Chapter 3

I hit the speed dial number for Duncan. He answered two rings later, and his voice triggered a sweet burst of chocolate in my mouth, though the taste was also fizzy and slightly metallic as a result of hearing it through the phone. The metal taste and fizziness always infiltrate the flavor of voices when I hear them over the phone.

“Hey, Mack,” he said. “I was just about to call you.”

“You were? Why?”

“I’m off duty tonight and I’m about to leave the station. I was wondering if you might be able to escape the bar for a while and have dinner with me.”

Though I was delighted to hear him suggest some personal time together, I wanted to cry over the bad timing. “I don’t think that will work. And here’s why.”

I then told him about the letter and read it to him over the phone, letting him know that the words happy days were in quotes. When I was done, there was a disturbing silence on his end that lasted so long I thought the call had been dropped.

“Are you there?” I asked.

“I am. Sorry.”

Assured I still had his ear, I told him about my discussion with Cora, Frank, and Joe, and my concerns about not following the instructions in the letter. “I don’t want to be responsible for anything happening to someone,” I concluded. “But we’re all wondering if this might be some kind of stupid prank.”

“I’m truly sorry I got you involved in any of this, Mack.”

“I’m a big girl who made her own decisions. I went into it willingly and with my eyes wide open. Besides, what’s done is done and it can’t be undone, so all we can do is move forward from here.”

“You’re right, but it still irks me that this has turned into such a nightmare for you. That was never my plan.”

“We can talk more about that later if you want. Right now the clock is ticking on this letter and I could really use your advice and thoughts on how to proceed. Do you think we should take it seriously?”

“I’m afraid we have to,” he said with a sigh. “The squad on duty this afternoon got an anonymous tip earlier, and they found the body of a man who had been stabbed to death. The body was on an ice ledge under the east side RiverWalk bridge area. It was wrapped in garbage bags so it looked like trash someone had tossed over the railing.”

“That’s sad,” I said, “but what’s that got to do with this? Just because someone was killed doesn’t mean it’s connected to this letter. It could be a coincidence.”

“I don’t think so,” Duncan said, sounding grim. “The body was located directly underneath the Bronze Fonz.”

The Bronze Fonz was exactly what it sounded like. Back in 2008, a tourism group in Milwaukee raised money to commission a bronze statue of Arthur Fonzarelli, the character made popular in the Milwaukee-based sitcom, Happy Days. The statue features Fonzie in his characteristic leather jacket and jeans, and he’s posed in the character’s iconic thumbs-up stance. Its creation and placement was a controversial topic for the city, but it has proven to be a popular tourist attraction. Given where the body Duncan just mentioned was found, the “happy days” reference in the letter I received clearly wasn’t a coincidence.

“Who is the victim?” I asked, bracing myself for the answer. I feared it would be someone I knew, someone I cared about. Even if it wasn’t, I felt the guilt start building inside me. Whoever the victim was, he was dead because of me, however indirectly.

“I don’t know,” Duncan said. “They hadn’t ID’d the guy yet last I heard.”

I winced and felt icy cold fingers traipse down my spine—literally. I felt weak in the knees and dropped into the chair behind my desk. “This is all my fault,” I said in a tone of disbelief.

“It is not your fault,” Duncan said, and Joe said the same thing a split second later. Duncan must have heard him because he said, “Who’s there with you?”

“Joe, Frank, and Cora. They know not to discuss it with anyone.” I glanced at the faces of the others in the room and they all nodded.

Duncan said, “The letter said there was something unique about it. Any idea what it is?”

“I think it’s the ink. It’s unusual.”

“You mean it looks different?”

“No, it smells different.”

“It smells different literally, or synesthetically?” Duncan asked.

“Literally, I think. Ink smells trigger specific sounds for me, but this ink doesn’t sound like any I’ve encountered before.”

“I need to see it.” After a pause, he added, “And I need to see you. I’ve missed you, Mack.”

I squeezed my eyes closed and pivoted in my chair, turning my back on the others, hoping to hide my smile and relief. It seemed callous and cold, under the circumstances, but I couldn’t help myself.

After a few seconds I said, “You can’t be seen here. The letter is pretty explicit about what will happen if the writer thinks you’re involved or helping me in any way.”

“Just because I come by the bar, it doesn’t mean I’m helping you with this. I’m entitled to drop by for a drink or a meal like anyone else.”

“No!” I said, emphasizing my adamancy with a firm shake of my head even though Duncan couldn’t see it. “I won’t risk anyone else’s life that way. There’s no way to know how closely I’m being watched. For all I know, the writer of this letter could be sitting out in the bar right now, drinking my booze and eating my food. We can’t risk anyone seeing you come here, or seeing the two of us together. But I have an idea on how we might be able to get around that.”

I then told him my thoughts about him entering through the alley door in the original section of the bar, which is located at the end of a hallway right next to both the basement access and the door leading to my apartment. Unfortunately, that hallway also provides access to the bar restrooms, so it tends to get a lot of traffic. The alley door is locked on the outside but opens from the inside with a simple push. It’s alarmed and there are signs on it warning people of that fact and instructing them not to use it as an exit unless it’s an emergency. “I can disable the alarm long enough to let you in and then reset it,” I told Duncan. “If we time it carefully and have the door to my apartment open, you should be able to slip inside without anyone seeing, even if someone happens to come down that hallway to use the restrooms. You’ll just have to be careful to make sure no one sees you entering the alley and coming in through the door.”

