Dying alone in a cold, dark basement. My stomach was still knotted with the thought, and my head was stuck in a loop wondering what had happened to her. I couldn’t come to grips with it and didn’t know if I was obsessing because I had been the one to find her, because she was Janek’s niece, or because I was a single woman living alone and her isolation was hitting too close to home.
I left the bank feeling I understood the foreclosure process a little better, but the timeframe was loose and gave me no indication of how long Janek’s niece might have been staying in the property. And why no one seemed to have known she was there.
Exiting the elevator in the lobby of the now bustling bank building, I stepped over to a quiet corner and called Michael. He answered on the second ring.
“Hey, how are you holding up? How’s Janek?” I asked, listening for the emotion in his voice that would tell me what he was really feeling.
“I’m okay. Shocked like everyone,” he said flatly. “Janek, well, he’s pretty much a mess. He just refuses to admit it and won’t go home. He’s angry. Mad at himself. Flailing. I’ve never seen him like this. And I’m not sure how to help.”
Confusion, frustration, and hurt bounced back at me as he spoke. Reading between the lines, it seemed Michael should have been taking his own advice and set work aside. I didn’t imagine either one of them had been productive today, but sometimes going through the motions with things that were routine and familiar was therapy in its own right.
“Did you know her?” I asked. Something I hadn’t remembered until now flashed back into my head: Michael kneeling next to her body, noting the tattoo on the inside of her wrist. He had known then or, at the very least, known it was a distinct possibility she was Janek’s niece. The weight of that suspicion, as her identity was now confirmed, had to have been unbearable.
“No, we’d never met. I knew of her. Knew she had struggles. Janek has a photo of her and her mom on his desk, so I recognized the tattoo. But before this week, the only other thing I knew was that she’d run off and that the family had been franticly searching for her. But I didn’t know the half of it. You know Janek. He doesn’t talk much about his personal life, unless there’s a reason.”
“Like all cops,” I wanted to say. Michael sounded drained, even a bit forlorn, and my heart ached for him. I looked at the time. It was almost four.
“Do you have time for coffee or a beer? It might be a good idea to talk or just sit with me for a little while.”
“Yeah, that sounds good. I could use a break. Where are you?”
“I’m in the Loop. Can you meet me at Free Rein? It’s in the St. Jane Hotel on Michigan and Wacker.”
“Sure. I need about half an hour.”
“Okay, I’ll see you in a little bit, then.”
The restaurant was only a ten-minute walk, and I found a quiet window table near the bar where Michael and I could speak privately—that is, if he was in the mood. My own emotions could only be described as flat and confusing.
I perused the creative cocktail menu, amused by concoctions titled “What Would Jane Do?” and “The Devil in Blanc,” which paid loose tribute to Chicago icon, Jane Addams, the hotel’s patron saint. The unusual drinks were too complicated for my mood today, so I stuck with one of my go-tos, a Sauvignon Blanc from New Zealand. I was tempted to order a scotch for Michael—he sounded like he needed it—but I didn’t want to make assumptions in case he had to go back to work.
As I sipped my wine, I Googled Quantum Holdings but found nothing in Chicago, so I plugged the mailing address into the search bar. The listings that came up included a Chinese takeout joint, a nail salon, and a dry cleaner. Was one of these businesses doing real estate investment on the side? It wasn’t clear, but nothing that came up initially looked like it had any connection to a real estate investment company. Then again, businesses and websites changed frequently and weren’t always up-to-date, so it was possible that the information in this top-level search wasn’t current. Next, I opened Google maps to see if I could get a street view. Although challenging on my small phone screen, I panned across the image.
Interesting. The end unit appeared to be an independent pack-and-ship location, or had been at the time of the photo. Perhaps they also offered mailbox services? As long as there was a legitimate street address and not simply a PO box, a registered agent could get away with listing a mailing service as its location.
Cai phoned as I scrolled through the search results, letting me know she was deep in a case and couldn’t swing a free evening. However, we tentatively planned for the following night.
I saw Michael across the room before he saw me, and I found myself smiling. It was always a delight to catch him when he didn’t know I was watching. It felt like a moment of secret admiration for those broad shoulders and chiseled jaw. I stood and waved. He broke into a broad grin and picked up his pace as he crossed the room.
“Hi. It’s been the longest forty-eight hours of my life,” he said, pulling me close.
I took a deep breath, inhaling the sandalwood sent of the soap he favored and hugged him back hard. If Janek was hurting, so was Michael. That was their relationship.
“I’m drinking wine but thought I should wait to order yours in case you’re going back to work.” I clasped his hand and held on as he settled in next to me.
“I’d better stick with coffee.”
I flagged over our server and ordered his coffee and a cheese and charcuterie plate, imagining that food hadn’t been on his priority list today either.
“Has the funeral been scheduled yet?” I asked. His eyes were tired, and his chin hadn’t seen a razor today. It didn’t take much insight to glean that he was emotionally drained.
“It’s set for Friday.”
“Send me the details. I’d like to be there.”
“Will do. By the way, I called your sister four times.”
“Let me guess, she’s ignoring you too.” I shook my head and lifted my wine glass to my mouth.
I didn’t have the energy right now to worry about Lane’s inability to take this situation seriously. CPD’s handling of the property was her problem, and I wasn’t going to mother her into responsibility. She’d been advised to deal with them herself. I also knew Michael and I were ignoring the obvious, getting minutiae out of the way before getting to the tough stuff.
“This has to be devastating news for Janek,” I said. “What was her name? I was so shocked earlier, I neglected to ask,” I said, realizing that I didn’t even know the most basic information about the young woman.
“Her name was Zoe Symanski. She was barely twenty-two. Janek and I had a long talk this morning and he filled me in on the family history.”
