The Green Line (16 page)

“We?”

She smiled, embarrassed. “You, whatever. I just mean it sounds weird. And if I can help you, I’d really like to. You’re essentially doing this alone, right?”

“I am working alone. But I keep my boss in the loop.”

“Well, if you need a lawyer or maybe a little research, or just someone to bounce ideas off of, I’m a good listener.” She hoped he’d let her in. If nothing else, it was nice to have someone to talk to about all of this.

· · ·

AFTER
Abby left, Marcus walked over to the Chicago Public Library on Congress. He went up to the computer lab, got online, and pulled out the codes for the department’s Intranet from his wallet. Within a couple of minutes he had internal police files at his fingertips. He looked up Michael Reilly’s record again. On the force eight years. Last four years, Asset Forfeiture Unit, before that, Gang Task Force. Six complaints of excessive force during arrest, but no disciplinary action taken. Typical stuff. Three requests for promotion. Passed over each time. Only notation:
budgetary.
One request for short-term disability leave. Denied. File said the request was so Reilly could take care of his ailing mother. It didn’t look like much. He closed the human resources files and went into the active crime file database.

A search of
Rashid, Ali
and he was able to review the police report from the crime scene:

Neighbor reported “arguing and screaming.” Police entered apartment with force when no one answered door. One man found with bullet wound in chest. Second man had bullet wound in head. Both dead. Gun, .38 caliber, recovered at scene, next to the hand of the man with the head trauma.

He read the corresponding forensics report:

Chest wound was created from .38 caliber weapon fired approximately six feet away. Head wound came from .38 caliber fired at close range. Conclusion: head wound was self-inflicted.

Marcus continued to scan the document for a weapons report. There should have been a report on the test results from the gun showing that it was recently fired, that prints or gun powder residue confirmed its use. He didn’t see any report. He couldn’t imagine the testing wasn’t done. He made a note of the name of the physician who signed off on the forensics report: Dr. Roberts. And he wanted to talk to the neighbor who’d made the police report. He re-checked the report for the name. No name listed. Strange.

Marcus closed the document and searched for
Reggie’s Bar & Grill,
then read the police report from the scene on January 26:

Neighbor reported woman’s scream from inside bar. Arrived at scene at 12:40 a.m. No one on premises. Woman found in bathroom. Dead. No wounds. Wearing plaid skirt, one fishnet stocking, no undergarment, red shirt, all buttons open, red bra. Red spiked heels. Large mark on neck. Two kilos of cocaine found on bar
.

The corresponding forensic report indicated death by asphyxiation. Time of death was between eleven thirty and twelve thirty. No evidence found under nails. No foreign body fluids recovered. Marcus read the report again.
One fishnet stocking
. So where’s the other one? Sounded like a good way to strangle someone.
Neighbor reported woman’s scream.
He didn’t hear Abby scream when he walked into the bar. He made a note to ask her if she remembered screaming when she found the body or when the boys grabbed her. The police were already en route when he left the building. That woman must have already been dead.

He wanted to talk to whoever called in the scream. He searched the document for a name. But again, there was no name listed on the report. How could the police not have that name? They would have wanted to interview the neighbors. To find out what was seen or heard. The reports were thin. Too thin. There must have been a 911 call, he thought.

He closed the file and searched the emergency phone records. He had to hand it to Chicago. The electronic organization of the city’s files and records was certainly improving his ability to investigate outside the station. He searched January 26 first, the night of the Reggie’s Bar murder. He pulled the list of calls made between midnight and 12:40 a.m., the time the police arrived. There were thirteen calls made throughout the city. Even though he’d only been in Chicago for under a year, he was able to quickly dismiss several calls based on the corresponding addresses listed. He made notes of the eight remaining addresses and did a quick MapQuest search to see where they came from. He found two calls from that neighborhood, but neither address was within four blocks of Reggie’s. There was no way a call made from those addresses could have reported a woman’s scream inside of Reggie’s. There was no 911 call.

He did the same thing for the Quick Mart matter. The day was February 2. The report stated that neighbors heard screaming and fighting. No reference to time. Police arrived at six o’clock in the morning. Marcus checked the 911 records between five and six o’clock on that day. Twenty-two calls made during that time. But again, the addresses didn’t match. Not a single call from within four blocks of the building. And Reilly was the first cop on the scene, again.

· · ·

ABBY
spent the afternoon finding associates to help ease her workload. She couldn’t continue to ignore what was in front of her, but she couldn’t seem to do it all either. She found two second-years, Kevin and Eileen, chatting by the copier and recruited them to come with her to Milwaukee the next day to gather the Dalcon Laboratories documents. She then delegated several tasks for the Amro case to a third-year associate. She’d review and revise later.

These disputes—million dollar claims in many cases—felt so trivial. Ali was dead. That woman was dead. She felt connected to them. She picked up Marcus’s card and stared at his name. She was glad she had called. There was something about him, like an emptiness, a sadness. It was familiar. They’d only met two days ago and he was now the only person in the world she wanted to talk to. She wanted to ask him about that scar. But it didn’t look that old. She wondered if she’d ever have the nerve to bring it up.

She headed home at eight o’clock with a craving for chicken pad thai.

The doorbell rang just twenty minutes after she ordered, and she ran down with her money. But instead of the delivery man, she found Mrs. Tanor in her robe and slippers, standing at the front door.

“Hey, Mrs. Tanor. I thought you were my Thai food. What’s up?”

“Sorry, dear. I just wanted to ask you something. Do you have a cousin?”

“No.” Kind of an odd question. But it was now freezing outside. She ushered her in and shut the door. “What’s up?”

Mrs. Tanor paused. She looked around like she was searching for something. Maybe the right words.

“You know, I’m not totally surprised. I thought he seemed suspicious, but I didn’t want to assume.”

