Private Lies Page 17

  The two women stared out at the lake in silence for several minutes. It wasn’t until two voices called out that they turned back toward the house.

  “Hey, Syd.” It was Gail, one of the hostesses from Hush Money. “Sabrina and I are here. Where do you want the food?”

  Chapter 32

  “You’re sticking your neck out here, kiddo.” Horst took the thumb drive Jillian Kohler offered him. “As long as I’m on suspension, I’m persona non grata to anyone on the force.”

  Jillian ruffled the hair on Jocko’s neck. “As far as anyone knows, I’m here checking up on Rick.” She turned to where he sat on his sofa. “How you doing, by the way?”

  Rick shrugged. He didn’t want to reveal the irritation he’d had when Horst told him that, despite his warnings, Horst had made a request of Jillian. “The old saying works: Every day in every way, I’m getting better and better. That’s what I tell myself at least. What’s the word at the station about Horst?”

  Jillian gave Horst a don’t-shoot-the-messenger look. “Folks know about the missing cash. They know Horst is on leave.”

  “Paid leave,” Horst clarified.

  “They’re putting two and two together,” she said. “Most people aren’t talking about it. Those that are, know he wouldn’t do anything like that.”

  “You have any trouble getting this?” Horst held up the thumb drive.

  “Wasn’t that tough. I’m making it look like I got so much to do now that I’m flying solo. Nobody seemed to mind me huddled over the computer for most of the day.”

  Rick called out to where Horst sat in front of Rick’s laptop. “You know how to fire that up?”

  Horst slid the thumb drive into the side port. “Wasn’t born yesterday, Rick. Of course, if I was, I’d probably be faster with these things. Know what I mean? He looked toward Jillian as the files loaded. “What were you able to find?”

  “You tell me. I haven’t analyzed anything. I just went through the electronic case records and downloaded anything that had to do with the variables you gave me. Billy Tremble, Frank Vistole, Ossie MacDonald, Prairie Construction, every address within a four-block area of where you guys found the tracker, and Ted Fitzgerald. Oh, and I also included the license plate of that Illinois SUV you guys saw making the drop at the warehouse, as well as the address of the warehouse itself.”

  “You’ve been busy,” Rick observed.

  Horst stared at the screen. “What can I tell ya? The woman’s good.” He scrolled through the data for several seconds before looking back toward Jillian. “This is a lot. Gonna take us a while. There’s no need for you to be bored while we sift through this.”

  “I’ve got the time,” Jillian responded.

  Rick pulled himself off the sofa. He noted it was getting easier and easier to do so. “I appreciate that, Jillian. I’m sure Horst does, too. But the less time you spend around him, the better. Folks think you’re here checking on me. You stay too long, somebody might wonder what’s up.”

  “I can look out for myself,” Jillian replied. “Horst is my partner. Any hot water he’s in is my problem as much as his. If it’s all the same to you, I’d like to know what you guys find out sooner rather than later.”

  “Rick’s right, Jillian.” Horst stood and walked over to her. “You’ve done plenty already. There’s no sense raising curiosities. Not while we’ve got a dirty one on the inside. Get back to the station. Keep your eyes and ears open, okay?”

  Jillian shook her head. “I’m staying.”

  “You’re going.” Horst put his hands on her shoulders, gently turned her around, and marched her to Rick’s front door. “Don’t make me pull rank.”

  “You’re suspended. You technically have no rank.” She turned and gave him a brief hug. “Let me know what you find out. And not hours or days later, you hear me? The minute you suspect anything, you call. I need to know what you’re thinking.”

  Horst promised as he closed the door behind her. Then he headed back to the computer.

  “You got some coffee?” He sat back down in front of the keyboard. “This is going to take a while.”

  “Then screw coffee. It’s beer o’clock.”

