There was nothing unusual for the last few months. Rent, gas, phone, electric, groceries, clothes, all the normal things people pay for. Then, when I got to April, something abnormal.
She'd written two checks for two hundred dollars each to a man named Harry McGlade.
I frowned and showed them to Benedict.
"Sounds familiar. Cop?"
I nodded. "Used to be. Private now."
"You know him?"
I nodded again and extended my frown. I hadn't seen McGlade in fifteen years.
Fifteen very pleasant years.
"So Theresa must have hired him for something. I wonder what for."
"The mind boggles. I can't see anyone hiring Harry for anything."
"Something to do with the boyfriend?"
I shrugged. Only one way to find out, unfortunately.
"I'll go pay him a visit," I conceded. "You want to tackle the boyfriend?"
"I may do just that. You sure you don't want to tag-team them?"
"I'd rather meet with McGlade one on one."
"I sense some history here, Jack, that you aren't telling me about."
"Let's just say he's not my favorite person."
Which may have been the understatement of my life.
Chapter 25
THE ASPIRIN WASN'T HELPING MY LEG much and I felt every bump and crack in the road during the ride to McGlade's. A call to the phone company had confirmed his address to be the same as it was fifteen years back, when I'd last busted him.
He lived in Hyde Park, near the Museum of Science and Industry and the University of Chicago. Hyde Park wasn't really a park at all, but a multitude of apartment buildings sectioned off from shops and stores, sort of like a housing development.
I parked in front of a hydrant next to his building. A group of teenagers hanging out on the corner made me as a cop and walked off as I struggled to get out of my car. I suppose I was just cursed to look like an authority figure.
After finding the appropriate buzzer, I pressed once and waited, half-hoping he wasn't home.
"Harry's House of Love. You buying or selling?"
"I'm gagging. Lieutenant Jack Daniels, Violent Crimes. Buzz me in, McGlade."
"What's the magic word?"
"Now."
"Nope. Try again."
"Open the door, McGlade."
The door buzzed, but only for a second. By the time my hand reached the knob, it had stopped.
"McGlade..."
"When did you become a lieutenant, Jackie?"
Harry was the only person who called me Jackie.
"The nineties. Now you can either buzz me in or I can shoot the lock off and then arrest you for destruction of property."
He buzzed, but only for a millisecond like before. I was ready for it this time, and pulled the door open.
The lobby was dim, the carpet worn, the heat barely on. I saw a roach scurry along the wall and blend into the peeling paint.
Harry was on the fifth floor, and since I hadn't brought my cane, I took the elevator. When I located his apartment, the door was already open. He was standing in the middle of his den, pulling on a pair of pink paisley boxer shorts.
"Normally I don't dress until later in the day, but I don't want you getting any ideas."
He was as I'd remembered. A little older. A little chubbier. But he still had the same three-day beard, the same unkempt shock of brown hair, the same twinkling brown eyes that always seemed to be laughing at you.
"Christ, Jackie, you look old. Aren't they paying you enough to afford Botox?"
Exactly as I remembered.
I took a step inside and looked around. It was a pigsty. Laundry and garbage and junk covered every inch of the floor. Empty cans and wrappers and moldy socks and sour food were strewn around in such abandon that it seemed like someone had blown up a landfill.
"Jesus, McGlade. Do you ever clean up?"
"Nah. I pay a girl to come in once a week. But every time she comes over we just hump the whole time and she never has a chance to clean anything. Want to go into the kitchen, have a seat?"
"I'm afraid I'd stick to something and never be able to leave."
"No need to be rude," Harry said. Then he belched. I closed the door behind me and noticed the aquarium against the wall. That must have been where the smell was coming from. Moldering fish corpses and chunks of multicolored rotting things bubbled around in the brown water, buoyed by the tank aerator. I watched a corn dog float by.
"Some kind of fish disease wiped out my whole gang within twenty-four hours," McGlade explained.
"There's a shocker."
"I like it more now. There's always something new growing, and I save a bundle on fish food."
I pulled my eyes away.
"I'm here to talk about Theresa Metcalf. She was a client of yours. Back in April."
"Got a picture? I can't place the name."
Theresa's roommate had given us some snapshots, but I'd forgotten them back at the station. Instead, I handed McGlade one of Theresa done up by the makeup artist, with the digitally added eyes. It was as close to lifelike as we could get it.
"Yuck. Ugly."
"She's dead."
"Then she'd smell bad too."
"Do you remember her?"
"Not offhand. No. But then I have a hard time remembering last week. How long has it been, Jackie?"
"Not long enough."
McGlade raised an eyebrow.
"You're not still mad at me, are you?"
I took the picture back, careful not to touch his hand.
"If you don't feel like cooperating..." I began.
"You'll drag me in. Can't it wait? I was watching the new Snow White DVD, the director's cut with the extra footage. The gang-bang scene is next."
I frowned, wondering how to play it. I needed the information, but taking McGlade in would mean having to drive with him.
"Do you keep files?" I asked.
"Sure. At the office."
I let out a breath. My head was beginning to hurt, probably because I'd inhaled something toxic, and I was quickly losing the little patience I'd brought along. I took another cautious step forward, and something crunched underfoot.
"Hey, watch out for the pizza, Jack. I'm not done with it."
"Get dressed," I ordered. "We're going to your office."
"Kiss my piles. It's my day off. I'm not going anywhere."
"Then you're under arrest."
"For what?"
"For being an asshole."
"You can't do that. I've got an Asshole License."
"Okay. How about for assaulting an officer?"
"I haven't laid a hand on you."
"Seeing you in your underwear qualifies as assault."
McGlade shook his head.
"When are you going to get over it, Jackie? It was a long time ago. I paid for it, didn't I?"
"You have the right to remain silent, and I sincerely hope you do."
"This is ridiculous."
"Good. Resist arrest. Maybe you'll find someone down at County General that likes your boxer shorts more than I do."
Harry sighed. "Fine. You win, O Mighty Lieutenant. We'll go. Just help me find some socks."
"Find them yourself."
He bent over and picked some pants up off the floor. After sniffing the crotch, he deemed them okay and put them on. Years ago, I learned that the best way to deal with Harry was excruciating patience, punctuated by occasional outbursts of hostility. It still held true.
"What's the big deal anyway?" he asked, smelling a sock.
"She was murdered."
Harry gagged and dropped the sock back on the floor.
"I didn't do it."
"I'm sure you didn't. It was the Gingerbread Man."
"No shit? No wonder you've got your undies in a knot. If you told me that earlier, I would have been much more helpful."
"I bet."
Harry picked the sock back up and put it on.
"Can we stop for coffee on the way?"
"No."
"Maybe a bagel too."
"No."
"I know a great place nearby. If you don't like it, I'll pick up the tab."
"I hate it already," I said.
McGlade found a stained shirt and a suit jacket that didn't match his pants. He buttoned up the shirt incorrectly and had to redo it. I needed more aspirin.