Set the Night on Fire (29 page)

It took time—and several mysterious clicks—to get past whoever was screening Kerr’s calls. Eventually, though, a female voice came on the line, “This is Joanna Kerr. I’ll accept the charges.”

More clicks, then Lila said, “Hello, Ms. Kerr. Sorry to call collect, but I’m at a pay phone in . . . well, at a pay phone.”

“That’s all right. I was starting to believe you might be in some trouble. I called over two weeks ago.”

“I’m . . . I’m fine.” Where was she going? “Sorry about the delay. I’ve been . . . traveling.” Lying was definitely becoming easier.

“Well . . . I know you must be surprised. I assume you know who I am?”

“Actually, this is very curious. I just found out that Alix Kerr was my birth mother.”

“That’s correct,” Mrs. Kerr said, as if she’d been testing Lila and she’d passed. “By the way, I realize how unusual this situation is . . . Lila. I may call you Lila, I hope?”

“What is it that you want, Mrs. Kerr?”

“Of course. You have no idea why I’m calling.”

“Go on.”

The woman sighed. “Your grandfather died of pancreatic cancer years ago. Maybe seven now.” She cleared her throat. “I was still married to Philip, Alix’s brother, at the time.”

“Yes . . . ”

“Before he died, he made . . . well . . . I suppose you’d call it a death-bed decision.”

“What?”

“He always regretted not acknowledging you as his heirs. Especially as he aged.”

Lila’s heart pinged.

“He often talked about you both toward the end. Philip and I never had any children, you know. I guess you and your brother became his legacy. The only blood kin, aside from Philip, that he would leave behind.”

If he hadn’t died, maybe they would have met, Lila thought. Maybe she would have had a second grandparent. A wave of sadness washed over her.

“So he changed his will.”

Lila gasped.

“There wasn’t a lot of time. He was very sick.” Kerr’s tone softened. “He instructed his lawyer to make sure you and your brother inherited half of his assets.”

“Are you serious?”

“Completely. But . . . you see . . . my ex-husband wasn’t happy about it. He stood to lose fifty percent of what he thought was . . . well . . . it was a considerable fortune. He’s a greedy son of a bitch. I had to drag him into court just to get a modest settlement.” She cleared her throat. “But that’s another story. Now listen carefully. I don’t know what happened or how he did it, but I do know that the will your grandfather revised was not the will that was presented after he died.”

“What are you trying to say, Mrs. Kerr?”

“Your grandfather had me witness the revised will. And he made me put a copy of it in a safe place.”

“Is it still there?”

“Of course it is. I reread it just the other day. Lila . . . your grandfather’s will was very specific. Half of what he had was supposed to go to you and your brother. Of course, I don’t know what might happen now. I just know that, if it hadn’t been tampered with, you’d be a very wealthy woman.”

Lila didn’t know what to say.

Joanna Kerr kept going, “I wrote your birth father in prison to tell him about it. But I never got a reply. I don’t know whether he even got the letter.”

Lila’s head was spinning. “Why are you telling me this now, Mrs. Kerr? Isn’t it too late? Why didn’t you get in touch when my grandfather died?”

“Two reasons. For one thing, it took a while to track you down. Your grandfather couldn’t remember your father . . . I mean . . . Casey Hilliard’s name. I promised I would try.”

“How?”

She laughed. “That’s what private detectives are for.”

“And the other reason?”

“The brakes went out on my car a week or so ago. No one was hurt, thank God. But it scared me. Then I heard about the fire and how you lost your family.” She paused. “Let’s just say I decided to fly under the radar for a while.” She paused. “And knowing my ex-husband, I strongly suggest you do the same.”

T
om Reimer heard the car before he saw it. At seventy-three his eyesight was horrible, he had sciatica, and he had to pee all the time. For some reason, though, his hearing was still sharp. It wasn’t just the high or low tones, which eluded Jeanie, his wife. Tom heard everything. Maybe the good Lord had dulled his other senses to improve his hearing. Whatever the cause, he heard the idle of the engine as soon as it pulled up. A little ragged and tinny, like it needed a tune-up.

