“Well, if your furry slut would quit enticing him, it would help,” I say. “Besides I don’t think my dog is old enough to do anything yet.”
“Judging from the fact that his red rocket is out and looks ready to launch, I’d say you’re mistaken.”
I walk over and hook Hoover up to his leash, pulling him off Antoinette. Just as Helen said, Hoover’s winky- dink is primed and ready. As soon as I rein him in, Helen walks over and scoops the slut back into her arms.
“Thanks for the license number,” I tell her, dragging a humiliated Hoover toward my car.
“You’ll let me know if it leads to anything, won’t you?” Helen asks.
“Sure.”
Chapter 25
A few minutes later, I’m pulling into the police station parking lot. There’s no sign of Hurley’s car anywhere so I tell Hoover to stay and head inside with the slip of paper Helen gave me. The day dispatcher, Stephanie, greets me with a smile.
“Hi, Mattie. How are things?”
“They’re good. How are you doing?”
“Fine. I was sorry to hear about the fire. Is David okay?”
“He seems to be, yes. Thanks for asking.” Before she can pursue the topic of David, the fire, my old house, and my marriage, I add, “Listen, I wonder if you could do me a favor. I have a license plate number I’d like you to run for me.” I hand her the slip of paper and she studies it for a second.
“Illinois, eh?”
“Yep. You can still run it, can’t you?”
“I can. Just give me a sec.”
Steph starts typing info into the computer and as I’m waiting, the door behind her opens and Bob Richmond comes out. “Mattie! I was going to call you this morning to see if you wanted to go to the gym with me but when I heard about the fire, I figured I should wait.”
“It wouldn’t have mattered if you did call because I’ve temporarily misplaced my cell phone. Besides, considering that I feel like I smoked an entire carton of cigarettes last night, I’m thinking it might not be the best time to start an exercise program. And I have a couple of broken toes to deal with.” I stick my foot out and show him my Frankenstein shoe.
“Here you go,” Steph says, handing me a sheet of paper. I take it, fold it up, and stick it in my pocket, hoping Richmond won’t start asking questions. But there’s too much detective left in him.
“What’s that?” he asks, gesturing toward my pocket. “Who are you running?”
“It’s nothing,” I say, but I can tell from the way he narrows his eyes at me that I’ve only heightened his interest. “It’s just some asshole who tried to run me off the road yesterday when I was in Chicago. I want to call him up and give him a piece of my mind.”
Richmond frowns at this explanation, no doubt because it isn’t a legitimate use of the system. Then I see the scared look on Steph’s face, who is no doubt worrying if she’s about to get into trouble for helping me. “Look, Bob, I know it isn’t exactly kosher, but this guy was one of those rich assholes driving some big fancy Cadillac Escalade and acting like he owned the whole damned road.”
Bob looks sympathetic and mutters, “Assholes” under his breath. I’m about to breathe a sigh of relief when Steph says, “I think you’re out of luck anyway, because that plate is registered to a rental car company at O’Hare Airport.”
“Oh. Well, thanks anyway.”
“Listen,” Bob says, “if we go to the health club today, all they’ll do is an orientation. They show you how to work the machines and then they develop an exercise plan for you. It won’t be anything too strenuous and they have plenty of stuff you can do that won’t involve your foot. I’m sure they can take that into consideration.”
I’m starting to regret ever agreeing to Bob’s harebrained proposal and I’m about to beg off when the pathetic hangdog look on his face stops me. “Tell you what, Bob. I’ll make a deal with you. Have you pulled phone records for Callie Dunkirk yet?”
“Yeah,” he says, clearly confused about where I’m going with this. “For her cell phone, anyway. Her work phone is part of a main trunk line going into the building so there’s no way to know for sure what calls go where in that place.”
“I want to take a look at them. Let me have a peek now and I’ll go to the gym with you later.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m trying to learn about this investigative stuff and I figure you probably know more about it than anyone, given your years of experience.” I pray that a little flattery will help sway Richmond and keep him from questioning my motives too closely. And it appears to be working since he’s pursing his lips as if he’s considering my request. “I know it’s not my job to look at stuff like that, but it helps me get a better grasp of the overall picture. If you could go over it with me and explain how stuff like that works, and how it all ties together when you make a case, it would really help me. I want to learn from the best,” I say, laying it on thick.
Richmond considers my request for a few more seconds and then shrugs. “Sure, I don’t see what it will hurt. Come on.”
Steph buzzes me into the back and I follow Richmond into a large office that holds four desks. He walks over to one of them, flips through some files, and then says, “Here we go.” He pulls the phone company paperwork from a manila folder and hands it to me. I see a list of dates with corresponding phone numbers lining the pages. I immediately zero in on the date of Callie’s diary entry for the police corruption phone call and scan the numbers there.
“So how do you know who these numbers belong to?” I ask.
“We run them by the phone company if we see anything that looks interesting. For instance, we ran all the numbers that appear on the day she was killed and for a day or two before that.”
“And did you find anything useful?”
“Nah, it was all work-related stuff, or calls to her family.”
Most of the numbers I see appear more than once on the list and they are labeled with names of Callie’s coworkers, the TV station, and her family. When I look at the numbers for calls made or received on the day of the diary entry, they are all family or work-related calls. Then I notice something peculiar. “Why does this Ackerman guy have, what, at least three different phone numbers?”
Richmond rolls his eyes. “Apparently the guy has a cell for work and another one for his personal use that is unlisted. Plus he called her from his office phone a number of times. That’s this one here,” he says, pointing to an oft-repeated number.
I hand the papers back to Richmond. “Thanks, Bob. That was very helpful.” I turn and head back out front with him on my heels. When we reach the front desk Richmond says, “Want to go hit the gym now?”
“I can’t,” I say, and Richmond’s face turns momentarily angry. “I need to run by the hospital and check on David first, but I’ll meet you at the gym after that,” I add hastily. I glance at my watch and see it’s almost noon. “How about one o’clock?”
“One o’clock it is,” Richmond says looking appeased. “See you there.”
He waddles out the door, leaving me alone with Steph. “I’m sorry if I did anything that might get you in trouble,” I tell her.
She dismisses my apology with a wave of her hand. “It’s okay. I don’t think Richmond cares anyway. And speaking of Richmond, what’s this about a health club?”
“When I made the mistake of lecturing him on his weight, he begged me to go to the gym with him so he wouldn’t be the only fat person there.”
“You’re not fat,” Steph says. “You’re just a big girl . . . large boned.”
I shrug, knowing she’s being kind. Steph is a bit overweight herself and these types of shared euphemisms are the secret passwords for entry into the overweight women’s glee club. “I can use the exercise and Richmond can use the support,” I tell her. “Besides, I feel obligated to help him try. If he doesn’t do something, he’ll be dead soon.”
