In the Drink (29 page)

I knew I didn't have enough time to open the door so I did the only thing I could think of. I dropped to the floor just as Marie lunged at me.

A loud crashing sound came from above me and pieces of broken glass rained down on my head, the floor, and my lap. I closed my eyes and put my arms over my head for protection. I felt the sting of something sharp on one arm and wondered if Marie had just stabbed me. I braced myself for another stab as pieces of glass bounced around me. Then something fell on the floor at my feet with a clatter. I peeked out from beneath my arms and saw the letter opener on the floor, covered with blood. I grabbed it, struggling to get a grip on the blood-slicked handle.

Marie stood in front of me and I backed as far from her as I could, though her attention wasn't on me. She was holding her right arm out in front of her, staring at it with a dazed expression. A huge red gash ran across the inside of her wrist. Her hand hung limp, blood pulsing out of the wound above it at a rapid rate. There was another gash along the front of her neck, this one oozing rather than pulsing, but doing so at a brisk pace.

For two insane seconds I seriously considered trying to help her staunch the blood flow. Then my common sense returned. I stood on shaky legs, opened the office door, and ran the best I could. My arm was bleeding from a big gash of my own, and I wrapped my other hand around it to try and staunch the flow. When I reached the hallway, I looked around for anyone who might be close by, but the place was deserted. I reached into my pocket for my phone and then remembered it was back in the office, under the desk. With a frantic glance behind me, I started toward the exit, half expecting to see Marie running after me. She wasn't, and when I looked forward again I saw the red box on the wall. I went over, pulled the fire alarm, and headed outside as fast as my wobbly legs would carry me.

Three hours later, I was sitting on an ER bed with my arm and my head—which I hadn't realized was injured until a fireman noticed the blood running down the back of my neck—freshly stitched. A barrage of officers and detectives had been there with me, questioning, taking notes, listening to my recording, and then confiscating it as evidence. I was alone for the first time since the fire trucks, ambulances, and cop cars had arrived in response to the fire alarm, and I was anxious to leave. Despite knowing I was safe and that Lori's case had finally been solved, I felt little relief. I was too keenly aware of the clock ticking inexorably closer to the deadline imposed in the last letter.

The door to my room opened yet again and I sighed with impatience, anticipating yet another inquiry.

“Duncan!” I said, nearly crying with relief. He hurried over and wrapped his arms around me, holding me tight. It felt wonderful, and I indulged myself for a minute or so, not wanting to leave the warmth and protection of his arms.

When he finally let me go, I told him, “You shouldn't be here. It's too risky.”

“As far as anyone knows, I'm here with Marie Hermann.”

“She's here, too?”

He nodded. “They're getting ready to take her to surgery. That glass cut through a bunch of tendons in her arm. The neck wound is impressive but not life threatening, and she has some other minor cuts that will require stitching. She'll live to stand trial and I imagine she's going to be put away for a long, long time.”

“Her father,” I said, wincing at the pain in my throat. It felt raw and rough, as if I'd just tried to swallow a cheese grater.

“Judge Cochran,” he said, nodding. “Some guys are over there now talking to him. I imagine he'll be arrested, too. You busted this thing wide open, Mack. But going to Erik's office like that was a damned foolish thing to do.”

“I know that now,” I said, rolling my eyes. “But after I talked to you earlier, I couldn't shake this nagging feeling I had that things weren't right. I acted on instinct . . . on faith.”

“And it almost got you killed.”

“I'm sorry.”

“Don't be. Just don't do anything like that again, okay?”

I nodded. “I need to get out of here. This case may be solved, but the clock is still ticking on our other one. I don't suppose you—”

“No,” he said with a scowl. “I haven't had time.”

I sat up and looked around for my clothes. “Hand me those,” I said, pointing to the chair. He did and I dressed in front of him, not willing to wait any longer.

“Where are you going?”

“Back to the bar for now. Maybe Cora and the brothers came up with something. If not, I want some peace and quiet so I can focus on the items that were in that letter. Maybe something will jump out at me. Is my car here?”

Duncan shook his head. “No, but I can get an officer to drive you back to it. Are you sure you're okay?”

“I'm sure.” I had my clothes on and was standing beside my bed. Duncan reached over and pulled me into his arms, giving me one more hug. It felt like I could have stayed there forever.

“I'll call you later, okay?” he said into my ear as he held me. I nodded. “It might be late. I've got a lot of paperwork to catch up on. If you come up with anything before then, you call me.”

Reluctantly, I let go of him. “How late do you think you'll be?”

