3 The Case of Tiffany's Epiphany (31 page)

“We are, but I got a better guy in mind.”

As we get back into her car, she asks, “Mr. Sherlock, I thought you put me in charge of the party?” Tiffany is a bit miffed after hearing my second decision on the party planning. “This is something I do best.”

“You are in charge, Tiffany, but it’s important we have the right mix of guests.”

“I wholeheartedly agree,” she says firing up the Lexus. “I have about twenty-six people on my list and all of them are really hot.”

“They can come, but not until later. A select few of us are going to have kind of a little get-together at the club first.”

“Kind of like a pre-party party?”

“So to speak.”

Tiffany smiles, happy to be back in charge. “Where to?”

“The police station, I have to find “No-No” and Jack.”

“Actually, that’s really good,” Tiffany says. “I can tell them what to wear.”

---

“A little late, aren’t you?” the desk sergeant asks seeing me. “The ceremony is almost over.”

“What ceremony?”

“Jack Wayt’s award ceremony.”

Tiffany and I make our way to the large squad room to see Jack, in full uniform, standing next to the Chief of Police who is at the lectern. “No-No” stands to the right of Jack with a wide smile of pride on her face. There must be thirty cops sitting in attendance.

“Jack Wayt,” the Chief continues, “I want to congratulate you for not only being one of Chicago’s finest detectives, with a service record unsurpassed in professionalism and proficiency, but also for breaking a long-standing record in the history of our police force. Few thought it could ever be broken. So, Jack, for thirty-nine years, seven months, and eight days of continuous service, I hereby bestow upon you The City of Chicago’s Service Medal for the employee with the longest work record without a sick day taken or requested.”

The applause begins and continues as the Chief drapes a medal around Jack’s neck then shakes his hand vigorously. “Congratulations, Jack.”

I wait until Jack shakes every hand in the room and makes his way over to Tiffany and me. Before I can speak he says, “Wait.”

“What?”

“My fibromyalgia is acting up again.”

“I thought only women get that disease?”

“I’ve come across a special strain.”

“Why didn’t you call in sick?”

“I will if it gets worse.”

I speak sincerely. After my last request went south, I want him to grant me one more favor. “A lot of the pieces are falling into place, Jack. If I can get all the suspects in the same room, someone is going to screw up, and we’ll have our murderer.”

“What do you want me to do?” he asks.

I tell him.

“I can’t do that.”

“Of course you can, Jack. Wear that medal and you can do anything.”

It takes a few more minutes to convince Jack, but I do. The next person won’t be so easy.

“No, no. No way.”

“You have to get him there,” I tell “No-No.”

“It’ll be financial suicide if it doesn’t work out,” she says.

“Make him an offer he can’t refuse.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know,” I admit.

“Tell him it’s my party,” Tiffany says to help the cause. “And my parties are famous in this town.”

“It won’t matter to him.”

“He’s got to be there,” I plead with “No-No”. “You’ve got to find a way.”

---

We sit in her Lexus on Oak Street, just north of the Loop and less than two blocks from Lake Michigan. Tiffany refuses to get out.

“I can’t do it.”

“Yes, you can.”

“No, I can’t.”

“She has to be there.”

“But I can’t stand being in the same room with her.”

“Tiffany, get in there, go right up to her, and invite Alix to the party tonight,” I say to her. “The ‘Nice’ you can do this.”

“I think that’s what I hate about the ‘Nice’ me,” Tiffany says. “Being nice.”

“She has to be there. It’s important. Please,” I beg nicely.

“Do I have to?”

“Yes.”

“This isn’t going to be easy,” she says, walking slowly away.

I wait in the car, as Tiffany trudges into a swanky day spa. She re-emerges five minutes later. “She said she’d have to see if she could clear her schedule.”

“Does that mean she’s going to show?”

“Nothing will stop that conceited little bioché from being there.”

---

Tiffany drives me to the Cook County Jail. “Wait” Jack Wayt should already be inside.

“See ya tonight,” Tiffany says as she peels out. She’ll spend the rest of the day confirming the invitees and interfacing with the caterers, the decorators, maybe even a DJ or two; and a put together a killer ensemble to die for. It’ll be a hot time in the old nightclub tonight.

