Easy Innocence (22 page)

“Are you running for something, counselor?” the judge asked dryly.

“Your honor, I would run a marathon if it would keep Cam Jordan where he belongs.”

Good save
, Georgia thought. And he didn’t mention a word about the hazing.

Ramsey looked at the judge, then down at the floor, allowing his import to filter through the room. He went back to the table and sat down. The hush in the courtroom deepened. Even the judge was quiet. Georgia looked over at Kelly. When they made eye contact, she knew from his expression they’d lost big.

***

Georgia was on her way out of the courtroom when someone called her name. She turned around. Robby Parker. O’Malley was a few feet behind him. She sighed inwardly. She’d known they’d have to talk at some point. Parker caught up to her, playing with his detective’s shield again.
Was he even aware of it
, she wondered.

“How are you, Davis?”

They’d been partners for years, and he still called her Davis. “I’m good, Robby. Congratulations on your promotion.”

He drew himself up. “It’s a job.” He didn’t do modesty well. Never had. “I just learned you were working for the defendant.”

She didn’t say anything.

“Why are you wasting your time on a slam-dunk?”

She tried to hide her irritation. “Obviously, I don’t see it the same way.”

“How you do or don’t see it isn’t really the issue.”

Was he trying to mimic Ramsey? “What are you talking about?”

“I—we’ve been getting reports that you’ve been talking to people. Asking questions.”

“That is what an investigator does.”

“Most investigators don’t impersonate a social worker.”

Her muscles locked, and she felt the heat on her cheeks. Tom Walcher, Lauren’s father. He’d threatened to go to the cops. She sputtered, casting around for something to say.

O’Malley caught up to them. “Hey, Davis.” He looked at her, then at Parker. He must have sensed the hostility between them. He should, Georgia thought. It was rolling off her in waves.

“What’s going on?” He asked.

Parker drew himself up. “I was just telling Davis that impersonating a social worker is the kind of thing that can get you into trouble.”

“Parker, lay off.”

But Parker barreled on. “Not that I blame her. When a case is this clear-cut, people get desperate. They grasp at anything.”

“That’s enough,” O’Malley snapped.

Georgia’s throat got thick with anger. She folded her arms and planted herself in front of him. She debated whether to mention Derek Janowitz’s homicide and what Sara might have been doing. But why give him a lead, if he didn’t already have it?

“Glad you’re so confident, Parker. Must be all the great investigative work
you’re
doing.”

“Oh yeah,” he kept going. “There’s something else, too. When someone starts asking questions about the daughter of the State’s Attorney, they create problems for themselves. Especially if they ever want to come back onto the force.”

How dare he patronize her? She hadn’t intended to get into a tussle, but now the words tumbled out. “You know something, Robby? If the force is run by people like you, I don’t want to come back.”

O’Malley cut in. “Look, kids, play nice. You may not realize it, but you’re both in the same sandbox.” O’Malley loosened his tie. “Parker, you need to learn when to keep your mouth shut. And Davis,” he looked over, “You—you...”

She finished for him. “I need to let things slide off my back. Isn’t that what you were going to say?”

O’Malley sighed. “From your mouth...”

But she’d had enough. “Look, Dan. I owe you. Youknow that. Buthim...” She flicked her hand at Parker. “I got no use for him anymore. Keep him away from me.”

Before either of them could answer, she wheeled around and went back into the courthouse, shaking her head. She’d become a cop ten years ago because of the loyalty and structure it imposed: the rules, clear procedures, and, despite the occasional squabble, the implicit knowledge that if you watched your partner’s back, he’d watch yours. It was like being part of a family, a family she never had. Now, though, that loyalty and structure had frayed, and the family ties were in shreds.

Inside, she started down the hall to the court room. Maybe she’d find Kelly, take him to lunch; congratulate him on his argument even though they’d lost. But as she opened the door, she saw Kelly and Ramsey at the side of the now-empty room, deep in conversation. They were out of earshot, but Ramsey didn’t look happy. Georgia turned around and headed back outside.