“This evening sometime.” He kissed me on the forehead, turned, and was gone.

I stepped out of my room, found the nurse's desk, and announced I was ready to leave. Fifteen minutes later I was in a squad car driven by an officer I didn't know, headed back to the UWM campus and my car. It had started snowing again, and I kept my face turned toward the side window, effectively eliminating any need for chitchat. When we arrived back at my car, I thanked him and hurried off.

I got back to at the bar half an hour later. Pete, Billy, Missy, Debra, and Linda all greeted me with worried expressions, wanting to know if I was okay. Apparently, someone had filled them in on what had happened, and not just them. The members of the Capone Club who were there came streaming downstairs as soon as they heard I was in the building. Everyone wanted to hear the details but I put them off, saying only that Lori's case had been solved and we now knew that Dylan Marie Cochran was the real killer.

Everyone was shocked to learn who the real perpetrator had been, especially Tiny. “I admit, I believed Erik was behind da whole t'ing,” he said.

“Well, in a way, he was,” I said. “Clearly, Marie's need to win him over was stronger than anyone realized. One of the cops I talked to called her a sociopath, which might explain why I had no synesthetic reaction to her voice. She was too cold, too emotionless for me to be able to see or taste anything in her voice. It wasn't until we were alone in that office that I tasted her anger and jealousy.”

“It will be interesting to see how the cops spin this one,” Carter said. “Given the publicity storm triggered by your involvement with those other cases, I can't imagine they're going to be very happy to announce that you were the one who figured it out and caught the killer.”

He had a point, and it made me think that I might have to go back into hiding again for a while, which wasn't likely to help my relationship with Duncan any. It was a sobering thought.

Joe must have sensed what I was thinking because he sidled up to me and said, “Don't worry, Mack. Whatever happens, we all have your back. You can count on us.”

“Thanks, Joe,” I said. Then I looked at the rest of them. “Thanks, all of you.”

They smiled, nodded, gave me
pshaw
waves of their hands, and looked generally pleased with themselves and the outcome. While it felt good to have the attention of everyone, and to know they were watching out for my welfare, I was also impatient to move on from them and get back to trying to solve the puzzle of the letter. I could feel the pressure of time weighing down on me. It was after six already, which meant I had less than two hours left.

I told the group I was tired and sore and needed to rest for a while, but promised to fill them in on the details of what had happened later. Then I pulled Joe, Frank, and Cora into my office.

“Please tell me you guys came up with something,” I pleaded.

The disappointed looks on their faces told me all I needed to know.

“We started to look into it,” Frank said, “but then we heard about what had happened to you, and that you were in the hospital, and we got kind of sidetracked.”

“I did look for florists in the city that might somehow fit in with the clues,” Cora said. “I found one that is on St. Paul Avenue but other than that, nothing else fit. But that did get me to thinking that maybe what we're looking for is on St. Paul Avenue. Then we heard about you, and I didn't look into it any further.”

Something glimmered at the back of my mind. I tried to visualize it, but it was there and gone in a flash.

“Sorry, Mack,” Joe said.

“Has anyone heard from or seen Mal?” I asked. I couldn't help but notice his absence.

“Oh, yes,” Cora said. “I almost forgot. He called a while ago after he heard about what happened. He wanted us to tell you to call him when you got back here.”

Someone knocked on my office door then, and when I went to open it, I found Carter standing there. “We're going to have a little celebration upstairs in the Capone Club room,” he said. “Do you guys want to join us?”

I could tell that the brothers and Cora were so distracted by recent events that they would be of little use to me right now, so I told them to go ahead.

“Are you sure?” Cora said.

“Yes, I'm sure. You need to be with Tiny. And you guys”—I looked over at Joe and Frank—“shouldn't miss out either. You all had a role in solving this thing. I'm going to go upstairs and lie down for a while. I'll come and join you later.”

My helpers left and joined the rest of the group for the celebratory dinner. I headed upstairs to my apartment. I thought about calling Mal right away, but I wanted to stay focused on the task at hand, so I decided to wait.

Instead, I pulled up the pictures I had on my phone of the items that had been in the envelope. I felt like I needed a stronger visual cue, so I e-mailed the pictures to myself, printed them, and then spread them out on my dining room table. At first I lined all of them up in a row, but something about the way they looked felt wrong, so I started shuffling them around. First I arranged them in a circle, then in a boxier pattern. Something about the boxy arrangement felt right to me and I left them that way and stared at them for a while hoping for a
eureka
moment.