“Where’s the babe, Sherlock?” The question is asked by a trio of guards as I go through the metal detector.

“She’s busy, but she sends you her best,” I tell the disappointed officers.

Jack is already waiting in the interview room when I arrive.

“Wait.”

He says as I offer my hand to shake.

“I think I broke a blood vessel in one of my metatarsals when the Captain was pumping my hand like he was trying to get water from a dry well.”

“I think you’ll live, Jack.”

“As if I had a choice,” Jack says rubbing his right hand.

I fill Jack in on more of my discoveries and theories as we wait. “Most of what you’ve told me, you have no way of proving,” Jack tells me.

“Once I figure it all out, proving it will be a mere formality,” I assure him.

“Easy for you to say, Sherlock.”

Dirk McGee leads Gibby Fearn into the room and immediately removes the shackles.

“Getting tired of the hotel accommodations?” I ask him.

“What do you think?”

“You have to admit, the room service is prompt.”

Gibby looks at Jack. “Who are you?”

“This is Detective Jack Wayt.”

It’s probably good they don’t shake hands.

“What’s the medal for?” Gibby asks.

“Longevity,” Jack answers.

“What do you want?” Gibby asks.

Questions, questions, and more questions. Having a conversation with Gibby is like over-dosing on the rules of
Jeopardy
.

I take a seat at the table to relax my back. “Gibby, I know you didn’t try to blow D’Wayne DeWitt to kingdom come. I also know you weren’t in on the skimming going on at the Zanadu, although you watched it go down night after night. And I’m pretty sure you’d love to get out of here. So, I’m going to ask you one last question, but you have to give me an answer and not another question.”

For once, he doesn’t question me.

“Would you like to go to a private party tonight at the Zanadu? I promise you will get the door prize, which is immunity for anything you say, but we will expect you to speak up when it’s your turn. There'll be food, free drinks, and lots of fun people. So, if you’re not busy tonight what do you say?”

“Can I bring a date?” he asks.

“Gibby, I said no questions.”

“You can bring a date,” Jack tells him, “as long as it’s not your lawyer.”

Gibby gives us a good long stare. “Sure,” he says. “I could use a night out.”

---

Jack drops me off in front of the Zanadu at five o’clock. Tiffany is supposed to meet me here now, but of course she’s late. I use the time to make a phone call.

“Guido, it’s Richard Sherlock.”

“Yeah.”

“I’m feeling pretty crummy about you being out of work, and I’ve taken the liberty of setting up an interview for you.”

“Yeah, where?”

“The Zanadu.”

A pause, a pause of interest on his part.

“I’ve told them all about you. They have a position open, and the VP of Operations wants to meet you.”

“What’s the job?”

“Floor manager.”

He hesitates for a moment before answering. “What time should I be there?”

“Nine.”

“Okay,” he says and hangs up.

Doesn’t anybody say thank you anymore?

I wait another fifteen minutes and Tiffany finally shows up. “Where have you been?”

“I had to get something new to wear tonight.”

I should have known.

We go inside where the Zanadu is setting up for another night of Hip Hop bacchanalia. Bruno’s replacement is behind the bar stocking vodka. His barback is loading clean glasses onto shelves. I stop in the middle of the dance floor to peer up at D’Wayne DeWitt’s skybox. There’s plywood in the last two panels where the glass was blown out in the explosion.

We proceed past the bar area, through the back hallway to the door marked
No
Admittance
. I knock. The door lock clicks open and we step inside.

“How’s the new job treating you?” I ask Massey seated at his desk.

Massey covers up the work in front of him. “Just fine.”

“How are you?” Tiffany asks the Behemoth.

“Dun’t know.”

“Mr. DeWitt told me to tell you we have no reason to admit you into the club,” Massey says.

“Speaking of Mr. DeWitt, do you know if he’s in?”

“I’m not sure.”

I look over to my comic book reading buddy and he tells me, “Dun’t know, either.”

“Let’s say we all take a trip upstairs and see for ourselves?”

I don’t give them a chance to argue and hurry as best I can out the door. I’m pretty close to the stairway door when Massey catches up.

“Mr. DeWitt doesn’t want to see you,” he informs me.

