Derailed (42 page)

Something else that Estelle said . . . 
Just seemed like it might be a God thing. Like He might bring her back to her home place to spend her final days
. Exactly what we'd wanted to do with Mom.

I checked my watch. Still had an hour till we got to La Junta. I dialed Estelle. “Hey, babe. How you doin'?”

“Harry! Is everything okay?”

“Sure, it's all copacetic here.”

“Oh, Harry, when you gonna quit usin' that five-dollar word?”

“Ha, ha. Only when it ain't so. Hey, Estelle, been thinking about the first-floor apartment. Have we gotten any more calls on the ad?”

“A couple. But nobody's come by to actually see the place. Sorry, Harry.”

“Well, maybe that's okay. Remember when we were comin' back from Elgin after visitin' Mattie? You said maybe it didn't have to be a fantasy about her movin' back into her old place. Well, I been thinkin' . . .”

By the time I finished, Estelle was chuckling. “Can't believe I'm hearin' this. Been thinkin' the same thing myself. But you seemed so sure she couldn't afford it, I didn't want to be buggin' you. But God kept droppin' the idea into my spirit.”

“Well, maybe she can't. But we don't really know, do we? Why don't you call her son, Don, see what he thinks?”

Couldn't believe how happy Estelle sounded. “Okay. I'll call this evening. You still gettin' in tomorrow afternoon?”

“Far as I know, but then . . .” None of this was going to be over until Grace arrived two days from now with the drugs in her suitcase.

“What, Harry? But then, what?”

“Nothin', babe. Lord willin', I'll be there on time.”
Lord willing
—it was a qualifier my mom used to attach to all kinds of plans, never understood why. Now I was getting the idea.

“Well, you better get back here on time, 'cause I been missin' you too much.”

“Me too, babe. Love ya.”

“Love ya more.”

I hung up with the tune of that old gospel song still going through my head. There were plenty of things about tomorrow that I still didn't understand, but
I know who holds my hand
.

“Sir, are these your seats?” It was the attendant in the coach car where I'd moved on my own so I could still watch my mule.

“Oh, I'm sorry. Were you sitting here?”

“No. I'm William, the attendant for this car.”

“Well, hello, William. Thanks so much for checking on me. No, these aren't my seats. I have an accessible compartment in first class, but it's on the lower level, you know, and I just wanted to be up here a while. Gets kind of lonely down there by myself.”

“Well, there's always the lounge car. You're welcome there.”

“I know, but . . . is there a problem sitting here? The seats seemed vacant.”

“They are, but—”

“Great. I won't be any trouble at all, and the little boy across the aisle seems to be very interested in my dog. Isn't that right, son?”

“She's a nice doggy,” said the boy, standing backward and playing with Legos on his seat.

William sighed. “Well, okay. But if I need these seats, I'm gonna have to ask you to move. Agreed?”

“Yes, sir. Whatever you say.”

Between stops, I had a nice dinner, confident that the mule would remain on the train. At one point I went down to my compartment and called Estelle. Told her I'd identified my perp, but that I was going to wait until we got to Chicago where I'd have plenty of backup before attempting an arrest. That seemed like good news to her.

Once the lights were dimmed in the coach, William stopped by again. “Don't you want to go to your compartment?”

Playing the sleeping passenger, I said, “No, no, no. Don't bother me. This is just fine.” In Kansas City, where we had an extended stop, I detrained to give Corky a walk while I kept an eye on Max, who smoked two or more cigarettes in the twenty minutes we were there.

Sylvia called to me as Corky and I passed her on the platform. “Where you been, Mr. Bentley? I was afraid you might've succeeded in jumpin' the train and was about to put out a search call for you.”

“Ha, ha. Don't worry 'bout me, ma'am. I found some folks up in coach who are real interesting. But here”—I thrust a twenty-dollar bill toward her—“If I should happen to miss you in Chicago, you've been very kind, and I appreciate it.”

Corky and I stood in the vestibule as our train rocked and swayed, weaving its way slowly through the Chicago train yard toward Union Station the next afternoon. Other passengers of car 431 were coming down the stairs, picking up their luggage and crowding into the tight space, eager to detrain. I'd intentionally left my bag in my compartment to be picked up later. Dragging it along might hinder my efforts to tail Max-the-mule and his girl, Ramona.

When we'd last spoken by phone, Captain Gilson had told me the cell phone company was balking on coughing up Max's address. If a judge didn't move quickly to issue a warrant, the information might come in too late for us to make any use of it, so I needed to follow him, find out where he lived, maybe even identify the cartel's Chicago headquarters.

“I'll have your vehicle waiting in the taxi lane,” Gilson had said. “That's my best guess of how he's gonna get outta here. But I can't spare much backup. Mayor Daley's scheduled to make a speech in the Great Hall for an awards ceremony just shortly after your arrival. I can give you two men, but everyone else is needed on security for the mayor.”

“That should be CPD's job.”

“Well, it is, but this is our house. We know every nook and cranny of the place, so they want all of us on duty. Sorry, Harry. You'll just have to make do. Besides, show time is tomorrow when your girl comes in, right? We can't do anything today if this guy isn't carrying.”