It didn't happen. Remembering what Cora had said about St. Paul Avenue, I grabbed my laptop and pulled up a map of Milwaukee. St. Paul Avenue was a huge street that ran east and west for miles. I had no idea where to begin looking. Frustrated, I banged a fist on the table. Then I heard Father Manx's words again:
have faith
.

A crazy idea popped into my head, and I tried to dismiss it, but it persisted. I glanced at the clock, saw that I had less than an hour left, and figured I had nothing to lose. I went into my father's office and headed for the bookshelves. It took me a minute or so to find what I was looking for, but eventually I saw it: his Bible. I took it down and felt a flood of memories overtake me. Despite my father's disillusions with religion after my mother's death, he'd still kept his Bible, and I'd even caught him reading it on occasion.

I held it in my hands, closed my eyes, and said a silent prayer, though I had no idea who I was praying to. Then I opened the Bible to a random page and started to read.

The section I landed on was 1 Corinthians 10. It cautioned the faithful to avoid idolatry, sexual immorality, and other temptations. It also encouraged them to eat, drink and be merry, but to do so at the Lord's table, not the table of demons.

It was all very moral and righteous, but not particularly helpful. I was about to toss the Bible aside when I read 1 Corinthians 10:25:
Whatever meat may be had at the public market, take as food without question of right or wrong. . . .

It was like a lightning bolt to my brain. I mentally envisioned the items from the envelope again, and this time in my mind, each one was surrounded by a faint halo of color. At first the colors seemed wrong, somehow incongruous with one another. But I started mentally rearranging them and slowly but surely, it began to feel right. I dropped the Bible and hurried back out to the dining room table.

First, I grabbed my laptop and did a quick search. I found what I wanted quickly, and when I saw a map insert in the search listings, things fell into place. Two more clicks and I knew it had to be right. Excited, I grabbed my phone and dialed Duncan's number. It went to voice mail, so I left a quick message: “Call me back as soon as you can. I figured out the envelope clue!”

I disconnected that call and dialed Mal next. He answered on the first ring.

“Mack, are you okay?” he asked, sounding frantic.

“I'm fine. Mal, I figured out the clues in that last letter. It wasn't the church, it's the Public Market.”

“The Public Market?”

“Yes! I'm sure of it,” I said, talking fast. “It's located on St. Paul Avenue. There's a bakery there, a coffee shop, a wine shop, and a florist. And Duncan had one of his lab techs look at the stuff that was in the envelope and she found some pollen from a lily mixed in with the cinnamon. And there's a spice shop at the Public Market, right by the florist. There's also a fish market, and a shop called the Green Kitchen, which explains the green scrap of terry cloth.”

“What about the water, and the marquee?”

“The cross streets that border the sides of the Public Market are Water Street and Broadway.”

I paused and heard nothing but silence. “Mal, are you there?”

“Sorry, yes, I'm here. I was just checking it all off in my head.”

“I need to go there now,” I said, glancing at my watch. “The deadline was eight o'clock because that's when the place shuts down. I've only got about half an hour.”

“Want me to come and get you?”

“No, it will be quicker if I just drive myself there. Meet me there, okay?”

“Okay.”

I disconnected the call, grabbed a coat and my keys, and ran downstairs. Billy hollered at me as I flew by, but I waved him off and kept on going. “Be back in a bit,” I yelled over my shoulder.

I hurried to where my car was parked but the sidewalks were slick with the new snow and I had to slow down after slipping and nearly falling once. By the time I got to my car, my nerves were on fire and my hands had started to shake, so I took a deep breath and tried to center myself. The engine signaled its reluctance to start by cranking over slowly a few times before it caught. I knew I should probably give the engine a chance to warm up, but I didn't have the time.

The Milwaukee Public Market was located in the Historic Third Ward and was less than half a mile from my bar as the crow flies. But snow and traffic made the drive a slow one. Twice I became impatient with drivers in front of me and honked at them, only to be rewarded for my efforts with some unfriendly sign language. And when I went around a double-parked truck, my car skidded and began to slide, forcing me to slow down. I cursed as I came up on the intersection of Wisconsin and Water Street because the light turned red before I could get through. I inched up to the intersection and stopped, one foot on the gas, the other on the brake. The second the light turned green, I hit the gas. My car fishtailed, but I was able to get it under control. Unfortunately, the car coming up on my left wasn't as lucky. Later I learned that the driver was going too fast for conditions and when the light turned red, he was unable to stop. He hit his brakes, but his car just kept going, hurtling into the intersection and colliding with my driver's side door.