“What do you think is in the file?” I said.
Vinnie got up to go.
“I don’t know what’s in the file, but I think you have it. Or can get it. Either way, I leave this information with you. If I profit by whatever course of action you take, all the better. If not, so be it.”
“Just so you know, chances are I play it straight.”
“I can live with that.”
“I know, Vinnie. But can I?”
“You’ll live to see me in the grave and many days after, Mr. Kelly. Just remember what I told you.”
“About the file?”
“About the bathroom and the bullet. Come on, Joey. Pick up the cannolis and let’s go.”
CHAPTER 31
The Drake is classic Chicago. Wide sidewalks and revolving doors. Doormen in black overcoats, whistling taxis and calling everyone sir and ma’am. A red carpet runs up the stairs, across a wide expanse of lobby, and dead-ends at a reception desk staffed by old men wearing black glasses sliding down long noses. These men understand the secrets of Chicago, how to get a window table at NoMI, tickets to Monet at the Art Institute, and, even better, a ducat on the forty for the Bears-Packers. They are in the know and keep it close to the vest, sliding a note across the concierge table and taking a folded fifty at the proper moment.
“Hey, Eddie.”
Back in the day, Eddie Flaherty boxed for money. Like most of the Irish, he could take a punch. Like most of the Irish, one day he took too many. Today Eddie was a prime mover at the Drake, hooking up locals, players, and any celebs that came into town.
“Kelly. What the hell brings you in here?”
“Been a while.”
“Four, five years, at least. You were a detective. Then you were in the papers. Then you weren’t a detective anymore. Figured it for some tough luck.”
I shrugged.
“Like I said, it’s been a while.”
“So what brings you in?”
I had on a tuxedo, gray tie, and my only pair of cuff links. Still, Eddie couldn’t figure it out, so I slid my invitation across the counter. The old fighter pulled out his reading glasses.
“You heard of this group?” I said.
“Rape Volunteer Association. Sure. This is their third year here. Heavy hitters, lawyers, doctors, judges. A lot of women who have been, you know, raped. Bad stuff. But good people.”
“You know who runs the show?”
“Nah. They’re in and out. Once a year. I think it’s set up through a woman judge, but I couldn’t tell you much more than that.”
“Thanks, Eddie.”
“Sure. You going to this thing?”
I fingered the lapel of my monkey suit.
“That’s the plan.”
“A lot of them hang in the Palm. Get tea and all that stuff before the thing gets started.”
I rapped a knuckle on the desk, drifted across the lobby, and into the Drake’s Palm Court. Amid the marble statues and harp music, tinkling water fountains and green ferns, I spied groups of women. In twos and threes mostly, they feasted on platters of suspiciously small sandwiches, trays of sinfully large desserts, and cup after cup of brown tea. I found an empty seat, ordered an Earl Grey, closed my eyes, and listened to the harpist. He wasn’t playing anything I recognized, so I opened my eyes and took a look around.
A woman, maybe early forties, crossed her legs and caught my eye. She was great-looking in that old-money sort of way, with streaked honey-blond hair, white teeth, and a nut-brown tan that screamed desert in the soon- to-be death grip of a Chicago winter. She had the sculpted mouth and thin nose of aristocracy. Her eyes were wide, deep, and intelligent, with more than a little fun lurking somewhere beneath. She had gone to Northwestern or the University of Chicago, was successful, good-looking, and knew it. She was probably out of my league. When I dove in, however, she didn’t seem surprised.
“I love this stuff,” I said.
“Stuff?”
“The tea, the music, just the place.”
“You come here a lot, do you?”
Apparently, Irish guys with bent noses are not a common sight in the Palm Court. I ignored the jibe and moved forward.
“I wouldn’t call myself a regular. But I do like a cup of tea.”
I hoisted a cup and saucer in her general direction.
“I’m sure you do, Mr. Kelly. Although rumor has it you litter the stuff with something stronger on occasion.”
I halted my cup a scant inch, perhaps two, from my lips and returned it to said saucer.
“I believe I am at a disadvantage, Ms…”
The woman extended her hand. The grip was firm. The grip was cool. The grip was nice.
“Rachel Swenson. I’m chair of the association and a friend of Nicole Andrews. I told her I was going to hide out here before we got started. She asked me to watch out for you.”
“So you staked out the Palm Court?”
“Actually, I started in the Coq d’Or.”
She gestured to a large oak door leading to the Drake’s main bar.
“I was there fifteen minutes, picked up three phone numbers, two room keys, and a vice cop who asked to see my ID. I figured a cup of tea was in order and you could fend for yourself. Then I sat down and found myself seated across from an Irishman looking like a brawl about to happen but with some intelligence around the edges.”
“That was how Nicole described me?”
“Something like that. You want to go into the event?”
“Do we have to?”
“I am the host.”
Rachel got up in one motion. She had that Grace Kelly in Rear Window sort of movement. An immaculate, elegant flow you couldn’t learn or even think about. Unless you didn’t have it, that is. Then it was all you thought about. I followed along and caught words as they floated back over her shoulder.
“So you want to ask me now or later?”
“Ask what?” I said.
She stopped halfway up a set of stairs leading out of the Drake lobby and turned.
“How and why I became chairperson of this group.”
It was an interesting question. Not as interesting as the fact that Ms. Swenson felt she and I shared the possibility of some sort of “later,” but that would have to wait.
“It might be because you’re a woman and a judge,” I said. “I figure there’s a bit more to it than that.”
“There is. Nicole said you’re a private investigator. Used to be a cop.”
I nodded.
“Then you know a little bit about rape.”
“I know I used to hate working them.”
“You ever visit a victim a year after the attack?”
I shook my head.
“Ever think about the range of this crime?”
