“Mostly so I can look him in the eye, show him the scars, and let him know I made it.”
Elaine took a sip of water.
“After that, of course, I’ll say a small prayer, pull out my gun, and blow him straight to Judgment Day. Amen.”
Elaine laughed so hard water came out her nose and she nearly choked. I glanced at Diane, who shrugged. My client continued.
“Just kidding. I was born country Baptist. Love that righteous vengeance sort of thing. You brought up religious, Miss Lindsay?”
“Not so you’d notice.”
“Well, I was. Me and all my sisters. We stay close even today. Religion will do that to a family.”
“I bet,” Diane said. “Let me ask you something, Elaine. You remember details of the attack?”
“Some. Why?”
“Just seems funny. After all these years, you show up here, looking for the bad guy. Even find yourself a hero.”
Diane leaned forward. Elaine leaned with her.
“Seems like maybe it’s a lot of bullshit, Elaine. If you know what I mean.”
Diane smiled. Elaine smiled back and slipped the shirt off her shoulder, just enough to catch a corner of her scar, still purple, still angry.
“Gotcha, Diane. Except they don’t give these out in ‘Let’s pretend we got fucked by a pervert’ class.”
Diane leaned back, pressed her lips together, then managed a sip of her pint.
“I’m sorry. Sometimes reporters need to test a little bit.”
“No problem, Miss Lindsay.”
The two women touched glass. Then Elaine stood up. Diane followed suit.
“I‘d actually love to hear the whole story someday,” she said. “So would my viewers.”
Elaine shrugged on her coat, slipped on a set of earphones, and powered up an iPod she had in her pocket.
“Maybe,” she said. “Let’s see how things shake out. Here’s a number where you can reach me.”
Elaine scribbled out the information for Diane. Then did the same for me.
“Don’t forget about me, Mr. Kelly.”
“I won’t,” I said.
My client reached out and hugged me. It was awkward but brief. Then she was gone. Diane held up a finger.
“I need a second with her,” she said and followed Elaine Remington into the snow.
CHAPTER 23
I sipped at my pint and watched through a funnel of wind and white. Diane Lindsay stood at the corner of Halsted and Diversey, her back to the lakefront, taking the brunt of the storm off her head and shoulders. Elaine huddled close, shifted her weight from side to side, and stamped her feet in the night. Now Diane leaned forward as she spoke, filling the gap between them with a tangible sense of energy. Elaine moved away, subtle but certain, her back foot taking the weight of her body. She didn’t seem to be saying much, mostly listening as Diane gestured. I wondered what was taking so long. I wondered how the reporter was doing. It looked like hard work.
Ten minutes later Diane returned to the bar. I had moved to a booth in the back and was working through a plate of bangers and mash. To my left was the notebook and pencil. On the pages were assorted thoughts, such as they were.
“What’s in the notebook?” she said.
“You’re in my light.”
Diane sat down. Megan took her drink order.
“This is my booth, you know.”
“Would you like me to move?” she said.
“No, you can stay.”
“So what’s in the notebook?”
I turned it around so she could read my scrawl.
“I’m just trying to figure out how many people have hired me in the past two days and for what. Best I can figure, I have at least two new clients.”
“One of whom is dead.”
“Exactly. And then there is you.”
“Am I in there?”
She pulled the notebook closer. I pulled it back. Her fingernails were painted a dark red and scratched across the page. It was a small sound but violent in its own way.
“Get your own notebook,” I said. “How did it go with her?”
Diane shrugged.
“Not bad. There are a couple of different things I could do with her story. I just wanted to let her know what some of the options were. Get her thinking about it.”
Megan put a hot whiskey in front of Diane. From across the booth I could smell the Jameson, scented with cloves. Nice drink on a cold night.
“What did you think of her?” I said.
“Your client?”
I nodded.
“She has some issues.”
“You think so?”
“I do.”
“Why did you go after her so hard?”
“Why not? Sometimes it catches them off guard. Brings out the truth whether they like it or not.”
“And this time?” I said.
“She was raped.”
“Yeah, she was. Feels it like it was yesterday.”
“That can be a dangerous thing.”
“I know,” I said. “Gibbons was working her case when he was killed.”
“How did you inherit his client list?”
I moved my shoulders. Up, then down. Maybe half an inch. Diane let it sit for a moment, then shifted the conversation.
“I heard the DA’s office had you in for a chat.”
“You heard that?”
“I did.”
Diane checked her watch.
“I also heard they no longer consider you a suspect.”
“Does that kill your big story?”
“You tell me.”
“Still got a murder,” I said. “Still got an old rape to solve. If you want to tag along, might be kind of fun.”
“Is that all you got?” she said.
“What else is there?”
“Right before I left the newsroom, a call came across the police scanner. They found a woman’s body at Gibbons’ old place.”
“And?”
“I made a call. It was his landlady. A woman named Edna Mulberry.”
Diane took a sip of her whiskey, pulled her coat tight against her body, and looked out the window. On
