Till’s office was on the fourth floor of a beige box on South Canal Street in Chicago. Stanley and I were escorted to a beige conference room at the end of a beige hall at ten the next morning. A splash of real color in that place probably would have caused a stampede.
Till was already there, in his brown suit. “Tell me about Nadine Reynolds,” he said, his face its usual scowl.
I’d put the blank sheet of paper and the envelope addressed toNadine Reynolds in a plastic bag. I set it on the table.
“She was Michael Jaynes’s girlfriend when he took off for the Midwest late in 1969. Ever since, I think he’s been sending her small bits of money in envelopes like that one. Notice the postmark and the computer font.”
He held the bag up and examined the envelope and the blank sheet of paper. “She says these are from Michael Jaynes?”
“She likes that idea.”
“Never a letter?”
“Just a blank piece of paper, like that one, wrapped around the money.”
“You believe her?”
“About that part, yes, but she says she hasn’t seen nor spoken to him since he left California.”
“You don’t believe her about that?”
“The lady at the general store in Clarinda told me a guy named Michael-he doesn’t leave a last name-calls every once in a while, asking about Nadine Reynolds.”
Till straightened up in his chair. “What did this Lucy say about that?”
“She didn’t. She just shook her head.”
“And that was enough to stop you from asking anything more?”
“Nadine changed her name to Lucy Vesuvius years ago. She’s been living the hippie dream in the hills north of San Francisco since Michael Jaynes took off, giving card readings, getting by with a small garden, probably growing her own weed. I don’t think she’s seen him since. If they’d been communicating, he’d know about her name change. He wouldn’t be sending cash to her, or calling the local store asking about her, using her old name.”
“Why does he send her money?”
I shook my head. “She doesn’t question. She’s just grateful.”
“For a ten or a twenty?”
“For the contact.”
“Did she say why he’s hiding?”
“I didn’t tell her he disappeared. She said they were both on the fringe of a group that set off a bomb that blinded a bystander, but she swears neither she nor Michael was involved, and that Michael didn’t go into hiding.”
“What else did you learn from Lucy Vesuvius?”
“She grows her own tea.”
Till smiled a little twitch of a smile. “What kind?”
“Peppermint.”
“Did you get high?”
“Not that I noticed.”
The little smile disappeared. “Then how can you believe Michael Jaynes has had no communication with her other than to send her bits of money, or to call once in a while, asking somebody else about her?”
“I didn’t say I believe anything. I said she believes it.”
“Did you stop to think maybe he’s sending her some sort of prearranged signal?”
“Send your own guy to interview her, Till. Someone more cunning.”
He shrugged. “She said all the payments have been postmarked from Chicago?”
“Just like that one,” I said, pointing to the envelope in the bag.
“I don’t suppose you thought to get that twenty he sent?”
“I thought fingerprints on paper money…”
“It would have been a remote chance, but it would have been nice to try. I’d feel a lot better if we could tie Michael Jaynes to these with a fingerprint.” He tapped the plastic bag containing the blank sheet of paper and the envelope.
“What about Chernek?” I asked.
Till leaned back and clasped his hands together behind his neck. “Chernek’s not my case. That’s F.B.I.”
“Come on, Till.”
He dropped his hands. “I’ve been briefed, that’s all. Over the past year and a half, the value of the funds Chernek manages for his clients has declined substantially. A big chunk of his client base left him to go to other money managers. His business is down, he’s lost many of his associates, he’s having personal money problems. And he likes to live big. Nice office, nice house, nice things. So when one of his clients contacted the Bureau, accusing Chernek of diverting funds, they looked into it. Funny accounting gets immediate attention these days. And the Bureau saw enough to get a warrant for his arrest.”
“You had nothing to do with that?”
“Ask me what you really want to know, Elstrom. Ask me if Chernek’s money problems give him a motive. Only an idiot wouldn’t see that. And though I’ll deny it, it’s why we grabbed him as quick as we did. If he’s got potential, we need him neutralized.”
“He’s out on bail now?”
“They had him less than two hours. The kind of connections he’s got, they did real good having him that long.” He turned to Stanley, who hadn’t said one word so far. “What’s going on at your end?”
“Mr. Ballsard will be the chief contact for the investigation instead of Mr. Chernek.”
“I meant about evacuating Crystal Waters.”
“I don’t think Mr. Ballsard has made up his mind.”
“Jesus, Novak.”
“I’ll tell him you’re concerned, Agent Till.”
Till leaned forward in his chair. “Tell Ballsard to quit dodging my calls, or I’ll have him brought down here. Tell him Chernek’s arrest means nothing. He must get his people out of Crystal Waters, send them to their summer homes or wherever people like that go, until we know what we’re doing. Tell him if he doesn’t get those people out of there, I’ll call the press and spread the word like I’m ringing a bell.”
Perspiration beaded across Stanley’s scalp.
“You don’t think it’s Chernek,” I said to Till.
Till turned to look at me. “I’m ruling nobody out.”
“Then why don’t you act like it? Don’t you think you should be investigating anybody who’s had access to Crystal Waters in the last six months?”
“Like the people who plant the shrubs and cut the grass?”
“Among others, certainly.”
“I work with what I’ve got, Elstrom.”
“We’ll still pursue Jaynes?” I said.
“You mean the A.T.F. should still pursue Jaynes.”
“Exactly.”
“Our computer artist is doing an aging of his Army photo, to get some ideas of what he might look like now. We’ll send it to San Francisco and to our offices in the Midwest. They’ll send it on to electrical suppliers and contractors. Maybe we’ll shake something loose.”
“Like you did with Nadine Reynolds?”
Till stood up. We were done.
“I think Mr. Chernek is an honorable man,” Stanley said.
“One can hope,” Agent Till said.
In the elevator, I told Stanley I was finished with the case.
He was surprised. “Why?”
“I’ve been working for Anton Chernek, who is now a prime suspect. You’ve got the attention of the F.B.I. and A.T.F. They need to check out this Michael sighting, sweat Lucy like I can’t. And they need to open up the investigation, start considering others beyond the missing Michael Jaynes and Anton Chernek. I can’t do any of that, Stanley. It’s got to come from A.T.F.”
“I’ll talk to Mr. Ballsard. I need you to stay involved.”
“Ballsard and I…”
“I’m sure he no longer thinks about last Halloween. Let me talk to Mr. Ballsard.”
In the parking lot, he told me he’d be in touch.
I called Leo from the car and suggested fine dining at Kutz’s. The coarse onions Kutz dropped like carpet bombs on his hot dogs would scour away any lingering effects of the California granola cakes with raspberry. And I wanted to bounce an update off Leo’s head.
Traffic outbound on the Eisenhower was light, and I got from downtown Chicago to Kutz’s while the line of construction workers and truckers was still a dozen deep outside the order window. I parked at the far end of the lot to wait for Leo and fell asleep.