“He’s a killer. You want the case?”
Rodriguez did, so I gave him the details.
“He told you he killed this woman in 1998?” the detective said.
“Somewhere around there. I got the idea she was an old girlfriend. You should be able to find her in the cold files. When you do, tell Marcus it was courtesy of me.”
“You guys really got along, huh?”
“Best of pals. If you can, drop the tip to Fred Jacobs before you go public. I owe him.”
“Okay. What else you got for me?”
“Are we still working together?”
“Depends. Did you kill Woods?”
“What do you think?”
“I think no. Course, doesn’t help that you were playing around with the dead guy’s wife.”
“You heard that too, huh?”
“Half of Johnny Woods’ block saw you two. Duking it out at six in the morning.”
“It’s not what you think.”
“I told you. I don’t believe you killed him. Let’s leave it at that.”
“I need a favor.”
The detective paused. “Is it about Dan Masters?”
“What do you know about Dan?” I said.
“I know enough. What I don’t know is why.”
Rodriguez knew Masters had pulled the gun that killed Johnny Woods out of Evidence. I wasn’t sure how. But I wasn’t surprised either.
“The whys might have to wait,” I said. “Maybe a day or so.”
“Have you talked to Masters?”
“This afternoon. I’m waiting on a call back right now.”
Rodriguez hesitated, but not as long as you might think. “What is it you need?” he said.
“Remember the lift you took off my window?”
“The night of the break-in?”
“Yeah. I have a set of prints I need you to run it against.”
“The print from your flat was a partial. Not enough points to bring into court.”
“This isn’t about court, Vince.”
Rodriguez chewed on that for a while. “Think I’m going to have to know a little bit more.”
So I told him. A little bit more. Then I e-mailed him the set of prints Jacobs had sent me, along with a photo of the person they belonged to. After that I headed back to bed. Dan Masters hadn’t called back to set up my meeting with Janet. I hadn’t expected him to.
CHAPTER 38
I got in my car on Monday morning and accelerated onto Lake Shore Drive, heading south through traffic. You’d never know it by looking around, but it was against the law in Chicago to use a cell while you were driving. And with good reason. I almost hit an SUV or three as I flipped open my phone and wrestled a business card out of my wallet. It was red with yellow stars.
Hubert Russell’s machine picked up, but he cut in before I could leave a message.
“Hello?”
“Hubert.”
“I don’t know this number.”
“It’s Michael Kelly. The guy who asked to see the Chicago Fire records.”
“Mr. Kelly. Sorry, I don’t get a lot of calls I don’t recognize. What’s up?”
“I got a computer question for you.”
“Go ahead.”
“It’s actually more like a hacking question.”
“Even better.”
“You told me there wasn’t a computer made you couldn’t crack.”
“That’s right.”
“How’d you like to prove it?”
There was only a slight pause before Hubert came back over the line.
“I assume this is illegal.”
“You assume correctly,” I said. “It’s also for a good cause.”
“Why don’t you explain the cause and why it’s so good.”
So I did. Hubert told me he could help. Even better, he was willing.
“How soon could we do it?” I said.
“I got the software right here. Just need to load it up and we’re good to go.”
“That easy?”
“Scary as it sounds, yes.”
“You around today?”
“Sure, I’m around.”
I pulled up in front of the Chicago Historical Society. My watch had just pushed past nine.
“Hang tight, Hubert. I’ll call you back.”
CHAPTER 39
T een was standing by the front desk, looking for someone to grin at. She was wearing a dark brown long- sleeve sweater, tan chinos, and brown shoes with large gold buckles.
“The man from the Tribune.” She offered a sweaty palm and I took it. “How are you, Mr. Kelly? You know, I missed your article.”
“Actually, it’s not quite ready yet.”
“Oh. Anything I can help you with?”
I nodded and moved her gently off the main lobby. “Actually, there is something you can do.”
A group of seniors drifted by us and into the gift shop. The volunteer automatically smiled at them and then transferred her giddiness back my way.
“How can I help?”
I took out a photo and put it facedown in front of the volunteer. Along with six other pictures.
“The guy who came in to see the Sheehan’s a couple of weeks back.”
“Yes?”
“When I asked you what he looked like, you told me he was dangerous looking.”
Teen lifted her eyes to the ceiling, anxiously looking for the answer to a question I had yet to pose.
“Dangerous looking. Yes, he was.”
“Was the man black, Teen?”
She brightened and nodded. “Actually, he was.”
Then she frowned. “You don’t think I called him dangerous because he was black, do you? That’s just not possible. Last year, a black couple moved into the neighborhood, just a block or so from where I live. I see them every week at the Sunset Foods. Lovely people, although I’ve never actually spoken to them. There are lots of people I don’t speak to in the supermarket.”
“You see the guy here?”
I flipped over the seven photos. Teen pointed at my guy without missing a beat.
