The Defendants, page 20
She went again. “Is there anyone who just can’t sit on a capital murder case—meaning a case that might result in the death penalty?”
Thaddeus shot to his feet. “Objection, asked and answered.”
Judge Prelate nodded. “Counsel,” he said to Attorney Barre, “you’ve heard from the jury on the issue of willingness to convict on a capital case. Please move along.”
She tried again, but this time slightly different. “Now, everyone on the jury is in favor of capital punishment for this offense. Is there anyone on the jury, because of the nature of the offense, who feels like you might be a little bit biased or prejudiced, either consciously or unconsciously, because of the type or the nature of the offense involved? Is there anyone on the jury who feels that they would be in favor of a sentence other than death for homicide?”
A hand went up in back. “Ms. Henna?”
Great, thought Thaddeus, her again. Just please don’t get yourself kicked off for cause. He hoped and prayed she would remain on the jury. She was totally against the death penalty, and he knew that, and while it was enough to get her kicked off by the court itself, she hadn’t—so far—actually come right out and said she couldn’t vote guilty on a death case. Please don’t say anymore, he silently begged.
“I’ve thought it over some more,” Mathilde Henna said. “I could vote guilty on a death case.”
Gotcha! thought Thaddeus. Thank you!
“All right, thank you Ms. Henna. Anyone who feels like they might be in favor of a sentence other than death on a homicide case?”
Everyone looked at everyone else. No one else was going to bite. By now the jurors had grown more than a little curious, and more were interested in making it onto the jury to see what it was all about. Plus, it appeared to be an important case, and who knows? Maybe books would be written. Maybe even by one of them. Anymore, juries in the U.S. might as well have their own literary agents when they get selected to serve. They would need to be told about note taking and keeping notes separate from the books the court passed out for notes because those books were always collected and destroyed at the end of trials. It was important to know these things.
SAAG Barre plunged ahead, knowing Ermeline’s reputation in the community was spotless. “Would anyone consider, if you had the opportunity, evidence about this Defendant, either good or bad, other than that arising from the incident itself?”
“Objection,” said Thaddeus. “Overly broad. Too general.”
“Sustained.”
“Let me rephrase. If the Defendant’s reputation in the community was generally good and the defendant had no prior record, would that affect how you might vote on the case, even if the State proved guilt beyond a reasonable doubt?”
“Objection. Seeks to commit the jury to a certain vote. Improper.”
“Sustained. Counsel, please stay with standard voir dire.”
“There has been a good deal of local pretrial publicity about this. I know—my office has the clippings and we’ve seen the Channel 5 news reports. Do you remember facts from any of those stories that would affect your partiality? Or could you set aside those stories and pay attention only to the facts adduced here in court?”
“Objection. First, it’s multiple.”
“Sustained.”
“And second, it violates Mu’min versus Virginia. The Constitution does not require the court to allow counsel to question the jurors about the contents of pretrial publicity to which they were maybe exposed. The appropriate question is whether they have such fixed opinions they couldn’t be impartial, not what they remember about the news stories.” He was happy with his objection; he had done his homework and knew a little more about voir dire than he had realized when he first walked in this morning. Maybe … just maybe ….
“Sustained. Anything further, Miss Barre?”
She reviewed her notes—or at least appeared to review her notes. More than likely she was trying to hide her embarrassment from having asked several improper questions, Thaddeus thought to himself. More than likely she was trying to appear thoughtful and still in charge.
“Nothing further, Your Honor.”
“Very well. Ladies and gentlemen, we’re going to take our noon recess. Please be back and in your assigned seats at one o’clock sharp. Please remember the admonition the clerk has given you. Do not discuss the case with anyone, including with each other. Please refrain from all news accounts and TV stories about the case. If anyone approaches you and tries to discuss the case with you, please notify the court immediately. Thank you. You’re excused until 1 p.m.”
