But a recording, that could also be a record of a conversation. I saw Marcena Love’s wolfish smile as she held her fountain-pen recorder out to catch people’s comments during the By-Smart prayer meeting we’d gone to. She recorded everything. Her little gizmo held up to eight hours of conversation; she could download its digital brain into her computer. So someone had taken her computer to destroy those records. But they didn’t have the device, that red recording pen. If she had dropped it when she was in the Miata, it might still be back under the Skyway. Someone had searched the Miata pretty thoroughly, so if she’d dropped it in the car the people who searched it would have it-and they wouldn’t have hired Freddy to look for it here. It could have fallen out when Marcena was dragged from the Miata-if that had happened under the Skyway, the pen might still be there.
I didn’t relish a return to the underpass at this time of night. In the morning, I could bring Amy Blount down to help me look, if I didn’t have any appointments. I pulled my Palm from my bag and saw the time: I’d told Mary Ann I’d call her at nine if I was going to be late and it was a quarter of ten now.
I tapped the screen with my pen. I should stop at her apartment on my way home-her manner had been so odd when we talked that I wanted to make sure she was really all right. I could leave the groceries in the kitchen for her, and maybe take the little dachshund out for a quick breath of air.
I looked at my Friday appointments. Nothing until one o’clock. I’d have the morning free, a welcome breather-I could sleep in, I could go to the Belmont Diner for corned beef hash and eggs. The thought almost made me drool, and I realized I hadn’t eaten since grabbing that bowl of chicken noodle soup nine hours ago. I went to the trunk and broke off a piece of the goat feta I’d bought for Mary Ann. The tangy-sweet cheese was so delicious I ate another chunk. Before I knew it, I’d finished the whole piece. Oh, well-I’d get her some more next week.
As I started back up Route 41, I wondered if Marcena had left her pen at Morrell’s. Carnifice, or whoever it was, had searched his place, but maybe they didn’t know what device they were looking for. I called Morrell.
“Hippolyte! How’s Your Majesty tonight?”
“Not very majestic, I’m afraid-I couldn’t even slay an ordinary street punk, so I don’t think I’m ready to take on a real warrior.”
I told him about my encounters with Freddy. “He’s looking for Marcena’s recorder, and I think that’s what they were hunting for up at your place, if that’s any consolation. I know I’m too late for dinner, but I might still come back up tonight if you’re going to be up for a while.”
“I should drive down to South Chicago and carry you home on your shield after all you’ve been through. Since I can’t, I think you should go to your own place-it’s a shorter drive, and I don’t like you on the roads when you’re this beat. Don and I will have a look around-I’ll call you if I find anything. And you call me when you get home.” When I didn’t answer, he said sharply, “Okay, Warshawski?”
My own untidy home with my dogs-I realized uneasily they sounded more comforting than Morrell’s scrupulously clean condo. Maybe that was just because Don was visiting-I’d be filled with longing for Morrell as soon as I could see him alone.
It was only when I’d hung up that I remembered Carnifice or someone might be monitoring my phone, or Morrell’s. I tried to remember the whole conversation. Not that I wanted strangers to hear my insecurities, but what I shouldn’t have been talking about was the recorder. I called Morrell back, just to warn him. He was predictably annoyed at the idea that someone was listening in on his phone, but he agreed not to open the door without triple-checking a visitor’s credentials.
“Anyway, Don is still smoking like a fiend. Anyone comes in, he can give them lung cancer while we wait for you and your gun.”
I laughed more naturally. I’d been doing the irresponsible thing of talking while driving; I was at Mary Ann’s now, so I told him I’d call him from home and hung up again.
It wasn’t all that late: lights shone from most of the windows-I thought there was one on even in Mary Ann’s-maybe she was reading in bed. I sat in the car, harvesting the remnants of my energy, before moving on stiff legs up the walk into her entryway. In case she was asleep, I didn’t ring her bell but let myself into the building. I moved almost stealthily up the stairs, trying to disguise my tread so that Scurry wouldn’t recognize it and start barking. With the same stealth, I undid the locks to her door and slipped inside.
The dog came skittering down the hall to meet me, but I put the groceries down and picked him up before he could make a noise. He licked my face with delight but wriggled free and ran back toward the kitchen. I picked up the bag and followed him. Mary Ann’s bedroom door was shut, but a light was on in the back. I slipped past her room to the kitchen.
Fumbling with the locks to the back door, their faces tight with terror, were Josie Dorrado and Billy the Kid.
43 The Fugitives
I was so stunned that I stood for a moment, unable to speak or even think. Mary Ann’s strange manner-her reluctance to see me, her insistence I be very precise in letting her know when I’d be coming-and the person who’d answered her phone without speaking-I’d never imagined she’d be harboring the fugitives.
Billy was shielding Josie from me as if I were going to wreak retribution on them. He swallowed nervously. “What are you going to do now?”
“Now? I’m going to unpack Mary Ann’s groceries, make myself some coffee, and get you guys to tell me just what you’re up to.”
“You know what I mean,” Billy said. “What are you going to do about-well, seeing us here?”
“That depends on what you tell me about why you’re hiding out.”
When I put the perishables into the refrigerator, I saw the kids had bought themselves Cokes and pizzas. I thought longingly of the bottle of Armagnac in my liquor closet, but I put on water for coffee and made myself toast.
“I don’t have to tell you anything.” In his truculence, Billy sounded much younger than his nineteen years.
“You don’t have to,” I agreed, “but you can’t stay at Coach McFarlane’s forever. If you tell me what you know, and who you’re hiding from, I might be able to sort it out for you, or run interference, or, if you’re in serious danger of your life, get you to a safe place.”
“We’re safe here,” Josie said. “Coach doesn’t let anyone see us.”
“Josie, use your brain. If someone in your building had two strangers staying with them, how long would it be before you heard about it?”
She flushed and hung her head.
“People talk. They like to have news to report. Billy’s family has hired the biggest detective agency in the world, certainly in Chicagoland, to find him. Eventually one of the investigators will talk to someone who knows Mary Ann, and they’ll hear about the strange young couple who sometimes take her dog out for her, or pick up pizza and Coke at the Jewel, or hide in the kitchen when the visiting nurse comes. And if they come for Billy, they might hurt you, or Mary Ann.”
“So we need to find another place,” Billy said bleakly.
I poured out coffee for myself and offered the pot to them. Josie went to the refrigerator for a soda, but Billy accepted a cup. I watched, fascinated, as he stirred about a quarter of a cup of sugar into it.
“And what about your mother, Josie? She’s sick with worry over you. She keeps thinking you’re lying dead in the landfill where we found April’s dad. Were you going to let her go on indefinitely imagining she’d lost you?”
Billy said, “They were in the landfill? Who put them in the landfill?” while Josie muttered something about her mother not liking her to be with Billy.