Frozen Stiff

fronts appear to be the same size, the top drawer is much shallower than the bottom one. Curious, I go back to the top drawer and poke around inside it, pushing on its bottom. When that yields no results, I take the entire drawer out and flip it upside down on the bed, letting its contents spill out.

The wood panel that serves as the drawer’s bottom is set into grooves along the front and sides of the drawer, but the back panel has no grooves and is shorter than the others, allowing the entire bottom piece to slide out. I do so and hit the jackpot. Hiding inside this secret space is Callie Dunkirk’s diary.

Chapter 19

I start to holler to Hurley about my find but something holds me back. A quick scan of the diary’s contents shows dates going back nearly two years and a last entry from just four days ago. After half a minute of self-debate, I decide to hold off until I have a chance to look through the book myself. For one thing, I’m dying to know what’s in it and I’m not sure I can count on Hurley to share once he has his hands on it. For another, if there is anything in the diary related to Hurley, he might try to destroy it. I stuff the book inside the waist of my pants and pull my sweater down over it to hide it. Then I quickly reassemble the drawer, put the contents back, and replace it in the stand. I walk over to the bedroom door and look out into the main room to see what Hurley is up to. He is still seated at the desk going through files.

I do a quick search under Callie’s bed and through her dresser drawers and closet. I get excited when I find a couple of storage boxes, but all they yield are story clippings from her newspaper days, some old tax returns, and a bunch of manila envelopes filled with business-related receipts.

Next I head into the bathroom, which is spotless. I do a quick survey of the medicine cabinet, vanity drawers, and towel closet, all of which have that slightly out-of-kilter look like the rest of the house, but I find nothing of interest.

Next I do a cursory inspection of Jake’s room for the sake of being thorough. I don’t find anything of significance, but the dresser drawers filled with little boy clothing give me pause. The sight of tiny OshKosh overalls, little button-down shirts, and baseball-themed pajamas triggers a painful lump in my throat, rousing some dormant maternal instinct within me.

I head back out to the main part of the apartment and find Hurley sorting through the kitchen drawers and cabinets. He is making no effort to be subtle in his search, stirring things around, tossing stuff aside, and banging doors and drawers closed when he’s done.

“Shouldn’t you try to be quieter?” I say to him. “We don’t want to attract attention.”

He whirls on me, looking angry, frustrated, and ready to tell me to mind my own business. But before any words leave his mouth, his expression saddens and his shoulders slump. In an instant the no-nonsense, tough-as- nails cop I know is gone and Hurley becomes the epitomic image of a man defeated.

“There’s nothing,” he says miserably, raking his fingers through his hair. “Not a frigging clue of any kind.”

“Did she keep a date book of any sort?”

“If she did, it’s not here,” Hurley says. “She might have had one at work.”

I glance over at the desk where some disconnected wires are snaking along the surface. “Did she have a computer?”

Hurley nods. “She had a laptop, but I suspect the local cops confiscated it as evidence.”

“What about a file for important papers, you know, things like her passport, or a birth certificate?”

Hurley starts to shake his head but then he stops and his face lights up. “Of course!” he says, snapping his fingers. “How could I have forgotten?” He pushes past me and heads into Callie’s bedroom. I follow and find him standing in front of the bookcase scanning the titles on the shelves. When he gets to the bottommost shelf, he squats, pulls out a fat book with War and Peace running down the spine, and says, “Here we go.”

As soon as he opens the cover I see that the book is just a facade. Inside is a small metal storage box. Hurley opens it, revealing a stack of papers. I stand and watch over his shoulder as he sorts through them and hold my breath when he comes across a birth certificate for Jake.

Callie’s name is typed in the slot for the mother’s name but where the father’s name should be, all it says is “Unknown.”

“Damn it!” Hurley says, tossing the certificate back into the box.

I place a hand on his shoulder and squeeze gently. “Maybe we can find out something by talking to her family,” I suggest.

Hurley closes the box and the book cover, and puts it back on the bookcase shelf. “They won’t know anything. Callie was a very private person. Plus, she didn’t always get along that well with her mother and sister, so I’m pretty sure she didn’t share much with them about her life, particularly something as significant as this.” He sighs and stands, letting my hand fall from its spot. “I think we’ve discovered all we’re going to here. Let’s go.”

I follow him out of the apartment and back to the car in silence, managing to slip Callie’s diary into my purse along the way. There is a lonely sadness about Hurley—the slump of his shoulders, his shuffling walk, his hangdog expression—that touches me. I want to say something to him, to somehow reassure him, but I have no answers, no clever bon mot that will make it all better.

When we get into the car, I break the silence to tread into dangerous territory. “Did you know Mike Ackerman at all when you were dating Callie?”

“I knew of him. Hard not to if you live in the Chicago area. He’s married to one of the richest women in the country, a pharmaceutical heiress. He’s always been a mover and a shaker. I know Callie was pretty excited when he expressed an interest in her work and she hoped he might bring her over to Behind the Scenes. She got her wish, but by the time it happened she had already broken things off with me. Why do you ask?”

I shrug. “I don’t know. There’s something about him that bugs me.”

“How so?”

“He’s a little too good-looking.”

Hurley shoots me a sidelong glance. “And that’s a bad thing?” he asks, his voice rife with skepticism.

“Well, not in and of itself, but I get the feeling this Ackerman guy uses his looks. He exudes sex appeal like some gold-digging woman, and it’s clear that the women he works with are blinded by it.”

“But you weren’t?”

I shrug and smile. “I have to admit, he’s not hard on the eyes. But he came across as a little too slick for me.” Hurley nods, but says nothing. “Don’t you think the timing with him, you, and Callie is more than a little coincidental?”

Hurley’s brow furrows. “What do you mean?”

“I mean you and Callie seemed to be doing fine and then all of a sudden Ackerman appears. Then Callie inexplicably dumps you, ends up pregnant, and the next thing you know, she has her dream job.”

“Are you implying she slept her way into it?”

Hurley’s face is a mass of thunderclouds so I choose my next words carefully. “Not exactly, but what if she fell for Ackerman’s considerable charms in a weak moment, and then found herself pregnant? Ackerman is married. Maybe he offered her the job on Behind the Scenes as some sort of hush money.”

Hurley’s expression goes through a kaleidoscope of change: defensiveness, anger, thoughtfulness, denial, and then sadness.

“Maybe she broke up with you out of guilt,” I go on, “because she was too embarrassed, or too ashamed to admit she strayed. And then later she realized she’d made a mistake, and that it was you she really loved.”

With that Hurley looks so wounded, I want to lean over and hug him. Instead I try to appeal to his investigative instincts. “If you had the love of the woman he wanted, the woman who bore his child, it might have made Ackerman mad enough to want to get revenge on you. He strikes me as having the kind of massive ego that would fit that profile. And if he does, he might have killed Callie to shut her up and then framed you for it so he could exact his revenge on his chief competition.”

Hurley ponders the idea for a minute, and then shakes his head. “I don’t know. Maybe. Let me think about