Concrete Savior (24 page)

As Casey stood back and watched, another man and a woman walked up close to Wernick to study the exhibit before them. She said something to her companion and Casey saw him laugh, then she turned her head toward Wernick and said something to him. The young man smiled and Casey jerked. The smile changed his whole face, brightened it and made him look like the young man he was meant to be. Someone with his whole life ahead of him, who might flirt with a girl, take her out on a date, and who knew where it would go from there. Wernick started to say something back to the woman when her partner tugged on her hand and they walked ahead. Casey saw him stare after them with a look of longing on his face.

Yeah, Casey thought. He deserves a chance just like anyone else. That detective is wrong. You can’t know someone’s going to die and not do something to try to stop it.

Tate Wernick turned back to the display and the vacant spot created by the couple was filled by more people, part of a tour group. Another guy came up on the edge of the clot of people and tried to work his way aroun to get a better view of the display. Casey’s heartbeat jumped when he realized this man fit the description that Gina had given him of another man, the one who would end up killing Wernick. There was nothing special about him. He was maybe in his mid-forties, salt and pepper gray hair that was a little on the long side. Below the rolled-up sleeves of his shirt were dark military tattoos and he was well built. Maybe he was a retired veteran, someone who knew how to handle himself in a fight. No wonder it didn’t bode well for the younger man.

Although there was still a nagging doubt in Casey’s mind, his feet pushed him toward the two men. They were already talking, an exchange of words begun and growing increasingly irate the closer Casey got to them. He would probably never know what had started it but the two men were only inches apart when Casey forced a pleasant smile over his lips and pushed his way into the tight space between the two of them.

“THERE,” BRYNNA SAID. “BY
the window with the American flag on it.”

Eran followed her lead and saw Casey Anlon standing half a dozen feet from the exhibit. Not far away was a touristy-looking couple, and they were talking to the smiling younger guy next to them. No harm here. “So now what?”

“I have no idea. I can find him for you, but that’s about it. I certainly can’t see the future like Gina Whitfield.” She was silent for a moment. “Can’t you do something? Go talk to him, or think of a reason to stall him?”

Eran frowned. “I have to be real careful here, Brynna. I don’t have any reason to talk to this guy or detain him. If I keep showing up in his life, I’m walking on thin ice with regard to harassment. It’s not like he’s done anything wrong, at least nothing that I can actually hold up to a judge, or even my superiors.”

“There’s no law against talking to him,” Brynna said. “So I’ll go talk to him.”

“You need to be careful, too,” he pointed out. “Remember, he made it clear that he wants you to stay away from him.”

Brynna chuckled. “Funny—I usually have the opposite effect on men.”

“Ha ha,” Eran said. “Let’s just stay here for a minute or two and see what happens.”

“Okay, if that’s you want to do. I’m usually more for the proactive approach.”

“There’s a time for that, and there’s a time to sit back and wait. I think now is one of the latter times. If we had more of an idea about what we’re doing, it would be different.”

Brynna shrugged, then her eyes narrowed. “What’s he doing?”

Eran had been scanning the crowd, although he didn’t know what he was looking for. Now he focused again on Casey Anlon. The previous couple was gone and Anlon was standing between two other men, the tall, gawky-looking guy who had been talking to the man and woman only a minute earlier, and an older man with a sturdy build. Both men looked angry, but Casey had a mild, let’s-just-calm-down expression on his face. Eran and Brynna stared for a second, but before they could do anything else, the older gave an irritated wave of his hand and stalked away. Eran saw Casey reach out and give the younger man a companionable clap on the shoulder. The younger guy shrugged off the gesture, then walked off, too, but in the opposite direction.

“Uh-oh,” Brynna said.

“What?”

“I think we just missed our chance.”

“Are you
kidding
me?” Eran’s expression was astonished. “That was it?
That
was Casey’s big rescue?”

“The rescue itself isn’t the point,” Brynna reminded him. “Sometimes the smallest gesture can have a huge impact, and in this case, it’s what happens afterward that matters the most.”

“No way,” Eran said. “That just
can’t
be it. Not after all this effort.” When Brynna just looked at him, Eran said, “Fuck it. I’m going to go talk to this creep.” Eran stormed toward Casey Anlon, who was standing and staring at the stained glass display with an almost beatific look on his face. Brynna went after him.

Casey’s features dissolved into shock when he saw Eran and Brynna. “Wait—have you two been
following
me? Are you watching me—how did you find me? You
must
be following me!”

“That doesn’t matter right now. Who is that guy you were just talking to?”

Casey looked at him triumphantly. “You’re too late,” he said. “His name is Tate Wernick and I’ve already stopped the fight that would have killed him.”

“Great,” Brynna muttered. Louder, she said, “You have no idea what you’ve done.”

Casey’s head whipped in her direction. “And neither do you. Can you absolutely tell me that he was going to do something horrible?” At the look on her face, he said, “I thought not. You don’t know. You wanted me to let him
die
when you don’t
know
.” His mouth twisted. “Who died and made
you
God?”

Brynna was so horrified that she actually stepped backward. “God? Oh, n-no—”

Eran cut her off. “We’re talking about proof here,” he told Casey. “Two out of the last three people you’ve rescued—”

“There’s no proof,” Casey interjected. “There’s just a couple of coincidences.”

