SIXTY-THREE

Nine o’clock, Monday, the morning before election day.

I balanced the last of Amanda’s spaghetti, a cup of coffee made with Bohler’s very excellent grounds, my tiny television and myself on my electric-blue recliner, expecting to see the usual numbing, last-minute pleas from candidates for the public’s trust and, unspoken, the opportunity to pursue privately profitable shenanigans.

But that morning there was no numbing on television. The local stations were playing, and replaying, a short video just sent out by the Wade campaign.

A somber Timothy Wade sat in the living room where we’d met. The room was darkened, except for two lamps and the fire roaring in his reasonable fireplace. He was dressed in a medium-colored suit, a crisp white shirt and what I guessed was the obligatory red necktie. I could only guess at the color of the tie because my mini TV offered images only in black, white and mostly gray. He half-smiled with teeth as white as his shirt.

‘As you know, we suspended active campaigning after we encountered what might have appeared to be a simple prank in a farmyard. We knew otherwise. It was the latest in a series of threatening moves made by a troubled individual. My campaign manager, who you might have heard is my iron-willed, big sister …’ he paused so the folks in the viewing world could laugh to themselves appreciatively, ‘… insisted I step back a bit until the threat was dealt with. That’s now done. We will not reveal anything about this individual other than to say he’s suffered a history of emotional issues. His family has retained excellent professional help for him and I’ve been asked to entrust the individual’s future to their most capable hands, and to honor his family’s request for privacy in this matter. I’m happy to comply.’

He cleared his throat and went on: ‘Today, the day before the election, we are facing a new threat. Anonymous, unfounded accusations have been made against me and my sister concerning the disappearance of a person I knew long ago. Specifically, this fairy tale even has us burying his body in our back yard.’

He raised his hand, palm out, and managed a rueful half-smile for the camera. ‘I know; I know. It’s crazy. But the Cook County Sheriff’s Police has decided to search our grounds nonetheless for this secret grave.’ He sighed. ‘Ah, politics. Crazy, aren’t they?’

My cell phone rang. ‘You watching the news, Elstrom?’ Sergeant Bohler asked. There were vehicle noises in her background; she was in a car.

‘I’ll call you back.’ I clicked her away.

‘In the interest of putting this nonsense behind us immediately,’ Wade was saying, ‘my sister and I are inviting every accredited news department to come join us here at our home this morning to witness this instance of political dirty tricks run amok.’ He reached down and brought up a plate of cookies. ‘So, to you news folks, come on up. We’ll be serving coffee and cookies.’ He smiled and the video ended.

My screen shifted to a news commentator. I turned down the sound and called Bohler.

‘What the hell is going on?’ I asked.

‘Those two Wades are incredible,’ she said, sounding out of breath. ‘At six-thirty this morning my boss gave me permission to call Chicago PD.’

‘Doesn’t he have to ask for the case to be assigned back himself?’

‘Ordinarily, but this time he wants plausible deniability. He’s afraid of the Wades so he left it to me to back-channel the request. If it goes wrong he’ll claim he gave me no such permission.’

‘According to what Wade said on the news, you got permission.’

‘Faster than a fly can fly,’ she said. ‘The Chicago police gave me a verbal to take it back at seven o’clock.’

‘Why so fast?’

‘They’re afraid of the Wades, too. I know a rare Republican judge. He hates Democrats because they control the courtroom assignments and they move him to a different one every month. He drools in anticipation of taking down any Democrat and was delighted to prepare the warrant himself. I got my search team assembled just an hour ago and now we’re driving north to Winnetka.’

‘One of them called the Wades?’

‘As I said, faster than a fly can fly.’

‘Maybe you shouldn’t rush. Obviously the Wades know you’re not going to find anything if they’ve summoned news organizations to witness your folly.’

‘They’re arrogant, those Wades. And it’s too late. If I quit before I start, they’ll say I knew it was a political trick to begin with. I have to play it through.’

‘And get humiliated.’

‘I want you there, Elstrom, right beside me, my shovels and my saliva-spattered warrant from a crackpot judge. You suggested this. I want you there.’

I owed her that. I told her I’d see her in Winnetka.