Dante's Dilemma (33 page)

“Olivia,” I repeated patiently. “We know all about your father. What
you
don't know is that your mother is innocent and has been lying to protect you. Help us prove it.”

“You don't know anything,” Olivia said petulantly. “My father is dead and my mother killed him and I'm not sorry about it. The only thing I'm sorry about is that nobody ever did anything to stop it. That nobody would ever
listen
to us.”

“Someone will now. I have a friend, a colleague who is waiting to help you. But first you need to tell us everything.”

“I'm not saying anything,” Olivia insisted.

“Because he told you not to.”

“That's right.”

“And why do you think that is? Come on, child, think. Why are the two of you running away? What does he have to be afraid of? Besides you and your mother, who hated Westlake enough to crack his skull open?”

Olivia was stubbornly silent.

“How did he react when you told him about the rape? What did he say to you? Did he just sit back and nod? What look did you see in his eyes? Was it the look of a man who was going to take it lying down?”

My frustration was taking over.

“He said not to worry. That he knew what to do and would take care of it.”

“What did you think he meant?”

“I don't know. Go to the police.”

“And is that what happened? When did you notice that your keys had gone missing? How did you think the murderer got in? Come on, Olivia, tell us.”

“I won't. He didn't do it! He loves me!”

“What about your mother? Doesn't she love you too?”

“She loves both of us. I know she does. Or else she wouldn't have . . . But we can't be together again. It's too late. He explained it to me. After I saw you that day in the jail. Nobody can keep Mom out of prison now, but if we go away we can help her. Send her letters and books and things to make her feel less lonely. We're going to go away, just the two of us, and be a family. That's the only thing that will make her happy now. He said so and I believe him!”

I had almost forgotten Hallie was in the room. “Mark,” she said, touching my sleeve. “Stop now. You can't see what this is doing. She's shaking all over. Don't make her choose.”

She was right.

I was venting my anger on the person who least deserved it.

And there was still one thing left to try.

THIRTY

The dark shadow of Westlake's house loomed above us from the alley where we had parked so as not to be seen
.

“Do you keep a flashlight in the car?” I asked Hallie.

“Yes, but you still haven't told me what we're doing here.”

“Looking for evidence the police probably didn't think of.”

“That seems far-fetched. I'm sure they went over the place with a fine-tooth comb.”

“Would they have dusted every last object in the house for fingerprints?”

“Well, no. Their time isn't that unlimited.”

“OK. Here's what I'm thinking. What's the one thing an alcoholic can't resist?

“I hope you don't mean that as a trick question. A drink, naturally.”

“Right. Now, do you remember what Lazarus told us she did right after she found Westlake's body?”

Hallie caught on quickly. “The scotch bottle on the table.”

“Exactly. She said she put it back with the rest of the liquor bottles. Unless the police took all of them away, it might still be there. And if I'm right, it'll have more than just Rachel's fingerprints on it.”

“And you don't want to turn the lights on while we're searching?”

“I don't see any reason to alert the whole neighborhood—including Mrs. Esposito—to the fact that we're breaking and entering.”

“We could ask the police to search the house for us.”

I gave her a look that said what I thought of that idea.

“OK,” Hallie said. “You're right. They won't help. But how are we going to get in without a key?”

I held out the universal bike tool I'd brought along just in case. “I've picked locks with this before.” I was foolishly proud of the skill, which I'd taught myself on another search mission a few years back. Apart from certain other, obvious difficulties, I liked to think I would make a good cat burglar.

A few minutes later, I felt a little less sure of myself. Though the wind had died down to a modest gale, Westlake's back porch was mired in a deep chill. Within seconds of removing my mittens, my hands were shaking and I worried about my fingers sticking to the lock. If the metal was cold enough, I might not be able to pry them off again. Hallie came to the rescue, digging in her handbag and handing me a small, squishy package. “Hand warmer. Haven't you learned anything about Chicago yet?” I applied it first to the standard lock and then to the deadbolt, until they were both warm enough to work with a pick.

“You are a man of many talents,” Hallie said when the door swung open.

“It's only because I have Mary Poppins as an accomplice. Don't step over the threshold yet—let's make sure an alarm doesn't go off.”

When it appeared we were in the clear, Hallie pointed the way with the flashlight, which zigzagged faintly ahead of us as we made our way along the north side of the house through a mudroom, a kitchen, and the side entry hall before turning to the right and into the living room, where the furnishings lay covered under sheets. They reflected enough of the ambient light that I could detect a few of the ghostly shapes. Though the heat was on, the air smelled stale and damp. I poked at one of the shrouded objects with my cane, finding a plush ottoman.

“Who gets all this stuff?” I asked Hallie.

“Now that she's been convicted, Rachel can't claim a penny from the estate, so whoever's named in his will.”

I'd lay good money on it not being Olivia.

I took on the role of sentinel near the door while Hallie searched for the drinks cabinet. Except for the sound of rustling linens and the humming of the refrigerator motor, all was quiet.

“Here's what we're looking for,” Hallie said from a far corner of the room. “A dry sink with a bunch of bottles in it. This one is scotch. But we're going to need something to put it in.”

I picked my way past various pieces of furniture over to where she stood. “With everything else that's in there, I'm surprised you don't have an evidence locker in your purse.”

“Joker. I'm going to go see if I can find a plastic bag.”

I heard her steps retreat, followed by the sound of drawers and cabinets being opened and shut in the kitchen. While I waited for her return, I explored the area around me with my stick, reflexively noting how the sound changed when I moved the metal glide from one surface to another. The slippery scratch of a hardwood floor here, the muffled thud of a carpet there. After three years, I barely had to think about what the cane was telling me. I moved on from the floor to the dry sink, curious about what else I could find out without leaving fingerprints. Boxy in construction, it stood on rolling casters and rattled loudly when I struck its side. Particle board, if I had to guess, and none too steady. I sniffed at the bottles it was holding, locating the one holding the scotch near the front.

