“Timing doesn’t work.”
“It’s close, but Doherty had enough time to kil Hubert and get back to his house.”
I didn’t believe it. I didn’t think Lawson did either. She just needed a reason.
“Think about it, Katherine. Doherty’s whole idea with Rachel’s video was to lure me to the South Side so he could play his sick games.”
“Which he eventual y accomplished.”
“Yes, and he accomplished it by giving me a false choice.”
“What does that mean?”
“Doherty’s plan only worked if I cal ed Hubert and found him alive. Then when I cal ed Doherty and got no answer, I’d head south. If I picked up on the clues Rachel left for me on the tape and went to Cabrini, the picture of the McNabbs would push me south again. The whole thing was a sucker play. A false choice with only one result. And that result required that Hubert be alive.”
Lawson hit her turn signal and accelerated onto the Kennedy. “And yet he stil wound up dead. How does that work? More coincidence?”
She was right. I hadn’t figured that part out. Lawson pressed her advantage.
“Who else could it have been, Michael? Who else wanted Hubert Russel dead?”
“I don’t know.”
“That’s right. You don’t. Because there is no one else. No one but Doherty. He hated you for whatever fucked-up reason he had, and maybe he kil ed your friend to even the score. You know damn wel he would’ve kil ed Rachel if he’d gotten the chance.”
“A chance you didn’t give him, right?”
“I’m not looking for that, Michael.”
“I guess I should thank you.”
“Look, we’l go down to the ME. You ask your questions. But if nothing turns up, you let it go.” Lawson looked over. “Al right?”
“Yeah.”
We drove in silence for a while. Lawson put on an Alicia Keys CD.
“How is Rachel?” she said.
“Not good.”
Lawson peeked over again. “You want to talk about it?”
“No.”
“Al right.” She kept driving. I pul ed out my notes.
“Can I ask you something else?” I said.
“Sure.”
“The binder we found down in Doherty’s house.”
“Which binder?”
“You know which binder. The red one. Doherty had it with him. Looked like he was going to show me something-”
“Right before I shot him.”
“That’s right. And then you grabbed the binder before I could get a look at it.”
Lawson was shaking her head. A hint of something played reluctantly across her lips. She reached over and turned up her music. I turned it down.
“You don’t want to talk about the binder?” I said.
“Why do you need to know?”
“What is there to know?”
“Exactly, Michael. What is there to know? As far as you’re concerned, nothing.”
“Now you got me curious.”
“Bul shit. You were curious from the moment you saw it. And I think you might have gotten at least half a look at it.”
“You’re not gonna tel me about the binder?”
She turned the music up again. I returned to my notes.
“What’s that?” She pointed to a file I had tabbed TRANSCO.
“A lead Hubert was working on the old CTA crash,” I said. “Most of it’s in the files he downloaded to you.”
“That for the ME?”
“Maybe. You want to hear?”
“Hang on.” Lawson had exited the highway. Now she took a right onto Harrison Street and pul ed into a slot in front of the Cook County Medical Examiner’s building. I handed her the folder.
“I’m listening,” she said and began to leaf through Hubert’s notes.
I explained how a faulty device built by Transco derailed a train thirty years ago and probably kil ed eleven people.
“Who owned Transco?” she said, eyes narrowed, stil glued to her reading.
“An old holding company named CMT.” I handed her some more paperwork. “Hubert could never nail down the principals, but I think it’s worth a little more digging.”
Lawson closed the folder and handed it back to me. “Why?”
“Because I get the feeling these guys, whoever they are, don’t want to be discovered.”
“And that interests you?”
“I don’t believe Doherty kil ed Hubert.” I popped open the passenger’s-side door. “And these guys have something to hide. So, yeah, that interests me. Let’s go.”
CHAPTER 52
What makes you think I wouldn’t have given you a look?”
Marge Connel y measured me through a pair of black reading glasses and reached for her coffee mug. She was sitting behind her desk, dressed in a set of blue scrubs, with a stack of files in front of her.
“Why would you?” I said.
Connel y puffed out her cheeks and pul ed the rest of her face into a frown. “Agent Lawson, I don’t know you very wel, but I’m going to ask you a question.”
“Nothing you say leaves this room,” Lawson said. “You have my word.”
The ME sighed and pul ed a folder from the pile on her desk. “What concerns me is the way the case is being handled.” She flipped the file open. “If you know what I mean?”
“I think I know what you mean,” I said, “but fil me in.”
“First day or so, there’s the kind of interest you’d expect. Mayor’s office cal ing, higher-ups in Homicide, even the feds.” Connel y glanced toward Lawson, who crossed her legs and kept her hands folded in her lap.
“So we push up the autopsy, blood work, al that stuff,” Connel y continued. “I get the results, cal everyone, nothing.”
“What do you mean ‘nothing’?” I said.
“Just that. The mayor’s office gave it a yawn. Feds never even cal ed me back.” Another look Lawson’s way. “Homicide told me to send the results along when I got a chance. So I packaged it al up and sent it off.”
“Our office did inquire,” Lawson said, “but backed off once we saw the lay of the land.”
Marge Connel y leaned forward in her chair. “Which is what exactly, Agent Lawson?”
“Chicago PD has taken over primary investigation of the case,” Lawson said. “And I believe they’ve concluded James Doherty was responsible for Hubert’s death.”
Connel y frowned. “Explain.”
“It’s not something that’s been in the press,” Lawson said, “but Hubert was working the Doherty case.”
The ME picked up Hubert’s file. “This boy was working that case? How did that happen?”
“He was helping me, Marge,” I said.