  * * *

  —

  Ninety minutes later Rick stretched and stood from the chair he’d positioned next to Horst’s. “It’s getting harder to convince myself we’re going to find anything. I mean, I appreciate the line item entries of both Vistole’s and MacDonald’s criminal records as much as the next guy. But we got nothing on the Illinois plate. Ted Fitzgerald’s had exactly three interactions with the cops. Seventeen years ago, when his mailbox out in Maple Bluff got knocked off its post on Halloween, and two years after that when one of his construction sites got burgled. And, of course, when Joe Richardson was killed in one of his warehouses eighteen years ago. We basically got nothing more than what we started with.”

  “That drop was made in one of his warehouses,” Horst said. “The same warehouse where Joe was killed.”

  “The guy’s got property in six states! Forty-three parcels here in Dane County alone. We’re stretching to think that points to anything.”

  Horst kept his eyes on the screen.

  “You want another beer?” Rick asked.

  “How about some ice water?”

  Rick went into the kitchen and pulled an ice tray out of the freezer.

  “What the hell?” Horst called out. “Rick, get in here.”

  Rick dropped the tray in the sink. “You find something?”

  Jocko was standing at alert next to Horst, who looked up at Rick with a stony glare. “Susalynne McFeeney.”

  “Yeah? So? Who’s Susalynne McFeeney?”

  Horst tapped the laptop’s screen. “She was a student at West High School. Thirteen years old. She and her mother lived in an apartment on Hollister Avenue.”

  “What’s that mean to us?”

  “That apartment—the one Susalynne shared with her mom—it’s a two-flat owned by T. F. Properties.”

  “Ted Fitzgerald,” Rick said. “Owner of Prairie Construction. Guy must own, what? Ten apartments? Twenty? What’s so special about this one?”

  “Susalynne McFeeney was murdered in Hoyt Park almost twenty years ago. Strangled. Beaten. Her killer was never found.” Horst wiped a hand across his face. “Joe Richardson was working that case when he was killed.”

  Heat surged through Rick’s body. “When he was killed in a warehouse owned by Ted Fitzgerald.”

  “What do you think?” Horst asked.

  “I think we might be done stretching things.”

  Chapter 33

  “We’re just doing wine tonight?” Barney Fitzgerald was the first dinner guest to arrive. “Might that scare off the good padre? I would think his time in New York would have him expecting cocktails before dinner.”

  Leslie handed her brother a glass of chilled champagne. “He’s a guest in Madison this evening. In my home, I might add. Sydney’s been more than generous in offering us two of her servers this evening. I dare not impose upon her to bring a bartender as well.”

  Barney walked over to greet Sydney. He shocked her by leaning in and kissing her cheek. “You look smashing, my dear.” He stepped back to examine her mauve cocktail dress. “But then again, that’s a habit of yours, isn’t it?” He turned his attention back to his sister. “We’re seven for dinner, Leslie.” He waved his hand toward a liquor cabinet on a side living room wall. “I’m sure Charles can drop ice cubes in a glass and splash a little scotch all on his own.” He glanced around the room. “Where is our chief of police, anyway? Don’t tell me he’s come up with an excuse to get out of this soiree altogether. If he tries, I’m calling foul and going on a one-man crusade to find him and bring him back.”

  Leslie glanced at the brass-and-crystal clock sitting on the mantel. “He calle
d earlier. Said he had two stops to make before coming home. I’m sure he’ll be here soon.”

  “Let’s hope so.” Barney turned again to Sydney. “There’s only so much of the Ted Fitzgerald–Ian Moran sideshow one person can take. All that one-upmanship in the guise of fawning adoration between two alpha males requires as large a denominator as possible. I’m so glad you’re here to grow our numbers.”

  Sydney thought she’d appreciate having more people in the room to deflect the strain between Leslie and her brother. She couldn’t imagine adding more tension to the mix.

  “Anita’s put together a wonderful wine selection for this evening,” she offered. “I’m confident everyone will be satisfied.”

  Barney pivoted on one foot toward Leslie. “Whaddya say, sis? I got twenty bucks not three minutes pass before Father asks for a drink.”

  “I’ll take that bet. It’ll be Moran who asks for liquor first.”

  The two of them shared a conspiratorial grin.

