Page 41 of Fade Out
No. I couldn’t do that. It might not matter what happened to me, but somewhere there were people who didn’t know what had happened to the Jane Doe in the box. She was a daughter, sister, friend. If I went to prison no one who loved her would know what happened to her because officially it would be Rita who I’d killed.
Except Rita, of course. She’d know and she’d be free as a bird flitting around conning new people, blackmailing new people, stealing from new people. I couldn’t let that happen.
So I got up and quietly got dressed. Luckily, the Melrose was open twenty-four hours. I got there just after five. I had a bit of a hangover, one that would get worse as I continued to sober up. I needed heavy doses of coffee and bacon to avert that. I ordered the biggest breakfast they had. The day’s newspapers sat in front of me, but I wasn’t reading them. Not yet.
Joseph. I could have found him the night before and I’d chosen not to. I was beginning to regret that. No, Ididregret that. Love and sorrow had curled up in my chest like a feral beast. Every so often the beast would hiss and snarl, and I’d ignore it. I knew I couldn’t ignore it forever. Sooner or later it had to be dealt with, tamed. Wouldn’t finding Joseph accomplish that?
Brian hadn’t said anything about him the night before. I believed Brian when he said he couldn’t reach him, didn’t know where he was. That he had to wait for Joseph to contact him.
Still, maybe I should drop everything and try to find him. I had a good excuse. He might have come home the night that Jane Doe was killed. Maybe he could alibi me. An excuse was all it was though. I didn’t think he’d come home that night. I really didn’t. I just wanted to find him. To bring him back. I could face my apartment if we were together. Or at least I hoped I could.
After my second cup of coffee I opened theDaily Herald. Ignoring the news of the world, I skimmed along until I found an article about the murder. It was on page 7. The headline of the article was “Body in a Box.” More information had been released. I skimmed it. They didn’t know anything I didn’t know. I wondered if I should try contacting the reporter to see if he knew anything he hadn’t put in the article. Of course, he’d be trying just as hard to pump me for information in return. Not worth it. Not yet.
Then I remembered that the article on Gunner’s death mentioned he lived in Niles. Was that where Rita grew up? Where she went to high school? Did it matter? If Jane Doe was a school friend, yes. That would matter. But was that the best lead I had? I put the idea on the back-burner.
The waitress brought my breakfast and I scarfed it down with the speed of a prison inmate. Ironic, I know. When I walked out of the Melrose it was nearly 6 a.m. The sun was about to come up; the street had turned hazy gray. It was so early there wasn’t a lot I could do, though I had a hunch and decided to follow it.
I walked down Broadway, past He Who Eats Mud and the bookstore, the coffee place and the new bakery, the Closet, a half a dozen boutiques that sprang up out of nowhere selling greeting cards and joke T-shirts, sneakers and underwear. When I got to Cornelia I turned toward the lake.
I stopped in front of a twenty-story condominium. There were balconies on each end and angled windows in between so more of the owners could have a view of the lake. It was made of yellow brick and concrete painted white.
I walked into the lobby and asked the doorman if he’d ring Doreen Appleton.
“I will, but she ain’t there,” he said.
“Oh? Out of town?” I asked, a little afraid she’d run for her life.
“No, she’s out jogging.”
“Ah,” I said. My hunch had been that she’d be up early doing a routine in front of her TV. Running along the lake wasn’t that far off. I thanked the doorman and went back out to the street.
I decided to wait on the corner of Cornelia and Lake Shore. The nearest entrance to the park was an underpass at Belmont she’d have gone over to use the dirt path that ran along the lakefront. That particular corner was on her way back home.
It was moments like that I missed smoking the most. Having a cigarette, I would have felt like I was doing something other than just standing there. Sure, it was hardly constructive—in fact it was verydestructive—but it was something to do. Instead, I stood there with my hands jammed into my jeans staring at the sky feeling like I’d lost a friend.
The sky seemed to be one big oppressive cloud. It would be a hot, humid day. I could feel it already. The air was heavy around me. Sometimes, I felt like Chicago had the worst weather in the world. Too hot, too cold, too windy, too snowy, too humid. It was hard to say why anyone chose to live there.
But then I wondered,Did I choose to live here?I’d been born in Chicago and simply stayed. There was a whole big world out there I had never bothered with. Sometimes I wondered if there might be a place I’d like better. Or a place that liked me better.
Doreen Appleton saw me before I saw her. When I noticed her, she’d just stopped running, was huffing and puffing, and the look on her face suggested she was deciding whether to turn and bolt. We looked each other in the eye and she gave up the idea. She was thinner than I remembered, swimming in a pink velour jogging outfit, one that was far more fashionable than functional.
“You again,” she said with a gasp. “Are you here to tell me another story?”
“No, I’m—”
“Nick Nowak. I already know that. I read the newspaper. Speaking of which, I’m surprised you’re out of jail.”
Doreen kept walking. I kept pace with her.
“I made my bond,” I said.
“Bill hasn’t been that lucky. When you commit financial crimes they get real picky about where the money comes from.”
“Are they coming after your condo?”
“They’re trying to. But most of the crimes they’ve accused him of happened after he left me. We’re going to court, but my lawyer thinks I’ll be able to keep it.”
“Good for you.”