“I need to reserve a room for a private party.”

“I’m throwing a very exclusive event this evening,” Tiffany adds.

“I can help you with that.”

I tell him. “It’s going to be a coming-out party for the person who blew a hole in Mr. DeWitt’s private suite.”

Massey stops, gives me a long look, and punches in the code to open the stairway door.

We make our way up the flight of stairs, which for me is excruciating.

“Hello, Mr. DeWitt,” I say as I enter the somewhat refurbished suite.

“What are you doing here?”

“I need to borrow your digs for a little get-together this evening.”

“Not possible,” he tells me.

“I’m inviting the person who tried to waste you, the person who murdered your bartender, a couple of drug dealers, a real life hoodlum or two, plus some other folks who really know how to party.”

“You are?” a very flummoxed and surprised Tiffany asks

I assure Mr. DeWitt, “You’re not going to want to miss it.”

“Want me to escort these people out?” Massey asks Mr. DeWitt, as the Behemoth licks his lips in anticipation.

“Oh,” I say to Massey, “you and your large friend are also invited. The party just wouldn’t be the same without you two.”

“Mr. DeWitt,” Massey repeats.

Mr. DeWitt comes from behind his desk, waves Massey off, and approaches me. “This some kind of a joke, Sherlock?”

“Maybe, although I’m not sure exactly who the joke is going to be on yet.”

Mr. DeWitt is about to speak, but holds his thought.

“Parties are always more fun when there is an element of surprise, don’t you think?” I ask everyone.

The Behemoth is the only one who answers, “Dun’t know.”

“I love a good party,” I tell the group.

Massey looks to his boss for the next move, but Mr. DeWitt backs off. “What if I’m busy and can’t attend?” he says.

“Then someone will come and escort you,” I inform him. “Trust me, Mr. DeWitt, you’re not going to want to miss this one.”

The man gives me one last look, and walks back behind his desk. His motion is as good as a checking the
yes
box on an RSVP invitation.

“The festivities should start around nine,” I say.

“I’ll have my people come and set up at around eight,” Tiffany adds. “Any special dietary things I should know about?” Tiffany inquires. I think that’s very thoughtful of her.

“Dun’t know.” Again, the Behemoth is the only one to answer.

Before we exit the Zanadu, I scribble down a list of my attendees and hand it to Tiffany. “You better give this to Arson and Sterno.”

She reads the list. “Mr. Sherlock, I can’t have these people at one of my parties.”

“Why not?”

“They’re way out of my social network, hardly my kind, and once Alix sees this, she’ll post them on Facebook and my name will be Ms.
Persona Non Party
.”

“When this party is over, that list is going to be on a lot more places than Facebook.”

“Twitter?”

---

I go home, call the girls and remind them I’ll pick them up tomorrow at ten to go to Care’s basketball game.

“I want to thank you, Kelly,” I tell my oldest.

“What did I do?”

“You helped me figure out the motive behind the Zanadu case.”

“I did?”

“You certainly did. I couldn’t have done it without you.”

Kelly has no clue what she did, which I find quite amusing.

“So, you figured out who tried to poison Tiffany?”

“No, not yet.”

“You figured out who iced the bartender?” she asks, getting more confused by the minute.

“No, I haven’t figured that out either.”

“So, Dad, what did I do?”

“You opened my mind to possibilities, just like I try to do for you, daughter dear.”

“Oh my God, now I’m the one giving out life lessons.”

“Like father, like daughter.”

I tell my daughters I love them, remind them again to be ready on time tomorrow, and hang up.

I keep my new phone in my hand and start punching buttons to find the list of phone numbers saved. Once I find the right page it will be easy to find the right number, because, as far as I know, it’s the only number that has been saved. It takes me about five minutes, but finally the number pops up. I write it down, turn the phone off, wait, turn the phone back on, and dial the number.

He picks up on the second ring.

Looking up at
The Original Carlo,
it’s easy to go through the entire case step by step with him. I tell him what I know for certain, what I suspect, how I believe it was all done, and what’s going to happen this evening.

He says very little, asks no questions, and gives no directions. But he does say he will be in contact with me one more time and calmly hangs up the phone.