He raised the shade in the front room. He didn’t recognize the small black car, and at this distance he couldn’t make out who was behind the wheel. He thought it might be a woman.

There wasn’t much happening today. He’d be in court tomorrow, up in Skokie, handling a speeding ticket for his nephew. He was winding down a modest career as an attorney. No big bucks for him: his biggest matter was a wrongful death suit, which the insurance company ultimately settled. Still, he’d managed to eke out a living. At least Jeanie knew he’d be coming home at the end of the day.

The leather in his chair crackled as he stood up. If the driver of the black Honda was a new case, he’d probably take it. It was nice not to have to work twelve hours a day, but extra money was nice, too. Especially since Jeanie had recently retired. He was just straightening up when the doorbell rang.

* *

Lila’s finger had hesitated before she pushed Tom Reimer’s doorbell. After her conversation with Joanna Kerr, she’d called Dar. Kerr had sounded grim. And scared. She ought to find out if there was any truth to her story. But no one answered at Benny’s, so she stopped by a library where she Googled FBI Agent Dalton and Detective Liotta, the names she’d found in Mavis Dietrich’s Day-Timer. She found Dalton’s obituary in the
Tribune
—he’d died of cancer twelve years ago. But Tony Liotta seemed to be alive, and she found an address for him in Sauganash, one of the more upscale residential neighborhoods on the far north side. When she rang the bell, though, no one answered. She tried several times, then went to a neighbor’s. An elderly woman told her the Liottas were snowbirds spending the winter in Florida. They wouldn’t be back until the end of March.

Dejected, Lila trudged back to the car to take another look through the Day-Timer. The first round of meetings after the explosion was followed by more two days later. But the names of the attendees were penned in an illegible scrawl that clearly wasn’t Mavis Dietrich’s. Lila thumbed through more pages. Finally, about a week after the explosion, she found another notation: 3:00 p.m.: Det. Tony Liotta and Officer Tom Reimer, Bomb and Arson.

During a second trip to the library she discovered an attorney named Tom Reimer in Park Ridge. A search revealed he’d once been a Chicago police officer. She checked the time: after three o’clock. She’d promised to be back in Loves Park by nightfall. Instead, she printed out directions and drove west on Touhy. A few more turns and she was in front of Tom Reimer’s house.

When she finally did ring the bell, he answered right away, almost as though he was expecting her.

He seemed cheerful enough, but his eyes were the saddest blue she’d ever seen. His hair was mostly gone, except for little white tufts ringing a shiny crown. Still, after the suspicious Mavis Dietrich, Reimer was a relief. Maybe too much of one. He invited her in for coffee and told her how he’d grown up on the west side in a lace-curtain Irish neighborhood. He’d transferred the décor to Park Ridge: doilies covered the arms of the furniture, which was all dark and heavy. Lila tried to steer the conversation her way, but Reimer nattered on about his grandsons in high school and a granddaughter who worked for City Hall.

After the second cup of coffee, she finally blurted it out. “Mr. Reimer, I’m here because I have some questions you might be able to answer.”

“Of course. At least I’ll try.” He shifted, all business now.

“Were you once a Chicago police officer?”

He leaned back, raised his eyebrows. “How’d you know that?”

She replied cautiously, “One of the secretaries who worked at Kerr’s department store when the bomb exploded forty years ago kept records of people involved in the investigation. Your name was on one of the lists.”

He put on an unreadable expression. His police officer face.

“You worked the case—at least for part of the time—didn’t you?”

Reimer’s good humor disappeared. “I was deployed temporarily to Bomb and Arson during the investigation. But what does that have to do with your legal problem?”

“I don’t have a legal problem, and I’m not looking for a lawyer, Mr. Reimer. I’m doing some . . . research into the past.”

“Research?” His eyes narrowed. “I’m afraid I can’t help you, miss.” His chair scraped against the floor.

