What You Don't See

As I figured, Tanaka was not happy to see me. She was less happy to see Allen laid out like a big X, blood all over her face.

“You’re shitting me, right?” Tanaka said.

“She had a gun. Would you rather I shot her?”

“Do you have any idea how this is going to look? Chicago’s media darling tied up in all this mess?”

“Well, first of all, you’re going to have to come off that ‘Chicago’s media darling’ business. And look to who?” I ran my fingers over the goose egg on the back of my head. “I want to watch you interview Chandler. She’s in a confessin’ kind of mood.”

Tanaka stared at me. “You’re . . . you’re . . .”

I smiled. “I know, right? I think the words you’re looking for are utterly adorable.”

She walked away from me, mad.

“So? Yea or nay on the interview?”

“Don’t be like that, Tanaka. I just bagged you a bona fide psychopath and also handed you the great Vonda Allen, knocked out and practically lying on a silver platter. It couldn’t be more of a gift if I’d wrapped them both in Christmas paper.”

She kept walking but flipped me the bird on her way.

“Crude and crass, Tanaka. Crude and crass.”

It was Eli who got me back in the room with the two-way mirror. Allen had been taken to the hospital. At last report, I’d broken her nose and her wrist, and she was threatening to have me charged with attempted murder, as if. Right now I wanted to find out what Chandler’s deal was. Why Allen?

It was after 2:00 AM, but Chandler still looked calm and collected. No lawyer. She had turned down representation, and she was talking a blue streak. She was a cop’s dream. I glanced over at Eli, who stood next to me, his arms folded across his chest.

“Do you believe this?” he said.

I stared through the glass at Chandler, who was sitting at the table, sipping a can of Diet Coke someone had brought her. It was as if she didn’t care who knew what at this point. “It’s like it’s Tanaka’s birthday, and Chandler’s the best present ever.” I was filthy, tired, and could swear I heard rats skittering around the walls.

“Who’s Lyndon Barnes?” Tanaka asked Chandler.

“I found him strung out in front of a shelter. I needed someone who’d do anything for money, and he fit the bill. He stole a car, used it for what I needed him to use it for, and then I paid him in crack. When I needed him again, he was glad to do it. Only this time, I loaded him up on crack and then set him off. The end was inevitable.” She chuckled. “It was easy.”

“The hit-and-runs?” Marcus asked.

She nodded. “The Peetses and Dontell, but I’m sure she’s told you all this already.”

Marcus frowned. “She?”

Chandler flicked a look at the mirror. “Her. Detective Raines. She’s much smarter than Benita.” She looked up at Marcus, grinned devilishly. “She’s probably smarter than you, too.” Tanaka glowered at me through the glass. She was still mad at me. I turned to Eli. “She really needs to get over it,” I said. “Were we or were we not cooperating?”

“Maybe she thinks you cooperated too much?”

“Whatever. But for the record, I’m not the only one who doesn’t know how to get along.”

“It’s my own mistake,” Chandler said. “I made things too easy for her. I thought we were partners, equal partners, though she had to be seen to act otherwise. It had to do with the image I created for her. But she started to believe in the lie. She became dismissive . . . of me. She forgot the truth of it. After I’d done so much, killed so many, she was just going to leave me behind. I should never have trusted her.” She shrugged. “I built it. It was mine. I intended to keep it. But all that’s behind me now.”

Tanaka leaned over the table, looking straight at Chandler. “Sewell, Hewitt, Henry Peets, Barnes, Devin, Adkins. Anyone else?”

“Do dogs count?” She laughed. “I did what needed doing.” Her cadence had slowed and she began to slur her words. “No regrets.”

I drew closer to the glass, watched Chandler closely. “Eli.”

Chandler’s head began to loll to the side. “That’s it. You have everything . . . you need.”

“Eli!” I began banging on the glass, trying to get Tanaka’s attention, but she had noticed the change in Chandler, too, and was reaching for her over the table.

“What’re you doing?” Eli asked.

“Look at her. She’s taken something.” I banged again. Chandler’s eyes rolled back in her head. Tanaka tilted Chandler’s head back and slapped her cheeks to try and rouse her.

“Jones, get the paramedics,” Tanaka said.

“All . . . you . . . need,” Chandler said.

Her head fell to the table. Marcus swept out of the room to get help. Tanaka lifted Chandler out of the chair, laid her flat on the floor, started CPR.

We watched as the room next door erupted in a frenzy of alarm. Cops rushed in, rushed out. Finally, the paramedics came, administered to Chandler on the floor, but she was gone. She’d been right. She wasn’t going to prison. She’d decided to go to the graveyard instead.