Michael Harvey - The Third Rail

”

Rodriguez turned over the page. It was just a few lines, printed in block letters.

RITA, I DID SOUTHPORT AND THE OTHER. ME ALONE. USED A. 40-CAL AND REM 700. HERE’S ANOTHER ONE, IF U NEED MORE CONVINCING. FUCK THE MAYOR. FUCK THE FBI. CARDINALS HATS ARE NEXT. CITY TOO.

NBC.

“I checked my notes and the wires,” Alvarez said. “You guys never offered details on the weapons in any of the shootings. If this is al wrong, just tel me, and I’l write it off as a prank.”

Rodriguez looked up from the letter. “What’s ‘another one’ mean?”

Alvarez pul ed out two more pieces of paper and pushed them over. “These came along with the letter.”

The first page was a street map of the area near Clinton and Congress. The second was a duplicate of the subway map that had been left on my doorstep. The spot where Maria Jackson’s body was found was marked with an X and the word BODY scrawled beside it in the same blue Magic Marker.

“Looks to me like a section of the subway,” Alvarez said. “I’m sure the CTA can tel you exactly where to look.”

The reporter read our faces and tried hard to keep the smile out of her voice. “Unless, of course, you guys already know everything I’m tel ing you.”

Rodriguez pushed the pages over to me and leaned back in his chair. “Son of a bitch.”

Now the reporter grinned for real. “I knew it.”

Rodriguez tipped forward again. “We have our deal, Rita. Don’t fuck with me on it.”

“I came to you, Rodriguez.”

“Yeah, wel, don’t get so fucking excited. Makes me nervous. Yes, the details on the weapons are correct.”

“And the maps?”

The words came grudgingly. But they came. “We pul ed a body from this location in the past twenty-four hours.”

“Which means…,” Alvarez said.

“This guy has an accomplice,” I said. “He’s alive and he’s not gonna just go away.”

Rodriguez pul ed the pages back over and took another look.

“The cardinals’ hats and the city. Think he’s talking about the archdiocese?”

I shrugged. “Probably.”

“What about this last thing?” Rodriguez glanced at the reporter. “NBC?”

“We were thinking the NBC tower,” Alvarez said.

Rodriguez nodded. “Targeting the TV station, maybe?”

“Could be something else,” I said and moved over to a computer terminal in the corner.

Rodriguez and Alvarez looked over my shoulder as I Googled “NBC THREAT ACRONYM.” It showed up as shorthand slang coined by the Department of Defense. NBC: nuclear, biological, and chemical. As in weapons.

Alvarez let loose a low whistle. “That works, too.”

“I’m thinking we better get Lawson on the line,” Rodriguez said. He picked up the phone, then put it down.

“What about her?” He pointed to Alvarez, who suddenly didn’t seem so essential. The reporter pul ed a Baggie from her purse. Inside it was an envelope and more sheets of paper.

“Let me guess, the originals?” Rodriguez said.

Alvarez nodded. “Might be able to get some prints. Maybe DNA off the seal.”

“Gonna keep yourself relevant, huh, Rita? What else you got?”

“I’d like to think we’re past that point, Detective.”

Rodriguez was getting squeezed a little. Part of me thought he didn’t half mind.

“Tel you what, we’re gonna honor our deal. But for right now, we have to keep you somewhere close. Just not right here.”

“The feds won’t let me sit in?” she said.

“If we approach them about it this morning,” Rodriguez said, “not a chance. Thing is, you’re just gonna have to trust me.”

“And what if I don’t?”

“Then I put a set of cuffs on you and throw you in a room anyway.”

“Fuck you, Detective.” Alvarez pushed up from her chair, picking up her folder and the Baggie with the originals.

“Sit down, Rita.”

Alvarez thought about it and sat. The detective pushed in a little closer. “I’m in this city for the long run. So are you. I’m also a straight shooter. You wouldn’t be here otherwise. Work with me on this and you won’t be sorry.”

Alvarez glanced over, but knew better than to think she’d find anything in my face.

“I want a room with a phone.”

Rodriguez shook his head. “No phone, Rita. No Internet. No e-mail. Not until we figure out what we’re looking at.”

“I want an update every hour. And I need to be able to file something for tomorrow.”

The detective gave a short nod.

“Don’t screw me, Rodriguez.”

“I won’t, Rita. Promise.”

Then the reporter stormed out of the room and into solitary confinement. Sure, she caved. But she did it with a little bit of grit. In Chicago, that counted for a lot.

“Where’s the reporter?” Katherine Lawson was floating on a computer screen in a sea of cyberblue. We had fil ed her in on Rita Alvarez and scanned a copy of the letter and maps to her desktop.

“We have her on ice,” Rodriguez said.

“What about the letter itself?”

“The original’s right here.” Rodriguez held up the Baggie. “Looks like it was hand-delivered to the paper, but no one seems to have gotten a look at the guy.”

“Wonderful,” Lawson said. “Forensics is coming over to pick up the originals. And we’re going to need to talk to the archdiocese.”

“So you think this is real?” Rodriguez said.

Lawson rubbed the heel of her palm into her forehead. “I don’t know what to think, except that we’re al gonna look like a bunch of assholes if this thing blows up.”

She was thinking about the press conference last night-the case they had already taken credit for solving.

“I’m gonna need to talk to the mayor,” Lawson said. “Maybe get him on the phone with the church.”

“This morning?” Rodriguez said.

“Sooner, the better. Meanwhile, I need to take a minute here with Kel y.”

Lawson waited until the door closed behind Rodriguez before speaking. “I’m sorry, Michael.”

“For what?”

“Mouthing off in the bar last night. Bragging about a case I thought I could bury.”

“Forget about it.”

“I don’t think so. It seems like you’ve had a better grasp of things every step of the way. How is that?”

“Lucky, I guess.”

“You stil meeting Hubert today?”

“Supposed to. Why?”

“I’d like you to run the contents of this letter by him. See what he comes up with.”

“You sure?”

“Yes. And get me everything else he’s got. Including the stuff on your old crash.”

“You buying into that?”

“I’m buying into you being two steps ahead of the field. If the edge lies with Hubert, I’d like to use it, rather than apologize later for ignoring it.”

“Fair enough,” I said.

“Good. Now, what are your feelings on today?”

“You stil have a relationship with the archdiocese?”

“I can handle them, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“That’s what I’m asking. Talk to the cardinal. Talk to the mayor. Use whatever pul you have to get into the churches and shut them down until you figure out if the threat is real. And…”

“And what?”

“And hope whatever this thing is, it hasn’t already started.”

Hubert Russel lived in a studio on Division, just west of Damen. The neighborhood was jumping, with new restaurants and bars that actual y smel ed good. Most of that goodness, however, had yet to float up and into the hotbox apartments, crammed into ancient brownstones perched up and down the block.

“Nice place you got here,” I said and put my foot down on a cockroach the size of a smal sofa. The beast squirted out from under and looked up to see if that was my best shot. I put my heel into it until I heard a crack, then a snap. Score one for the good guys.