Read When No One Is Watching Online
Authors: Joseph Hayes
Tags: #Mystery; Thriller & Suspense, #Mystery, #Thrillers & Suspense, #Crime, #Thrillers
“Okay, Mr. Slazak, but not over the phone. I’d like to meet you in person, the sooner the better. When can we meet?”
“I’m planning on heading back to Chicago tomorrow afternoon. That’s where the evidence is.”
Salazar walked over to his desk and looked at his calendar. He drew a diagonal line through the entire next day’s appointments. “When are you getting in?”
“Two o’clock, at Midway Airport.”
“I’ll meet you there.”
Six hours later, Henry Hamilton’s cell phone rang as he walked briskly on the treadmill in his Georgetown home. Few people had his private cell phone number, and those who had it knew better than to interrupt his morning workout. “What?” he shouted into the phone without breaking stride.
“It’s me,” said Freddy Salazar. “Sorry to bother you so early, but I wanted to let you know I won’t be attending the strategy session this morning. Something has come up.”
“Damn it, Freddy, I need you there! Our campaign is in the shitter, and we need to get it on track in a hurry. Whatever just came up will have to wait.”
“I don’t think so, Senator. Listen to this,” Freddy replied, and then he briefed his boss on the late-night phone call from former detective Vic Slazak.
“I knew it!” Hamilton exclaimed triumphantly. “I knew there was something not right about Van Howe. I could just smell it! This could be exactly what we need, Freddy. Get on it right away, and keep me posted!”
“I’ll do that. I’m meeting with Slazak this afternoon. I’ll check in as soon as I have anything to report.”
“Excellent! Good man, Freddy! Keep a tight lid on this for now, okay? If it turns out that there’s something to this, we’ll get the whole team together and decide how to play it. If that story’s true, it’ll blow this thing wide open!”
Slazak stopped at the airport food court and ordered a bratwurst with mustard and onions. He ate slowly, savoring every bite of the hometown delicacy. He felt invigorated, partly from being home again, but mostly because he was embarking on a mission that mattered. He was there to bring closure to the last investigation he had handled for the Chicago Police Department, an investigation he’d never finished. He was determined to finish it now. There was a chance that his enemies, whoever they might be, were long gone, or that they had no further interest in his business. But if he encountered resistance, so be it. He was ready for combat.
Slazak walked outside and again was immediately reminded that he was home. It was a typical summer day in Chicago, warm and muggy, but refreshingly different from the blast furnace effect he experienced whenever he set foot outdoors in Las Vegas on a summer afternoon. He looked around and dialed a number on his cell phone. “I’m right in front, outside the baggage claim area,” he said into the phone. “I’m wearing a white shirt and carrying a black duffel bag.”
“I see you,” came the reply. “I’m pulling up right now— the black Town Car.”
Slazak hopped in and exchanged greetings with Freddy Salazar.
“Let’s talk as we drive,” Salazar suggested. “Nothing personal, but for the time being, I think we should avoid being seen together in public.”
“Fine by me,” Slazak replied. “Where shall I start?”
“Just tell me everything you know about the accident. You gave me the big picture on the phone last night. I want to know the details. Tell me everything that makes you think Van Howe was involved.”
Slazak stared intently at Freddy Salazar for several moments. “Okay, here’s what I know. First, when I arrived at the accident scene, the guy who confessed, Moran, was behind the wheel, so drunk that he was passed out. But thirty minutes earlier, a call was placed from his cell phone to 911. He wouldn’t have made that call and then passed out, still buckled into his seat. Someone else called from his phone. Second, there was a witness at the scene, the victim’s daughter. She told me that a man approached her and spoke to her before the police arrived. The police claimed that no one was on the scene when they arrived. I think someone was there, and then fled before the police arrived. Here’s why I think that. The valet at the restaurant remembers Moran getting into his car to head home, but he said that someone else was driving. He was positive about that.”
“And you think that person was Governor Van Howe?”
“Absolutely. They drove to the restaurant together, and they live just two blocks apart, so it stands to reason that they would have gone home together. But I’m basing this on more than just logic and supposition. Like I said, the valet told me someone else was driving the car. Besides that, there was blood in Moran’s car, and he didn’t have a scratch on him. And, the very next day, Van Howe is walking around with a big bandage on his finger.”
“Anything else?”
“Yeah, when I started chasing down these leads, I was pulled off the case. I kept sniffing around on my own time, and the next thing I knew I was attacked in my own house and told to leave town or I’d be a dead man. I’ve been a cop for twenty years, and I know the difference between scare tactics and a real threat. Those guys meant business. I left town because I knew I’d be dead if I didn’t.”
Freddy Salazar pulled into the parking lot of the Mid-America Inn, a low-budget hotel a few miles from the airport. He parked the car and took a long, hard look at his passenger. “You tell a good story, Mr. Slazak, and I’m inclined to believe you, but this will rock the world if it goes public, so I need more than just a good story. I need evidence.”
“That’s why I came back to Chicago,” Slazak replied, meeting Salazar’s steady gaze. “I’ve got some hard evidence that will be very compelling. I entrusted it to one of my former colleagues here for safekeeping. I intend to get my hands on it right away, and once I do, I’ll share it with you.”
Salazar’s eyes narrowed. “What kind of evidence are we talking about?”
“A couple of things that are pretty damn incriminating. The first is the lab report analyzing the blood collected from Moran’s car that night. The second is a recording of the 911 call.”
“And who’s got this evidence?” demanded Salazar.
“I’ll have it within the next day or two, so where it resides today is not your concern,” Slazak said coolly.
“It
is
my concern,” Salazar insisted. “For all I know, you could be fabricating this evidence yourself. I need to be able to assess its reliability.”