  Maybe it’s an only-child thing, Sydney thought. Maybe I’m incapable of understanding sibling interaction.

  A wide picture window provided a clear view of the black Lincoln Continental pulling up to a stop in the circular drive in front of the Arbeit home.

  “It’s showtime, kids,” Barney announced. “Let’s all line up and pay court like good little underlings.” He headed toward the large slate entryway.

  Leslie gave Sydney a bear-with-us smile, linked her arm in hers, and led her in procession behind Barney. Once the three of them were lined up: Barney, Leslie, Sydney, Barney opened the hand-scraped oak door.

  Ted Fitzgerald was the first one in. He walked with an imperial slowness, using a carved walking stick that was even taller than the several inches above six feet that he himself stood. His thick, white hair was longer than Sydney would have assumed a man of his age would prefer and gave him a leonine appearance. She knew he must have been over seventy years old, yet his skin was nearly wrinkle-free and his bright blue eyes took in the scene with the intensity of a young sentinel, sizing up the territory. He wore a crisply tailored gray suit that seemed overly formal for a summer’s evening on his daughter’s patio.

  “Father!” Barney stepped forward and offered his hand. “How wonderful of you to drive all this way. You’re looking fit.”

  Ted ignored his son’s hand. “Are you running that hospital of yours yet?”

  Barney tilted his head and smirked. “Not yet, Father. Still a lowly orthopedic surgeon. Making the world a better place, one replaced hip at a time.”

  “You wouldn’t be tied to a salary if you’d come to work with me.” Ted Fitzgerald stepped toward his daughter before Barney had the opportunity to respond.

  “Hello, Father.” Leslie reached for her father’s free hand and brought it to her lips. Sydney blanched, wondering if it was his hand or his ring her friend was kissing. “Thank you for coming.”

  “Drove past the new headquarters on the way in.” Ted Fitzgerald nodded once. “That sculpture out front seemed a bit much. What did that cost me?”

  Leslie’s smile was tight. “We discussed this at the board meeting, Father. Remember? Our new program to support the arts? We’re spending one percent of our profits on public art. We’ve had a good year.”

  Fitzgerald grunted and stepped toward Sydney.

  “And who are you?” he asked.

  “Father, allow me to—”

  Fitzgerald interrupted his daughter. “I didn’t ask you. I asked her.”

  Sydney drew in a slow breath. “My name is Sydney Richardson. I’m a friend of your daughter’s. It so happens I own the restaurant your wife wished to use this evening. Your son was kind enough to ask me to join you for dinner.”

  Fitzgerald’s face froze for a fraction of a moment. Then he turned back toward Barney. “Couldn’t find a date on your own? You found it necessary to use the help?”

  “Father,” Leslie interposed. “Sydney is my friend. A welcome guest in my home. She’s not Barney’s date.”

  Fitzgerald looked Sydney up and down. A slow smile came to his lips as his eyes locked on to hers. “No. I wouldn’t imagine anyone this beautiful would be.”

  “Father Moran!” Barney’s exuberant greeting of the next guest entering the house pulled Sydney’s attention away from Fitzgerald’s stare. “How’s it feel to be back in Madison?”

  It was impossible for Sydney to ascertain the priest’s age. He was as tall as Fitzgerald and carried himself with an equally regal posture. But Moran was thinner. He wore a dark suit cut close enough to his body to suggest Italian tailoring. His clerical collar was nearly electric in its stark whiteness. His hair was as black, shot through with touches of gray so attractively accenting his face, Sydney wondered if they had been professionally placed. His eyes were blue, too. Darker than Fitzgerald’s but flamed by a similar intensity. He greeted Barney with a warm hug, playfully suggesting that he might have the surgeon take a look at his knee after dinner.

  “It’s all I can do to play eighteen anymore,” he said before stepping to Leslie.

  “Is it possible you’re growing lovelier with each year?” he added before enveloping her in a wholesome embrace. “Could this possibly be the same little girl who plagued the good sisters at Blessed Sacrament with her ingenious ability to smuggle gum into the classroom?”