Lila raised her palm. “Please. Don’t kick me out. Someone I’m close to was involved in the case. We’re trying to resolve some ‘loose ends.’”

A knowing look came over him.

He knew something. She was sure of it. She sat straighter. “Dar Gantner was the only person prosecuted. But it was a massive explosion. It required careful planning, advance work. It’s only reasonable to assume he had help.”

Reimer kept his mouth shut.

“I know that two other individuals were involved.” She went on, “One of them is dead. But the other isn’t.”

Reimer went stiff. Then he did stand up. “Miss, you need to leave.”

Lila stayed where she was.

“Miss Hilliard, I was expecting a client with a property dispute, a divorce, something like that. This . . . well . . . I can’t help you.”

Lila dug into her bag and fished out a folded piece of paper. “Mr. Reimer, I’m Sebastian Kerr’s granddaughter. This is a copy of my birth certificate. Look who my mother is.”

She passed it to him. Reimer scanned the paper, then put it down.

“But the certificate is wrong. My father isn’t Casey Hilliard. It’s Dar Gantner.”

He pressed his lips together as if to whistle, but no sound came out. Then he started to pace the kitchen. When he came back to the table, he looked down at her. “Miss Hilliard, I believe you. And I believe you want answers. For all the right reasons. But some things are better left alone. This is one of them.”

“It’s too late. You must have seen the news. They set fire to my house and killed my family. Shot at me and launched a grenade into my apartment. That’s why I’m here. I need something that will stop them. Evidence to support . . . ,” she paused, “ . . . what I think you already know.”

“And what is that?” His expression turned calculating.

“That Teddy Markham was one of the three who detonated the bomb.”

Reimer tried to cover it, but she saw him wince.

“You know something, Mr. Reimer, don’t you?”

Reimer eyed her again, as if making a decision. He sat down and ran a hand over his head. “I never thought I’d have to deal with this.” He let out a heavy sigh. “Things happen, I told myself. It’s the way things work. I couldn’t do anything to stop it, anyway. I was a rookie. Practically a gofer. Understand? I took orders.”

Lila nodded, not saying anything for fear she’d spook him.

“Tony Liotta took the lead. Made all the decisions.”

“What decisions?”

He looked up. “All you need to know is that there is no proof. You won’t find anything. Ever.”

She clasped her fingers together so tightly her knuckles went white.

“Whatever was there was destroyed a long time ago.”

“But there was something?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“I don’t get it. If everything’s gone, why do you sound so . . . so . . . worried?”

He let out another breath.

She pressed, “Look, Mr. Reimer, you’re telling me to drop it, and I respect your opinion. But someone’s trying to kill me. I need help, and I think you can give me that help. I’m appealing to your sense of justice.”

He covered his eyes with his hand.

“There was something, wasn’t there?”

He dropped his hand and looked up at her. “You never heard this from me.”

She nodded. Her heart was pounding.

“A bracelet was found in the rubble.”

“A bracelet?”

“One of those ID bracelets with thick metal links. The kind teenagers wore a long time ago. Guys gave them to their girlfriends . . . you know . . . to go steady.” He paused. “It was broken apart, and part of it had melted, but you could still read the initials. TAM.”

“Theodore Addison Markham,” Lila breathed.

“It’s not definitive proof, understand. It just proves he was at the store at some point. Could have been weeks before. He might have been shopping.”

“But it puts him at the scene.”

“It does. But no court in this country would ever find him guilty because of it.”

“What happened to the bracelet?”

He snorted in contempt. “What do you think? The cop who found it entered it into evidence. A week later it was gone. Disappeared from the evidence locker. Along with any record of it.”

She was afraid to breathe.

He shrugged. “It happens, Miss Hilliard. More often than you’d think. Someone knows someone. Applies pressure. Greases a palm. Presto. Magic. All gone.”

“Who applied the pressure?”

“I have no idea, and if you know what’s good for you, you won’t try to find out.” He shook his head. “All I know is that neither you nor anyone else will ever find that bracelet. Or any record of it. I’m sorry.”