That night after dinner, Georgia and Jimmy went for a walk. The April evening was mild, a gift from the Chicago weather gods, and Georgia imagined lazy summer walks ahead, Jimmy pointing out stars and planets in the night sky. It was also a chance for the two of them to discuss cases they didn’t want innocent ears to overhear, even unintentionally.
“LeJeune seems to be in our lives a lot these days,” Jimmy said. “Why? How did he know you were in Kalamazoo?”
“I don’t know, but he’s up to speed on the cases.”
“Has he said anything about the motivation for killing them?”
“He’s leaning toward intentional manipulation. I haven’t told him yet, but I wonder whether it might have been a dry run. Whoever’s behind it might have slipped some poison into a few random vials just to see if it would work.”
“Jesus Christ. As if the world isn’t already spinning out of control.” His voice was tight, and his face, even in the dim streetlight, grim.
“I’m not ready to go that far. At least yet.”
An elderly man with a dog appeared in front of them. He was walking their way, the mutt part spaniel, part something else, pausing to sniff every tree and patch of grass, to make sure his turf was protected. Georgia envied his concentration. No unknown smells, no problem. Some new odor, caution. The old man nodded at them then pulled the leash tighter. “Come on, Charlie. Time to do your business.”
Georgia and Jimmy exchanged an amused glance. The man cocked his head, as if he knew they were smiling at his expense but didn’t know why.
“Your dog has the same name as my baby nephew,” Georgia said. “He lives with us.”
The old man nodded. “Good solid British name.”
Jimmy nodded pleasantly.
After the man passed, Georgia took Jimmy’s arm. “British?”
“You know, Prince Charles. And all those kings who had their heads chopped off.”
Georgia’s knowledge of British history was minimal. “What about here in the good ol’ USA? Don’t we have plenty of Charlies?”
But Jimmy was focused on the poison and pulled Georgia back into the case with his next question. “Who the hell poisons a life-saving medicine?”
“LeJeune doesn’t know, but he’s working his contacts to find out.”
“Any of them the same as yours?”
She shook her head. “I can’t compete with the Bureau. Then again, his could have been as simple as an FBI field office guy surveilling the plant. Maybe they saw my Illinois plates, ran them, and came up with my name.”
“Sounds about right.”
“I get it, Jimmy. Despite vaccines and boosters, we’re still in the middle of a pandemic. With contagious strains and mutations. People are still dying left and right. The difference is that LeJeune thinks the three deaths could be a criminal act. They need to check out everyone. Including me.”
“What about Emily Waldorf? Could she have been a political target?”
“She was about as political as turkey on rye, as far as I know.”
“Maybe a relative wanted to inherit her estate, which, now that you tell me who she was, must be pretty healthy. Could Evelyn, or even Susan, for that matter, be swept up in it?” He paused.
“Oh, come on, Jimmy. What would they have to gain? Even if they thought they would profit, how would they have managed it?”
“What about the other two who died?”
“I thought I told you. Both men had underlying conditions that made them vulnerable.”
He was quiet for a moment. “This really is a bitch of a case. Reminds me of the Tylenol crisis.”
“I was just thinking the same thing.”
In 1982, someone had laced random capsules of Tylenol in Chicago with cyanide. It became a national crisis when seven people died. Johnson and Johnson, the manufacturers, recalled every bottle of Tylenol in the country while the investigation was ongoing.
No one was ever charged with the murders. But there was good news. Sealed containers and new laws made over-the-counter medicine harder to tamper with. And because J&J acted so quickly to warn consumers and contain the situation, they were lauded in the press. More important, for law enforcement, it was one of the few times that investigators—there were hundreds around the country—managed to work together without turf or rank conflicts. Proof that the law enforcement community could come together when it mattered. Georgia had studied the case at the Police Academy.
“I wonder when it’s going to hit the press,” Jimmy said. “Will Jefferson Medical be as forthcoming as J&J?”
