Karen Simone called at a little after six that same evening. She wanted to cash in her rain check for our drink. After the day I’d had, I thought that was a fine idea. We met at Sterch’s at eight. The bar was filling up and a cloud of blue velvet enveloped us as we pushed through the door.
“You forget how great that smells,” Karen said.
“You don’t strike me as a smoker.”
She held up a finger. “Technically, I’m not.”
“Let me guess. You want to soak up some secondhand smoke?”
“Is that against the law? Never mind, don’t answer that. Why don’t you find somewhere to sit and I’ll get the drinks. What do you want?”
“Beer.”
“Beer it is.”
Karen headed toward the bar. I watched her bump her way through the crowd like a veteran, then turned to find us some seats. All the tables were taken, as were most of the stools they’d scattered around the place. A booth opened up to my left and I grabbed it. My usual perch at the window was also empty, but the booth seemed like a better choice tonight. I’d just settled in when there was some jostling and a knot of people dissolved. My throat went dry and a sudden heaviness filled my chest. The thick blond hair, slight build, and infectious laugh. All I could think of was Rachel. Then Karen Simone looked up, a beer in one hand and half of another spilled down the front of her jacket. A couple of men on either side were taking turns apologizing.
“Don’t worry about it,” she said.
One of them offered to stand her another round. She held out the half-empty pint to me. “That’s okay. He gets this one anyway.”
The two didn’t recognize me, but I knew them as regulars. They hung around, talking to us for a bit, stealing a glance at Karen every chance they got. Finally, they drifted away and we were alone.
“Sorry about that,” I said, pointing at the jacket.
“That’s what dry cleaners are for. Cheers.”
We touched our pints together. Karen took a look around. “I like this place. It’s got that lived-in feel.”
“That’s one way to put it.”
“What’s with the carrots?” she said, pointing to a large fuzzy one hanging from the ceiling directly overhead.
“The owner used to dress up in a rabbit suit at street fairs and sell carrots for a quarter apiece. People loved it.”
“Okay.”
“It’s Chicago. You know. Drinkers.”
“I saw the sign behind the bar. Tacitus. That’s great.”
“The cops come in and write them up once a month for the smoking. The manager says the publicity he gets is well worth the fines.”
“He’s got me sold.” Karen took a sip of her pint and licked a line of foam off her upper lip. “How was your day?”
“Long.”
“Anything you want to talk about?”
“Probably not.”
“You sure?”
“It’s Marie Perry.”
Karen raised her hands in protest. “Sorry I asked.”
“That bad between you two?”
“Things are a little frosty, but I can handle it. So, what did she do?”
“Nothing, really.” I squinted as a man at a nearby table blew a stream of smoke over our heads. “Ray ever mention any psychological problems?”
“With Marie? Not that I can recall. Why?”
“Just loose talk. You get a lot of that in this line of work.”
“She’s a hard woman, Michael. But crazy?” Karen shook her head. “I can’t see it.”
“Me neither.”
We drank our beers and listened to the bar chatter around us.
“Can I ask you something?” Karen said.
“Is it about the case?”
“It’s about your gun. I noticed you carry one.”
“Mostly for show.”
“But you’ve used it? I mean actually fired it?”
“I have.”
“Does that bother you?”
“Shooting at another human being should bother anyone. If it doesn’t, you’ve got a serious problem.”
“Yet you choose to do it for a living?”
“I chose to be a cop. Then a private investigator. Like I said, the gun’s a very small part of it. Why all the questions?”
“It’s interesting. You’re interesting.”
“Not really.”
“I find that people who think they’re not interesting invariably are.”
“And people who do find themselves interesting…”
Karen rolled her eyes. “We all know some of them.”
My phone buzzed with an e-mail. It was Jack O’Donnell, suggesting a time and place for our meeting. I shook my head and slipped the phone back in my pocket.
“What is it?” Karen said.
“A friend wants me to meet him in the middle of nowhere tomorrow night.”
“Who is he?”
“Just a guy. Used to work as the transportation writer for the Trib. Now he runs an industry newsletter on highway construction.”
“Does it have anything to do with Ray?”
“Could be.”
“Highway construction? I don’t see the connection.”
“Neither do I, but that’s how things usually work.” I pulled my pint an inch closer. “A case is like a ball of string. You pick one thread at random and start pulling. Eventually, it leads you to whatever’s in the middle. At least that’s the hope.”
“So you really don’t know where you’re going?”
“I start out by asking questions, watch how people react, and decide what to do from there.”
“You must piss off a lot of people?”
I grinned. “We’re back to the gun again.”
“Do you think you’ll find Ray?”
“Maybe not, but I’ll find something.”
“You seem so sure of yourself.”
“I’m Irish. We can’t help ourselves.”
“Touché.” Karen tipped her glass my way, then paused.
“What is it now?”
“You’re gonna say it’s the beer talking, but I think I can help you.”
“With Ray?”
“Yes.”
“You’re right. It’s the beer talking.”
“I’ve got good instincts about people. I could be your sounding board.”
“And why would I need a sounding board?”
“Why not? I know Ray. I know a lot of his friends. In a few months, my charity will be shutting its doors, and I’ll be on a bus out of town. Probably never to return.”
“People have helped me before.”
“And?”
“And some of them wound up dead.”
That brought the conversation to a standstill…at least for a moment. “I don’t plan on winding up dead, Michael.”
“Neither did they.”
“It’s not like I’m going out on a raid or anything.”
“You mean it’s just talk in a bar?”
“That’s it. Talk in a bar.”
“Can’t do it, Karen. Sorry.”
“Why not?”
“I told you. Too dangerous.”
“I already know you got a text from some highway guy. Tell me more about that.”
I scratched my jaw. Karen sat patiently and watched.
“I’ll give you one more piece of information. Just because you might be in a position to help. There’s a company called Beacon Limited. You ever heard of them?”
She shook her head.
“They donated a lot of money to Ray and got a huge chunk of work out of it.”
“What kind of work?”
“It’s a little complicated, but they own a lot of other companies that build roads. Illinois roads.”
“So what about them?”
“If you ever hear anything, just let me know.”
“What would I hear?”
“I don’t know. Probably nothing.”
“You think this Beacon had something to do with Ray’s disappearance?”
“It’s possible.”
Karen frowned. “It’s not.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Ray disappeared because he wanted to. Not because anyone forced him to. And certainly not because of some evil cabal of road contractors.”
“So Ray was just trying to avoid the prison time?”
“Probably.”
“You don’t seem totally convinced.”
“I told you Ray’s personal life wasn’t right.”
“And when you say ‘personal life,’ you mean his marriage?”
“Bingo. You want another beer?”
I put a hand on her arm. “In a minute. So you’re saying Ray disappeared to get away from Marie?”
“I think Ray loved his wife, almost to a fault. In some ways, his marriage was a life sentence. And that was probably just as hard as anything the judge was handing out. When he disappeared, Ray killed two birds with one stone. Whether he meant it that way or not, I don’t know. But that’s what happened. Now, do you want another beer or what?”