'I've got a room at the Raphael for a week. I figured I'd look up some friends, visit a few old haunts.'
I felt something that I realized was relief.
'I'll see you soon, then.'
'Dinner tonight?'
'It might be late.'
'I'm used to waiting up for you.'
I nodded, grabbed my London Fog trench coat, and left the apartment.
Chicago smelled like fall, which is to say the garbage and exhaust fume stench carried a hint of dying leaves. The Windy City was suitably windy, temperature in the mid-fifties, the sidewalks damp from a recent rain.
There was a powwow waiting for me in my office when I got to the station. Benedict, who was wearing the new Brooks Brothers suit he bought himself as a reward for losing twenty pounds, our boss Captain Bains, and Assistant State's Attorney Libby Fischer.
Stephen Bains had been captain of the 2-6 for as long as anyone could remember. He was short, portly, and balding. He combated the latter with a hair weave, which looked realistic except for the fact that it lacked gray, whereas his mustache was practically white.
Libby Fischer was around my age, and a clotheshorse. She wore a beige Gaultier top with a matching knee- length skirt that probably cost more than I made in a month. A white pearl choker, red Kenneth Cole pumps, and a small red Louis Vuitton bag rounded out her ensemble.
Libby smiled a lot. If I had her wardrobe, I would have too.
'How's the stomach?'
That was as close to a pleasantry as Bains would get.
'Better,' I answered. 'I think I'll be--'
'We're going to lose the Fuller case,' Libby interrupted. She smiled sweetly.
I didn't try to hide my surprise.
'How the hell can that be? Is something inadmissible?'
'No. The case is solid. It's that brain tumor, floating in a glass jar, labeled exhibit A.'
Bains frowned. 'As you're aware, Fuller has been claiming amnesia since recovering from surgery. He says he has no memory of any murders.'
Libby stood up and went to the window. 'And so far, our shrinks haven't been able to crack him.'
I crossed my arms over my chest. 'Fuller's blaming the murders on his brain tumor?'
Libby continued to stare out the captain's window. 'He's doing just that. It was on his frontal lobe, the brain's behavior center. It controls emotion, personality, and understanding of right and wrong. Expert shrinks are falling all over themselves eager to explain to a jury how a tumor can radically alter someone's personality. Fuller's lawyers are going for the first ever insanity defense based on physical evidence.'
My anger level continued to build. 'If he's declared insane, he still gets locked up, right?'
'Wrong. If they prove he was insane at the time of his crimes, and the insanity was caused by the tumor, he's a free man. No more tumor, no more insanity. The bastard walks.'
'Jesus.'
Bains stared at me, hard.
'Are you one hundred percent, Jack?'
I didn't feel one hundred percent, but I sensed something coming. I nodded.
'Good,' Bains continued. 'I want you to talk to him.'
'To Fuller? Why?'
'A confession would be nice. But I'll settle for your impression of whether he's bullshitting or not.'
'If he's faking, we can plan a better attack,' Libby said.
'Do we suspect he's faking?'
'It would be nice if he was,' Libby sat back down, 'but we just don't know. He's been interviewed by over a dozen people: shrinks, lawyers, cops, doctors. So far he's unimpeachable.'
'Has he taken a lie detector?'
'One. Theirs. And he passed with flying colors. He's got another scheduled tomorrow, with one of our examiners.'
After a moment, I asked, 'Why me?' My job was to arrest criminals. Other people were much more qualified to do follow-up interviews.
Bains scratched his weave. 'You worked with him for several years. You know him. You're biased to our side, so you'll try to see through the lies. I don't have to tell you what a media circus this case has become.'
'I'm not a professional interrogator, Captain. I don't want to see him back on the streets, but I don't think--'
'There's something else, Jack.'