Thus absorbed, I failed to notice that I was no longer alone.

An overhead light switched on.

“What do you think you're doing?”

“Hallie,” I yelled. “Get out of here!”

“You're too late,” Peter Crow said. “She's not going anywhere. And just to play fair, you should know that my two very large hands are around her neck. Tell him, sweetheart.”

“He came in the back door,” Hallie squeaked.

“So I'll ask again. What are you doing here?” Crow said.

My mind raced. Even with two good eyes, my chances of tackling him from ten yards away were zero. But unlike most people, I didn't need to see my phone to call 911. “We were driving by the neighborhood and thought we'd stop in for a drink. No, wait. That's your line, isn't it?” My back was still turned to the room. With my free hand, I reached for the pocket of my coat.

“Uh-uh,” Crow said. “Throw the phone on the floor.”

I did as I was ordered.

“Now turn around.”

Once again, I complied, but not before tossing my cane away with a quick motion and grabbing the sides of the dry sink. I heaved it up and back with all my strength. It crashed into the wall behind with a loud bang, rattling the bottles and sending several toppling over the side. The sound of glass shattering filled the room.

“Nice,” Crow said. “But no one's going to hear you make noise. The streets were completely deserted when I was driving over here. Try something again and I'll strangle her. Come out into the center of the room.”

“Easier said than done. You know I'm blind, right?”

“My grip's getting tighter,” Crow said.

I took a sliding step forward with my arms held out like a zombie in a B movie. If I remembered correctly, the carpet should be right ahead of me. I found the edge with my toe and tripped over it, landing on the floor in a tangle of knees and feet.

“Oh, for heaven's sake,” Crow said. “No, don't get up. Just stay there and don't move while I take care of your girlfriend.”

Crow pushed Hallie onto a chair. I heard a sound like adhesive tape being ripped, followed by a muffled cry. At least he no longer had a chokehold on her.

I pulled myself into a cross-legged position with my hands behind me. “How did you know to find us?”

“Winona called me on my cell and told me about your little visit.”

“Winona?”

“Don't play dumb. I prefer to call Olivia by her Sioux name—firstborn daughter. You should be ashamed of yourself, putting psychological pressure on a vulnerable young woman.”

“Not as ashamed of myself as I would be if I'd put her mother in prison.”

“You must think really ill of me. That wasn't my doing. In the morning, after I remembered what happened, I was all set to turn myself in when I heard about Westlake's body being dumped in the middle of Scav. Rachel had to go and screw things up even more by confessing before I could get to her.”

“And it didn't occur to you to go to the cops then?”

“Oh, sure. And have us both arrested? After what that pig did to her, my daughter is a very sick young woman. Who would make sure she gets the care she needs if both of us were locked up? By the way, I'm not even sure I was the one who killed him. He could have bled out later, you know.”

“Oh, it was you all right. Though you were probably too drunk to notice.”

He'd finished trussing Hallie up and came over to haul me to my feet.

“Off with the coat,” he said, helping me roughly out of it.

“I'm surprised your substance problem has escaped attention for so long.”

“There wasn't one until Winona told me about the rape. Hadn't touched the stuff in years. The last time was right after my wife left me. I was in my first teaching position at the University of Minnesota. She took off with our two boys and drove to Canada. They were only three and five at the time. The courts up there always take the woman's side in custody disputes. I'm sure you wouldn't understand—sanctimonious pricks like you never do—but losing the kids in the divorce made me see the destructive path I was on. I got sober and went into counseling. Now, let's have it with the pants pockets. Pull the insides out.”

“Is that why you abandoned Rachel—because you were married and had kids?”

“Uh-uh. I didn't know about the pregnancy. She never told me, and we only shacked up a few times before she went running back to Westlake. My wife and I were already on the outs, and I would have left her for Rachel if she'd said something. Rachel and I grew up worlds apart, me on the rez and she in some fancy suburb on Long Island, but we both had the same baggage. I bet you don't know about that either, what it's like to have a parent who beats the shit out of you every day.”

My pockets stripped, Crow took me by the shoulder and hustled me over to where Hallie was seated.

“I loved Rachel, but I guess she didn't think I was good enough. Turns out she was right. But that's all going to change now that I have Winona to think about. Hold out your hands.” He started to wrap something that felt like packing tape around my wrists. I figured this was why Hallie was being so quiet—Crow had used it to gag her.

“Convenient that you came so well-equipped,” I said.

“I was on my way to pack up some things for Winona when she called. Otherwise, I would have brought something heavier.”

“When did you find out—about Olivia being your daughter.”

“When Amanda Pearson sent her to see me. I knew right away when I saw the extra finger. You know what my old man did to me? Hacked it off with an axe six weeks after I was born. Said it must have been put there by evil spirits. Drunk as usual. I almost died from the infection. And Winona looks just like my mother in photographs. She—my mother—did what she could to shield me, but he went after her too.”

He continued unhurriedly with his story. “Eventually she couldn't take it anymore and ran away in the middle of the winter. They found her body a year later, in a far-off corner of the reservation. They said she froze to death. That's why this whole thing makes me sick. History repeating itself. It doesn't matter where you come from or what tribe you belong to. It just goes on and on. I only wish there was some way we could get Rachel off so the three of us could be together.”

“Is that why you talked Rachel into a Battered Woman's defense?”

“Yup. She was all ready to plead guilty when I went to visit her at Cook County. I told her it would add insult to injury, screw Winona up for life if she was convicted. Rachel argued with me but finally agreed it was the right thing to do. Winona's well-being was always the most important thing to us.”