IT WAS a long night. The Glencoe cops took Georgia back to the station. Andrea was taken to the hospital. Lauren went too and was treated for shock.
Georgia was put in a windowless interview room with cinderblock walls where she was interrogated for several hours. The NORTAF task force was activated, and three detectives wandered in and out. They treated her cautiously: Walcher had been killed in his own home, and they had no way of knowing how or why she was there. Still, she wasn't too worried. Lauren and Andrea's stories would back her up, and the fact she'd been a cop should work in her favor.
After going over what happened several times, she told them what she'd uncovered about Harry Perl's land deal, the bribes, the fake environmental report, the murders, and the attempts on her life. But when she connected everything back to Sara Long's murder, they looked troubled. Two of the dicks who'd been questioning her left, presumably to check out her story. One of them came back an hour later.
"We called Robby Parker. He says the whole thing is fucked. The Long case is sewn up. They've got their man, and they're ready for trial."
Anger stung her. "I could have told you he'd say that. I'm working for the defendant."
"He said you and he used to be partners, but you got suspended. He says you never got over it."
Her hands clenched into fists. She slipped them into her pockets. "If you've been anywhere near a TV recently, you know that's bullshit. The women backed me up, didn't they?"
"We're already looking," he said tiredly. "Especially into Perl. But as for the rest of it..." He shrugged. "It's not our case, for starters."
Georgia paced the room, trying to control her frustration. She should have expected there'd be no help from Robby Parker. But she was sure O'Malley would vouch for her, once he heard about it. Paul Kelly, too.
For the moment, though, she needed to focus on a more critical problem: Harry Perl was still out there. If you believed Tom Walcher, he was a loose cannon, particularly when he was crossed. And Ricki Feldman, her unhappiness over the environmental troubles on record, had crossed him.
"You know," the dick said, "You've been through a lot tonight. You shot someone. Doesn't happen often. I'll bet the shrink who counsels cops in your area would be glad to see you."
Georgia stopped pacing. She'd grapple with that on her own time. "I don't need a shrink. I need to stop a killer."
The detective eyed her. "I have no idea what you need, but if half of what you said is true, what you need is to be careful."
They let her go home around seven the next morning. First she called Henry, a friend who had a body shop on Fullerton. He told her if she brought the car down he'd have it fixed in two days. She said she'd bring it in.
She couldn't confront Perl—the cops had confiscated her gun—but she might be able to do some reconnaissance. Tail him or his goons. Make sure they weren't closing in on Ricki Feldman. She told herself she should warn Ricki, too. She also wanted to check on Lauren.
She knocked on Pete's door, hoping to catch him before work. He was there. She convinced him to lend her his Acura.
After a quick shower, she raced up 41 to Lake Bluff, a well-heeled village adjacent to Lake Forest on the tip of the North Shore. She wound through the village to a street that ended a few feet from Lake Michigan. Overlooking the water was a huge estate that looked like an Italian villa, with carved stone work, Roman arches and gargoyles above.
The driveway in front of the house was empty. Georgia backed up to the road and parked at the curb. Clear morning sunshine threw an innocent light over everything. She'd staked out the house for about thirty minutes when a dark Chevy turned onto the street behind her. She checked the rear view. At the wheel was a lean man with curly, dark hair. Her heart started to hammer. As he passed her and turned into the driveway, he glanced over, and their eyes met. Her breath sucked out, and she felt like she'd been punched in the gut.
***
Matt was still in the Chevy, his hands on the wheel when she climbed out of her car and went over.
"It was you."
He rubbed the back of his neck. "Hello, Georgia."
There were the same brown eyes she'd lost herself in. The curly hair she'd run her fingers through. And glasses. She liked it when he wore his glasses. They gentled him, she said. She started to speak, but her throat closed up.
"You look good," Matt said.
Georgia gazed at him. Then she blinked it away. "You mind telling me what the fuck you're doing here?"
"I work here."
"For Perl?"
He nodded slowly. "It's a long story."
"The man's a monster."
"I know. "
"Walcher is dead."
He looked shocked. "When?"
"Last night. I shot him."
A gleam came into his eyes. "So that's it..."
"What?"
"Perl and Lenny went out about an hour ago. They told me to stay here."
"Lenny?"
"My—my supervisor."
"We need to find them. "I think he's going after..." She pressed her lips together. "... Ricki Feldman."
"What?"
"It's my fault. I set her up." Georgia explained how she'd gone to her office and told her about the fake report. "If she didn't already know about it, I was hoping, given her father's history, she'd raise hell with Perl. And if she did know, I figured she'd warn him I knew. Either way, I figured I could use her to flush them out."
Matt interrupted, a knowing look in his eyes. "It worked."
"How do you know?"
"She called Perl. I was there." He paused, putting something together. "Now it makes sense."
"I should have warned her. I screwed up."
He shook his head. "You did what you had to."
"There's more. I think Harry Perl had Sara Long killed."
"The girl in the woods?" Matt looked worried. "That was before I signed on."
"Walcher was screwing her," Georgia said "She was a hooker. I think she heard something she shouldn't have."
Matt's mouth opened and then shut.
"Where did they go? Do you know?"
When Matt shook his head, she pulled out her cell and punched in a number. "Is Ms. Feldman there yet?" She paused. "And you haven't heard from her? Okay." She disconnected. "She's not at her office. Hasn't been in all morning." Georgia's pulse started to race. "Where does she live?"
"Hold on." Matt pulled out his cell phone and punched in a number. "Korman, Singer. I need a GPS fix on the SUV." He paused. "Yeah. Call me back." He disconnected.
"A GPS locator?" Georgia narrowed her eyes. "What's that about?"
Matt didn't answer.
"Who was that?" He still didn't answer. "You're working undercover!"
He didn't answer for a moment. Then, "Yes."
"For Olson?"
He shook his head. "When I got back from Israel, the U.S. attorney set me up with the Bureau. White collar crime unit."
"How did that happen?"
"I've known Perl was dirty since Ricki and I were together. It grated on me. I came home to deal with it."
"The avenging angel." It came out sharp.
A guarded look came into Matt's eyes. "Would you believe me if I said I wanted to make restitution?"
She wondered whether to apologize. "For what?"
His cell trilled. "Yeah? Where? Okay. I'm going there now. I need back up." He dumped the cell into his shirt pocket. "The SUV is on Barberry Lane in Lake Forest." He swallowed. "That's where Ricki lives."
"Let's take my car." She headed toward the Acura, then turned around and caught his arm. "Matt, I don't have a gun. They took my Sig."
"I can fix that."