Slazak stared hard at Freddy Salazar, trying to decide whether he was trustworthy. “Look, Salazar, I’m sure you can understand that I need to protect my sources. Somebody went out on a limb for me, and I’d be putting him in a tight spot if I revealed his identity.”
“I understand that, Mr. Slazak, but you need to understand the significance of this information. You’re talking about serious allegations against the man who is the leading candidate to become president of the United States. I can’t make allegations like this without having complete confidence in their accuracy, and I can’t be confident without knowing where this evidence is coming from.”
Slazak hesitated. It was contrary to all of his principles to betray a colleague who had risked his own neck to help him out, yet he had to weigh that against the need to gain Salazar’s trust, since Salazar was his vehicle for publicizing the truth. “I asked a colleague of mine in the evidence lab to keep copies of those things for me,” Slazak said, with obvious reluctance.
“What’s his name, Slazak?”
“Why does that matter?” Slazak asked, irritation in his voice.
“Because I need to know that this guy is real, and that he is who you say he is.”
Slazak hesitated again. “Can you assure me you’ll keep his identity to yourself? I don’t want anyone contacting him—not you, not the media, or anyone else for that matter. I need your commitment on that.”
“You got it. What’s his name?”
“His name is Mike Nolan. Check the Chicago PD’s records, if you want. Check their records on me while you’re at it. They’ll show that I left the force within a week of the Moran accident. They’ll show that I retired with a full pension, even though I had only twenty years of service rather than the thirty it takes for full benefits. That was supposed to give me another reason not to make waves, in case the risk of getting my head blown off wasn’t enough!”
Freddy Salazar looked steadily at Vic Slazak. “That leaves me with just one question.”
“Which is?”
“What do you want out of this? Money, I presume?”
Slazak shook his head, giving Salazar an indignant glare. “
What do I want?
Jesus Christ, you people are jaded. I don’t want a goddamn thing! I’m just trying to do what’s right. That bastard has no business running our country. He belongs in jail! I want him to get what he deserves.”
Salazar nodded slowly, then held out a meaty hand. “Thanks, Slazak. You’re doing your country a real service. Call me when you have that evidence.”
Senator Henry Hamilton answered his cell phone on the first ring. “Talk to me, Freddy,” he ordered, a sense of urgency in his voice.
“I think this guy is for real, boss,” Freddy blurted out, his normally dour and skeptical demeanor giving way to unadulterated excitement. “And his story will absolutely destroy Van Howe!”
“I don’t want to discuss this by phone. Get your ass back here right now. I want you to brief me tonight, as soon as you get back in town. I don’t care how late it is. I’ll call a staff meeting tomorrow to discuss how we play this.”
“I’m on my way.”
“Good man, Freddy!”
Danny had been presented with opportunities to reestablish himself in that universe. He’d been approached on multiple occasions by prominent lobbying and consulting firms that believed his legal and business acumen, coupled with his political instincts and connections, made him a valuable commodity, even without a law license. The offers were lucrative, and the work would have been a natural extension of his prior professional life. He was intrigued and appreciative of the offers, but he politely rejected every one of them. He was living a different lifestyle now, and was quite content.
For the past eight years, Danny had been a professor at Loyola University near downtown Chicago, where he taught business law to undergraduates and MBA students. He liked teaching, and he genuinely enjoyed the interaction with the impressionable young students, but what he liked most was the fact that it was not all-consuming. The hours were manageable, which left him time for what had truly become the central focus in his life: his involvement with Alcoholics Anonymous.
The AA program had worked for him. He’d been sober for almost ten years now. However, the program had become far more than just a means of avoiding the bottle. Danny had completely immersed himself in it and found that it had given his life meaning and purpose. Over the years, he had helped countless people as their AA sponsor—a guide, mentor, resource, and friend, someone who helped them fight their battle against alcoholism and live by the AA creed. Some made it and some didn’t. Many were still works in progress, like his friend Pat Jordan, whom he had met at his very first AA meeting, but who had been dropping in and out of the program for years. To Danny, Pat was a special project, and he never gave up on him.
Even after nearly ten years of sobriety, Danny still craved routine in his life, and the flexible job hours enabled him to live that way. He made his to-do lists every day and followed them with uncompromising discipline. He drank his soft drinks and ate his snacks precisely in accordance with his schedule. The St. Martin’s chapter of AA still held its meetings on Tuesday and Friday evenings, and he attended them religiously. Coffee and dessert at the South Side Diner afterward continued to be part of the routine. Some of the faces were the same—Judge Andy, for example—however, there had been a steady stream of new participants over the years. Some of them became regulars and others abruptly vanished from the program.
Aside from Tuesdays and Fridays, Danny purposely left the other evenings unscheduled. During his first few years of sobriety, he had sought out AA meetings at other locations to fill most of his evenings. That had changed over the years, partly because he felt a greater level of security about his sobriety, but also because he was frequently in demand by members of the program who needed companionship or encouragement. Sometimes those visits were casual and relaxed; other times, he was responding to desperate cries for help.
Over the past several weeks, Danny had been spending a considerable amount of time with a young man by the name of T. J., who had shown up at a meeting looking scared and uneasy, as most first-timers did. Danny had made a point of trying to put the young man at ease during the meeting, and invited him to join the coffee and dessert crowd at the diner afterward. T. J. accepted, but despite the best efforts of the group to make him feel comfortable and welcome, he was obviously ill at ease. Danny sensed that the young man was painfully shy and perhaps socially inept, and that the large, boisterous crowd was just too much for him. He walked T. J. out of the restaurant and offered to meet him for coffee the following evening, alone. T. J. gratefully accepted, and for the next two evenings, they met at the South Side Diner for coffee and blueberry pie.