-or kind of thing" ' Johnson said, checking his notes.

'That was what Mr Delaney said,' she said.

'Well, lemme put it this way,' Irving said. 'Did you ever see anything in Mrs Stoddard's attitude towards you that would indicate she was upset with you about the change?'

'I told you, I was at pains to keep out of her way,' she said. Annoyance was creeping into her tone.

'Whose idea was that?'

'What?'

'Whose idea to keep outta her way, yours or Delaney's?'

'His. Joh - Mr Delaney's.'

'Call him by his first name, didja?' Irving said.

'So does… did… Edith. That was his idea, to call him John.' She sighed. 'Look… can I smoke? Thanks. When this first came up, about Edith retiring? He took me to lunch because he didn't want people around the office to know what he had in mind. So I never really saw much of him around the office. Sometimes just walking through the first floor, that was about it.'

'So he picks you. I mean, there was obviously a lot of other women who'd been working here longer…' Irving let the sentence die before it became a question.

'Am I under suspicion or something?' she asked, her forehead wrinkling with apprehension.

'Not at all, Ms Stewart,' Johnson interjected. 'There's been a homicide and we're just trying to get a fix on this man, you know, the people who work around him.'

'I'm a computer expert, among other things, Captain,' she said. 'I took courses two years ago. I knew sooner or later I'd have to be an electronics whiz to get along in the world. That's one of the things that attracted him to me. On the resume, I mean. Also that I was familiar with advertising. That appealed to him, too.'

'Okay, just to catch up,' Irving said. 'You was workin' as a VP's secretary at Trumbell and Sloan and you took courses to become computer… computerized…'

'Computer literate,' Johnson suggested.

'Computer literate, yeah. And Delaney saw that and offered you a job and mentioned the top slot might come open. Then you and Delaney slipped out to lunch and he offered you the job and implied that Edith Stoddard was given an "either-or" option, which I assume means either retire or get canned. Is that generally the way things went?'

'Yes.'

'How did he get your resume?' Johnson asked.

'What is this?' she snapped suddenly. Blood rose to her face and her cheeks reddened. 'Why are you asking me all these personal questions? I didn't have anything to do with this. I lost a damn good job when… oh, when Mr Delaney was, uh, was…'

'Nobody's accusing you of anything,' Johnson said reassuringly. 'We're just trying to get a feel for office politics and how Delaney operated. For instance, have you ever been to Delaney's penthouse apartment over on the Gold Coast?'

'Not really…'

' "Not really"?' said Irving. 'I mean, either you was or you wasn't. It ain't a "not really" kinda question.'

'I don't want anybody to get the wrong impression.'

'We're not doin' impressions today, we're listenin',' Irving shot back.

'Just level with us,' Johnson said softly, with a broad, friendly, 'trust me' smile. 'Did you have a key to the penthouse apartment?'

'No!' she said, as if insulted. 'Edith was the only one I know who had a key.'

'Edith Stoddard had a key? How do you know that?'

'The time I went over there, I took a cab over at lunch. He had a desk in his bedroom and he had spreadsheets all over it. He said he worked there a lot because he never could get anything done at the office. He had some sandwiches brought in and we talked about the job. That's when he told me that Edith had a key because he was thinking of having the lock changed when she left. I mean, that's not uncommon, you know? When somebody leaves - to change the lock.'

'Did he say why she had a key?' Johnson asked.

'He told me there were times when I might have to go over there to pick something up or to sit in on meetings outside the office. He also said I was never to mention the apartment. That it was a very private place for him and he wanted to keep it that way.'

'Do you own a gun, Miss Stewart?' Irving asked suddenly.

'No!' she said, surprised. 'I hate the things.'

'You know does the Stoddard woman own a weapon?'

'I have no idea.'

'Did Delaney have any problems with Edith Stoddard recently? Over this thing, I mean?' said Johnson.

'I don't know.'

'When's the last time you saw him?' Johnson asked.

'Uh, This is Thursday? Monday. Monday or Tuesday. . I was coming back from lunch as he was leaving the office. We just said hello. I told you, I didn't see him that often.'

'And when was Stoddard due to leave?'

'Today was her last day.'

