Easy Innocence

Chapter 55

"IT'S A race to see who gets him first: the Feds or the locals," Kelly said over breakfast next morning. He'd gone out of his way to drive up to the Lucky Platter in Evanston.

"Has anyone filed charges yet?" Georgia was famished. Between the interviews and debriefings with NORTAF and the Feds, she hadn't eaten much the past two days. She bit into a strip of bacon. It was perfect: crisp, dry, not too salty.

"Not yet. But there's a laundry list of 'em coming."

"Lenny, the security man, did all the hits, right? Including Sara Long?"

Kelly nodded. "Perl's trying to finger him, claiming it was all his idea. But no one's buying it."

She sniffed, taking in the aromas of fresh coffee, fried eggs, and biscuits on her plate. "Why the bat? He was already carrying."

Kelly shrugged. "Probably one of those opportunities that just presented itself. Someone brought the bat to the hazing. He saw it lying around and figured it might be useful."

"It got Cam Jordan indicted," she said quietly. Then, "You know what I keep thinking about?"

"What?"

"The girls hazed Sara Long because she was too nosy. Insinuating herself in other people's business. But that was her way of finding out whether anyone knew she was hooking. It was all so... incestuous."

Kelly reached for his coffee and blew steam off the surface. "Tell me something. You ever kill someone before?"

"No."

"You holding up?"

"I'll make it." At the Academy, they'd warned she might have a reaction if she ever shot someone. They made sure she knew about the resources that could help them through the trauma. But Georgia didn't need counseling or pills or even booze. Her training had kicked in, and she'd shot Walcher on instinct. Kill or be killed. She'd do it again.

"How much would you say Fred Stewart's land was worth?" She asked.

"Hard to say," Kelly replied. "In today's market, with four or five acres, in the middle of the North Shore, probably a few mill. Maybe more."

She felt a profound weariness. A murder investigation was all-consuming. It compelled her to forsake everything except the search for the killer. She had gone over every lead, every interview, every detail, almost obsessively, making sure she hadn't missed anything. In the end, though, a young girl's life had been snuffed out because of money. It seemed so futile. Even trite. Perl was the ringleader, but it wasn't just his responsibility. Or Tom Walcher's. All of them, Andrea, Lauren, even Sara Long, had become broken, in one way or another, because of greed. They were all accountable.

Kelly folded his hands. "You did good, Davis."

"It was my job."

A young waitress in jeans and a t-shirt padded over and freshened their coffee. Her shoes hardly made a sound.

"Listen..." Kelly leaned across the table after she was gone. "You wanna take on another job? I got a few lined up. And—well—it turns out I don't mind working with you."

Georgia smiled weakly. "Well now, that's a ringing endorsement."

"Hey." He looked injured. "I mean it."

"I got a call from Eric Olson this morning. He's the Chief of Police where I used to work."

One of Kelly's eyebrows went up.

"When I was suspended, I—er, accidentally forgot to turn one of my Sigs. The Glencoe cops confiscated it Sunday night."

"So?"

"Olson said he knew I kept it when I was suspended. And that he had to make a decision whether to bring charges—"

"The shithead."

"Or invite me back on the force so I'd be legal."

Kelly's other eyebrow joined the first to form a perfect arch. "What did you tell him?"

"That I'd think about it and let him know."

Kelly didn't say anything for a long while. Then, "Make the right decision, Davis."

***

"What's going to happen to Lauren?" Pete said that night, scrubbing sweet potatoes over Georgia's kitchen sink. Georgia had surprised herself by inviting him, along with Sam, and Sam's boyfriend, for Thanksgiving dinner. He'd surprised her by accepting, though being a vegetarian, he'd skip the turkey. But he came down later waving his mother's secret sweet potato pie recipe, which he claimed he'd wangled after begging and pleading and a bribe or two.

"She's been charged with pandering. And if it turns out any of her girls were under sixteen, they'll add juvenile pimping."

"What does that mean in terms of a sentence?"

"Pandering's a Class Four felony." At his blank look, she added, "One to three years. But she has a shot at probation. Especially if I testify on her behalf."

"Which you're going to do."

Georgia turned on the flame under a large pot of water. "She's not a bad kid once you cut through the crap. If I were the judge, I'd get her into therapy right away. And make her do community service with abused women."

"What about her mother?"

"She appears to be remorseful."

Pete frowned. "But wasn't she in on the scam?"

"Not really. She didn't know anything about the deal until her brother died."

"Do you believe her?"

Georgia didn't like the woman, but that didn't make her a liar. She nodded.

Pete dropped the potato into the pot. "This life of yours. How can you do it day after day? Doesn't it get to you? Don't you ever want to be—normal?"

She rinsed her hands and dried them with a dishtowel. "Who says I'm not 'normal,' whatever that is?"