Thaddeus and Ermeline put their heads together for several minutes, and then Deputy Harshman took her back to the jail for lunch. Thaddeus hurried back over to his office. He had several ideas for voir dire that he wanted to map out for when it came his turn at one o’clock.
28
Georgiana Armentrout had a system. She considered herself the lighting director, just like the credits she saw roll by in the endless movies she watched every day on AMC. For every day, around noon, she would let herself into Ermeline’s deserted house and switch the lights around. One afternoon and night she would leave on the kitchen light and the laundry-room light. The next day she would leave on a living-room light and the bathroom light. Next day she would leave on the garage light—they shone through the panes in the garage door—and the porch light. She wanted to keep it mixed up to keep prowlers away.
And she always checked Ermeline’s voice mail as well. Following which she would bring in the snail mail. Everything went on the kitchen table: snail mail and a white stationary pad on which she kept the voice mail messages. Soon—she hoped it would be soon—Ermeline would return home and would really need everything organized. After all, that’s what good mothers did. And Georgiana Armentrout was the best—she had to be, given how she had prematurely taken away Ermeline’s father in the hunting accident. More than anything, now she always tried to make it up to her daughter.
She was deciding the afternoon/evening light show when the wall phone rang in the kitchen. She pushed her thoughts aside and picked up the receiver.
“Ermeline Ransom?” a male voice asked.
“This is her mother. How can I help you?”
“Is your daughter there?”
“She’s not, but she wants me to take her messages. Please tell me the nature of the call.”
“We recovered her credit card.”
Credit card? thought Georgiana. What was this about a credit card? A card of Ermeline’s? My goodness, what now, the poor thing.
“Her American Express card. We nabbed the person who was using it on Michigan Avenue.”
“Michigan Avenue? Where are you calling from?”
“Chicago. This is Officer Nick Forenzio, Chicago PD. We’ve just recovered your daughter’s American Express card from the woman who was using it to buy scanty clads at Macy’s. Store security actually nabbed her. We booked her on possession of a stolen credit card and theft by deception. Does your daughter wish to press charges?”
“My goodness, yes.” Then Georgiana had the thought of the year. “Would you give me your number where I can have her lawyer call you back?”
“Sure.” The police officer slowly recited his department cell phone number to Georgiana, whereupon she read it back and he told her she had taken it down correctly.
“Well thank you, officer—spell that name, please.”
“Nick—N-I-C-K. Forenzio—F-O-R-E-N-Z-I-O. Just have your lawyer call me. We’ll hold the card as evidence.”
“Goodness. I’ll make sure Mr. Murfee hears about this. And thank you.”
“Thank you, ma’am. Have a good day now.”
“Thank you again.”
Georgia sat down and drew a rectangle around the information—name and number—she had just received from the police officer. She darkened the rectangle and then drew an arrow at either end. Surely Ermeline wouldn’t miss this message when she got home, not with the box and the arrows.
On second thought, she decided she would call Thaddeus herself. He should probably know about this. It was probably part of his job to protect Ermeline’s credit cards. Yes, that was it. She would call him right now. She knew his number by heart and dialed it.
It was half-past when Christine buzzed Thaddeus and asked if he had a minute. He told her to come right in. “Need coffee?” he asked when she was seated. “I’m pouring.”
Christine shook her head. “Here’s what I just found out. Ermeline’s mother is out in my office. Seems Chicago PD has recovered a credit card belonging to her.”
Thaddeus was jolted upright. “What? For real?”
“Evidently. Wanna talk to her?”
“Get her right in here, please.”
Georgiana was escorted in and took a seat across from Thaddeus. Christine sat beside her, notepad poised.
The older woman searched through her purse until she found the message. It still had the officer’s name and number, surrounded by a heavy black rectangle, with arrows. She passed it over to Thaddeus. “Someone stole Ermie’s credit card.”
“This is incredible,” Thaddeus said. “When did you get this?”
“Yesterday. I wanted to come right up, but I called and you were in court.”
“Thanks for coming. We’ll look into this, Mrs. Armentrout.”