“Mrs. Tanor. I’m confused. What are you talking about?”

“Well, a young man came to the gate and rang your buzzer several times earlier today around three o’clock.”

“I was at work.”

“Of course, dear. I knew you wouldn’t be home. I was outside taking down my Christmas decorations. He looked about twenty-two. He looked tired.”

“Twenty-two? Are you sure that was for me?”

“Oh yes.”

“What did he look like?”

“He had brown hair. It was kind of matted, he was unshaven, and his clothes were dirty.”

“That’s weird.”

“Well, I ignored him at first. But he buzzed several times and finally called over to me. I asked if he was a friend of yours.”

“What did he say?”

“He said that you were expecting him. He then said he was your cousin and asked if I could let him in. Something about him made me uneasy. He seemed too…jittery. I told him that I couldn’t do that and I went back inside.”

“That’s weird. Well, I’m glad you didn’t let him in. Let’s hope that was a fluke. Please let me know if you see him come back.”

“Okay dear. Good night.”

FIFTEEN

ON
Thursday, Abby and the second-year associates went to Milwaukee to gather documents and drug paraphernalia in the Dalcon Laboratories warehouse. After seven hours, they called it a day. It was not exactly fun, but it was nice to be out of the office, and Abby enjoyed the break from her own internal dialogue by listening to Kevin and Eileen tell stories of dates and restaurants and wild nights out as they sat at dinner.

On Friday morning, they finished up, packed up the rental car with boxes of documents and sample instruments for her products liability case, and headed back to the office. It was around noon when Abby sat at her desk to review mail and voice messages. She smiled at the last one. It was Nate. As much as she resisted remembering, it felt so good to have him in her life again. It felt like home.

WITH
the sun shining and snow blanketing most of Millennium Park, Abby shielded her eyes from the intense light. At least thirty people were ice-skating as Abby walked toward the Park Café. The massive park, restaurant, and amphitheater, just completed last summer, were already attracting masses of tourists and locals as a beautiful new gathering spot on South Michigan Avenue. The skaters’ laughter and squeals made her wince. God, what had happened to her? When had she last had a good laugh? Or a good time?

She knew when. She still missed David so much.

Nate was already at the table and waved her over. His warm embrace lifted her spirits and she thanked him for suggesting lunch.

“Abby, this is actually a business meeting. I’ve got a case that I really want you to work on with me.”

“Nate, I’m just swamped. I can’t seem to get out in front of everything. I just got back in town. Just Wednesday, I had to pawn off a bunch of stuff to some junior associates.”

“But that’s what you’re supposed to do. Listen, this is a good case. Interesting stuff and you’ll get some good experience.”

She’d let him try to sell it even though there was no way. They ordered their salads and iced teas.

“Well, what is it?”

Nate put down his drink and leaned in, like he was about to share a juicy story. “My client is a woman from the projects on the south side. She has been repeatedly terrorized by some Chicago cops.”

The mention of dirty cops got her attention.

“Abby, the stories she tells are so disturbing. There’s quite a drug trade in her neighborhood and it’s like the cops have gone rogue. Stomping over civil rights and breaking laws left and right. She filed complaints with the police and nothing came of it. We’re suing the cops, the Chicago Police Department, and the city. Civil rights violations, wrongful imprisonment, assault and battery, intentional infliction of emotional distress, every claim I can come up with.”

“Well, I must say, I’m intrigued.” It sounded like work she could focus on, given the last three weeks.

“Abby, to be honest, I want you to work with me for a couple of reasons.” He took a sip of his drink and Abby tried to finish the chunk of bread she’d just grabbed.

“Oh yeah?”

“Well, first. I’m glad to see you again after all these years and I’d love an excuse to be able to catch up more.”

With hand to heart and a grin, she acknowledged the sweet sentiment. His expression changed then and she could sense there was another reason. She wasn’t so sure she wanted to hear it. “And?”

“And, you don’t seem happy to me, Abby. I get the sense that you’re not enjoying your job. Maybe you’re not enjoying your life.”

His bluntness took her off guard. He couldn’t have been more right, but she couldn’t bear to go there. She looked down.

“Listen, I’m not telling you what to do. I just want to spend some time together. The work is not glamorous or high-profile, but it’s interesting. It’s sometimes sad but it always feels important. And it gives me purpose. I think you would find that too.”

She felt exposed. Like Nate had taken one look at her and seen the charade. “I don’t know.” He had no idea what he was asking of her. She wanted to do this. At least this one assignment, but she couldn’t just change her life plan. She was on a path and she had to honor that. He had no idea.

Nate put his hand on hers. “Abby, just think about it. I’ll be at Dirksen in front of Judge Coreus on Monday at nine o’clock on the matter. I’m going to meet with my client afterward. If you can make it, come. You can meet her. I’ll give you a copy of her statement and then you can decide.”

Abby opened her mouth to respond but Nate interjected.

“Just think about it.” Right on cue, the salads arrived. “Now come on, let’s eat!”

ABBY
walked through the park before going back to the office. She tried to let the skaters’ laughter and happiness fill her head. Nate knew her so well. She almost felt like she had Denny back. He had always looked out for her too. She could still picture his face and the look he gave her when she was screwing up. The look he gave her that night. His irritation at her stupidity.

She walked up the steps toward the massive reflective structure that everyone in town had affectionately named “the bean” because it looked like a giant kidney bean that mirrored the light and the sky and the Michigan Avenue buildings and the children who ran up and under and around it with glee. She walked toward it, searching for her own image, closer and closer, staring at the distortion in front of her. Just like a circus mirror. Her grand plan was falling apart. It was as if all the fear and trauma and sadness of the last few weeks had forced her to stop spinning on the hamster wheel. Her plan was beginning to seem fruitless, even stupid.