Read When No One Is Watching Online
Authors: Joseph Hayes
Tags: #Mystery; Thriller & Suspense, #Mystery, #Thrillers & Suspense, #Crime, #Thrillers
Thirty minutes later, he brought his car to a screeching halt in the Concordia visitors’ parking lot, leapt out of the vehicle, and raced to the front door, only to find it locked. Peering inside, he saw no signs of life. He rattled the door and banged loudly. After a few long minutes, an elderly security guard came into view, walking slowly in his direction. The guard approached the door, pointed to his watch, and mouthed the words
We’re closed. Come back tomorrow
.
“Open the door!” Slazak yelled, holding his badge against the glass. The guard studied it carefully, then pulled a large key ring off his belt and complied.
“What can I do for you, Detective?” he asked, looking unsure of himself.
“I think one of your residents may be in danger,” Slazak replied in an urgent tone. “I need to make sure she’s okay.”
The guard looked even more nervous. “Which one?” he asked.
“Ashley McGrath. Can you check on her?”
“She’s in the women’s residence hall, next building over. I’ll call the guard over there and ask him to look in on her.”
The elderly guard radioed his counterpart in the other building and explained the situation.
“He’s checking on her, Detective. He’ll call back in a few minutes.”
“Can you take me over there, Curtis?” Slazak asked, reading the name from the guard’s uniform.
“I’m not supposed to leave my post,” Curtis replied nervously.
“It’ll take just a few minutes, right? Come on, Curtis, this is really important.”
The elderly guard reluctantly accompanied Slazak to the women’s residence hall, where they met the other security guard at the door, a stocky young black man with a sincere face and a nameplate that read “Marvin.”
“I just checked on Ms. McGrath,” said the young guard. “She’s asleep in her room. I’m not surprised. She’s got a big day tomorrow, with the Olympics and all.”
“What kind of security do you have around here, Marvin?” Slazak asked, doubt evident in his voice.
“You’re looking at it,” Marvin said proudly. “I’m on duty all night. These doors are kept locked. No one can get in or out between now and 7:00 a.m. And, we have an alarm system in case anyone tries to break in. We keep these residents safe, sir. Nothing to worry about.”
“Well, be alert, guys,” said Slazak. “I’ve got reason to believe Ashley may be in danger. Keep a close eye on her room tonight, okay?”
Curtis looked less confident than his young colleague. “What kind of danger are we talking about here? Should we call the police?”
Slazak’s mind flashed back to his final night in his Mount Greenwood home, vividly recalling that the intruders with the nylon stockings over their faces were wearing uniforms of the Chicago Police Department. Nolan’s description of his assailants was identical. “No, I don’t think that’s necessary,” Slazak said, trying his best to sound confident and reassuring. “I am the police, remember? Anyway, you guys seem to have things under control here. Like I said, just be alert. If anything strange happens, call me right away.” He jotted his cell phone number on a piece of paper he ripped from his small spiral notebook and handed it to Marvin, then did the same for Curtis.
Slazak left Concordia feeling less panicked but still uneasy about Ashley McGrath. His thoughts then returned to Mike Nolan. He was haunted by the vision of the prissy, harmless little geek sitting on his bedroom floor, face bloodied and battered, holding a grossly contorted broken wrist. It was his fault. Nolan had trusted him and gone out of his way to help, and this was what he got for it.
Slazak’s guilt turned to rage as he thought about Freddy Salazar. Everything would have gone perfectly if Salazar hadn’t mucked up the works by broadcasting his story to who knows who. It served him right for trusting a politician. Now he had to rethink his strategy. Should he set his wrath aside and continue working with Salazar, or should he go it alone? If he could find the right reporter, he might be able to achieve the desired result without having to collaborate with politicians.
It was past ten o’clock, but Slazak was in no mood for sleep. He needed to regroup and sort things out. Besides, after the day he’d had, he could use a couple of drinks.
He found himself instinctively driving toward Western Avenue, where he would have his choice of former drinking haunts. During his years in Vegas, one of the things he missed most was the neighborhood bar scene, not because there was anything remarkable about Chicago’s South Side bars, but just because they were full of his kind of people.