“Whatever you can do,” the woman said. “I know Ermie’ll appreciate the help.”
“Okay, and thanks for coming.”
Christine showed her back out and thanked her again. The older woman climbed downstairs and went east across to the jail. Might as well pop in on Ermeline and say hello as long as she was uptown.
When she was gone, Thaddeus and Christine locked eyes. “You thinking what I’m thinking?” he said.
“I am,” she said. “Somebody was in her purse. Probably Hector, the night he stayed over.”
“Exactly. And he stole her credit card.”
“Question: have you asked to see the inventory Sheriff Altiman made when he booked Ermeline in?”
“No, I haven’t. Never occurred to me.”
“Why don’t you go over and do that,” Christine said. “I think we might need to go to Chicago.”
“We?”
“You’re going to need me for this,” she said. “I’m going down home and pick up a few things. Ask the court for time to interview a new witness that has suddenly been located. Tell Judge Prelate you need to leave court by three o’clock. We can make it to Chicago and back yet today. Judge Prelate is going to be very disapproving, and the bitch is going to pitch a hissy. Just get it done. I’ll be back in one hour. We’ll talk then. Oh. Do you have any money, cash?”
“About fifteen hundred. I was saving it for rent.”
“Get it. Get it all. We’re going to need it.”
“What are we doing, Christine?” She was suddenly taking over. He wasn’t sure whether he liked this. But she was becoming more the person—the soldier—he had only been told about before. Her demeanor was changing right before his eyes, and she seemed very comfortable in the role of leader.
“We are going to Chicago. We are going to find whoever was using this card.”
“Oh,” he said slowly. “If we can find that person—”
“We can find Hector. And I—” she stood and saluted, right before his eyes, “I can make him talk.”
“You can?”
She looked askance at him. Her look said, Are you seriously questioning my talent? “I can,” she said. “Thaddeus, what did you think I was doing in Baghdad those two years?”
“I have no idea. You’re not allowed to tell.”
She smiled. “This much I can tell you: Everyone I was left alone to question, every prisoner, ended up spilling his guts. Fifteen minutes and they all were crying to confess.”
“Okay, you’re on. Let’s find this little bastard. I’ll keep this afternoon’s voir dire very general and just eat up a couple hours. Then—if the judge allows it—we can leave.”
29
Judge Prelate made an exception. He listened and heard how desperately Thaddeus needed to interview this new witness, the one that had just been located. SAAG Barre objected and all but cursed Thaddeus, but in the end the judge allowed the evening recess to begin at three o’clock. For the next two hours—one to three—Thaddeus conducted a rather cursory voir dire. He still wasn’t sure what his defense was going to be, so he didn’t try to get into specifics of the case with them—never mind that that wasn’t allowed anyway. Everyone tried it and he would be no different. Following the day’s recess, Thaddeus hurried straight over to the jail. Fifteen minutes later he was back at the office. Christine brought a workout bag into the office with her. “Parts and equipment,” she said. “We’re going to need some basic things. I’m ready to do my part. Now, what did you find out about the inventory?”
“I talked to Charlie. He showed me the inventory. They have her purse, but not her wallet. I talked to Ermeline. She always keeps her wallet in her purse. So somebody removed her wallet from her purse before they booked her into jail.”
“Hector.”
“That’s what I’m thinking.”
“Let’s go stick some gas in the Buick and head north. I texted Buddy. He’s good with the kids. They’ll be fine with him tonight.”
“I’ll drive. Let’s call the Chicago PD officer on the way. I’ll bet there’s more he can tell us.”
“We’re off.”
They gassed up, got coffee at a drive-thru, and headed north on I-55.
Three hours later they were in Chicago, headed west, driving to the rendezvous with Officer Forenzio, Chicago PD. On the phone while Thaddeus drove, Christine explained about Ermeline, about Victor, and generally what they were looking for. Officer Forenzio told her that he had the name and workplace address of the woman who had been using the Amex card. Rather than giving it out over the phone, he wanted to meet with them, see some ID, and then he would give them what they wanted.
