A loud clashing noise rang painfully through my ear-the phone being dropped-and I could hear Marilyn crying on the other end. Wailing. All the anger she had been directing in at herself was seeking an outlet now, a place to lodge like an arrow. There was nothing to do but wait until she could gather herself and return to the phone. I made myself listen for moments on end as she gulped and cried and tried to speak and then cried more, apologizing to me as tears welled in my own eyes. I wanted that anger inside me when I got to Chicago. Wanted the fuel it would provide.
When she was finally able to talk, she spat, "That idiot."
"Birk?"
"My stupid fucking ex-husband, that bastard, that heartless fucking prick… I'm sorry, I shouldn't speak like that to you."
"Please. I've heard worse."
"It's all part of the same stupid need of his. Having a family and apartment buildings wasn't enough for him. He had to have the young girl, the big phallic towers, the world-famous partner. And look where it got him. Where it got his own daughter."
She asked if Rob had told Andrew. I said I didn't know. She asked what the police thought. I told her we'd been trying to make our case with Homicide. She asked how long I would be in Chicago. I said as long as it took.
"There's more money," she said. "If Rob's runs out."
"It won't," I said. "He's on the hook for every dime."
"Jonah," she said. "How sure are you he had nothing to do with it?"
"You were married to him half your life. Does he have it in him?"
She took her time before saying, "No. I don't think he could. Whatever else is wrong with him, and God knows there's a lot, he loved his children. He divorced me, not them. He's a selfish asshole at times, maybe most of the time-and I'm trying to picture it, believe me-I think I hate him enough to want to think he did it, but I can't. I really can't. But if for some reason I'm wrong?"
"Yes?"
"If there's any evidence at all that he had anything to do with it-anything-even if it was not knowing something he could have or should have known to prevent it, then tear up his cheque and I'll write you a new one. I don't care how much it costs."
"You're our client," I said. "Finding out the truth for you is the only job we have. And if Rob is in any way dirty on this, we'll tear up more than his cheque."
CHAPTER 26
"Homicide."
I said hi.
Hollinger said hi.
A moment of uncomfortable silence followed, until I said, "I know what happened, Kate. To all of them."
"You know or you think?"
"I know. All three were murdered by Simon Birk."
"The Simon Birk? The developer?"
"Him."
"He's not even in Toronto."
"But he's Rob Cantor's partner on this project. And when Cantor told him about the problems he was having, Birk had them removed. One by one."
I told her what I'd found out about Aroclor 1242 and its presence on the Harbourview site. How Rob had brought the problem to Birk-all the problems-and Birk said he'd handle them. "Even Rob thinks Birk is guilty," I said. "He's paying my way to Chicago."
"There's still no proof his daughter was murdered," she said.
"What about Glenn and Sterling?"
"We're still looking into Glenn's dealings with Cantor. If what you say about the Aroclor is true, it does provide a motive for his murder. But proving that Birk did it, directly or indirectly… I can hardly fly him in for questioning."
"What about the Chicago police?"
"Everything we're talking about took place outside their jurisdiction."
"So come with me."
"Jonah, please. I don't run my own agency. I report to a new inspector who squeezes budget dollars from a stone. And even if we had the money, there are leads to follow up here."
"What leads?"
"Glenn had other projects on the go."
"Any as big as Harbourview? With PCBs poisoning the site?"
"He also had a $250,000 life insurance policy that Eric Fisk stands to collect."
"You think Eric Fisk beat his lover to death? He barely has the strength to clothe himself."
"He could have hired it out."
"He could have but not Simon Birk? And what about Will Sterling? You think Fisk killed him too?"
"Don't be nasty, okay? I talked to Neely today and they're checking Sterling's background."
"Did he have insurance?"
"Jonah, I don't have to take any shit from you, understand? I have to run my case the way I see fit. I can't freelance like you."
"So let's work together," I said. "Let me be your eyes and ears in Chicago. If there is evidence tying Birk to these killings-any or all of them-I'll find it. And I'll relay it to you, directly or through my partner."
"As long as it's not based on guesswork. No Crown attorney is going to indict a murder suspect-especially Simon Birk-without a solid case. He'd have to be extradited here, for one thing, and with pockets as deep as his, he can hire an army of lawyers."
"I'm still going after him."
"Then good luck. And watch your back," she said. "If what you say about Birk is true, he isn't shy about eliminating distractions."
"I'm counting on that," I said. There was a moment of stunned silence on the other end of the phone when I told Avi Sternberg who was calling. "Jonah Geller?" he said. "The Jonah Geller from Har Milah? There's a voice I didn't think I'd hear again."
"Hineni," I said in Hebrew. Here I am.
"In Chicago?"
"No, but I'll be there tomorrow."
"Flying or driving?"
"Flying."
"When do you get in? I'll pick you up."
"A quarter to ten your time, but you-"
"That means ten-thirty at least O'Hare time. Look for me there."
"I booked a rental."
"For what? To get lost in? Cancel it."
"I won't need a car to get around?"
"In Chicago? Unless you're going to the burbs, you can walk most places or take a cab or the El. Where you staying?"
"The Hilton," I said.
"Which one?"
"Right downtown."
"Which right downtown? There's the Palmer House Hilton and the Chicago Hilton. They're a few blocks from each other."
"The one on Michigan."
"South Michigan," he corrected. "There's a lot of north-south, east-west stuff you have to figure out here. Once you get it, it's not too bad. I'd offer for you to stay at the house, but believe me, with three kids, you'd get more sleep under the El."
"Just picking me up is great. You sure it's not an imposition?" "For Jonah goddamn Geller? Nothing's too much, believe me." Later that night I sat at my dining room table, using my laptop to scroll through notes Jenn had pulled together and uploaded to our server. Anything new would be posted there for me to download once I was safely installed at the Hilton.
Simon Elliot Birk had been born in Chicago sixty-one years ago. His father, Ralph, had been a lawyer who initially helped businessmen and developers close their real estate deals, before finally seeing the light and becoming a developer himself. Well schooled in the art of local politics, Ralph had always backed the right mayor, which generally meant a Daley, as well as every other politician whose vote could help swing a zoning decision his way. He had died three years ago, aged ninety. Birk's mother, Pamela, was variously described as a socialite, hostess, arts patron and power behind the throne. She had died of an overdose of alcohol and barbiturates, presumably by accident, when Birk was just sixteen.
A lot of the biographical material had come from a Chicago Tribune business writer named Jericho Hale. Judging by the tone of his articles, he had no great fondness for Birk. Jenn had also posted a lengthy profile from Forbes, another from Vanity Fair-which focused more on Birk's marriage, art collection and social life than on his business-as well as dozens of articles dating back to the nineties, when Birk had suffered some of his greatest reversals in real estate, prior to his phoenix-like comeback.