The waitress returned just then with coffee and the appetizer plate. I smiled and thanked her, but Michael couldn’t even pull his eyes up from our clasped hands.
“Apparently she’d been in rehab at least twice, once in her final year of high school, and then again her sophomore year of college,” Michael continued. “It’s been a really rough road for her family. She flunked out of college after the second rehab attempt, moved back in with her mom, who is single. The drugs didn’t end and money kept disappearing from her mom’s wallet, so they were at each other’s throats constantly. A few months later, the kid took off after yet another big fight. That was two years ago. They haven’t seen or heard from her since.”
“They’ve had no idea where she’s been?” I said, incredulous. Michael shook his head. “That’s heartbreaking. I can’t imagine how that must feel. What about friends? Or was there a boyfriend?”
She most likely had help from someone, even if it was just a couch to sleep on occasionally, but that didn’t mean those friends had shifted loyalties and talked to Zoe’s mom, regardless of how misplaced those loyalties were.
“There was a boyfriend all right,” Michael said, finally looking at me. “But he was just as much of a doper as she was. He’s the guy who introduced her to the stuff. And, was probably her dealer. At least that’s what Janek believes. Sounds like it was one of those on-again, off-again relationships. The kid got picked up coming off a plane from Mexico, trying to import his own personal stash.” He paused, pain filling his eyes. “I understand he was pretty physical with her. I’m not sure how far he took it, but he laid a hand on her. One black eye is all it took for Janek to go off on the kid.”
With everything he had seen during his years in the police force, there was little that got to Michael the way that abuse of women and children did.
“Did anyone speak to him while she was missing?”
“Loud and often. Apparently Janek had at least one run-in with the guy. Bumped into him on the street one night, picked him up on possession with intent, and hauled him in. Don’t know if Janek went looking for him or just got lucky, but it sounds like he got a little hot. That didn’t play out too well in the courts. The kids attorney argued that it was a false arrest, that Janek planted the smack, basically, that he had an axe to grind because of the niece. It created just enough doubt to get the kid charged with possession, but they couldn’t make a stronger case. He paid his fine, was put on probation, and life went on.” Michael shook his head and looked at me. “Let me tell you, that sure didn’t help Janek warm up to the kid.”
“Understandable.” I’d never seen him lose control, but the Karl Janek I knew, was capable of a simmering, controlled rage, the kind of rage that would only be expressed when someone near and dear had been hurt badly. “I know you don’t believe Janek planted the stuff, but did he go overboard? Did he get too rough with the kid?”
“Maybe,” Michael said, after pausing to think about it. “He’s like a pit bull when it comes to protecting his family, so who knows. I’ve never seen Janek step over the line, but in this case, I have to say, it’s possible. She was his only niece. It’s a tough thing to watch your sister’s kid deteriorate like that, particularly when you know who hooked her in the first place.”
I squeezed Michael’s hand tighter, feeling his pain. Knowing the only thing I could do to help was simply to listen.
“I can’t say the family took it very well—the fighting, the blame, the boyfriend receiving no consequences. It wasn’t long after that Zoe ran off. I don’t know how Janek reconciles everything that happened after, but I know his sister blamed him, at least for a while. In her mind, if Janek hadn’t gone after the boyfriend, maybe Zoe wouldn’t have left. It’s pointless to speculate about what might have happened, but that’s human nature. She was dealing with her own guilt. Anyway, I get the sense that with the passage of time, they both understood that Zoe was running away from, rather than dealing with, her problem. The bigger issue became their anger with this boyfriend. They believe he conspired with Zoe, helped her hide from her family.”
“You said she’d been in treatment. Do you know where?” I asked, thinking about the pamphlet I’d found at Lane’s property.
“No, but she had a couple goes at it. Didn’t seem to work, but you know how that is. Someone’s really gotta be ready before they face the hard work. That stuff isn’t easy. And it sure ain’t easy when you’re twenty-two and still think you’re invincible.”
“And this boyfriend, you said that the family thought he might have been helping her hide. Could he have been staying with her at the house?” I asked.
My gut told me she’d been there alone, but new questions were forming in my mind about the boyfriend and what he knew. And I couldn’t shake the feeling that there was a staged quality to Zoe’s death, at least when it came to how and where she was placed.
“We didn’t see any signs of anyone else staying at the house, and it didn’t appear, to me anyway, that she had been there long,” Michael said, giving me a long look. “I know where you’re going with this. Aside from Janek being this kid’s worst enemy, I’m not sure anybody knows where he is or has been in contact with him since he and Janek had their run in-in court.”
Michael knew my instincts were to process the events as if this were a problem to solve, a series of clues that would build the picture of how and why Zoe had died. He knew my thinking because it wasn’t that much different from his own thought process. Be suspicious of everyone and everything until proven otherwise. Some thought it was a tough way to go through life, that it made me jaundiced. I just saw it as practical.
“It’s so hard to think of anyone down in that basement all alone for so long,” I said. “And I’ve got to imagine the neighbors were wondering what the hell was going on.”
“You know how people are. They may have wondered, thought there was a dead animal somewhere, but nobody was concerned enough to try to find out what was happening at the house. The old not-my-problem. Sad stuff.”
“How close are you on cause of death?” I asked.
“While the ME hasn’t come to any official conclusions yet, as you’d imagine, overdose is the baseline everybody’s working from. We’re basically just waiting for the autopsy to confirm it.”
“Any guesses yet on how long she’s been dead?”
“Cold basement, nobody around, obviously all of that slows down the rate of decomp, but it sure looks like months to me. It’s hard to gauge yet. We’re really going to need to rely on the ME to see if he can get a range. As you know, cold temperatures can really make it hard to assess. She could have been down there all winter.”