They pulled into a Dave and Buster’s on the west side of the city. A police cruiser was already parked out front. It was just about 6 p.m. and blowing snow. The sun had been down for a couple hours already, and the lights from the adjacent freeway cast an orange tint into the sky.
Inside they found two police officers having coffee and pie at the first booth. Names were traded and Christine and Thaddeus joined them. Thaddeus opened his wallet and displayed his bar card. Officer Forenzio studied it, studied his driver’s license, and then nodded. “Okay, but let me tell you about this girl. She ain’t the one you’re looking for. I’ve run this girl in before, once for prostitution, once for possession of coke. She’s a good kid, but she’s gonna die if somebody don’t take over.”
“I can’t do that,” Thaddeus said.
“I know. I’m just saying. She might know the guy you’re looking for and she might not. Girls like this, guys are a constant blur to them. They’ll use any and everything that comes along. A stolen credit card beef is nothing to her.”
“We’ll find out what we can and back off.”
“She’s a good kid. I think she’ll honestly try to help if you tell her the whole story like you did me. Tell her about the mom and her kid, the one charged with murder. That’ll get her goin’.”
“Will do,” Thaddeus said. “Okay. I’m buying. Give me the check.”
“Nope, can’t let you do that. You catch this crap head and get him out of my city and we’re even. Sorry, Miss, I hate these guys.”
“Hey,” Christine said. “You say he’s a crap head, I can’t disagree.”
The cops smiled. Christine and Thaddeus went out to the black Buick.
“What do you say we hit the PuzzyKat Klub?”
She shook her head. “Nope. First we get a room. We’ll hit the club about nine tonight, after she’s dopey and feeling no pain.”
“Where do we get a room?”
“Something downtown. Downtown and cheap. Our defense budget is very limited.”
Thaddeus drove them back into the city. At Wacker Drive he took Madison east several blocks. “What about that?” he said, indicating a rundown-looking four-story hotel.
“Looks cheap enough. Let’s try it.”
Thaddeus put the room on his bank card and they checked in. Even for a run-down flophouse, the room charge was over $200 for the night. Some things never change, they knew, and Chicago wasn’t known for low-priced anything. Christine took her workout bag up on the moaning elevator. It was a metal room key, not one of the electronic room passes. Thaddeus let them in; Christine immediately flopped on the double nearest the window. She sat up and parted the drapes with her fingers. She peered outside. Another building was close enough to reach out and touch. “View’s not much,” she sighed. “But we’re not exactly here for the view.”
Thaddeus sat on his bed. “You hungry?” They hadn’t eaten since leaving Orbit. “I’m going downstairs and scout around, see what I can get us to eat.”
“Fair enough. I would like to stretch out and try a nap, but I’m afraid of bedbugs. I’ll take the easy chair and try to catch a few Zs.”
“See you in a few.”
He went downstairs and stood out on the sidewalk. The traffic was loud and zipping by, mostly yellow taxicabs and a few motorists who apparently hadn’t gotten the news that driving in Chicago was taking your life in your hands—much honking and tires squealing and sudden screeching stops. “Good to be in the city,” he muttered and headed west.
He returned with gyros, chips, and Cokes in cans. Christine had been lightly napping in the easy chair, but she was ravenous and they gulped down the sandwiches and two bags of chips. The Cokes washed everything down. Finally Thaddeus said he was going to try out his bed, but on top the spread. He lay down, shut his eyes, and was asleep in minutes. She looked over at him when she heard the light snoring and shook her head. “Pray this place ain’t buggy,” she said and closed her eyes.
She awoke him at 9:15. He had been dreaming about Ilene Crayton and the horse farm he would one day have with her. Christine’s hand on his shoulder, shaking, abruptly ended his glory and brought him back to reality. Night—he could see it through the crack in the curtains. Night in Chicago, fleabag hotel, with Christine Susmann looking down at him. Work to do.
