EIGHT LIES (About the Truth): A collection of short stories by Sean Chercover Read Free Book Online Page B

line.
    “Any of those women married to a property developer?”
    “Um…afraid not.”
    “How about someone in construction. Or an architect.”
    “My dear boy, don’t…oh yes, yes there is one,” he said with some surprise. “An architect. Steven Young. Abramson, Young & Associates. The wife’s name is Gertrude, as improbable as that may sound.”
    “Great. What do you know about Gertrude Young and her architect?”
    “I know I have a research file on them, but the file is at home,” he said. “I’ll ring you back in a few hours.” I started to hang up. “Mr. Dudgeon.” I put the receiver back to my head. “Mr. Dudgeon, I know what you’re trying to do.”
    “Listen Crawley, I owe you a publishable item—our deal didn’t specify that I have to go after your preferred target.”
    “Whomever you go after, I expect a piece by Saturday night. I know you’ve made progress on the Chapman woman or you wouldn’t be switching course. So I’ll run the prostitution piece unless you bring me something of equal value.” I said nothing and listened to Crawley light a cigarette. “I really don’t know how you survive in your line of work,” he sniffed, “the way you endeavor to strike a morality pose. It absolutely reeks of hypocrisy. Don’t forget, I have a research file on you, too.”
    “Fuck off, Crawley.” I put the receiver down.
    I opened a bottle of Mount Gay Extra Old and poured four fingers of deep amber rum over ice and drank it, while not thinking about what Delwood Crawley might or might not have on me. The rum was good, so I poured another. This one I drank slowly, while surfing the Internet for information about Gertrude and Steven Young. I scribbled a few notes and visited the ProInfoTrace website and ordered a report on Mrs. Gertrude Young, of Lake Forest. I entered the number of my Illinois private detective’s license and a credit card. And selected the rush service, which cost me over four hundred bucks. Thinking You really are a sucker, Dudgeon. Forty bucks to Judy, at least as much on beer and gas, and now this. And for what? So you can pretend you’re doing the right thing? Don’t be a rube.
    But the truth was, it did make me feel better. Gertrude Young was willing to drag Margarita Chapman’s skeletons into public view, and to me, that made Gertrude fair game. Live by the sword, and all that jazz.
    If that’s hypocrisy, so be it.
    Lake Forest is the most exclusive of Chicago’s suburban towns. Here the mansions are set deep within wooded lots. Gertrude Young ventured out into the world at 8:45 Friday morning. She drove a green Jaguar XK Convertible, top down. A green and gold Hermes scarf protected her hairdo from the warm breeze and sunglasses the size of salad plates protected her eyes from the summer sun.
    Gertrude’s first order of business was a visit to her family doctor, whose office occupied a redbrick townhouse on a tree-lined street just off Sheridan Road. At 9:43, she was back in the car and then to Deerpath, where she parked in a tow-away zone and dashed into Walgreen’s. There were plenty of meters available, so I played it safe.
    Gertrude browsed through the current issue of Harper’s while waiting for her prescription, paid for the drugs, and returned to her car, which had not been ticketed or towed. She then drove south to Chicago, where we both parked in the garage at Water Tower Place. By 11:00 she was strolling down the Magnificent Mile .
    Which was good news for me. The ProInfoTrace report had arrived as an e-mail attachment late in the night, and it told me that Gertrude Young had been arrested five times in the last four years. The charges against her had always been dropped and the report did not say what Gertrude Young had been charged with. No help from Crawley’s file, which held whispered rumors that Steven Young might have a boyfriend on the side, but was otherwise empty. So I called Lieutenant Mike Angelo and told him I had two tickets to next