When they had dismissed Miranda Stewart, Irving snatched up a phone, punched one of a dozen buttons, and tapped out a number. Johnson was going back over his notes.

'Who's this?' Irving asked. 'Hey, Cabrilla, this is Irving. No, Si Irving, not Irving whoever. Yeah, down in Homicide. I need a check on a gun purchase. Well, how often do they turn 'em in? Okay, if it was the last week I'm shit outta luck. The name is Edith Stoddard. S-t-o-d-d-a-r-d. I don't know her address, how many Edith Stoddards could there be? Yeah.' He cupped the mouthpiece with his hand. 'They turn in the gun purchases every week. He says with the new law, they're behind entering them in the comp - Yeah? Oh, hold on a minute.' He snapped on the point of his ballpoint pen and started scratching down notes. 'That it? Thanks, Cabrilla, I owe ya one.' He hung up the phone, punched out another number, spoke for a minute or two, then hung up.

'Mrs Stoddard purchased a S&W .38 police special, four-inch barrel, on January twenty-two, at Sergeant York's on Wabash. I called Sergeant York's, talked to the manager. He remembers her, says she asked who could give her shootin' lessons, and he recommended the Shootin' Club. That's that indoor range over in Canaryville, mile or so down Pershing. Wanna take a break? Tool over there?'

The Shooting Club occupied the corner building of a shopping strip a mile or so from Delaney's office. Inside, glass-enclosed islands displayed the latest in friendly firepower: pistols, automatics, shotguns, assault weapons, Russian night-vision goggles, laser scopes, zoom eyes, robo lights. Patches from US and foreign armed forces lined the top of the wall. At the rear, a steel door led to the shooting range. Viewed through tinted glass, thirty slots offered target shooters the opportunity to shoot human silhouette targets to bits. The range was soundproofed. There were three or four customers in the showroom and a half-dozen people were firing away behind the glass.

The owner was a ramrod-straight man in his forties with bad skin, wearing a tactical black camouflage parka and trousers and heavy Special Forces boots with thick lug soles. His black cap was pulled down to just above his eyes. Johnson showed his badge. The man in black introduced himself as Roy Bennett.

'No problem, is there?' he asked in a hard voice he tried to make friendly.

'We're interested in talking to whoever teaches on the range.'

'We take turns,' Bennett said. 'All our personnel are ex-military and qualified expert.'

'We're checking on a woman, probably come over either at lunch or right after work,' Irving said. 'The name Edith Stoddard wake ya up?'

'Older lady? Maybe fifty, fifty-five, 'bout yea high?' He held his hand even with his shoulder.

'Yeah,' Irving said. 'She purchased a .38 Smith & Wesson from Sergeant York's. They sent her over here to learn how to use it.'

'That's the lady.' Bennett reached under the counter and brought out an appointment book, then flipped back through it a few pages.

'Yeah, here you are. She started coming on the twenty-second of last month…' He flipped through the pages, running his finger down the list of names each day. 'And stopped last Monday. Fifteen days in a row. I remember her pretty good now. Didn't say a whole lot. You could tell she was uncomfortable with her weapon. Personally, I would've sold her a .25, certainly nothing heavier than a .32. That .38 was a lot of gun for her.'

'How'd she do?' Johnson asked.

'I can teach a Dodge pickup to shoot straight in two weeks,' Bennett said with a smile.

'So she done good, that what you're sayin'?' said Irving.

'She was really interested in becoming proficient at short ranges. Twenty-five yards. Yeah, she could blow the heart outta the target at twenty-five. Something happen to her?'

'Not her,' Irving said. 'But I'll tell you this, you taught her real good.'

Johnson and Irving got into the police car and headed back towards Back of the Yards.

'You wanna good-guy, bad-guy her, Shock?'

'Christ, we're not talking about Roger Touhy here, Irving, it's a fifty-year-old-woman, for God's sake.'

Irving shrugged. 'One in the pump, one in the noggin,' he said.

'So she owns a .38 and took shooting lessons. Do you know how many women in this town fit that bill? A lot of scared ladies out there.'

'A lotta scared everybody out there. But they don't all have a key to Delaney's place and they all ain't been kicked out on their ass to make room for Little Annie Fanny. It's lookin' awful good to me, Cap'n.'