Thaddeus shot to his feet. “Objection, asked and answered.”
Judge Prelate nodded. “Counsel,” he said to Attorney Barre, “you’ve heard from the jury on the issue of willingness to convict on a capital case. Please move along.”
She tried again, but this time slightly different. “Now, everyone on the jury is in favor of capital punishment for this offense. Is there anyone on the jury, because of the nature of the offense, who feels like you might be a little bit biased or prejudiced, either consciously or unconsciously, because of the type or the nature of the offense involved? Is there anyone on the jury who feels that they would be in favor of a sentence other than death for homicide?”
A hand went up in back. “Ms. Henna?”
Great, thought Thaddeus, her again. Just please don’t get yourself kicked off for cause. He hoped and prayed she would remain on the jury. She was totally against the death penalty, and he knew that, and while it was enough to get her kicked off by the court itself, she hadn’t—so far—actually come right out and said she couldn’t vote guilty on a death case. Please don’t say anymore, he silently begged.
“I’ve thought it over some more,” Mathilde Henna said. “I could vote guilty on a death case.”
Gotcha! thought Thaddeus. Thank you!
“All right, thank you Ms. Henna. Anyone who feels like they might be in favor of a sentence other than death on a homicide case?”
Everyone looked at everyone else. No one else was going to bite. By now the jurors had grown more than a little curious, and more were interested in making it onto the jury to see what it was all about. Plus, it appeared to be an important case, and who knows? Maybe books would be written. Maybe even by one of them. Anymore, juries in the U.S. might as well have their own literary agents when they get selected to serve. They would need to be told about note taking and keeping notes separate from the books the court passed out for notes because those books were always collected and destroyed at the end of trials. It was important to know these things.
SAAG Barre plunged ahead, knowing Ermeline’s reputation in the community was spotless. “Would anyone consider, if you had the opportunity, evidence about this Defendant, either good or bad, other than that arising from the incident itself?”
“Objection,” said Thaddeus. “Overly broad. Too general.”
“Sustained.”
“Let me rephrase. If the Defendant’s reputation in the community was generally good and the defendant had no prior record, would that affect how you might vote on the case, even if the State proved guilt beyond a reasonable doubt?”
“Objection. Seeks to commit the jury to a certain vote. Improper.”
“Sustained. Counsel, please stay with standard voir dire.”
“There has been a good deal of local pretrial publicity about this. I know—my office has the clippings and we’ve seen the Channel 5 news reports. Do you remember facts from any of those stories that would affect your partiality? Or could you set aside those stories and pay attention only to the facts adduced here in court?”
“Objection. First, it’s multiple.”
“Sustained.”
“And second, it violates Mu’min versus Virginia. The Constitution does not require the court to allow counsel to question the jurors about the contents of pretrial publicity to which they were maybe exposed. The appropriate question is whether they have such fixed opinions they couldn’t be impartial, not what they remember about the news stories.” He was happy with his objection; he had done his homework and knew a little more about voir dire than he had realized when he first walked in this morning. Maybe … just maybe ….
“Sustained. Anything further, Miss Barre?”
She reviewed her notes—or at least appeared to review her notes. More than likely she was trying to hide her embarrassment from having asked several improper questions, Thaddeus thought to himself. More than likely she was trying to appear thoughtful and still in charge.
“Nothing further, Your Honor.”
“Very well. Ladies and gentlemen, we’re going to take our noon recess. Please be back and in your assigned seats at one o’clock sharp. Please remember the admonition the clerk has given you. Do not discuss the case with anyone, including with each other. Please refrain from all news accounts and TV stories about the case. If anyone approaches you and tries to discuss the case with you, please notify the court immediately. Thank you. You’re excused until 1 p.m.”
Thaddeus and Ermeline put their heads together for several minutes, and then Deputy Harshman took her back to the jail for lunch. Thaddeus hurried back over to his office. He had several ideas for voir dire that he wanted to map out for when it came his turn at one o’clock.