GEORGIA MULLED
things over as she drove home. Tom Walcher must have gone to the police after all. Or maybe it was Ramsey he’d complained to. He’d boasted of having connections; but she had no way of knowing how strong they were. Was there a relationship between the two men? Did the men have business connections? Did their spouses work together on Newfield school activities?

Or was Walcher just the kind of guy who liked to buddy up to cops? She’d run into cop-wannabes when she was on the force, guys who scanned police radio frequencies and showed up at crime scenes, sometimes even before the cops. Others hung out at cop bars and restaurants. You had to be careful with them. From time to time they might actually have valuable information, but there might be a quid pro quo when they surrendered it.

She wouldn’t have figured Walcher for a wannabe, but, ultimately, it didn’t matter which type he was. Or who he’d talked to. Parker was a pompous asshole, but he was right about one thing. It had been a mistake to impersonate a social worker. It wouldn’t happen again.

She drove west on Old Orchard Road. A country club took up one side of the road; a cemetery the other. It was a gray day, and the air felt wet and raw. A few dispirited leaves still clung to tree branches, but they weren’t able to muster much fire.

She reviewed what she knew about Derek Janowitz. Was he the one who spread fish guts in the hallway of her apartment? The descriptions matched. But was it his idea? Or could it have been his partner’s? And how could she find out who that partner was? She needed to. Whoever it was could be the only remaining link to Sara Long.

She thought about going to Derek’s apartment and trying to bully her way in to question his roommates. But they’d just endured a rough police interrogation; they’d slam the door in her face. The police had his PDA in any case. A better solution would be to get his cell phone records. She knew his number.

Some people might bicker about the ethics and legality of obtaining cell phone records without subpoenas. Frankly, before she was suspended, she might have, too. But if she was going to be a PI and work big cases, she couldn’t be squeamish about her sources. The police had resources—indeed, access to them was one of the things she missed about being a cop. As a PI, she was a lone ranger, relying on contacts and connections to get what she needed.

Sure, there was a trade-off: tracking bad guys versus infringing—at least a little—on people’s privacy. Still, for a couple of hundred dollars, she could get Derek Janowitz’s cell phone records, and she would have a slew of new leads, any number of which might lead to his partner.

Back home, she called a PI who’d referred a case to her a few months ago. He gave her the name and number of someone in Florida. Five minutes later, after surrendering her credit card number, the number of the cell she wanted to trace, and the dates she needed, she was told they had a heavy backlog. The results would be emailed to her within seven business days.

She hung up the phone and looked around. It was on nights like these that she felt the weight of time and how untethered she was. She had no ties any more, emotional or otherwise. Her mother abandoned her when she was a child, leaving her with a father who ended up loving the bottle more than her. He’d died seven years ago. She was alone now. But she was free, white, and twenty-one, an expression her father liked to repeat between shots. She’d decided that freedom was an overrated concept.

She went around her apartment and lit candles. Although she didn’t collect things anymore, she couldn’t bring herself to throw out her candles. Some were scented, and she breathed in mint, coconut, and berry. When they were all lit, she lay down on her couch and watched their lights flicker. The candles helped chase away the void, providing clarity and definition. They reminded her that, like them, she’d once had fire and heat.

***

Friday morning Georgia went to the gym to work out. Afterwards she stopped for a cup of coffee at a gas station. A radio inside the mini-mart was tuned to the all-news station. She had just forked over a dollar to the guy behind the counter, congratulating herself that she wasn’t springing for a three-dollar latte, when the female anchor came on in the tense, breathy voice that says they have important news. “This just in. State’s Attorney Jeff Ramsey has announced he will recuse himself from the murder trial of Cameron Jordan. Jordan, if you remember, was indicted for killing teenager Sara Long in the Cook County Forest Preserve last month.”

Georgia looked up, startled. The man behind the counter didn’t notice.

“In a statement, Ramsey said the situation has turned out to be more complicated than first thought. Ramsey admitted that his teenage daughter was present in the Forest Preserve during the hazing incident that preceded the homicide. Monica Ramsey is a senior at Newfield High School.