He was right, but we still didn't have a fix on the mule, and I wanted to find out where he was headed. I gave Gilson a full description of the suspects, and he promised to pass along the information to my backups and have them waiting when we arrived. Communication, however, might be difficult. We'd have to rely on cell phones.

The train wheezed to a stop. The door opened. As I stepped onto the platform, Sylvia steadied my elbow. “There ya go, Mr. Bentley. Hope you had a real good trip, and you be sure to choose Amtrak again, now, won'cha?”

“Yes, ma'am. And thank ya, Sylvia. You've been great. We'll be back. Come along now, Corky. Gotta go.” But the day might come when Sylvia and other Amtrak personnel began to recognize me. Then what would I do?

I briefly merged into the stream of people surging toward doors into the station, then ducked behind one of the large concrete pillars that supported the roof above the platform.

My cell phone sounded.

“Yeah, Bentley.”

“I'm in position, just inside the doors.” It was a female Amtrak officer.

“Good. They haven't passed me yet, but keep this line open. Is your partner patched in?”

“I'm alone. Captain needed Johnson at the last minute for the mayor's thing.”

I swore under my breath. What was Gilson doing to me? He'd been so excited about this operation, and now it felt like he was pulling the rug out from under me. I intended to give him a piece of my mind . . . but that would have to wait.

“Subjects in sight,” I said. “He's tall, maybe six feet, wearing all black, looks like an open-necked hoodie or something. You heard that he's got blond, spiky hair, right?”

“Roger that.”

“Okay. I'm steppin' in behind them now, keepin' about five yards back. Crowd's kinda tight here. We're almost to your door. The girl's got long dark hair hanging over her right eye. She's wearing a white-and-green plaid shirt, tight jeans, and brown boots. He's holdin' her arm—”

“Got 'em. You want me to fall in behind you?”

I saw my partner. She was in uniform, but uniformed Amtrak officers cruised the station all the time. In fact, it might appear unusual to the mule if he didn't see one or two.

“Sure. Fall in behind. Just don't give me away.”

The station was exceptionally crowded, perhaps because of the mayor's visit, but it made it hard to keep within a good distance of our subjects. Then, suddenly, the girl peeled off to the right.

“Follow her. Follow her,” I said into my phone.

“Roger that.”

“Just don't lose her!”

I continued following Max up the escalator and out the doors toward the line of cabs waiting along Canal Street. And there was my SUV at the end of the line, probably making some cabbies angry for taking a space. They'd have to suck it up. I ran for my vehicle as I spoke into the phone. “You still on her?”

“She went into the women's restroom, but I can't find which stall.”

“Brown boots. Brown boots. Look for brown boots.”

“There aren't any.”

“Well, keep lookin'. Suspect's takin' a Norshore Cab. Can't see the number, but I'm gettin' in my vehicle now. . . . Corky, up in there. Good girl. . . . I'll be in pursuit in a second. Keep this line open.”

“Wilco.”

I roared out into traffic, trying to catch up with the cab that was about to cross Adams Street four cars ahead of me. It scooted through the intersection, but all the rest of the traffic stopped, even though I could see that the light was still green. I laid on the horn and looked for a gap between the cars to squeeze through.

No chance. Two motorcycle cops were blocking the intersection, and then I saw why. Two more motorcycles led the mayor's limousine slowly through the intersection, where it stopped, followed by a large black security SUV, which still blocked my way while the mule in his turquoise-and-white cab sped north.

I felt bad driving with Corky to work the next
morning. Estelle had been so glad to have me home the night before. She'd invited Rodney over for dinner, so all four of us were together, but I wasn't much company. I still felt distracted by the unfinished business at work. Rodney seemed totally relaxed except for a phone call he got during dinner. He'd jumped up from the table and gone into the living room, muttering into his cell. “No! Not now. I told you never . . .” I couldn't hear what followed. Might've been Donita, but he didn't say when he returned a minute later.

Estelle mentioned that she'd talked to Don Krakowski, and that everything was working out for Mattie to move in, but all I said was, “Oh, that's good.”

“
Good
! Harry, he's bringing a bunch of her furniture by this Saturday to set up the place, and all you can say is, ‘
Oh, that's good
'?”

“Well, isn't that what we wanted?”

Estelle sighed like a deflating balloon and shook her head, but later as we got ready for bed, she asked what was wrong.

“Sorry, babe. Guess I'm just not home yet.”

“You're sitting right there on the end of the bed, and you look like a real warm bod to me.” She grinned. “
Real
good, in fact.”

I sighed. “It's the case. I don't have it wrapped up, and my mind is still spinnin'.”

“You found the drugs and identified the guy who was carrying them, what else is there?”

“We haven't made an arrest yet. And figuring out how to do that is what's preoccupying me, so make sure you don't say anything
about the case until it gets settled.” I looked at her, not knowing what else to say. “Maybe you could pray for me.”

Without asking for any more details, she sat beside me on the bed, put her hand on my shoulder, and prayed a simple prayer of God's blessing. I went to sleep, grateful that she trusted I'd be back “home” with her as soon as I could.

The first thing I did when I got to the station was check Corky into the kennel. She didn't seem too happy to be left after spending so many days with me. I think that dog really loves working. Once I got to my office, I called Grace Meredith, hoping her cell phone had a good signal. The Zephyr was probably somewhere in Iowa.