28
Georgiana Armentrout had a system. She considered herself the lighting director, just like the credits she saw roll by in the endless movies she watched every day on AMC. For every day, around noon, she would let herself into Ermeline’s deserted house and switch the lights around. One afternoon and night she would leave on the kitchen light and the laundry-room light. The next day she would leave on a living-room light and the bathroom light. Next day she would leave on the garage light—they shone through the panes in the garage door—and the porch light. She wanted to keep it mixed up to keep prowlers away.
And she always checked Ermeline’s voice mail as well. Following which she would bring in the snail mail. Everything went on the kitchen table: snail mail and a white stationary pad on which she kept the voice mail messages. Soon—she hoped it would be soon—Ermeline would return home and would really need everything organized. After all, that’s what good mothers did. And Georgiana Armentrout was the best—she had to be, given how she had prematurely taken away Ermeline’s father in the hunting accident. More than anything, now she always tried to make it up to her daughter.
She was deciding the afternoon/evening light show when the wall phone rang in the kitchen. She pushed her thoughts aside and picked up the receiver.
“Ermeline Ransom?” a male voice asked.
“This is her mother. How can I help you?”
“Is your daughter there?”
“She’s not, but she wants me to take her messages. Please tell me the nature of the call.”
“We recovered her credit card.”
Credit card? thought Georgiana. What was this about a credit card? A card of Ermeline’s? My goodness, what now, the poor thing.
“Her American Express card. We nabbed the person who was using it on Michigan Avenue.”
“Michigan Avenue? Where are you calling from?”
“Chicago. This is Officer Nick Forenzio, Chicago PD. We’ve just recovered your daughter’s American Express card from the woman who was using it to buy scanty clads at Macy’s. Store security actually nabbed her. We booked her on possession of a stolen credit card and theft by deception. Does your daughter wish to press charges?”
“My goodness, yes.” Then Georgiana had the thought of the year. “Would you give me your number where I can have her lawyer call you back?”
“Sure.” The police officer slowly recited his department cell phone number to Georgiana, whereupon she read it back and he told her she had taken it down correctly.
“Well thank you, officer—spell that name, please.”
“Nick—N-I-C-K. Forenzio—F-O-R-E-N-Z-I-O. Just have your lawyer call me. We’ll hold the card as evidence.”
“Goodness. I’ll make sure Mr. Murfee hears about this. And thank you.”
“Thank you, ma’am. Have a good day now.”
“Thank you again.”
Georgia sat down and drew a rectangle around the information—name and number—she had just received from the police officer. She darkened the rectangle and then drew an arrow at either end. Surely Ermeline wouldn’t miss this message when she got home, not with the box and the arrows.
On second thought, she decided she would call Thaddeus herself. He should probably know about this. It was probably part of his job to protect Ermeline’s credit cards. Yes, that was it. She would call him right now. She knew his number by heart and dialed it.
It was half-past when Christine buzzed Thaddeus and asked if he had a minute. He told her to come right in. “Need coffee?” he asked when she was seated. “I’m pouring.”
Christine shook her head. “Here’s what I just found out. Ermeline’s mother is out in my office. Seems Chicago PD has recovered a credit card belonging to her.”
Thaddeus was jolted upright. “What? For real?”
“Evidently. Wanna talk to her?”
“Get her right in here, please.”
Georgiana was escorted in and took a seat across from Thaddeus. Christine sat beside her, notepad poised.
The older woman searched through her purse until she found the message. It still had the officer’s name and number, surrounded by a heavy black rectangle, with arrows. She passed it over to Thaddeus. “Someone stole Ermie’s credit card.”
“This is incredible,” Thaddeus said. “When did you get this?”
“Yesterday. I wanted to come right up, but I called and you were in court.”
“Thanks for coming. We’ll look into this, Mrs. Armentrout.”