The Celtic Lounge had been his favorite spot on Western Avenue. As Slazak approached the nondescript tavern, he noticed the name on the marquee was now Harrigan’s. It seemed inviting nonetheless. Slazak stepped inside and could see that the tavern was just as he remembered it, tables and chairs spread around the front part of the bar, two pool tables and a dart board attracting a crowd in the back. It was crowded and noisy, but the noise had a fun and upbeat feel to it.
Slazak found an empty bar stool and ordered a shot and a beer, both of which he slammed down instantly. Then he ordered another beer. He looked sideways at the man on the bar stool next to him. He was scruffy and disheveled, and looked like he’d been drinking heavily, although the beverage in front of him at the moment was hot coffee.
Slazak was not normally inclined to strike up a conversation with a stranger at a bar, particularly one who seemed to be withdrawn and keeping to himself. He was one to respect boundaries. However, despite the troubles he had encountered earlier that evening, he felt his spirits lifting, through some combination of the alcohol and the feeling that he was home again on the South Side of Chicago, where he belonged.
“My name’s Vic,” he said, turning to the coffee drinker and offering his hand. “How’s it going?”
The man looked at him with bloodshot eyes and offered a weak smile. “I’m Pat,” he replied, shaking hands.
“Do you live around here?” Slazak asked.
“Sometimes,” Pat responded. “I grew up around here, and I’ve moved away a few times, but I seem to keep finding my way back.” His speech was slurred, and it was evident that he hadn’t been drinking coffee all evening.
“Me, too,” said Slazak. “I’m from Mount Greenwood, but I’ve been living in Vegas for the past ten years. Miserable place.”
Pat looked past Slazak and waved to a man in a dark blue windbreaker who had just walked in. The man returned Pat’s wave and approached them.
“Hi, Pat,” the man said in a somber tone, a troubled look on his face.
“Thanks for coming, Danny.” Pat took a closer look at Danny Moran. “Jesus Christ, you look like shit!”
“So do you, Pat,” Danny replied.
“
Touché
, pal. I need to take a leak, then we can get going.” Pat rose from his bar stool and walked unsteadily in the direction of the men’s room. Danny seated himself on the stool Pat had just vacated.
Vic Slazak stared intently at Danny Moran. “My name’s Vic,” he said, extending his hand. “You look familiar.”
“Danny Moran,” Danny replied, shaking hands and barely glancing at Slazak, his eyes darting around the bar nervously. He’d visited many a bar on missions like this one over the years, and they always unnerved him. Even after ten years of sobriety, some part of him still feared that he could give in to the temptation at any time.
Danny noticed that the man he’d just met seemed to be staring at him. He focused and returned the look.
“Do you live in North Beverly, on Hamilton?” Slazak asked.
“Yeah, I’ve lived there for twenty years now,” Danny replied, realizing that the man he’d just met looked familiar to him, too.
“We’ve met before. My full name is Vic Slazak. I used to be a cop. I was the one who investigated your auto accident years ago.”
Danny’s sense of discomfort with the surroundings immediately escalated. “That was a long time ago,” he said. “I’ve tried to put that behind me.”
“Listen, Danny, I’d really like to talk to you about that accident,” Slazak said, urgency in his voice.
Danny looked confused, as well as a bit annoyed. “Look, Mr. Slazak, this is something I don’t like to talk about. I’m not proud of what happened. It was a dark time in my life, and like I said, I’ve tried to put it behind me.”
“Let me tell you about my investigation. I think you’ll be interested in what I have to say. I’m convinced that what actually happened is very different from what most people think.”
“Okay, Danny, let’s get out of here,” Pat Jordan stepped between them. “Nice meeting you, pal.” He nodded at Slazak.
“I can explain some things. You really need to hear this!” Slazak said in a loud voice as Danny began walking away, a bewildered look on his face. “Can I call you tomorrow?”
“Sure, I’m in the phone book,” Danny replied in a reluctant voice, without looking back.