  “Hello, Father Ian. Welcome home.” Leslie turned toward Sydney. “Father, please meet Sydney Richardson. A friend of mine.”

  Ian Moran cupped Sydney’s hands in his and smiled. Sydney felt a tug at her core. She held the man’s gaze: blue eyes staring into blue. An intriguing wash came over her, security mixed with anxiety. As though she should at once be pleased to have met this man while at the same time wary of him.

  Perhaps I need to get to church more often.

  “It’s nice to meet you,” she said. “I understand Madison is your hometown. Has it changed much since your last visit?”

  He held her gaze and kept his smile as he answered. “Everything changes, my dear. Such is the way of the universe.”

  “And finally, here’s Mother.” Barney stepped forward. “Did you need help getting out of the car, dear?”

  “Nonsense.” Sydney heard a woman’s voice but was blocked from seeing her by Barney’s back. “I stopped to check on my peony bushes. They’re lovelier than I ever imagined they could be.” Sydney saw pale arms reach up to enfold Barney. A large diamond ring glittered under the beams of the foyer chandelier. “It’s so good to see you, Barney.”

  “And you, too, Mother.” Barney stepped aside, preparing to hand his mother off to Leslie.

  Sydney’s breath caught in her throat. Her heart rate accelerated. She recognized the elegant way the woman held herself. Knew the gentle champagne color of her hair. The sophisticated ease with which she moved and spoke. Sydney kept her eyes locked on the scene of mother greeting daughter.

  She’d seen this woman several times at Hush Money. Always dining alone. Always kind enough to share a few words when Sydney came by her table. The woman who told her she had ties to the Madison area. The woman who commented on how proud Sydney’s parents would be to see the success she’d made of herself. Elaina.

  Sydney’s mouth was too dry to speak when Leslie turned to introduce them. Elaina stepped toward her and cupped a gentle hand to Sydney’s cheek.

  “No need, Leslie,” Elaina said as she smiled up at Sydney. “We know each other, don’t we, dear?”

  Chapter 34

  Lilac opened the rear door of the SUV and climbed in. “There was no need for you to come to Madison. If you wanted to see me, I could have met you in Chicago.”

  Boss shrugged massive shoulders. His sport coat seemed a little heavy for the warm July weather, but Lilac figured the man seldom stepped out of anything that wasn’t fully air-conditioned.

  “I like
gettin’ out from time to time,” Boss said. “Jimmy does, too.” He slapped the driver’s headrest. “Ain’t that right, Jimmy. It’s good to get out to the country, am I right?”

  Lilac locked eyes through the rearview mirror with the man known as Jimmy Wheels, one of the few people in Boss’s circle not named after a flower, and wondered how the men could consider a city as cosmopolitan as Madison to be out in the country.

  “Right, Boss,” Jimmy said. “Saw lots of green on the drive up. Saw those cows, too.”

  “What did you tell me they were called?” Boss asked.

  “Holsteins.”

  Boss laughed and hit the headrest again. “Jimmy’s a regular zoologist, this guy here. Next thing you know he’ll be calling out names of birds as they tweet by.”

  Lilac shifted against a block of anxiety weighing deep inside and smiled.

  “I like hearing things like that,” Boss said. “New things. Things I can learn from.” He leaned forward so close Lilac could smell the coffee on the big man’s breath. “Why is it I don’t hear new things from you?”

  “That doesn’t mean I’m not working on things.”

  Boss stared at Lilac for several tense seconds before leaning back against the car’s door. “How’s things going with that cop? The one working Billy’s case. Didn’t you say he was snooping around Vistole?”

  “I did.” Lilac recalled the pictures in the morning papers. A body bag being wheeled into an ambulance. “Who’d you get to do Vistole?”

  “Don’t worry about that. I told you I’d take care of it. You did a terrific job taking care of the cop. He’s off the case. No way he’ll connect Billy to Vistole. That leaves me to wonder, now that we’ve taken care of the distractions, why I still don’t have an answer as to how Billy got his hands on my money.”