Chapter 28

“I am never so frightened as when every thing is still.”

-Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, The Parasite

I stripped off the jumpsuit and showered, standing under the piercing water longer than I’d ever done before. Still I didn’t feel clean. Jails are smelly, dirty places. It would take time to forget that experience and cleanse myself, mentally and physically.

I toweled dry then checked my cell. Mitch had texted and called and was feeling frustrated. Debra had called too. Phil Richy, my attorney friend who shoots cases my way, called to say he’d given information on my case to Karl Patrick. He wanted to know when I ‘d be out of jail because he wanted me to take on another investigation. Marcus Goodson left a scathing message about my work ethics and job performance. I could picture the smoke coming out of his ears. I sighed and quickly erased it.

I ate more of Auntie’s Scottish salmon and Galloway Cheddar and washed it down with a cup of hot tea. One of these days Mitch and I were going to go for a gourmet dinner - maybe to Tru of Chicago on St. Clair where I could get Scottish King Salmon served on fine china, with candlelight, champagne, and a desert to die for. But not tonight. Tonight I had to get some of that much-needed sleep.

I crawled into bed and phoned Mitch. He wasn’t there. I left a short message not mentioning murder, arrest, jail or bail. Statistically speaking, even our phone sex was suffering.

I dumped a CD of “The Red Shoes” into my bedroom TV and hit play. It’s one of my favorites and usually makes me forget any troubles. I pulled up the coverlet and tried to relax. No good. I tossed and turned, unable to watch it or to relax. Mrs. Toller kept intruding. Overlaying the magnificent ballet scenes, my mind kept playing back what she’d said about the Dowager. Before the movie ended, I tossed off the coverlet and looked up the phone number for Lt. Morgan Fernandez, my friend in the Chicago Police Cold Case Squad. Phil Richy had gotten us together when Morgan had been a rising star in the Chicago Police Department. Then he ran afoul of the powers that be on a high profile case, after which his star plummeted. Now he works in the basement in Cold Cases where he’s still bucking the system whenever he can. We get along well, and Morgan’s been a good sport about doing favors for me when I’m in a pickle.

“Hiya, DD,” Morgan chirped. “One nano-second later, and I wouldn’t have answered. I’m walking into a top brass pow-wow on the future of police work in our fair city.”

“This late in the day? And I thought you never got invites to any of those upper echelon meetings.”

“Usually you’d be right. But this is a covert meeting. The brass doesn’t want the press to know about it. I’m guessing I’m here because they want me to do something for them - something I’m probably not going to like,”

“Morgan, I need a favor, too.”

“Also something I’m not gonna like, right?”

“I need to find someone.”

“Did you do a people search on the net?” Morgan asked

“No. I’m in a bind right now. No time.”

“What’s going on, DD?”

“I just got out of jail,” I admitted.

“What?”

“I’ll tell you all about it later. Trust me, I have to find a woman named Mary Holder as quickly as possible. She’s a registered nurse, and up to about a year ago or so she was living in Chicago.”

“This interests me,” Morgan said. “I know that name.”

“You do? From where?”

“From a case I worked. I was the detective on the scene when the old Dowager died at the David Grange mansion on south Woodlawn. She was the Dowager’s nurse.”

“You were there when the Dowager died?” I asked excitedly. “Well that’s where I got arrested early this morning - at the Grange mansion. My friend Tom Joyce was pushed down a flight of stairs there a couple days ago.”

After a short pause, Morgan said, “I didn’t hear about that yet. Another fall down a flight of stairs in the Grange Mansion?”

“Too coincidental, right? That’s just what I thought, too. And Tom’s in the hospital.”

“You know DD, I always believed the Dowager was pushed down those stairs. I called it murder, but no one else in the department agreed. I made a ruckus about it when they labeled it accidental death and closed the case. That’s the reason I’m stuck here in Cold Case. They yanked me off the track faster than a speeding bullet. That Ivy Douglas character is bad news.”

“Could you find out where she is now?” I asked.

“For you, I’ll do it.”

“Hah. For you too. You never let a case go. Can we meet tomorrow? I’d like to hear your take on what happened to the Dowager.”

“I’ll meet you tomorrow at Kiki’s for dinner.”

He knew Kiki’s on Franklin was my favorite. Not only is Thursday $5 house red and white, but the owner/chef used to know Hemingway. Sometimes he’d tell stories. Kiki came to Chicago in 1963 to start Maxim’s, and for years he ran Le Bordeaux on Madison Street, a little cavern-y place I used to go to all the time where the sole almondine was to die for. I still dream about it.

“You’re on. I have to see Tom after my surveillance shift, so let’s say seven. Thanks Morgan.”

“Give Tom my best. I hope he’s gonna be okay. Gotta go. They’re waitin’ on me.”

I got back into bed, closed my eyes, and eventually drifted into a fitful sleep.