“Whatever you can do,” the woman said. “I know Ermie’ll appreciate the help.”
“Okay, and thanks for coming.”
Christine showed her back out and thanked her again. The older woman climbed downstairs and went east across to the jail. Might as well pop in on Ermeline and say hello as long as she was uptown.
When she was gone, Thaddeus and Christine locked eyes. “You thinking what I’m thinking?” he said.
“I am,” she said. “Somebody was in her purse. Probably Hector, the night he stayed over.”
“Exactly. And he stole her credit card.”
“Question: have you asked to see the inventory Sheriff Altiman made when he booked Ermeline in?”
“No, I haven’t. Never occurred to me.”
“Why don’t you go over and do that,” Christine said. “I think we might need to go to Chicago.”
“We?”
“You’re going to need me for this,” she said. “I’m going down home and pick up a few things. Ask the court for time to interview a new witness that has suddenly been located. Tell Judge Prelate you need to leave court by three o’clock. We can make it to Chicago and back yet today. Judge Prelate is going to be very disapproving, and the bitch is going to pitch a hissy. Just get it done. I’ll be back in one hour. We’ll talk then. Oh. Do you have any money, cash?”
“About fifteen hundred. I was saving it for rent.”
“Get it. Get it all. We’re going to need it.”
“What are we doing, Christine?” She was suddenly taking over. He wasn’t sure whether he liked this. But she was becoming more the person—the soldier—he had only been told about before. Her demeanor was changing right before his eyes, and she seemed very comfortable in the role of leader.
“We are going to Chicago. We are going to find whoever was using this card.”
“Oh,” he said slowly. “If we can find that person—”
“We can find Hector. And I—” she stood and saluted, right before his eyes, “I can make him talk.”
“You can?”
She looked askance at him. Her look said, Are you seriously questioning my talent? “I can,” she said. “Thaddeus, what did you think I was doing in Baghdad those two years?”
“I have no idea. You’re not allowed to tell.”
She smiled. “This much I can tell you: Everyone I was left alone to question, every prisoner, ended up spilling his guts. Fifteen minutes and they all were crying to confess.”
“Okay, you’re on. Let’s find this little bastard. I’ll keep this afternoon’s voir dire very general and just eat up a couple hours. Then—if the judge allows it—we can leave.”
29
Judge Prelate made an exception. He listened and heard how desperately Thaddeus needed to interview this new witness, the one that had just been located. SAAG Barre objected and all but cursed Thaddeus, but in the end the judge allowed the evening recess to begin at three o’clock. For the next two hours—one to three—Thaddeus conducted a rather cursory voir dire. He still wasn’t sure what his defense was going to be, so he didn’t try to get into specifics of the case with them—never mind that that wasn’t allowed anyway. Everyone tried it and he would be no different. Following the day’s recess, Thaddeus hurried straight over to the jail. Fifteen minutes later he was back at the office. Christine brought a workout bag into the office with her. “Parts and equipment,” she said. “We’re going to need some basic things. I’m ready to do my part. Now, what did you find out about the inventory?”
“I talked to Charlie. He showed me the inventory. They have her purse, but not her wallet. I talked to Ermeline. She always keeps her wallet in her purse. So somebody removed her wallet from her purse before they booked her into jail.”
“Hector.”
“That’s what I’m thinking.”
“Let’s go stick some gas in the Buick and head north. I texted Buddy. He’s good with the kids. They’ll be fine with him tonight.”
“I’ll drive. Let’s call the Chicago PD officer on the way. I’ll bet there’s more he can tell us.”
“We’re off.”
They gassed up, got coffee at a drive-thru, and headed north on I-55.
Three hours later they were in Chicago, headed west, driving to the rendezvous with Officer Forenzio, Chicago PD. On the phone while Thaddeus drove, Christine explained about Ermeline, about Victor, and generally what they were looking for. Officer Forenzio told her that he had the name and workplace address of the woman who had been using the Amex card. Rather than giving it out over the phone, he wanted to meet with them, see some ID, and then he would give them what they wanted.
