Bohler showed up at the turret that afternoon. She brought along a Chicago cop that looked like a Chicago cop. His gray hair was cut close and the skin around his eyes was deeply wrinkled from decades of squinting at people who weren’t cops. His tag said he was named Gibbs.
‘I brought the file you wanted,’ she said.
I didn’t see a file and she carried no bag or purse. ‘Great,’ I said.
I invited them in, offered them the two white plastic chairs set beside the new furnace and pulled up the orange can of tar I’d emptied before I could afford a new roof. I kept the can because it was a good reminder of my life’s progress, and also because it doubled nicely as unpretentious, supplemental seating.
‘You’re not going to offer hors d’oevres?’ Bohler asked with what I thought was a smirk.
‘I ran out.’
She nodded, perhaps gravely, and turned to the man who’d still not said a word. ‘This is Benjamin Gibbs. I called around this morning and got mostly nowhere, until I was given Ben’s name. He knows the case you’re asking about.’
‘One car responded initially to the alarm in that convenience store,’ Gibbs said. ‘They called in more of us when they saw the Egyptian, Anwar Farrug. There was fear that some sort of rampage was going on, that other late-night places might be hit.’
‘Farrug – the Egyptian – was already dead?’
‘Head caved in along the side.’ He pointed to the right side of his head, behind the ear.
‘Blunt trauma?’
‘The bluntest,’ he said.
‘The weapon was never found, according to the papers.’
‘Maybe, or maybe it was consumed.’
‘A bottle, pulled from the shelves?’
‘The indent was narrower. The medical examiner thought the Egyptian was clubbed with a sixer of beer, never found.’
‘Unusual weapon.’
‘Spur of the moment, grabbed from a floor display,’ he said. ‘Not premeditated.’
‘There were traces of someone else’s blood at the scene?’
‘That was baloney fed to the press. There were more than traces. There was plenty on the floor a few feet from the counter and a solid dribble going out the front door. More was found on the street in the next block, by the curb. There was an awful lot of blood there.’
‘Too much to lose and live?’
‘That was the word in the department.’
‘What happened to the case?’
He shrugged. ‘No clues, no leads. It got dropped. A couple of months later I got transferred to traffic, where I’ve been ever since.’
He looked at his watch. He had nothing more. I walked them out.
‘When will you be sharing, Elstrom?’ Bohler asked me.
‘Soon, very soon.’
‘You might not have much time,’ she said.
‘Oh, are my DNA results back?’ I asked.
‘My request has become a non-priority now that the case got kicked to Chicago, but I remain hopeful you’ll be convicted. I expect to hear from you soon, Elstrom, with the complete truth.’