THE BELL rang. Recess was over. Everyone had to go back inside. But Georgia lagged behind. She'd been sitting on the stone ledge that ran the length of the playground watching two robins hop across the grass. One of them held a piece of straw in its mouth, but as Georgia looked more closely, the straw turned into a snake, writhing and twisting in the bird's beak. The robin dropped the snake, and it started to slither across the grass, leaving bloody entrails in its wake. The bell rang again, sharper, more piercing this time. An acrid, fishy odor permeated everything. The birds disappeared, and Georgia slowly swam to the surface.
The phone. She covered her head with a pillow. A morning dream. They were always exceptionally vivid, even more so when she'd been drinking. The phone rang a third time. Shit. Who the hell had the nerve to call so early? She let the machine pick up.
After the beep, a familiar voice growled, "Davis. If you're there, get the damn phone."
She cracked an eye and checked her clock. It was fuzzy, out of focus. She squinted. Ten AM. Christ. How did it get so late? She rolled over and pulled the phone off the base, forcing back the wave of dizziness that rolled with her.
"Davis here." She croaked. Her mouth felt like sandpaper.
"It's O'Malley." His voice was accompanied by a high-pitched rushing noise. "Dan, where the hell are you? In the middle of tornado alley?"
"You know how hard it is to find a pay phone these days? I'm at the train station."
"Why?"
"Wake up, Davis. Smell the coffee."
She swung her legs over the bed and tried to focus. O'Malley was at a pay phone because... It came to her in a heartbeat.
"Shit. I'm sorry. I'm moving slow this morning," she said.
He grunted in response.
"What's going on?"
"I got wind of something. Thought it might be of interest to you."
She sat up straight. "Yeah?"
"You didn't hear it from me, right?"
"Course not."
"Uh-huh." He didn't sound convinced.
"Dan, you know me."
"I don't know anyone anymore." He paused. "But that's not your problem." He sighed. "Here it is. There was a homicide in Deerfield last night."
"Monday night."
"If today is Tuesday..."
"Sorry. Go on."
"They activated NORTAF and some of our guys are on it. A young kid. Name of Derek Janowitz. Lived in an apartment with a couple of Serbians."
"And?"
"He used to go to Newfield but dropped out a year or so ago. But here's the kicker. The dicks went through his stuff and found a PDA with all his phone numbers on it."
Georgia held her breath.
"Sara Long's cell was one of them."
***
Georgia got out of bed carefully. Her head felt like it might explode, and her stomach felt like a battalion of tiny soldiers were running maneuvers through it. She swore she'd never take another drink. Ever. She thought about toasting a bagel but couldn't stomach the thought of eating. She did manage to down two glasses of water and three Advils.
Before hanging up, O'Malley told her the Deerfield cops had interrogated the victim's two roommates. They claimed to know nothing about their friend's murder, and so far their alibis checked out. When she asked if Robby Parker, her former partner and the detective handling Sara Long's case, knew what had happened, O'Malley said,
"If I know, Parker knows. Of course, the fact that Sara's name was in the vic's PDA might just be a coincidence." O'Malley added.
"Right."
"Hey. I figured you'd want to know."
She'd thanked him. He'd gone out of his way to call her on an untraceable line. He was still looking out for her. She owed him. After getting dressed, she booted up her computer and Googled the name "Derek Janowitz." Nothing popped up. She tried some of her other databases but came up cold. O'Malley said the kid worked at the gas station on Shermer in Northbrook. She should drive over.
Before she left, she called Kelly. He picked up right away. "Good morning, Davis," he bellowed cheerfully. "To what do I owe the honor of this call?"
She grunted. The dizziness was gone, but her head was still pounding, and his reedy voice didn't help. If they were face to face, she might have slugged him. Instead she told him what O'Malley said.
"Really? Now that is interesting. You're gonna follow up, right?"
Now she did want to slug him. "That's the plan."
"See if you can get me something by Thursday, okay?"
"Why Thursday?"
"Well, if you mosey on down to the courthouse around two, you'll find out."
"What's going on?"
"I filed a motion for a bail reduction for Cam Jordan."
"You did?"
"Three million dollars is obscene."
"That's great!" she replied. "I'm glad. That poor boy needs to get out. When do you-"
"Hold on, Davis," Kelly replied. "I wouldn't get your hopes up."
"Why not? We thought the fact that the hazing was out would make a difference."
He snorted amiably. "Not enough, I'm afraid."
"Then why-"
"I want to feel out the judge."
A wave of pain shot across her forehead. "I don't get it."
"There's no chance Cam Jordan's sister could pay ten percent of a hundred grand, much less a million, right?'
"Yeah..."
"So if the judge does lower it-even a little-then I know he's listening to what I got to say."
"And..."
"And I might go for a bench trial rather than a jury. But if he doesn't lower it, I know to take my chances on a jury. Capiche?"
"Capiche?" Last time she'd checked, Kelly was Irish.
"It's a figure of speech, Davis."
He pronounced figure "figgure." She sighed. "Good strategy."
"I think so, too," he said jovially. They made arrangements to meet outside the courtroom in Skokie on Thursday. After disconnecting, Georgia stared at the phone. She'd never heard him so happy. Had to be the Irish in him. He was gearing up for a fight.
***
Jerry Horner was stooped and had glasses that slipped down his nose. He wore a grimy uniform with "Jerry" on his shirt pocket and a faded gimme cap low on his forehead. When Georgia arrived, he was slouched in a corner of the garage in an reclining leather chair so old there were more cracks than material. He had to be in his sixties, but right now he was staring fearfully around like a kid who'd been separated from his mother.