“What did he want?” Pat asked.
“Who knows?” Danny replied. “I think he’s just a drunk with some wild story he wants to tell.”
He sprinted from the parking lot to the front office, where he found Sister Therese calmly talking on the telephone.
“Where’s Ashley McGrath?” Slazak blurted out.
Sister Therese gave him a cross look and held up an index finger, signaling for him to be patient.
“Sister, this is important!” Slazak shouted. “Where’s Ashley?”
Sister Therese put her hand over the mouthpiece and said, “Try the athletic field. The buses are meeting the kids there and taking them downtown for the Olympics. You might’ve missed them,” she said, glancing at the clock.
“Thanks, Sister,” he said hurriedly, turning and making for the door.
“Wait, Detective!” Sister Therese called after him. “Is everything okay with Ashley? You’re the second person asking about her this morning.”
Slazak froze.
“Who was the first one?” he asked as a chill shot down his spine.
“The other policeman, the one in uniform. He was here about ten minutes ago.”
“What did he look like, Sister?”
“He was a giant. Tall, big shoulders, dark complexion. I sent him down to the field, too. Is everything okay?”
Slazak raced out the door without answering and sprinted through the winding paths toward the athletic field. As he approached, he saw the last few stragglers in their powder-blue T-shirts boarding an old yellow school bus. A young man in his late teens with curly blond hair stood outside the bus, checking names off the list on his clipboard as the excited young athletes boarded the bus.
“Hey, is Ashley McGrath on this bus?” Slazak shouted to the young chaperone.
“No, she caught the earlier bus. It left about twenty minutes ago.”
“Where’s it going?” Slazak asked, breathing hard from his sprint.
“Downtown. Grant Park. That’s where they’re holding the opening ceremonies. After that, the athletes go their separate ways for their events. Some are in the park, some are at Soldier Field, and some of the swimming events are in the lake.”
“Are you sure she was on that bus?”
“Positive. She gave me a big hug before she got on.” The young man hesitated, his expression becoming worried. “There was a policeman here looking for her just a few minutes ago. Is something wrong?”
“Can you reach that bus driver?”
“Maybe. I can try Annie’s cell phone. She’s one of the chaperones on that bus.”
“Call her!” Slazak demanded. “Tell her not to let Ashley out of her sight!”
Slazak raced back to his car, grabbing his cell phone as he screeched out of the parking lot. “Son of a bitch!” he yelled, realizing he had no one to call.
He found himself facing the massive frame of Sam McIntire. “Morning, Bobby,” Sam said cheerfully, handing Bobby the newspaper that had been lying outside his door. “I’ve got some news.”
Bobby looked down the hall in both directions, then closed the door.
“Well, is our boy ready for the big show next week?” Sam asked casually.
“You know Blair,” Bobby responded. “He thrives on this. He’ll be at his best. So, you’ve got some news?”
Sam smiled smugly. “You bet your ass.”
“Out with it, goddamn it,” Bobby ordered impatiently.
“Relax, Bobby, everything is good. In fact, we can all relax. Remember that evidence in Chicago we were concerned about? Well, there ain’t no more evidence.”
“Are you telling me there wasn’t any evidence in the first place, or that there was, but now it’s gone?”
“Oh, there was evidence, all right, but it’s been taken care of. Damn good thing, too. It was exactly as advertised.”
“And it was handled discreetly?”
“With the utmost professionalism, I can assure you. You won’t hear a peep out of anyone. Now we just have one more loose end to tie up, and I’ve got those wheels in motion.”
“What loose end?” Bobby asked. “What are you talking about?”
“The girl—the witness,” Sam replied, as if stating the obvious.
“Leave her alone, Sam,” Bobby said sternly. “The evidence is gone. We don’t need to worry about her.”
“Like hell we don’t! This is too big—we can’t take any chances. Don’t sweat it, Bobby. I’m handling it.”
“Do you mind telling me exactly how you intend to handle this?” Bobby asked, an edge in his voice.
“You don’t need to concern yourself with that,” Sam replied curtly.