Max Collins - Girl Most Likely

“You may have met her then, or possibly already had, right here in the Chicago area. Or know of her, certainly. Astrid Lund.”

Her eyes got even bigger. “Astrid?... not? Oh, no! I did know her. Everybody in Chicago did, from TV! She’s a celebrity in this part of the world. But I knew her as, you know... a person .”

“I’m sorry. Were you close?”

She shook her head, sending her brunette hair flying, but losing none of its shape settling back down. “I only knew her from Alex’s work.”

“How so?”

“Well, WLG-TV, that’s one of Alex’s clients. Or his firm’s, but Alex is the partner who represents them.”

“How does someone as young as Alex become a partner at a major Chicago law firm?”

Her shrug, accompanied by an open hand, was casual. “He was top of his class at Loyola. And, well, his best friend there was the son of one of the partners. Alex admits that helped.”

“He’s a lucky man.” Then with a little smile that conveyed his meaning, “In a lot of ways.”

She smiled back. “You’ve known Alex a long time? Through your daughter?”

He nodded. “They were in the Young Democrats together. I knew him when he had more hair than Jennifer Aniston.”

She laughed a little, and from behind them came a male voice — not the BEARS sweat suit guy this time.

“Now, that’s unkind,” Alex Cannon said, his courtroom baritone delivering the words in a good-natured way.

Keith slid off the chair as the two men met each other halfway across the big kitchen and shook hands. Alex betrayed neither surprise nor annoyance with this unscheduled visitor; he wore a dark gray polo and stonewashed jeans. His running shoes were gray, too, like his gray-framed glasses.

“I don’t have the evidence with me,” Keith said, “but I can produce my daughter’s high school yearbook, if a judge demands it.”

They both laughed a little, politely. Ashley was looking from her husband to Keith and back again, wondering what was really going on.

“Ash,” Alex said, “I’m going to take our guest back to my study.” He said to Keith, “We usually order pizza Sunday night, if you’d care to join us.”

That may have been a veiled dig at the time of day Keith had chosen to drop by.

“No, that’s generous, Alex,” he said. “But I’m probably heading back to Galena after we talk a bit.”

“Understood. Bring your Coke along. I already have a beer going.”

As Alex led him out of the kitchen, Keith smiled at Ashley, said it was nice meeting her, and she, still seated, said the same.

Soon, Keith and his host were in a modest study with a bookcase filled not with law books but with legal thrillers, from vintage Erle Stanley Gardner to current John Grisham. The desk, like the bookcase, was again countrified maple, though its swivel chair was black leather and pricey-looking. No filing cabinets were on hand to make it more a work space, or TV/sound system to make it a den.

This was strictly where a client could confer with his attorney out of the Chicago Loop and, in the case of a Sonny Salerno, away from prying eyes, whether human or video.

Alex closed the door as Keith settled into a less expensive but comfortable black leather chair across from his host. The desktop was uncluttered, really nothing but a phone, a pack of Parliament Lights, an ashtray, and a nearly empty bottle of Blue Moon on a coaster.

“I apologize,” Alex said, “for the less than warm welcome.”

“I came unannounced,” Keith said with a shrug. “But I have had warmer ones.”

Alex twitched a smile. “Well, Bruno has his merits. I was meeting with a client who has specific needs, including heavy security. And discretion. Did you notice who it was?”

“I did. Never met the man, but for all his discretion, his face is well known among law enforcement professionals.”

Alex reached for the Parliaments. “Mind if I smoke?”

“No.” The smell of tobacco already hung in the air.

“I wasn’t aware,” his host said, “that you were still a law enforcement professional. I heard you retired.”

He’d probably heard it last night, asking about Keith at the reunion.

“I retired from the Dubuque department, yes.”

“Was that after your wife’s passing? I was sad to hear about Mrs. Larson. She was a wonderful teacher. I had her in third grade. And when Krista and I were in the Young Demos, her mom was always so gracious, so friendly.”

Yes, he’d been asking about Keith at the reunion.

The attorney was lighting up with a silver horsehead lighter. “So what brings you to Naperville?”

“Astrid Lund was murdered last night.”

The cigarette suddenly hung slack in his mouth. “What? Jesus. No...” He shook his head. Set the cigarette in the ashtray. “Oh, that’s awful. I know her well. Knew her well. I represent the station where she works, as you may know.”

“I didn’t, but your wife mentioned it.”

Alex took a moment to retrieve his cigarette, a pause that told Keith the attorney was wondering just what Mrs. Cannon had said to their guest.

“This is terrible,” the attorney said, sighing smoke. “What are the circumstances, anyway?”

“She was stabbed in her sleep, repeatedly, presumably with a butcher knife. If she slept through her death, that would be a blessing. But I think it’s doubtful. She likely suffered, though not for long.”

Alex swallowed. His surprise seemed genuine enough, if slightly guarded. “When was this?”

“Too early to know precisely. Likely around midnight.”

“Do you have any idea who...?”

“No. You asked about law enforcement — I’m helping my daughter out on this. As a pro bono consultant. This is the first homicide she’s had since taking over.”

“I grew up in Galena,” he said, the gray-blue eyes tightening. “I don’t remember there ever being a murder...”

“Twenty years ago, I’m told, was the last previous.” He sipped the Coke Zero. “You left first thing this morning, I understand. Very early.”

Alex’s eyebrows flicked up and down. “Yes. I wanted to get back.”

“For the meeting with Mr. Salerno?”

“No,” he said too quickly. “That was something that just came up. I wanted a quiet Sunday with my wife, is all. I have a busy week ahead.”

“Seems a little funny.”

“What does?”

“Leaving first thing, like you did. Beautiful weekend for this time of year. So much to do in Galena on a Sunday. Bet your wife would have loved the shopping, so many fun little boutiques.”

He let some smoke out. “All right, I did have a meeting scheduled, here at the house. Informal, but a meeting. Not with Mr. Salerno.”

“Do you mind my asking with whom?”

His first frown. “What do you think? A client.”

“What client?”

He sat up. “Really, I don’t think that’s pertinent. Anyway, you people may have heard of client confidentiality back in Iowa, and Galena, too, for that matter.”

Keith smiled. “We have. We know that it applies to communications between an attorney and his client, not the identity of his client.” He sat forward. “I didn’t drive three hours to have a nice conversation with your lovely wife, though it was pleasant. And the Coke Zero is appreciated. I’m here representing the Galena Police Department. There was a murder last night of someone attending the same class reunion you and your wife came to Galena for. A lot of other classmates from out of town were also staying at the Lake View Lodge. You and Mrs. Cannon were the only guests to check out before the final event of the festivities, a free buffet breakfast. You have a work connection to the victim. So I will ask you again, and perhaps spare you a trip back to your old stomping grounds, where you would be held as a material witness.”