They pulled into a Dave and Buster’s on the west side of the city. A police cruiser was already parked out front. It was just about 6 p.m. and blowing snow. The sun had been down for a couple hours already, and the lights from the adjacent freeway cast an orange tint into the sky.
Inside they found two police officers having coffee and pie at the first booth. Names were traded and Christine and Thaddeus joined them. Thaddeus opened his wallet and displayed his bar card. Officer Forenzio studied it, studied his driver’s license, and then nodded. “Okay, but let me tell you about this girl. She ain’t the one you’re looking for. I’ve run this girl in before, once for prostitution, once for possession of coke. She’s a good kid, but she’s gonna die if somebody don’t take over.”
“I can’t do that,” Thaddeus said.
“I know. I’m just saying. She might know the guy you’re looking for and she might not. Girls like this, guys are a constant blur to them. They’ll use any and everything that comes along. A stolen credit card beef is nothing to her.”
“We’ll find out what we can and back off.”
“She’s a good kid. I think she’ll honestly try to help if you tell her the whole story like you did me. Tell her about the mom and her kid, the one charged with murder. That’ll get her goin’.”
“Will do,” Thaddeus said. “Okay. I’m buying. Give me the check.”
“Nope, can’t let you do that. You catch this crap head and get him out of my city and we’re even. Sorry, Miss, I hate these guys.”
“Hey,” Christine said. “You say he’s a crap head, I can’t disagree.”
The cops smiled. Christine and Thaddeus went out to the black Buick.
“What do you say we hit the PuzzyKat Klub?”
She shook her head. “Nope. First we get a room. We’ll hit the club about nine tonight, after she’s dopey and feeling no pain.”
“Where do we get a room?”
“Something downtown. Downtown and cheap. Our defense budget is very limited.”
Thaddeus drove them back into the city. At Wacker Drive he took Madison east several blocks. “What about that?” he said, indicating a rundown-looking four-story hotel.
“Looks cheap enough. Let’s try it.”
Thaddeus put the room on his bank card and they checked in. Even for a run-down flophouse, the room charge was over $200 for the night. Some things never change, they knew, and Chicago wasn’t known for low-priced anything. Christine took her workout bag up on the moaning elevator. It was a metal room key, not one of the electronic room passes. Thaddeus let them in; Christine immediately flopped on the double nearest the window. She sat up and parted the drapes with her fingers. She peered outside. Another building was close enough to reach out and touch. “View’s not much,” she sighed. “But we’re not exactly here for the view.”
Thaddeus sat on his bed. “You hungry?” They hadn’t eaten since leaving Orbit. “I’m going downstairs and scout around, see what I can get us to eat.”
“Fair enough. I would like to stretch out and try a nap, but I’m afraid of bedbugs. I’ll take the easy chair and try to catch a few Zs.”
“See you in a few.”
He went downstairs and stood out on the sidewalk. The traffic was loud and zipping by, mostly yellow taxicabs and a few motorists who apparently hadn’t gotten the news that driving in Chicago was taking your life in your hands—much honking and tires squealing and sudden screeching stops. “Good to be in the city,” he muttered and headed west.
He returned with gyros, chips, and Cokes in cans. Christine had been lightly napping in the easy chair, but she was ravenous and they gulped down the sandwiches and two bags of chips. The Cokes washed everything down. Finally Thaddeus said he was going to try out his bed, but on top the spread. He lay down, shut his eyes, and was asleep in minutes. She looked over at him when she heard the light snoring and shook her head. “Pray this place ain’t buggy,” she said and closed her eyes.
She awoke him at 9:15. He had been dreaming about Ilene Crayton and the horse farm he would one day have with her. Christine’s hand on his shoulder, shaking, abruptly ended his glory and brought him back to reality. Night—he could see it through the crack in the curtains. Night in Chicago, fleabag hotel, with Christine Susmann looking down at him. Work to do.
