“And what did his doctor have to say?”
“Reluctant at first, naturally. But when we convinced him, he opened up. Even so, he still didn’t say much. Keating was in good shape for his age; a bit overweight, but he handled it well. There was no mention at all of any emotional problem, or any referral to a shrink. But, like I say, anything was possible in all the time he was away. And there was nothing, now that I think of it, on any of his check stubs that showed a payment to any shrink. Though God knows he had enough accounts. I can’t say we even found all of them. The guy is simply hard to pin down. He may have been torn up inside, but he sure as hell didn’t show it on the outside. Everybody we talked to painted a picture of somebody who really enjoyed life-had everything to live for.”
“So …?”
“The bottom line is, we haven’t found him-dead or alive. And we really tried. I can’t think of another missing person who’s had as many cops looking for him. The ’burb cops did a very professional job. Together we talked to just about everybody who might have an informed opinion. Nada! It was like everybody could think of hundreds of people who might just walk away from things, but not Keating. Not Keating.”
“And the Costello family?”
Tully scratched his five o’clock shadow. “That is where I changed my mind on the necessity of our getting involved in looking for him. I didn’t buy the possibility that he might be dead until I heard that his car had been found in that neighborhood.”
“And what of the fact that the car was found just outside the Costello home? Why would they leave such a clue?”
“Another answer I haven’t got. Of course, the families are notorious for sending messages: the dead fish, the genitals in the mouth, that sort of thing. The car seemed dumb-too dumb not to mean something. Mangiapane came up with the theory they were thumbing their nose at us: Here’s his car. Right at our front door. Let’s see you make a case of it. We’ll hand you the clue on a platter. But you’ll never pin it on us. And you’ll never find the damn body either. Moore thinks it’s possible some other family left the car there. A retaliation. A feud payback. Whatever. But I sort of like Manj’s idea.”
“You do not believe he is alive then?”
Tully shook his head somberly. There was a sense of pessimism. “It could be anything. He might have been depressed, like you said. In which case-maybe suicide. He might have amnesia. In that case, he’s probably wandering around somewhere, and he’ll probably come back some day. But I don’t think so. I think he was iced. The mob-somebody in organized crime. Though OC couldn’t come up with anything. And we went through Costello’s home from A to Z. Nothing.
“One thing for pretty sure though: If the mob hit him, we’ll probably never find the body. We might have his car, but I’ll bet they did something inventive with the body.
“The thing that beats me is-why? If the mob hit him, you can bet it wasn’t an accident. He was into them for something. But what? Racketeering? I doubt it. Narcotics?” Tully shook his head. “No indication whatever. Loan-sharking? Again, no indication. Gambling? Always a possibility. You never know you got the bug till you’re in front of a one-armed bandit with a roll of quarters. But-no gambling slips. No personal checks to any notoriously shady character. Just … nothing.”
“An individual who, for whatever reason, took out a contract on him?” Koznicki suggested.
Tully seemed to be studying the desk. He did not raise his head, “Anything’s possible. But at the moment, that’s no better than a guess. There were people who didn’t care for him-especially people who worked for or with him. But there’s no hard evidence for that or for any kind of conspiracy. If anybody is guilty of any crime against Keating, it’s well hidden.”
“Your conclusion?” Koznicki asked, though he knew the answer.
“It’s over, Walt. We’ve done everything we could, at least for right now. We’ve been everywhere we could go. We’ve checked everything we could. Who knows, something may crop up later-though I can’t think what. But, you never know. Anyway we’re at a dead end for now, unless we get some more clues or tips.”
“Are the suburban police in agreement?”
“Uh-huh. They’re ready to close it as an unsolved missing person. There’s no place to put it but in ‘open homicide’ with all the others. They’re-we’re-ready and willing to open it up if there are any further developments. But for now …” Tully raised both hands, palms up, in a gesture of futility.
“Very well,” Koznicki said. “I will relay this decision to the chief.”
“He’s not gonna like it.”
Koznicki nodded in unhappy agreement. “Nor will the mayor. But I am satisfied we have done all that could be done. We can consider the matter closed-at least for the moment … at least for you.”
Tully gave a sigh of relief. He was convinced he had done his best. But it was beyond doubt a dead end. The police had no alternative at this point but to go back over all the ground they’d just covered. And they could have done that forever. But the prospects of a breakthrough were practically nil.
Koznicki gathered up the documents and reports, put them in a folder, and the folder in his desk drawer. “Another day’s work done,” he announced. The two men left the room together.
On the elevator Tully asked about the two homicide cases that had particularly interested him before he had been drawn into the Keating investigation.
Ordinarily, Tully would have been up on their status. It was his practice to take an interest in everything that was going on in the division. But the search for the missing priest had occupied all of Tully’s attention, mostly because of his efforts to resolve it and get on with more appropriate matters.
Given Tully’s indisputable interest in the total homicide case load, which was common knowledge, Koznicki was a bit surprised that the detective could be unaware of what was going on in other investigations. But it was a gratifying surprise-indicating the total dedication he had given to the Keating case.
“We have someone in custody,” Koznicki explained, “in the case of the lawyer who was killed. Actually, it was odd that it took so long for an identification given that the attack occurred at noon on a crowded downtown street. But the crowd was part of the problem.”
“Yeah,” Tully agreed, “that noontime crowd crossing Jefferson near the Ren Cen can be overwhelming. Like you could pick up your feet and be carried across Jefferson.”
“That was the precise problem,” Koznicki said. “The killer got directly behind the victim and stabbed him with a poisoned-tip umbrella. But there were so many packed together, a lot of them wearing coats and carrying umbrellas. There was a promise of rain, and it was overcast. We had to interview an unlikely number of witnesses before we could filter through to the likely suspect. Many of the prime witnesses were, of course, reluctant to acknowledge that they’d seen anything-“
“Don’t tell me,” Tully interrupted, “they were all going to the john at just the time of the killing.”
Koznicki chuckled. “Something like that. In any case, the identification we did come up with led to the husband, or I should say former husband, of one of the lawyer’s clients, A divorce case. Messy. And expensive.”
Tully chewed his lip. “That was more of a platter case than I expected,” He was now grateful he had not been involved in that case, He had not anticipated that it would be handed to the police on a silver platter, but it evidently had: The most likely suspect apparently was guilty. However, it hadn’t been signed, sealed, and delivered yet. Tully would keep an eye open for developments in the case of the lawyer killed in broad daylight.