“I know who Mike Ackerman is,” I tell her, instantly intrigued. “What’s so important about the e-mails? And how did you get them?”
Trina grimaces and looks embarrassed. “I had some late-night work to do a while back and my regular babysitter was sick, so I brought my boys up to the office with me. They’re both big into online gaming stuff so I let my oldest boy use the computer in my office and set the youngest up on the reception desk computer. Then I went into Connor’s office and used his computer to get my work done. I discovered that Connor had minimized his e-mail account but hadn’t logged out of it. So I expanded it with the intention of closing it out, but my curiosity got the better of me. I started reading and that’s how I found those,” she says, gesturing toward the e-mails I’m holding.
“They contain a lot of information about this Steve Hurley guy you were asking about. Connor uses private investigators a lot and based on these e-mails, he hired someone to look into Hurley’s life. At first I thought it might be related to Dilles’s appeal since I knew Hurley was a detective here in Chicago not long ago and was involved in the murder investigation at one point. But the information Connor got on Hurley seemed too personal to be of any use in that regard, stuff about his love life and all. Your name is mentioned in there,” she says, pointing to the e-mails. “And stuff about his hobbies.”
I suppress a shiver at the thought of Connor Smith’s private investigator spying on me.
“I still might not have thought much about it if it wasn’t for the fact that Connor’s been acting kind of strange lately, all nervous and edgy.”
“Are you saying you think Connor might be responsible for these murders?”
She shakes her head and looks over her shoulder again. “Not directly. Connor wouldn’t get his hands dirty that way. He’d hire someone else to do it.”
“How does Ackerman figure into it?”
“My best guess is that there was something going on between Ackerman and that reporter woman named Callie Dunkirk who was killed. Ackerman never refers to her by name but if you read the e-mails, you’ll see references to a CD, and Ackerman claiming that this CD person is a problem.”
“Do you think Ackerman killed Callie Dunkirk?” As soon as I ask the question, I try to recall if Ackerman gave any indication to his handedness, but I can’t remember. However I do recall his height and overall size and that rules him out for driving Callie’s car, though I can’t be sure if he could have fit through the basement window. His lean runner’s build might have enabled him to slip through.
“I don’t know,” Trina says frowning. “But I’m pretty sure Connor is up to something and all of this seems a little too coincidental.”
She’s right, it does. And it makes sense. My gut has been pointing me toward Ackerman all along and the fact that Dilles’s lawyer is involved is likely nothing more than coincidence. But just as I’m convincing myself of that fact, Trina gives me one more startling tidbit of information.
“I know you were asking about Quinton Dilles, and even though he’s in prison, I can’t help but think that he may be involved somehow, too.”
“Why?”
“Because Connor was having an affair with Dilles’s wife right before she was killed.”
I stare at her, stunned. “Are you sure?” I ask finally.
“Oh, yeah,” she says. “I caught them kissing one evening when I came back to the office because I forgot something. At first I just thought it was some woman Connor was dating but when she turned up murdered a couple of months later and I saw her picture in the paper, I recognized her. Connor was kind of cagey about the whole thing, bringing the topic of her murder up in discussions with me all the time to see if I mentioned anything about recognizing her. But I played dumb because I thought for a while that he might have been the one who killed her. Then her husband was arrested for it and when I found out Connor was going to be defending him, I about had a stroke. That’s why I couldn’t resist taking a peek at his e-mails.”
“Do you think Dilles knew about the affair?”
“I do. I think that’s why he killed her. He wasn’t about to let her cheat on him and then give her half his money in a divorce. But I don’t think he knew Connor was involved.” She glances at her watch and then looks over her shoulder again. “Look, I need to get home to my kids. But if you want to talk with me some more, call me.” She hands me a business card for Connor Smith with her own name and number written on the back of it.
“Thanks, Trina. I appreciate this.”
We part company and I make my way to my car, or rather Carl Withers’s car. I climb in and take a moment to think about my next step. With Hurley arrested and most likely in jail, I feel the need to move quickly so I decide to try to call Bob Richmond. Then I remember that I don’t have a phone and curse for not remembering sooner. I could have borrowed Trina’s, assuming she had one. A pay phone is my next best option, so I head out of the garage, pay the man in the booth, and pull out onto a one-way street.
I creep along the street, looking for a pay phone, which in this day and age is like looking for a Sasquatch. I’ve only gone a few blocks when a white SUV a couple cars ahead of me suddenly revs up and veers sharply toward the sidewalk. In a split second I realize what’s about to happen and I’m helpless to do anything about it. The car jumps the curb and plows into a pedestrian, knocking the person several feet into the air before it veers into the street again and takes off.
As I pull up next to the crumpled body of the pedestrian lying on the sidewalk, I engage in a few seconds of mental debate. My first thought is to keep on going. No doubt there will be cops here soon and the presence of cops means I might be recognized. Then I reason that anyone who arrives on the scene will be too preoccupied with the injured person to care or notice. Besides, the nurse in me won’t let me go on.
I pull up past the pedestrian, park near the curb, and get out of the car.
A couple of other cars have stopped and two young men get out of one of them and hurry over to the victim. One of them, I’m relieved to see, is already on a cell phone, presumably calling 911. I hurriedly join them and do a quick assessment of the victim on the sidewalk.
That’s when my heart nearly stops. I recognize the coat first, then the face.
It’s Trina.
Chapter 42
I’m pretty certain that Trina getting hit was no accident and every nerve in my body is screaming at me to turn tail and run. But I can’t leave Trina lying here on the sidewalk like this, so I shift into nurse mode and do a quick triage. I’m instantly drawn to her left leg, which is bent midthigh at an impossible angle. Her femur is broken and one jagged end of it has ruptured through her skin and her pants, leaving a large, gaping wound. It’s hard not to gawk at the injury but I don’t see any major bleeding so I remember my nurse’s training and focus on my ABCs instead.
Trina is unresponsive but breathing, though her breaths have a ragged gagging sound to them. I kneel down at the top of her head, place my hands below her jaw on either side, and push it up to better open her airway. Almost instantly her breathing quiets and improves.
“Are you a doctor or something?” the guy talking on the phone asks me.
“I’m a nurse.” I hear him relay this fact to the 911 operator. I look over at the second guy and say, “Can you take over here and hold her jaw like I am to keep her airway open?” The guy looks scared out of his mind but he kneels down beside me and lets me instruct him on what to do.
“Be careful that you don’t move her head too much,” I tell him as he positions his hands where mine were and thrusts Trina’s jaw open. “She might have a neck injury.” Next I feel along Trina’s neck for her carotid pulse. It’s there, but it’s very fast and thready. Clearly she is in shock and I’m relieved to hear the distant approach of sirens.