The first line of sweat decorated Willie’s upper lip. He wiped it away, pulled his feet to the floor, and angled closer.
“Your last feeling, half the sheriff’s office went upstate.”
“Six guys, Willie. There were a lot more should have been with them.”
“Six was enough, Kelly. Six senior guys. Joe Dyson, two months from retirement. You know what he’s doing now? Let me tell you.”
Willie’s chair creaked and his voice dropped to a hiss. “He’s pissing through a tube and crapping into a bag. Know why? He had a stroke. Second month in the joint. A stroke. Paralyzed. No bodily functions. Doing his five years in a fucking prison hospital. Not that it matters.”
I’d heard about Dyson. Even felt bad about it. But not bad enough. The back of my neck began to burn a bit. I pulled a pen and a pad of paper from across Willie’s desk and began to write.
“This is the address of Kim Bishop. She lived over on the West Side. Henry Horner Homes. Joe Dyson sat her husband, Ray, on a radiator. Inside a prosecutor’s office. Ray confessed to three separate murders. Hell, he would have confessed to killing Jesus Christ himself. See, Willie, his flesh was cooking. And it was going to cook until he talked.”
I pushed the pad back across the desk.
“I was there when they gave Ray the needle. So was Kim. The needle for three murders Ray had nothing to do with. Thanks to Joe Dyson, a cop who just wanted to get ahead. You go tell Joe’s story to Kim. Maybe you two can go to church together.”
Willie ripped out the page and threw it into a wastebasket under his desk. Then he turned his back on me again. The burn subsided, the pulse slowed. I had overplayed my hand.
“Listen, Willie, I don’t expect any warm welcome up here. I’m just telling you, there’s something going on you want to know about. You didn’t listen last time. I’m telling you now.”
Ever so slowly, the chair turned. Willie was nothing if not shrewd. He didn’t have to like me to be that.
“Could be bad, Willie. Worse than Dyson. Could be flat-out murder.”
“Coming out of the Fifth Floor? Murder? What, the mayor is whacking people now?”
“Willie, listen.”
“No, Kelly. You listen. What is it with you? Every time you come around, you got a hard-on for the mayor. What did he ever do to you? You think you lost your badge ’cause of him? Wrong. You brought that on yourself. He didn’t necessarily want you out. That was the county’s call.”
“He didn’t stop it.”
“Not the fucking point,” Willie hissed. “So you do have a hard-on for the mayor. You know what, get the hell out of here. You could be wearing a wire right now, for all I know. Murder. Get the fuck out before I call downstairs.”
Willie stood up. I had worn out my welcome, which wasn’t the worst thing in the world.
“I need to see Johnny Woods,” I said.
“So go see him. He’s not my fucking problem.”
“Where’s his office?”
Dawson gestured down the hall.
“Thanks, Willie. I’ll see you around.”
I left Dawson in his cubbyhole, head again deep in his filing cabinet. Willie’s mind, however, wasn’t on his paperwork. He was thinking about murder. An election. And the mayor. Pretty soon Willie would start talking. Probably about all three. Sometimes, that was all it took to get things going.
CHAPTER 24
I was halfway down the hallway when Johnny Woods came around the corner and nearly ran into me. He was carrying a folder in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other. A small woman, curly brown hair, perfume, and curves, followed in his wake. Woods stopped short and saved his coffee from spilling on both of us.
“Whoa, sorry about that, fella.”
Johnny gave me his best guy smile. I gave him one right back.
“That’s okay, Johnny. I was just coming to see you.”
Woods gave the woman a quick nervous look. “We know each other?”
I offered a hand. Out of reflex, the mayor’s man grasped it.
“No, but we have some mutual friends,” I said. “Name’s Michael Kelly.”
I could see Woods trying to place the name. Then he did. And didn’t like it at all.
“What can I help you with, Mr. Kelly?”
“Maybe we could go into your office?”
Woods gave a halfhearted nod and led the way. His office consisted of white walls and a blue carpet. His desk was standard issue, gray gunmetal. The credenza behind him was filled with pictures of Woods and the mayor, signing bills, cutting ribbons, breaking ground. All the usual bullshit stuff politicians take pictures of. I sat on a metal chair with red padding. Woods had a nice leather one and eased himself into it.
“I assume you’re the same Michael Kelly who got himself booted off the force a while back?”
“I’m a private investigator now.”
“I know. You took down Bennett Davis last year, if I recall.”
“You recall well.”
“That was quite a high-profile thing.”
“Murder usually is. Especially when the killer is also a county prosecutor.”
Woods straightened some papers and adjusted a silver picture frame facing him on his desk. I caught a glimpse of Taylor. She was holding what looked like a good-size muskie. Woods had an arm around his stepdaughter. Seemed like a man who liked his life. At least, for that moment in time. Then the snapshot disappeared and the city fixer cleared his throat.
“So tell me, Mr. Kelly. What can I do for you?”
“It’s about a house on Hudson. Number 2121. Lovely place, turn of the century, stained glass, wooden floors, and a dead guy hanging off the second-floor railing.”
The blood in Woods’ face drained into his feet. He looked past me to see if his door was closed. Fortunately for him, it was.
“Ring a bell, Johnny?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You don’t?”
“No, I don’t.”
“Maybe this is something I should take to the police. Or, better yet, the press.”
I dropped a small black memory card onto the desk between us.
“Know what that is, Johnny?”
Woods didn’t say anything. Just looked at the card. I thought he was having one of those out-of-body moments they talk about on Oprah, but I couldn’t be sure.
“That’s a memory card from my digital camera,” I said. “It’s got about nine shots on it. Time-stamped. Of you walking down Hudson. Into the house and back out again. I’m afraid you look a bit rushed on the way out.”
The card was actually empty. Johnny didn’t need to know that. He’d been inside the house on Hudson and knew it. Now he knew I knew. That was all that mattered.
“What do you want, Kelly?”
“Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why the house on Hudson? Why Allen Bryant? What the fuck does the mayor’s hatchet man want with all of that? And murder on top of it?”
“Jesus, Kelly. Enough already. The boss is five doors down.”
“I assume this was a job for him.”