Georgia stopped at the edge of the garage. There was no work going on, but the fumes of gas, oil, and cleaning solvents combined with her hangover made her queasy. She angled herself so she was facing out.
"Sorry to intrude, Mr. Horner, but I need to ask you some questions."
Horner looked over, and a frown spread across his face. "Don't know what else you could possibly want to know," he said wearily.
"Excuse me?"
"You done asked me everything except whether I take my coffee with cream."
"I'm not with the police, Mr. Horner," Georgia said. "But I am interested in Derek Janowitz."
"You gotta believe me." He blathered on as if he hadn't heard her. "I had no clue what he was doing."
"What are you talking about?"
"Janowitz, of course. And what he was up to."
Georgia nodded, playing along.
He rocked forward and adjusted the recliner to an upright position. "I'm just trying to make an honest living, you know? Janowitz started here about nine months ago. Kid seemed to know what he was doing. He was good with computers. Understood the digital crap. Used to say the future of the world was online. That you could get everything you wanted with a damn mouse. But I never guessed..."
"What he was really up to."
"How could I?" The chair squeaked as he shifted. "In all my years, I've never been in trouble with the law. Thought Janowitz was a good kid. Lived around here, used to go to Newfield." He fixed her with a knowing expression. "Just goes to show you can't trust anyone."
"Tell me again what you discovered about him."
"Me? You're the ones that came to me. I-"
"Mr. Horner, I'm not with the police."
He looked bewildered. "You're not? Then who-"
"I'm an investigator. I'm working on a different case, but your employee had the name and number of my subject in his PDA. I need to know-"
"What's a PDA?"
She massaged her temples. "It's a small electronic device that has a digital address book in it, among other things."
"Oh." He wasn't sweating but he wiped a sleeve across his forehead.
"So I'd need to know if you've ever heard of her. Her name was Sara Long."
Horner snorted. "The creep had a lot of girls' names. And that's just for starters."
Georgia rubbed her temples again. Her headache was worsening. "What are you talking about?"
"Janowitz. He was a pimp, the bastard. Running whores right under my nose."
His words slammed into her like a runaway train. Her hands dropped. "What?"
"You heard me," he leaned back in the chair and folded his hands behind his head. He seemed to sense that his response had given him the upper hand in the conversation. He almost smiled. "He was a pimp. Pandering. Solicitation and prostitution, the cops said."
Georgia steadied herself against the wall of the garage.
"The cops were here before I opened this morning," Horner volunteered. "Five squad cars; I counted 'em. I swear to God, I thought they were after me. But they wanted to talk about Janowitz. They'd picked up a couple of his hookers overnight. They admitted the kid was running 'em." Horner spread his hands again. "A fucking prostitution ring. In my gas station. No wonder they brought five cruisers. They probably thought I was keeping 'em locked up in the garage."
Outside, a silver Beamer pulled up to the pump. Georgia glanced over, then back at Horner. She recalled a case she'd worked where they did keep the women locked up. The pimps in that case were hardened criminals. But Derek Janowitz was a teenager. A woman got out of the Beamer and started pumping gas.
They'd given her a heads up about teenage prostitution when she was on the force. It was on the rise, she'd learned, and while a lot of the prostitutes were illegal immigrants, drug users, or runaways, a growing number of younger teens were coming from seemingly stable middle class families. As usual, money was the draw, but not for the next fix. These girls were hooking for triple mocha lattes, iPods, and four hundred dollar jeans.
Georgia recalled the expensive clothes in Sara's closet. The digital camera and iPod. She remembered Melinda Long saying the family was just making it; they couldn't afford luxuries. But Sara could. On her minimum wage job. Which, it turned out, she'd lied about.
The woman climbed back into her Beamer and pulled out of the station.
"Like I said, the cops were all over me," Horner was saying. "They thought I was his partner. I don't need that, you know? I got four grandchildren, for crying out loud." Georgia made herself listen. This had to be the most significant thing that ever happened to Horner; he needed someone to witness his fifteen minutes.
"The cops are sure he had a partner?"
"They sure as hell acted that way."
"And they thought it was you."
He cocked his head. "Where you been for the past five minutes, lady? That's what I been saying."
"Sorry." Georgia rubbed her temples again. "Can you describe Janowitz?"
"Skinny kid. Not tall. Maybe five six, five seven. Long hair. Wore as much jewelry as a girl. I told him to take it off at work." Horner shrugged. "Oh, yeah. He had a big nose, too. Sharp. And his eyes were always watching you. Taking it all in."
Georgia stopped massaging her temples. Where had she heard that before? Someone else had described a young kid in the same way. Recently. She wracked her brain, willing it to come. The afternoon manager at Burhops. He was describing the kid who picked up the fish guts. "Small. Skinny. Sharp nose. Jewelry."
Horner started shaking his head. "I kept telling the cops I've never done a dishonest day's work in my life. No way was I his partner."
But someone else was, Georgia thought. And that someone might know who killed Sara Long.
"Mr. Horner, I'm sorry you've had to go through all this, but I wonder if you would do me a tiny favor."
"What's that?"
"You have Derek Janowitz's address and phone number. I'd like to have them."
"Whatever for? It's not like he's gonna be answering his phone."
"The information might help me figure out who his partner is." She smiled. "And take the heat off you."
Horner squinted at her, then leaned forward and planted his feet on the floor. He took his time getting out of the chair. "I guess it don't matter to me. Just as long as you leave me out of it."