“So, this is what success looks like,” I said.
“Depends on your definition of success,” he said, taking a sip of his cocktail. “But from where I sit, this is pretty damn good.”
“Amen to that,” I said. “You ever just find yourself in the middle of the day, looking over the skyline, just counting how many buildings you’ve collected?”
Gerrigan took another generous pull of his drink, squinting slightly as he surveyed the city landscape. “I avoid looking at it in those terms,” he finally said. “Trying to keep score like that can be a distraction from the real work.”
“Which is?”
“Transformation. Growth. Service.”
“Ah, of course,” I said, as if I understood what he meant.
I looked at the snarled traffic below, inching its way along Wacker, then farther west to the expressway, where a line of trucks had come to a complete stop.
“It must be a long commute to get here every day all the way from the North Shore,” I said.
“I’m in very early; I leave early,” he said. “Helps me beat the traffic when the weather is cooperating. But this is Chicago, and like many other things in this city, traffic patterns can be quite unpredictable.”
“But in a pinch, there’s always the good old helicopter, I guess.”
“You say that with a tone of disapproval,” he said.
“Not at all,” I replied. “‘To the victor belong the spoils.’”
“Andrew Jackson,” he said.
“Actually, it was William Learned Marcy, former governor and US senator from New York. But who’s keeping score?”
Gerrigan nodded his approval.
I looked around his spacious office. The wall opposite the window had been decorated with the heads of large game conquered on safari. In between the requisite photographs of the hard-hat-and-shovel groundbreakings, Oval Office photo ops with US presidents, and fundraisers with stiff senators, there were family photographs scattered through the years. It was immediately obvious the Gerrigan genes ran strong. I already knew Connor looked like his sister, but so did the much older brother, who lived with his own family in Seattle. Thick blond hair, strong jawline, and not an ounce of fat to be pinched on anyone. Tinsley stood on one side of her father, while her mother stood on the other. There wasn’t one picture where she and her mother stood next to each other.
“So, what can I do for you, Mr. Cayne?” he said.
“Just trying to help find your daughter,” I said.
“You say that as if something has happened to her,” he replied.
“Your wife definitely thinks so.”
“Violet has always been a little sensitive when it comes to Tinsley.”
“Sensitive how?”
“She’s her only daughter. She wants what’s best for her.”
“Does Tinsley see it that way?”
“Probably not all the time, but I think she gets the overall intention. Violet tends to be a worrier. It’s her natural disposition.”
“If your daughter’s not lost, then where do you think she might be? No offense, but you don’t seem overly concerned.”
Gerrigan smiled expansively. “This is a big world, Mr. Cayne. Tinsley is an explorer at heart. Not to sound cavalier, but she could be anywhere.”
“And you’re not concerned that no one has heard from her in almost a week?”
“Not in the least. This isn’t the first time she’s decided to strike out on her own. She’s a very independent girl, even stubborn at times. I can’t blame her for it. She gets it honestly. I myself was a handful growing up. Tinsley is strong and smart. It’s in her genes. She can take care of herself.”
“So, you think I’m wasting my time.”
“Your words, not mine.”
“Your wife doesn’t think so.”
“Then maybe your real purpose is not to find Tins, but to make Violet feel better.”
“Does she need to feel better?”
“Don’t we all?”
“How well do you know your daughter?”
“I guess as well as any father could know a twenty-five-year-old young woman. She can be complicated. She can be sweet. She can be disagreeable. But I love her unconditionally.”
“Disagreeable?”
“Like I said before, Tinsley has a strong will. She makes her own decisions. Some of which I don’t agree with.”
“Like her romantic choices?”
“She’s made better decisions.”
“Care to expound?”
Gerrigan tilted his head slightly and gave me that master-of-the-universe smile. Then he said, “I think you understand what I mean.”
“I really don’t.”
“I’ve never met him before, but from what I’ve been told, he isn’t exactly what I had in mind for our daughter. And it’s not because he’s black. I don’t care about that shit.”
“So, what is it?”
“His background for starters. I know all about his uncle and his line of business.”
“But the kid doesn’t have anything to do with that.”
“He’s close enough. That kind of lifestyle has a way of sucking you in without you even realizing it. It’s insidious.”
“Does your wife know about him?”
“She knows. But not much more than I do. She’s not doing cartwheels either. We are being tolerant for the sake of peace.”
I stood to leave. “Times are different,” I said. “Differences for this generation are more of an attraction than a taboo.”
“Do you have any children yet, Mr. Cayne?”
“Only if you count a three-year-old rust-colored cockapoo.”
“Well, let me tell you. Every father wants someone he thinks will do the best by his daughter. In my book, Chopper is not the best Tinsley can do.”
12
IT WAS ONE OF those perfect fall nights when the wind was gentle but warm, and the clouds stayed away so that you could see the stars in all their sparkling glory. Couples pushed babies in strollers, and young toughs with slim, muscled physiques and a collage of tattoos walked their equally muscled dogs on heavy chains. I had finished my daily update with Violet Gerrigan and had been sitting outside of Stanton’s
