I had to stop myself from laughing at the thought of Chopper McNair and Randolph Gerrigan sharing pleasantries over tea and cucumber sandwiches.
“You ever hear of a Dr. Patel?” I asked.
“Her shrink.”
“Why does she need a shrink?”
“Lots of people need ’em,” Chopper said. “People with money do a good job of making things look perfect on the outside, but on the inside, they’re really fucked up.”
“And what was fucking up Tinsley?” I asked. “Present company excluded, of course.”
Chopper shook his head in disapproval of my little joke. “She and her mother have real issues,” he said.
“Such as?”
“It’s simple. Her mother’s too possessive. Treats her like she’s still a kid. Tinsley likes to be independent, make her own decisions.”
I shrugged. “It’s her only daughter,” I said. “I’d think most mothers would have good reason to be possessive. Even more so when you have a daughter as good looking as Tinsley.”
“Yeah, but she’s to the extreme, man,” Chopper said. “She pretends like she wants Butterfly to become her own person and be independent, but then she does things to show that she’s still in control.”
“Things?”
“She messes with her money so that sometimes she has to go to her to buy things. Or she blocks her credit cards if they get into an argument over something. Stupid shit like that. She can’t control Butterfly other ways, so she does it with money.”
I nodded. “The money yo-yo trick,” I said. I wondered if Violet had been entirely honest about the $2 million trust Tinsley had just received. She’d led me to believe it was solely under Tinsley’s control. Maybe that wasn’t the case.
We sat silent for a minute. Chopper was taking in my lake view. I could see his face softening.
“Was the shrink shrinking her problems?” I asked.
“Butterfly didn’t talk about that much, but she did say she was starting to understand her mother and what was behind all the problems they had. She said she was learning how to forgive her for the way she treats her.”
“Why would Tinsley be talking to Zachary Russell from the Chicago Bulls?” I asked.
“Because they’re friends.”
“Nothing more than that?”
“They went out a couple of times when he got traded here a while ago,” Chopper said. “Nothing happened. Now they’re friends. He’s cool people. We’ve hung out a few times. He’s gotten us tickets before. No big deal.”
He had no reason to lie about something that could easily be verified. I leaned forward in my chair and looked directly into his eyes. “Do you know where she is, Chopper?” I asked.
“No idea,” he said, shrugging.
I believed him.
“When’s the last time you heard from her?”
“Five days ago.”
He’d been counting. That put another mark in his innocent column. “Did she say she was going anywhere?”
“She was spending the night at Hunter’s house. I texted her that night and told her to give me a call when she got up if she wanted to grab breakfast.”
“Did she call?”
“Nope, and she didn’t respond to my text. But I figured she slept in late. I gave her a call around lunchtime, but her phone went straight to voice mail. I called her later that afternoon. Went straight to voice mail again. I thought that was strange. She must’ve turned her phone off, but she never turns it off unless she’s flying or the battery’s dead. So, I called Hunter. Hunter said she never came over to her house, and she hadn’t heard from her since their last phone call.”
“What do you think about Hunter?”
“She’s Butterfly’s best friend.”
“What’s she like?”
“Very protective of Butterfly. Real tough. She don’t take a lotta shit from people. She’s rich, too, but she don’t act like it.”
“So, where do you think Tinsley might be?” I asked.
“I have no idea,” Chopper said. “Butterfly sometimes goes off on her own for a couple of days or a weekend and takes some time to herself. She’s like that. But even this is a long time for her.”
“You think she’s hurt?”
Chopper looked down and shook his head. “Butterfly can handle herself,” he said. “She’s a tough girl.” He paused abruptly. I could see his eyes getting wet. “I know she’ll be home soon.”
“Why are you so sure?”
“Because we made plans on spending our lives together.”
“As in getting married?”
Chopper’s face opened up into a wide, knowing smile. “Butterfly is definitely the one,” he said. “That girl has my heart.”
11
THE GERRIGAN REAL ESTATE Corp. occupied the top ten floors of 333 West Wacker, a sweeping arc of blue-green glass facing the Chicago River and grandly reflecting the passing boats and skyscrapers on the opposite bank. It was intentionally built to bend along the curve of the river, its surface seeming to change as the sun and clouds shifted patterns, transforming the building’s appearance throughout the day. Not the tallest or most expensive structure piercing the skyline, but it remained impressive and a favorite sighting on the Chicago Architecture Boat Tour.
Not surprisingly, Randolph Gerrigan’s office sat in the northeast wing of the top floor with audacious views of downtown to the north and the lake to the east. He had allotted me fifteen minutes of his time, and that was only because his wife was becoming, in his words, “slightly hysterical” about their missing daughter. His secretary promptly led me to his inner sanctum, then closed the door. Chopper’s revelation that Violet controlled her daughter through finances, and Violet’s admission that Tinsley was close to her father, made me very interested in how Gerrigan viewed the entire matter.
“Can I get you something to drink?” he asked, standing up from his enormous glass-and-chrome desk and walking across the thick carpet to a bar set up along the wall. He was a fit man, nattily dressed in gabardine wool trousers, blue houndstooth-patterned shirt, and navy tie. A gold Rolex peeked from underneath his french cuff.
“Nothing for me,” I said, waving him off. “It’s a little too early.”
Gerrigan poured himself
