Final Breath

'Arthur Pollard,' she said, 'the one who called here a while back. Did they ever find out who shot him?'

'I don't know, and I don't care. It's not my case.' He went back to washing himself.

'All right already, you don't have to bite my head off.'

'Well, I really wish you'd leave it alone.'

'You make it sound like I'm needling you,' she called, putting down her mascara wand. 'I haven't even broached the subject since the poor guy was dumped in that Dumpster last week.' She stared at the shower curtain again. 'I'll be honest with you, honey. You're acting awfully strange about this, very touchy. It makes me think you might be in some kind of trouble.' She paused. 'Are you--in any kind of trouble?'

The shower went off with a squeak, then he pulled a towel down from the rack and started drying himself. 'Arthur Pollard was a pain-in-the-ass petty crook with drug problems,' Joe said finally. 'He was messing with the wrong kind of people and wanted my help. But I couldn't help him, and I feel bad that he's dead.'

'Why did he approach you for help?' Sydney asked, her eyes still on his movements behind the fogged curtain. 'Did he know you, Joe?'

'He knew my reputation as a sap who always tries to help people.'

Sydney smiled a little. That much was true. She turned toward the mirror again and wiped some steam away.

'Anyway, I feel like shit I didn't help him,' Joe admitted. With a whoosh, the shower curtain opened. Joe was still drying himself off as he stepped out of the tub.

Sydney realized something he'd said that didn't make sense. She turned toward him. 'Honey, if you feel so badly about Polly's murder, why aren't you interested in who might have killed him?'

'What?'

'A minute ago you said that you didn't care.'

Shaking his head, Joe wrapped the towel around his waist. 'Y'know,' he muttered. 'I'd really appreciate it if you'd just fucking drop this.'

Her mouth open, Sydney stared at her husband as he stomped into the bedroom.

Eli had been invited to the wedding as well, and he failed to notice that his parents didn't talk to each other all night long.

Sydney did, however, talk to Sharon McKenna at the reception. Sharon's husband, Andy, was Joe's best friend on the force. Their oldest, Tim, hung out with Eli and his pal, Brad Reece. 'The Three Musketeers,' Joe called them. Sydney liked Sharon, a petite, pretty, freckle-faced woman with short red hair. She caught a few minutes alone with Sharon in a corner of the reception hall.

'You look gorgeous, Syd--as usual,' Sharon said, raising her champagne glass. 'You must be feeling better.'

'Feeling better?' she asked.

'Yeah,' Sharon said, sipping her champagne. 'We invited you folks to dinner last weekend, but Joe said you had the flu.' Sharon stared at her for a moment. 'Joe didn't mention it to you? I was going to make lasagna, because I know Eli loves it.'

Sydney just shook her head.

'You weren't sick, were you?'

'I'm sorry, Sharon,' she murmured. 'I don't know what to say. I can't imagine why Joe...'

'He's been really distant with Andy lately,' Sharon frowned. She finished the rest of her champagne. 'I don't know if you've noticed or not, but Joe has said about five words to Andy since we arrived here. He's managed to avoid me altogether, because he knows I'll tell him what I'm thinking. You don't just freeze out your friends like that.'

Sydney gave a hopeless shrug. 'Sharon, I'm so sorry. All I can tell you is Joe hasn't been himself lately. This whole last week, I've been worried about him.'

'Andy's been worried about him for at least two weeks now,' Sharon said. 'That's when Joe started to give him the cold shoulder.'

'Do you know--' Sydney hesitated. 'Has Andy mentioned someone named Polly?'

Sharon's eyes narrowed at her.

'Polly's a man, Arthur Pollard,' Sydney explained. All the while, she had a nagging feeling she ought to keep her mouth shut. But she had to find out if Joe's best friend knew something. 'Andy hasn't mentioned anything about Polly? He was killed last week.'

'No, Andy never talks about work at home. Besides, he wouldn't be on that case. He and Joe haven't worked on a case together in five years. You know that.'

'It's not Joe's case either,' Sydney said. 'Listen, Share, don't mention any of this to Andy. Please, forget I said anything. I'll talk to Joe, and--get to the bottom of this.'

But she didn't try talking to Joe.

Sydney felt she'd already crossed a line by asking Sharon about Arthur Pollard. She crossed another the next day when she went through Joe's desk drawers in his home office. Unlike her office in the basement, full of expensive video and audio equipment, Joe's second-floor study was more like another family room--with framed photos of them on the wall, a sofa, and a smaller TV set. The only thing official about his office was a display case full of his police awards from the City of Chicago and the computer monitor on his desk.

Sydney didn't find anything useful in his desk drawers except a stack of old birthday cards and love notes she'd given him, along with scores of postcards she'd sent him while on the road for Movers & Shakers. She got into his computer and checked his e-mails and recently deleted e-mails. But there was nothing about Arthur 'Polly' Pollard.

She kept checking the Tribune and Google for any news on the investigation into Arthur Pollard's murder, but came up with nothing. She re-read and re-read the March 15th Tribune article about the discovery of Polly's corpse. One sentence stuck with her:

Pollard, a part-time bartender at Anthony's Cha-Cha Lounge in Cicero, was well known to Chicago Police.

Anthony's was a cruddy corner saloon with cheap-looking faux-brick siding from the sixties. During the long drive to Cicero, Sydney prayed she wouldn't discover anything there that might incriminate her husband. As frustrated as she'd been by her fruitless search for clues in Joe's study, Sydney had also been relieved not to find anything.

They needed her to go to Atlanta to cover a possible Movers & Shakers story, but she'd lied and told them she was sick. She couldn't leave right now. If Joe had been involved in anything dishonest or shady, it could ruin the whole family. Both of their careers would be in shambles. She kept thinking he must have gotten into some awful trouble to have frozen her out--along with his best friend, Andy. For someone with a reputation for rescuing others, Joe never asked for help himself. In times of crisis, he often pushed away those closest to him. Sydney wondered if his reluctance to talk with her about this Polly business was because he was protecting someone else. That was so much like him, and she desperately hoped it was the case here.

Even with sunlight streaming through the front window--which had a filthy-looking grass-skirt-type valance--it was seedy and depressing inside Anthony's Cha-Cha Lounge. The interior design was a luau theme. But all of the tiki-style accents looked dusty and decrepit from the stuffed fish and barnacles in the nets on the walls to the fake plants and palm trees. Years of smoke and sun bleaching must have caused their plastic leaves to turn that ugly, light gray color.

Another grass valance hung over the bar, where a large, goateed man with a cigarette dangling out of his mouth poured drinks. He wore a Hawaiian shirt. Neil Diamond's 'Cracklin' Rosie' resonated on the jukebox; in the corner, two guys who looked like ex-bikers silently played a game of pool. A few people sat at the bar, and Sydney spotted a couple quietly talking in a booth.

She took a seat at the bar, away from the others, and ordered an Old Style light beer. As the bartender set the full pilsner glass in front of her, Sydney worked up a smile for him. 'Hey, I used to know a bartender here named Art Pollard. Polly? Do you know him? Does he still work here?'

A few barstools down, a forty-something woman with straight platinum-colored hair and black roots looked up from her drink. She wore jeans, a tube top, and a gauzy, see-through flower-patterned blouse--unbuttoned with the shirt-tails tied around her slightly bulging midriff. She stared at Sydney, and then a look passed between her and