relationship between Gradduk and Sentalar had as yet been disclosed, and then told us we were about to see some “horrific footage” of the fire that had killed the female attorney on Train Avenue. I moved closer to the television screen and watched carefully.
The liquor store security camera had provided a crisp, black-and-white image of the sidewalk in front of it, and, in turn, the house across the street. It was a run-down home, a crumbling structure that had been left untended and empty.
The footage showed a man who walked down the sidewalk right in front of the liquor store, and the camera got a clear look at his face. It was unquestionably Ed Gradduk, and he was smiling while he crossed the street and disappeared along the side of the house.
“Now we’ll move ahead seventeen minutes,” the news anchor said, and the black-and-white footage jumped to a new clip. After a short pause, white flames showed themselves inside the house across the street, spreading with astonishing speed, licking their way up the walls and over the eaves.
“Plenty of time for someone else to have burned that house,” I said.
“Sure,” Joe answered, but he kept his eyes away from mine.
I turned the television off and sat down behind my desk. Joe looked at me and raised an eyebrow.
“Still a man on a mission?”
“If that means am I still going to see the prosecutor this morning, then, yes. But you don’t have to come along if you don’t want to get involved.”
“If you’re involved, I’m involved. You know that.”
I gave a small nod.
“A guy called for you about an hour ago,” Joe said. “Said it’s about Gradduk.”
“Give a name?”
“Scott Draper.”
“Shit.”
He frowned. “Why’s that bad?”
“He’s the one who took a swing at me last night, accused me of pushing Ed into the street. Ed had spent the evening hiding in the guy’s storeroom, soaking himself in bourbon.”
“Amy called, too. She sounded upset.”
“I disappeared on her last night,” I said. “I’ll call her now.”
I had to listen to about a five-minute lecture from Amy before I even had the chance to get a word in, but then I explained my situation. When I was done, I switched from taking all the questions to asking a few of my own.
“Any progress on the arson aspect?” I said.
“Fire investigators are still giving it a look. They’ll probably make an announcement pretty soon, but they’re waiting for lab results. Whoever did it was pretty good. Place went up in flames real fast and burned real hot.”
“Now that Gradduk’s dead, they’ll probably write the case off,” I said. “Say that justice has been served, if accidentally.”
“I guess.”
“You know who owned the house?”
“I think the city owned it, actually. Some urban-renewal deal. They buy up vacant property and mortgage foreclosures, fix them up, and put low-income families into them.”
“I see. Who are the cops on the case?”
“Fire officials are assisting with the arson end of things. A Cleveland homicide cop is working it, too. Guy named Cal Richards. You know him?”
“Yes, but not well. He’s supposed to be a hell of a good cop. Closes cases fast, and when he closes them, they’re flawless.”
“That sounds like the man,” she said. “He did seem a little intense.”
“Sure,” I said, “the way a shark seems intense when it’s about to feed. Is the coroner’s office working to find out whether the victim was killed by the fire, or dead beforehand?”
“Lab results will take a while, but I think Richards suspects she was already dead.”
“I expected that.”
“The city fire investigators are swamped right now. Something like ten fires in the past two weeks, and more than half of those could be arson. They’ve got to check them all out. This one gets priority because there’s a victim, but, still, they’re spread thin.”
“Maybe Joe and I will spur things along when we go visit the prosecutor today.”
“Prosecutor?”
I told her of Ed’s veiled comments about his interaction with the prosecutor.
“That guy is maybe the most popular person in the city right now,” she said. “Hasn’t announced his candidacy for mayor yet, but it’s almost a sure thing that he will run.”
“Think he’ll win?”
“Probably. The way the city government’s been leaking money the last few years, voters don’t want another politician in there. They want an ass-kicker, and he fits that mold.”
“You know him?”
“Fairly well.”
“And?”
“And I think he’s a politician,” she said, and I could imagine her grin even though I couldn’t see it. “Nice enough guy, sure. But that’s in a face-to-face scenario. You leave his office and I bet the mood shifts real quick.”
I’d never dealt with the current prosecutor, Mike Gajovich, directly, but I knew the crime rate had gone down on his watch and the conviction rate up. I’d heard grumblings that the conviction rate had more to do with petty drug arrests than anything else, though. When the city budget had reached crisis status in the last year, Gajovich had made himself something of a local hero with his outspoken criticism of the current mayor, who’d made cuts to police and fire department personnel even while he was adding high-paid consultants to his own staff. Gajovich’s brother was in the department, as well, and most of the cops I knew loved the guy.
“You have an appointment to see him?” Amy asked.
“No.”
“Then you need my help. I’ll call him and ask if he’ll agree to see us for a few minutes. My guess is he will. Right now the guy is soaking up media attention whenever possible. You know, catering to the political bid next year.”
“Call him,” I said. “We’ll triple-team the poor bastard and see if we can’t get somewhere.”
Amy called back within ten minutes and told me she’d arranged a meeting with Gajovich at ten. I thanked her and told her we’d meet her at the Justice Center. When I passed the news along to Joe, he looked grim, but he stood up and slid his suit jacket over his shoulder without a word of complaint.
“Last chance to back out,” I said.
“I had my last chance the day before I asked you to be my partner,” he said. “I’ve been kicking myself ever since.”
“That’s what I like most about working with you,” I replied, “the constant support.”
The Cuyahoga County Prosecutor’s Office is located in the Justice Center, a twenty-six-floor building of little aesthetic appeal that stands on Ontario Street, casting a shadow over Cleveland Browns Stadium. The building is also home to the police department’s downtown headquarters, but I decided not to drop in and say hello to the chief. There was no love lost between the two of us. The prosecutor and his minions were on the eighth and ninth floors of the building. Amy, Joe, and I took the elevator up and sat in the lobby together, waiting. Amy assured us we’d get in to see Gajovich without trouble.
“Trust me,” she said, “I deal with this guy on a regular basis, and, happy family man or not, he’s got wandering eyes. You tell him I’m on my way to his office, and he’s on his way to greet me.”
“Journalism at its finest,” I said.
Amy shrugged. “Hey, not my fault most of our elected officials are lecherous jerks.”
