Michael Harvey - The Chicago Way

“Just working some background,” I said and ducked my eyes toward the table. She had a cup of tea and a copy of Aeschylus’ Agamemnon lying flat by her elbow.

“The Agamemnon,” I said.

“Figured I’d give it a try.”

She said it with a pause. The testing kind, the kind you throw out in a relationship to see which way the wind is blowing. I tried to give nothing back, which, in and of itself, was probably everything.

“At three in the morning, that’s some interesting reading,” I said. “Part of a trilogy, you know.”

“So you told me. The Oresteia.”

“What’s your take?”

“I think it’s all about revenge,” she said. “How about you?”

I nodded and felt the blood thicken in my ears.

“Tisiphone, Megaera, and Alecto.”

“Who are they?”

“Names of the Furies. They show up at the end of the second play. Three sisters who hunt down any perceived wrongdoers. They torture and kill without mercy.”

Diane stirred her tea and took a tiny sip.

“Something wrong with that?” she said.

I picked up the Agamemnon and leafed through its pages.

“The Furies pursued their revenge through time. Through generations. Killed people with little or no connection to the crime. The Greeks portrayed them with snakes in their hair and blood dripping from their eyes. They were mad. All three of them.”

“But they were effective?”

“You think so?”

“Why not? Eye for an eye and all that stuff.”

I slid the Agamemnon back across the table.

“In the third play, the Furies are sated. They help to establish the Athenian court system. The blood feuds end, and the first court of law is established.”

“Maybe I’ll skip that part,” she said. “Sounds a little boring.”

“You like a good blood feud, huh?”

“Who doesn’t? Besides, it’s just a play.”

Diane slid Aeschylus off the table and into a bag by her side. Then she smiled.

“Enough ancient history. Tell me about your sleuthing today. Background on who? For what?”

I went on for the next half hour, giving her every detail of my day, none of it about Kansas, all of it a tissue of lies. Diane nodded, sipped her tea, ordered, then ate some chocolate cake. She smiled at the end and didn’t believe a word of it.

“Well, I better head home,” she said.

“Big day?”

“I tape an interview with Rodriguez in the morning. They arrest Bennett Davis and we get our exclusive tomorrow night. Your name is still out of all this, right?”

I nodded.

“By the way,” she said, “have you told your client about any of this?”

“Not yet.”

“Her face is going to be out there sooner or later, you know.”

“That’s what you figure?”

“It won’t come from my station. But absolutely, she’ll eventually be out there.”

I got up to go. Diane got up with me.

“I’ll see Elaine tomorrow and catch her up,” I said. “I also told Rodriguez I’d meet him at your newsroom after the interview. Tie up a few loose ends.”

“Sounds great. We should wrap around noon.”

She leaned in and kissed me. Red lips, long, strong, and hungry. Like she meant it. Or at least wanted to.

“Thanks for the story,” she whispered. “You saved me and I won’t forget it.”

Then she turned and walked out of the diner. I went home and opened up a copy of the Agamemnon, found the line where Clytemnestra lures her husband into the bath and waits as he is knifed to death.

I spoke the line aloud, rolling the syllables across my tongue as Aeschylus had intended. I wondered just how many Clytemnestras lurked in my life, where were the knives, and most important, who would wind up dead in whose tub.

The next morning I woke up fast. I ran five miles along the lakefront, showered, dressed, and grabbed some coffee at Intelligentsia. By eleven I was headed downtown and on my cell.

“Yeah.”

Detective Masters was his usual effusive self.

“Vince Rodriguez is going to be on the news tonight,” I said. “Here’s what you need to know.”

I told him about Grime, Pollard, and Bennett Davis. I have always fancied myself something of a connoisseur when it came to the exotic curse. Masters, however, fashioned a string of expletives that would make a deaf man blush.

“You done?” I said.

“Yeah.”

“So Vince does his thing today. He arrests Davis and lays out the Grime angle. Tomorrow belongs to you.”

Then I told him about Kansas, how it fit together. It took a while. When I finished, there was nothing.

“Masters,” I said. “You there?”

“When can I move?”

“I’m walking into Channel 6 right now. I’ll call you when I’m finished.”

My crossword girl was not at the front desk. Just as well. Not the best day for her. I met Rodriguez in a small office just off the main set. He had a cup of coffee and was trying to avoid talking to one of Diane’s many producers.

“Give us a second,” he said.

The producer looked daggers at me but left the room.

“Bennett Davis just called,” Vince said. “He’s going to turn himself in. Wants to make a deal. One o’clock. Down at headquarters.”

“Did he give you any of the details?”

“No, but he will. After a while, you can tell. This one has got no fight left. Besides, we got preliminary DNA back on the cigar.”

“A match?”

Rodriguez nodded and continued.

“Looks like it. Davis also had a message for you. Said The Godfather plays a lot easier than real life. Said to tell you he just didn’t have the stomach for it.”

I thought about the reality of swallowing a bullet. Couldn’t think of anything much worse. Then I thought about a life of hard time. For a former prosecutor. In a big-time lockup.

“He won’t last long in prison, will he?”

Rodriguez shrugged.

“He’ll be gang-raped first thing. Then it depends on what he can do for them on the inside. Or if he can pay. If I had to bet, I’d say he doesn’t make it.”

Diane stuck her head in the door. She looked tight around the eyes.

“Vince,” I said. “Can you give us a minute here?”

“Sure,” Rodriguez replied. “I have to head out anyway.”

He turned to Diane.

“I didn’t get a chance to tell you, but Bennett Davis is turning himself in downtown. Within the hour.”

“We need to get a crew on it,” Diane said. Rodriguez shook his head.

“Can’t do it. Davis is coming in alone. I already agreed to no press. Tell you what. Once we have him in custody, I’ll ask if he wants to talk to you. Maybe you get lucky again.”

“Thanks,” Diane said, and the detective left.

“You got plenty,” I said. “More than plenty.”

Diane moved closer, slid her arms around my shoulders, and laid her head flat against my chest.

“Yeah,” she sighed. “I just get greedy. Want it all.”

“I know.”

“How you doing, baby? Seemed a little strange last night.”

“A lot on my mind.”

I pulled the yearbooks from Sedan out of a gym bag I’d brought with me and put them on the desk beside us.

“Sam Becker says hello.”

She looked at the yearbooks and then up at me. I could see a small pulse beat in the hollow of her throat.

“So now you know,” she said.

“Tell me about it.”

“I’m sure Sam did.”

“He told me what he knew. I figure there’s more.”

She walked across the room and closed the door. Then she sat down in front of the yearbooks, drew her palms together, and held her hands to her lips. For a moment she said nothing. She opened up to her sister’s high school picture, then her own. Traced each with her finger. I had done the same thing a day earlier and not gotten any of the answers I wanted either.