'We'll talk to her, Si.'

'One in the pump, one in—'

'Yeah, yeah, yeah.'

'Do we read her her rights?'

'Damn it, Si, we're just talking at this point!'

'Okay, okay. I just don't want that fuckin' Vail pissin' in my ear over this. If we're gonna get into the gun, I say give her her Miranda.'

'Let me worry about Vail.'

What Johnson had first thought was fatigue in Edith Stoddard's face took on different connotations as she sat across the desk from the two officers. Her eyes were flat and expressionless. The lines in her face seemed to be lines of defeat. It was the face of a woman who had been dealt badly by life; a woman tied to a crippled husband, trying to get her daughter through college, and suddenly thrown out of a prestigious job that was absolutely essential to the welfare of her family. What Shock Johnson saw in Edith Stoddard's face was humiliation, betrayal, anxiety, frustration - everything but wrath. Her anger, if she was angry, had been satisfied, if not by her, by someone.

Irving saw guilt.

He was tapping his pen nervously on the table, waiting to get past the amenities to go in for the kill. Johnson reached over without looking at him and laid his hand gently over the pen. Mrs Stoddard sat stiffly at the desk with her hands folded in front of her. Johnson repeated the same instructions he had given to the other interview subjects earlier in the day.

'You understand,' he said, 'if, at some point in this interview - see, we could stop and read you your rights, ma'am, but I don't say that as any kind of a threat. By that I mean we aren't planning to do that at this point, we tell everyone the same thing when we start, so I don't want you to feel that bringing it up now means we're going to go that far. Okay?' She nodded.

'Please state your name.'

'Edith Stoddard.'

'Age?'

'Fifty-three in May.'

'Are you married?'

'Yes.'

'Where does your husband work?'

'He's disabled. He has a small pension.'

'Disabled in what way?' Johnson asked.

'He's a quadriplegic. Crippled from the neck down.'

'I'm sorry,' Johnson said.

'Charley loved to work around the house. He was fixing some shingles on the roof and slipped and landed flat on his back on the concrete walk. Broke his back in two places.'

'When was that?'

'In 1982.'

'He's been bedridden ever since?'

She nodded.

'And you have a daughter?'

'Angelica. She's twenty-one, a junior at UC. Studying physics.'

'Mrs Stoddard, how long did you work for Delaney? Delaney Enterprises?'

'Seventeen years.'

'And how long were you Delaney's executive secretary?'

'Nine.'

'Were you happy in that job?'

At first she looked a little confused by the question. Then finally she said, 'Yes. It was a wonderful position. Mr Delaney was… very helpful, sympathetic, when we had the accident.'

'You say "was", Mrs Stoddard,' Irving said. 'Is that because Delaney is, uh, deceased?'

'I was… Yes.'

'You was about to say…?'

'Nothing.'

'Ain't it true, Mrs Stoddard, that you were about to retire? That today was to be your last day here?'

She hesitated for a moment. 'Yes.'

'So when you say "was", you really meant you don't work here no more, is that correct?'

'I don't see that… I mean…'

'I think what Detective Irving is driving at here is that you were leaving the firm,' Johnson said softly.

'Yes, that's true.'

'And were you satisfied with the arrangement? Retiring, I mean?'

She did not answer. She fiddled with her fingers and her lips trembled. Irving could see her beginning to crumble and decided to go for the throat.

'Mrs Stoddard, you had a key to Delaney's penthouse on Astor, didn't you?'

'Yes.'

'Go there often, did you?'

'It was part of my job. Mr Delaney didn't like to work here in the office. Too many disruptions.'

'So you were familiar with the surroundings there, at the penthouse, I mean?'

'Yes, of course.'

'And you could more or less come and go as you please, right?'

'I only went when I was told to go there.'

'Uh-huh. Point is, ma'am, you had free access, din'cha?'

'Well, I guess you might say that.'

'And how many other people do you know had keys and access to the apartment?'

'I don't know, I wouldn't know that.'

'So what you're sayin', what you're tellin' us is, as far as you know, nobody else had that kind of access to the premises? As far as you know?' said Irving.