Georgia stuffed her hands in her pockets. “Don’t forget, J&J is making the vaccine too.”
“But their vaccine wasn’t involved, was it?”
“Not to my knowledge.” They reached the end of the block, slowed, and turned around to head home. “Um, speaking of media, I have something to tell you.” She explained what she and Ellie Foreman had cooked up when she went to Kalamazoo.
“You were impersonating a reporter?” Jimmy asked.
“Yes.”
“Are you looking for trouble?” His voice rose and his eyes flared. “Georgia, Jefferson Medical is in the middle of a huge crisis. But they will find out what you’re doing. What would you do if you realized you’d been dealing with a fake reporter?”
“I’m not going to hurt them. The story, if we even write it, which I doubt, will sing their praises.”
“My god, Georgia, you’re not listening. These people will destroy you. Strip you of your PI license. You might even be prosecuted for fraud. By the time their lawyers finish with you, the case could be a felony. Did you think about that?”
“What if I find out who’s behind the poisoning? Do you think they’ll care about how I discovered it?”
He gave her a vehement shake of his head. “But you will have been perpetrating a fraud. A PI can’t do that. It’ll ruin your credibility. If not with this case, the next. You’ll get a reputation for doing whatever it takes, rules be damned. Did you tell LeJeune what you were doing?”
She nodded.
“Did he tell you what a stupid idea it is?”
“Actually, he didn’t say a word. He said it wasn’t their ‘protocol’—whatever that means—but I got the impression he thought it was a good idea.”
“Christ, Georgia, I love you, but you have to slow down. Think things through before you act. You’re so headstrong sometimes—you’re putting yourself in legal danger. Talk it over with me—or your friend O’Malley if you don’t want me involved—before you go and do something rash. There’s all sorts of ways to get intel without committing a crime. Or putting yourself in danger.”
“Ellie was going to back me up. Even write the article for me,” she said weakly.
“That’s not the point.”
“LeJeune will back me up.”
“You think so? ’Cause I don’t. He’ll be too busy covering his own ass and the Bureau’s reputation to help you out. That’s the kind of guy he is.”
Georgia couldn’t deny that. She’d be out there on her own, twisting in the wind. She balled her fingers into fists. “Okay, okay. I get it.”
“Do you?”
Despite the fact that she was angry, she knew his words were coming from a place of love. “Yeah. Sorry.”
The apartment was just a block away. They walked in silence, then Jimmy, apparently mollified, asked, “So what’s the Bureau’s plan?”
Georgia sighed. “I assume it’s what they said in Casablanca. ‘Round up the usual suspects.’ Anti-vaxxers. People who want Covid to decimate the population. People who hate the government.”
“What about foreign interests?”
An uneasy fear slid up Georgia’s back. “I can’t deal with China, or Russia, or the Iranians, or whoever’s on America’s shit list, Jimmy. That’s way above my pay grade.”
“But not LeJeune’s.”
Georgia bit her lip. “You know something? Maybe you’re right. Maybe I should tell LeJeune to find someone else to do his PI work. It would only take two calls—one to him, and the other to Evelyn.”
Jimmy slipped his arm around her. “Well, personally, I’d love that. I want you around for a long, long time.” He squeezed her shoulder. “But we both know you’re going to do what you want. No matter how much I yell and scream.”
Her body, tight as a rubber band stretched to its limit, softened. She let him pull her close. “And I’ll be there to pick up the pieces.” He paused. “If there are any.”
She flashed him a grateful smile. “I know.” She kissed him. She didn’t want that kiss to end. It was safe, familiar—it was home.
As their lips parted, Georgia caught sight of a pair of taillights passing them on Ashland Avenue. Something made her stare after them.
“Jimmy, was that a black pickup that just passed us?”
He squinted at the waning red lights. “Hard to say. Too dark. But they do seem to sit high.” He looked back at her. “Listen. I want you to carry your Glock from now on.”