Libby wasn’t happy.
“Losing this case won’t bode well for my career.” She took my arm as we exited the courtroom. “I got a copy of the tape from Garcia yesterday. He claims it came in the mail, in a plain brown envelope, no return address, no note. Even gave me the envelope. I had it checked. Clean.”
“I take it the tape didn’t have Fuller’s confession on it?”
“No. He says what he played in court was all that was on it, but Garcia is a sneaky little bastard, and he didn’t get a name for himself by playing fair and nice with the other children.”
“Did you get the tape checked?”
“It’s being checked, but it’s obvious the tapes come from different sources. I played it against the one you made, and the sound quality is completely different. It’s better, and Fuller is louder than you. The mike must have been on his side of the room.”
“Maybe it was someone from the prison. You know the warden better than I do. Ask him if he’s had any no-shows lately. Guards calling in sick, quitting suddenly, that kind of thing.”
“I’ll do it today.”
I switched gears. “I think I’ve got a way to get Rushlo to talk.”
I gave her the short version. Libby frowned.
“Not my preferred course of action, but I’ll swing it. Anything to save this sinking ship. I can have the paperwork ready by tomorrow. Cook County jail is right down the street, so we can do this on our lunch break.”
I smiled, but it didn’t quell the butterflies in my stomach.
CHAPTER 38
Herb and I were going through a list of every student who attended classes with Fuller at Southern Illinois University in Carbondale, and trying to make connections between them and any of the 137 missing persons from that time. We allocated my floor for the purpose, spreading out files in a big, uneven grid sorted semi-alphabetically. Benedict was on his knees, crossing off possibles, when Libby called.
“I’ve got a name. Marvin Rohmer. He’s a guard at Division Eleven, been missing for the past week. A look into his personal finances revealed Rohmer has recently opened up eight checking accounts, each with cash amounts ranging from two to six grand. Probably got a large payment from that weasel Garcia.”
“Spreading it out because banks have to report big cash deposits. Smart.”
“Yeah, but he called attention to himself anyway by skipping work.”
“We’re on our way.”
“Too late. Rohmer’s a West Side boy, and I got a team to his place before the ink on the warrant dried. He skipped. Didn’t find the tape, but we found a voice-activated recorder with some duct tape still on it. He probably taped it to the ceiling, or under a chair.”
“Have you checked-”
“We’re on it, Jack. We’ve frozen his assets, tracked his credit cards, and will soon release his name and description to every cop in the United States and Canada. If we find him, we don’t even need the tape. I’ll cut him a deal, force him to testify.”
“Fax me Rohmer’s file.”
“It’s already on its way.”
I shared the info with Herb, and then we spent a few hours on the student records, ordering in a pizza with extra meat. Benedict ate most of it, but avoided the crust, leaving a cardboard box full of saucy white triangles.
I buried myself in the work. We were creating a big cross-reference grid; we listed all the students Fuller might have known from classes, sports, activities, and fraternities, and then tried to link them to any of the missing persons by doing the same thing. Tedium, and exactly what I needed.
“Got a possible.” Benedict held up a paper. Not unusual, we’d had a few possibles so far.
“Name?”
“Missing person is Melody Stephanopoulos. Student. She had three classes with a kid named Michael Horton, who was on the football team with Fuller.”
“Horton’s girlfriend?”
“Could be. She was a science major, Horton was liberal arts, and she took two writing classes and a classics literature class with him, sophomore and junior year. Disappeared during the spring term, as a junior.”
I looked up Horton in the Carbondale police files, got zilch. Then I called the SIU alumni organization, and spoke with a peppy lady named Missy who was hesitant to help until I gave her my badge number.
“I found him. Michael Horton is living in Seattle. Says he’s married, a stockbroker, two kids.”
I wrote down his number and dialed it.
“This is Michael.”
“Mr. Horton, this is Lt. Daniels from the Chicago Police Department. We’d like to ask you a few questions-”
“About Barry, right? I’ve been following it on the news.”
“Well, sort of. First we wanted to ask you about Melody Stephanopoulos.”
“Have you found her?” The sentence came out so fast all the words ran together.
“I’m sorry, no. She was your girlfriend?”
“Fiancee. She disappeared.”
“Did Barry know Melody?”
“Yeah. She didn’t like him. Oh, Jesus, you don’t think…”
“We don’t know, Mr. Horton. We’re trying to establish a connection. Were you and Barry friends?”
“Sure. We partied a lot together. Coach liked the team to hang out in our free time.”
“Did Barry ever hang around with Melody, without you there?”
“Not that I remember. Melody was pretty much glued to my side all the time.”
“When did she go missing?”
He paused.
“We had a fight, at a party. She didn’t like me drinking so much. I told her to lighten up and quit being a nag. She left. That’s the last time I saw her.”
“Was Barry at the party?”
“Yeah. It was after the Florida game. Big celebration.”
“Do you remember if Barry left after Melody?”
“I wish I could remember, Lieutenant. But I got pretty trashed that night. When I went to Melody’s dorm the next day to apologize, her roommate told me she never came home.”
Horton spent ten minutes filling me in on his relationship with Melody. He’d loved her deeply, and her loss devastated him. He spent another five giving me personal insights into Fuller, whom he called “a team player, a regular guy.”
Which is how I would have described Fuller, before I found out about his extracurricular activities.
When the conversation wound down, he promised to call if he remembered anything else.
Herb, who’d been on the extension, hung up.
“Could be a lead. Maybe you can hit Rushlo with it.”
I looked at my watch. Almost seven in the evening. I yawned. Herb gave me a look of disapproval.
“Jack, you need to get some rest.”
“I’m fine.”
“You look like a shit sandwich, with extra corn.”
“That’s sweet. You read that in a Hallmark card?”
“Go home.”
“I’m afraid to go home. It’s like walking into a geriatric version of
He frowned.
“What’s wrong with you lately, Jack?”
Herb’s voice took on a harsh tone, something that happened once in a leap year.
“What do you mean, Herb?”
“You’re not yourself. You’re edgy, short-tempered, and unhappy.”
“If you’re questioning my competency, Detective, then you’re free to seek other employment opportunities.”
Herb stood up.
“Maybe I should put in for reassignment.”
“It wouldn’t surprise me, considering you just did the same thing with your marriage.”
Benedict shot me a very un-Benedict-like stare, and walked out.
I sat there for a few minutes, trying to get my breathing under control.
I couldn’t.
CHAPTER 39