“There’s no such thing,” Brynna said.

“Of course there is.” Casey waved his hand in the air. “You act like there’s someone with a master plan somewhere, the big Excel sheet in the sky that has the info on everyone’s lives in a minute-by-minute format, and tying them all together somehow. That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard. If it was all planned out, then why am I able to step in and stop this crap from happening?” he demanded. “Tell me that.”

When they stayed silent, the triumphant look returned to Casey’s face. “Yeah, I thought so.”

“Casey,” Brynna began. “You—”

He held up his hand. “No—just stay away from me, both of you. You might be the police,” he said as he looked at Eran, then cast a quick sidelong glance at Brynna, “and I don’t know
who
you are, but I havenfont sizt broken any law. If you don’t leave me alone, I’m going to pay an in-person visit to that station house you took me to, and I won’t leave until I’ve filed a formal complaint.” He turned and stormed off.

Brynna started to go after him but Eran put a hand on her arm. “Let him go. There’s nothing we can do.” When she looked at him quizzically, he added, “Time to move forward, right? I have the guy’s name, his latest save. Let me run it through and see what I come up with. Maybe that’ll at least give us a clue as to what we might be up against.”

BRYNNA HADN’T TAKEN HER
purse into the museum when she and Eran had gone in there, and when she got back to Eran’s car, she automatically checked her messages. She’d gotten into the habit of doing that like any good career woman operating a business of her own. There was no one else to check those messages for her; if she didn’t follow up on calls, she didn’t earn a living. Although she might not need as much as most because she was splitting expenses with Eran, Brynna still liked to be independent.

The red light was blinking and she flipped it open and dialed the voice mail. She recognized Georgina Whitfield’s stammering voice instantly even though she’d talked to her for only a few minutes in that tailor’s store on Saturday.

“H-hello, Ms. Malak . . . I hope this is you. I couldn’t really tell from the computer message. Um, anyway, my name is Gina Whitfield. You were in the shop where I work yesterday morning and you left your card and, well, you said you could find my husband? I wondered if you could give me a call. If you can, I really need your help.” She had sounded falsely cheerful at first, determined—like someone with a mission—but now she’d started to cry. “I really need your help, ma’am. I don’t know where he is, and I can’t go into details over the telephone. I—I’m just too afraid to do that. And I c-can’t have the police involved. So if you could please call me, if you could help me somehow, do, what you said you could do . . . my number is—”

The voice garbled out, but it didn’t matter. Not only had Brynna’s cell phone registered the number, hearing Georgina Whitfield’s voice had formed an irrevocable tie from her to Brynna, just as she had described to Eran. As with the sense of smell, she would now be able to identify and find the woman forever.

Eran climbed into the car, looking exhausted and disappointed. “Well,” he said, “I think that it goes without saying that was a failure.”

“Don’t be so hard on yourself,” Brynna said. “You did your best. That’s all anyone can ask. Besides, like Casey’s message said this morning, we don’t know that this man will be evil ohat something horrible will happen to someone else because he’s still alive.”

“No.” Eran’s face was tight. “But Casey’s track record hasn’t been so hot for being on the side of good.”

“That’s true. But it seems to be our lucky day for getting phone calls. I just picked up a message on my phone from Georgina Whitfield.”

Eran’s face jerked in her direction. “What? She called you?”

“Yep. She wants me to call her and help find her husband.”

“Have you called her back yet? Let’s get this going—maybe we can stop this whole mess in its tracks.”

Brynna grinned at him. “I don’t have to call her to find her.”

He nodded. “And besides, I already have her home address, remember? I got it the good old-fashioned way.” For the first time since they’d blown it inside the museum, he gave a short laugh. “With a computer.”

GEORGINA WHITFIELD LIVED IN
a pretty little three-flat on a side street in the Wicker Park neighborhood. It wasn’t a new area, but it was well taken care of. You could see the effort that the property owners had put into their places in the neat flower borders that were still blooming and well trimmed, even in September, the clean cars, the sparkle of windows that were kept clean on all the small apartment buildings. There was almost no trash in the streets and it was a quiet block with a homey feel to it.

As they got out of the car and went up the walkway to the front door of Gina’s building, they could smell home cooking on the air. Eran thought it was something Polish, like cabbage or pierogi. He felt a little ridiculous that it made his mouth water until he realized that neither one of them had eaten since last night. But there was no time to deal with mundane tasks like feeding themselves. They had bigger things to pay attention to, like possible disasters.

Unlike Mike Klesowitch’s place, there was no guesswork involved here. They knew her name, they knew her address, and her name was on the mailbox, with
Hinshaw
—the husband’s name—added underneath hers. Eran rang the bell and after a few seconds, a scratchy voice came over the intercom.

“Yes? Who is it?”

The voice sounded bright but feigned friendly, with an undertone to it that hinted at paranoia. “Georgina, this is Brynna Malak. You left me a message this morning. I’m sorry I didn’t get back to you sooner, but I’ve been tied up all morning.”

“I’ll be right down,” the voice said after a long pause. Eran could imagine her wondering just how the hell Brynna had gotten her address. Then again, maybe not. She might assume Brynna was working with the police despite her request that Brynna not do so. Or she might be assuming something entirely different.