No Show of Remorse by David J. Walker Read Free Book Online Page A

me.”
    â€œExcept that I didn’t. I would have if Richard had been shot, sure. But he wasn’t. At that time I had a small child and I was in law school. I didn’t have time to read the papers or watch the news. Richard didn’t like me being in school and was no help at all. Besides, by then he had a girl— He was away from home a lot and when he was there we hardly even spoke to each other. I didn’t pay any attention to what he did—on the job or anywhere else. My marriage was dead.” She looked at me. “Believe me, I didn’t know there was any connection. Until yesterday, when I read the police reports.”
    â€œI believe you,” I said. “But you know, a few things didn’t get into the reports. Like how, after my client didn’t show up to turn himself in, your husband sat and watched a couple of other cops slap me around on and off over the next twelve hours. How they had me in custody and wouldn’t let me contact anyone. How one of them told me I was a dead man if I didn’t cooperate.”
    â€œRichard’s not my husband; he’s my my ex-husband. And I’m surprised he only sat and watched. He enjoys hitting people, almost as much as he enjoys the track and the casinos. He sure didn’t sit and watch in my case. He did the slapping himself. But only twice; that’s all. And I’m the one who told him he was a dead man if it ever happened again.”
    â€œGood for you. Me, I was cuffed to a wall ring and not really up to making any death threats. The time wasn’t a total loss, though. I did manage to throw up on Richie’s shoes.”

CHAPTER
    9
    B Y THE TIME WE SPLIT UP , Stefanie and I had agreed to stay in touch, and disagreed on most everything else. I told her to tell Clark Woolford she’d seen her ex-husband’s name in the police reports and get him to take her off my case. She said no, that might make him suspicious, and he could find out from the security desk sign-out book that she hadn’t left the office the night before until after he and Flanagan left.
    She lived in East Rogers Park, a neighborhood along the lakefront at the north edge of the city. Maura Flanagan’s warning that Stefanie would be in danger if she learned of Flanagan’s interest in my case had frightened her, made her wonder if someone was watching her. I said I’d take her home. She refused. I suggested a cab, but she said she’d take the el. She didn’t want anyone to see her acting unusually.
    So she was scared—but tough. On the other hand, I didn’t think she was under surveillance. After all, no one knew she’d heard a supreme court justice putting pressure on the head of the disciplinary commission, bribing him with a judgeship in exchange for not objecting to my reinstatement to the bar … if I survived long enough to make it matter.
    So Stefanie left and I followed her myself for a while. No one else did.
    Then, leaving Marshall Field’s at street level on Randolph, I walked to Michigan Avenue and headed south. It was dark and the air was turning cool, with a light rain blowing in from the east—off the lake. There weren’t many people on the sidewalks and most of them kept their heads down as they hurried along. The streets were slick and shining with reflected automobile lights—distorted streaks of red and white—and tires hissed and spat out tiny sprays of water behind them. I crossed Michigan, went past the Art Institute, then cut diagonally through the grass and trees of Grant Park, toward Columbus Drive and the Cavalier.
    And someone followed me. I was sure of it, even though he stayed way back and in the shadows. Not recognizable in the dark and the rain, yet somehow familiar. Thin, like the man in the underground train station.
    I left the trees, crossed to the east side of Columbus, and continued south on the sidewalk. More grass and trees along my left;