“Ramsey turned over the prosecution of the case to his second in command and said his daughter will cooperate fully. He hastened to say she is not a suspect in the homicide, nor is she directly connected to the crime. He made the decision to recuse himself to avoid even the appearance of conflict of interest. Stay tuned for more developments in this breaking story.”

The broadcast cut to a commercial about a car dealership in Arlington Heights. The man behind the counter absently handed over her change. He hadn’t heard a word. Georgia pocketed the coins and took her coffee outside. She thought back to the bail reduction hearing. Ramsey had won. No contest. Then she flashed to his conversation with Kelly in the courtroom afterwards. Ramsey hadn’t looked like a winner then. He’d looked worried.

Sliding the coffee into the cup holder in her car, she pulled out her cell and punched in Paul Kelly’s number. The call went to voice mail. She left a message.

Kelly had berated Georgia about going after Monica Ramsey. So what if the girl was at the Forest Preserve, he said? You don’t make a case out of innuendo and hearsay. They couldn’t go after the State’s Attorney’s daughter. Evidently, something had changed.

By evening she still hadn’t reached Kelly but at least now she knew why. He’d been giving interviews to the press all day. The story was all over the news, with dueling sound bites from both Ramsey and Kelly. First, Ramsey: “The most important thing to remember is that nothing that’s happened has altered the facts of Sara Long’s murder. We have the offender. We believe he did it, and that he acted alone. However, our office will make every effort to get
all
the facts.”

Then, a quote from Kelly: “It was clear from the beginning that the State’s Attorney’s Office was attempting to rush Cam Jordan through the system without the proper investigation and care. Now we know why. I think the charges against my client should be dropped.” Kelly turned his head so he was looking at the camera when he spoke, which gave the impression the he was talking directly to the people.
Slick,
Georgia thought.

Sandwiched between the sound bites were reporters, most of them broadcasting live from the Skokie Courthouse. However, one enterprising woman was staked out at Sara Long’s Wilmette home. The Longs wouldn’t comment on camera, but issued a statement that read, in part: “We hope today’s developments will not deter the course of justice. There is not a minute of any day that we do not grieve the loss of our daughter and what she suffered. We want to see justice served, no matter where it leads.”

Did they really?
Georgia wondered. What if the pursuit of justice revealed that their daughter was a whore?

She switched to the public television station and found pundits shouting at each other in the rude discourse that passes for debate these days. Republicans clamoring for Ramsey’s head suggested he pack his bags and go back to New York.

“Don’t be absurd,” countered a woman with long hair and a dour expression. “He’ll ride this out. And rise above it. It was a gutsy thing to do.”

“It was the responsible thing to do,” someone else said.

“It was the only thing to do,” said someone else.

A discussion about ethics followed, and a florid-faced man with white hair pronounced the real winners the people of Cook County. The system worked, and we were all the better for it, he proclaimed.

Georgia snapped off the TV and went into the kitchen. Rummaging through the fridge for something to eat, she settled on a grilled cheese sandwich. She threw bread and cheese into the frying pan. She didn’t know who was right about Ramsey, but she did know one thing. It was easy to be gutsy when your back was up against the wall.

HER CASE
was heating up. Matt continued to tail her up and down the North Shore. To Burhops, the courthouse, even to Mickey’s, where she had dinner with her neighbor. He checked out the guy later; a state bureaucrat. Probably nothing to do with her case. He read the reports about Ramsey, and he wondered if the State’s Attorney’s recusal had anything to do with her work.

Things were heating up for him, too. Especially after he reported how she’d tailed the Walcher girl to the health club. Matt wasn’t part of the inner circle, but he noticed several closed-door meetings between Lenny and his employer, and when the man wasn’t in conference, he was on the phone. Then, a few days ago, Lenny disappeared. Just up and left. R&R, his employer said; the guy needed a break. Just a coincidence that Lenny took off right after the kid who worked at the gas station was killed. The one she visited.

With Lenny gone his employer was pressing Matt. Calling his cell ten times a day, demanding to know where she was and who was she talking to. He knew better than to ask why, but he sensed something had shifted. Intensified. He started to watch more carefully, measured every word, alert for clues, subtle mood shifts, even double entendres.