'As far as I know.'

'Did Mrs Delaney have a key, as far as you know?'

'I wouldn't know… I mean, I assume… uh…'

'Ain't it a fact, Mrs Stoddard, that you know she don't have a key, didn't even know the place existed? Isn't that right?'

'That really wasn't any of my business.'

'Uh-huh. Well, ain't it a fact you were told not to talk about that apartment? That it was kinda a secret place for him?'

'Sir, I was privy to a lot of information that was confidential. Mr Delaney never mentioned Mrs Delaney specifically.'

'But it was a confidential kinda place, right?'

'Yes.'

'Now, did you ever go over to Mr Delaney's penthouse on Astor when you weren't specifically invited?'

'Of course not!'

'Never kinda busted in on the place, y'know, looking for records or files or somethin' like that, and Mr Delaney wasn't expectin' you?'

'No. I don't understand what your point to all this is,' she said, becoming passively defensive.

'Will you excuse us for just a minute, please,' Irving said, and motioned Johnson to step outside the office. He leaned close to the captain and whispered, 'We're gettin close the skinny, here, Cap'n. I think it's time we Miranda her.'

'Not yet,' Johnson whispered back. 'She brings in a lawyer and we're in for a long haul. We'll find out as much as we can before we start that.'

'Yeah, if she starts takin' the fifth, we got problems. I just get nervous, gettin' too far into this without lettin' her know her rights. I'm goin' for the gun here any minute now, okay? Then we're into it.'

'I'll let you know when I think it's time to Miranda her,' Johnson said, his voice edgy and harsh.

'I just don't wanna fuck up at this stage.'

'I'll say when, Si.'

'Yes, sir.'

They returned to the room.

Edith Stoddard was slumped in her seat, her hands now in her lap, staring at the wall. Johnson thought to himself, This lady is verging on shock. Johnson and Irving sat down.

'Now, Mrs Stoddard,' Johnson said, 'we were talking about your access to the apartment. Did you ever go over at night?'

'Sometimes,' she said numbly. 'If he wanted me to.'

'So this was kind of like a second workplace for you, is that correct?'

She nodded. She was still staring past them at the wall. 'And it was natural for you to spend a lot of time there?'

'I suppose you could say that.'

'Let's move on,' Irving said. 'Mrs Stoddard, do you own a gun?'

She looked at him sharply, as if suddenly drawn out of her daze by his question. 'A gun?'

'Yeah, a gun.' He pulled back his jacket and showed her his weapon. 'A gun.'

'I…'

Johnson stepped in. 'Mrs Stoddard, we know you purchased a .38-calibre handgun at Sergeant York's on January twenty-second of this year. Where is that gun now?'

'Oh, yes, the gun.'

'What about it?' Irving asked.

'It was stolen.'

'Stolen?' Irving said, turning to Johnson and raising his eyebrows.

'From my handbag.'

'You were carryin' it in your handbag?' Irving said.

'There's been a lot of crime, you know, muggings and the like, and I—'

'Do you know how to use a handgun, Mrs Stoddard?'

Johnson asked.

'I thought… I thought it would scare them.'

'Who?'

'People who steal from people.'

'So you didn't know anything about this weapon, you just wanted it as a scare card, that it?' said Irving.

'Yes. To scare them.'

'But you were not familiar with the weapon, is that what you're saying?'

'Yes. Or no. I mean, I don't know much about guns, that's what I mean.'

Johnson looked down at his fingers for a moment and then finally he looked her straight in the eye and said, 'Mrs Stoddard, I have to interrupt these proceedings at this point and advise you that you have the right to remain silent. If you say anything more, it can, and will, be used against you in a court of law. You are entitled to an attorney. If you do not have one or - '

She cut him off. 'I killed him,' she said without emotion and without changing her expression.

Johnson and Irving were struck dumb by the admission.

'Excuse me?' Johnson said after a few seconds.

'I killed him,' she repeated without emotion.

'Christ!' Irving muttered.

'Mrs Stoddard,' Shock Johnson said firmly but quietly, 'you understand, don't you, that you are entitled to have a lawyer present now?'

She looked back and forth at them.

'I don't understand anything anymore,' she said mournfully.