“I can make that work. I’m going to set up a bit of a decoy before I come over there, so give me an hour or so. Six sound okay?”

“It does.”

“See you then.”

“Duncan?”

“Yeah?”

“Can you do me one more favor before you come by?”

“What?”

“Can you bring me something from the police file on Lori Gruber, Tiny’s sister? Anything that might help?”

There was a long silence on the other end, and I knew Duncan was debating the risks involved with doing that.

“It’s not an active case,” I urged, hoping to sway him. “It’s been cold for years.”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

“Thanks.” I quickly disconnected the call so he couldn’t renege, then I updated Cora and the brothers on the plan.

“We need to be extremely careful,” Cora said. “The writer of that letter could be anyone.”

“I know, which is why I think it would be best if you guys return to the group right away and stay there while I meet with Duncan. I don’t want to rouse suspicion by keeping the three of you separate from the others for too long. Cora, I’d appreciate it if you’d stick by your cell phone in case I need to call you and have you look something up. Just pretend it’s someone from your office calling so no one knows it’s me you’re talking to.”

The three of them nodded and then, as a group, they left the office and headed back upstairs to the Capone Club room. I stayed behind, once again imprisoned in my office. I stared at the letter, breathing in deep. I wanted to pick it up and touch it some more, run my fingers over the letters, but I didn’t. I’d already messed things up just by holding it while I read it, and in case Duncan might be able to do something more with it, I didn’t want to contaminate it any further.

After staring at the page for a while, I closed my eyes, leaned forward, and sniffed. The ink was definitely not your standard variety stuff.

I realized then that I was going to have to transport the letter from my office to my apartment somehow, and that meant touching it again . . . or maybe not. I left the office and went into the kitchen where my new cook, Jon, was busy at work. I offer a number of food items in addition to drinks, mostly typical bar fare such as deep-fried cheese curds, fries, burgers, sandwiches, and pizzas. While the variety might not be anything unique, I do try to add my own spin to many of the food items to make them stand out.

Still keenly aware that someone might be in the bar watching my every move, after greeting Jon and telling him for the umpteenth time what a great job he was doing, I spent the next ten minutes or so pretending to inventory supplies, something I’d already done this morning before the bar opened. But I needed to hang in the kitchen for the amount of time it would take to fix a pizza. Once my requisite time had passed, I grabbed one of the empty pizza boxes that I use when customers want to take their leftovers home with them, found a clean pair of tongs and dropped them into the box when Jon wasn’t looking. Then I added two large plastic baggies with zip closures. After closing the box, I also grabbed a plain brown bag, tossed a box of gloves into the bottom of it, and added a few empty containers on top of that to give it some bulk before rolling the top of it closed. I carried both items back to my office, hoping that any onlookers would assume there was food inside them.

As soon as I was inside my office with the door closed and locked, I emptied the pizza box, picked up the letter using the tongs, and slipped it inside one of the baggies. I then did the same thing with the envelope it came in. When I was done I sealed the baggie, placed it back inside the pizza box, and closed the lid. Next, I took the containers out of the paper bag and gathered up the rest of the “fan mail” I had received over the past few weeks and put all of it in there instead. Finally, after glancing at the clock, I walked over to the alarm control board and disabled the one on the back door to the alley in the original part of the building.

At two minutes to six, I again stepped out of my office, carrying the closed paper bag in one hand and the pizza box in the other. I made my way down the back hall to where the doors to both my apartment and the basement were located, right next to the alarmed exit to the alley. This next part of my little subterfuge was the riskiest. The back hallway wasn’t visible to the main area of the bar, though anyone going in or out of the kitchen could see down it. It was also where the restrooms were located and if anyone went in or out of those, they would see me. I had to hope for the best and try to time Duncan’s entrance and the opening of the two doors so that anyone entering into the hallway wouldn’t see him or what I was doing. I glanced at my watch, saw it was seconds away from six o’clock, and set down the bag so I could unlock my apartment door and have it ready. Just as I inserted the key in the lock, two female figures entered the hallway headed for the women’s bathroom.

“Hey, Mack!” one of the girls hollered down the hall, and as I looked, both of them waved at me. I recognized them as locals who had been in the bar before a few times, though I couldn’t remember either one’s name. I waved back with the hand that had been holding the key, which now dangled from the lock, and balanced the pizza box in my other hand.

“Do you need a hand?” one of the girls asked.

“No!” I said, and immediately wished I could have a do-over. I knew I’d sounded too hurried, too desperate. “I got it, but thanks.” The two of them looked at me with bemused expressions for a few seconds while I silently prayed that they would heed my dismissal and go on about their business. Finally, one of the girls shrugged and pushed open the door to the bathroom. Both of them disappeared inside and I let out a sigh of relief, watching the shadow of light on the hallway floor disappear as the bathroom door closed behind them. I unlocked my apartment door and propped it open with the bag of mail, then after one more glance down the hall to be sure it was empty, I pushed open the alley door, hoping Duncan would be there.