Dirty Martini Read online

  “Go save the city,” Latham said, pressing a paper towel to the bleeding singer’s face. “We’ll talk later.”

  “Are you sure?”

  He winked at me. “Go on. I have to find the rest of this guy’s mustache anyway.”

  “Thanks,” I said, though it felt like spoiled milk in my mouth.

  “Call me before you get home. I’m cooking dinner. German.”

  My favorite kind of food. I felt like a super-jumbo cowardly jerk.

  I walked out the door, past the grocery bags I’d left on the porch, and climbed into my car. In the driver’s seat, head buzzing, I stared at the large tear in my skirt but found myself unable to go back into the house to change. I couldn’t face Latham.

  He deserved so much better than me.

  I pulled out of the driveway, thinking about my rocky relationship with the world’s most adorable accountant, Latham Conger. He was a bit younger, attractive, intelligent, caring, good in bed, and the most patient and forgiving person I’d ever met. In all the fairy princess fantasies I’d die before admitting I had, he perfectly fit the role of Prince Charming.

  Unfortunately the fairy princess fantasy didn’t mesh well with the veteran city cop reality.

  The Ike got me back into Chicago in an hour and some change.

  Police headquarters was located in a sprawling 400,000-square-foot building on Thirty-fifth and Michigan. The lobby, like the exterior, was a mixture of orangish brown and off-white. Lots of tile. Lots of fluorescent light. It reminded me of a hospital.

  My partner, Sergeant Herb Benedict, was pacing the hallway in front of the super’s door. Herb was ten years my senior, and twice my weight, and he sported a walrus mustache and hound dog jowls. Worried wasn’t a look that Herb wore often, but at that moment he looked positively distraught.

  “Been in there yet?” I asked.

  “Waiting for you. What happened to your skirt?”

  I resisted the urge to smooth a hand over the tear.

  “It’s the new look. All the kids are doing it. Know what’s going on?”

  Herb shook his head, three chins jiggling.

  “No. But it’s big.”

  “You okay?” I asked. The bags under his eyes seemed darker than normal.

  “Yeah. Why?”

  “You seem kind of preoccupied.”

  “So do you.”

  We exchanged a look that promised we’d talk later, and went into the office.

  There were three people in the room. Superintendent Terry O’Loughlin—newly appointed by the mayor—was someone whom I hadn’t had a chance to meet yet, but whose reputation was well known. Behind her back, cops called her OTB, one tough broad. She’d forsaken her public appearance dress blues for a red pantsuit that looked like it came off the rack at Sears, and fit about as well. Subtle makeup, brown hair cropped short, and a wedding ring that looked to be cutting off the circulation to her chubby finger.

  Captain Bains, my boss, stood next to her desk. Bains resembled a short, fat, unattractive version of Burt Reynolds, down to the jet-black hairpiece that didn’t match the gray in his mustache.

  The third man was someone I didn’t know. Tall. Blondish. Sort of geeky looking, but dressed sharp. Before anyone had a chance to say word one, geeky guy was crossing the room toward me, his hand out in front of him.

  “Lieutenant Daniels.” His shake was moist but aggressive, and he repeated it with Herb. “I’m Davy Ellis, of Ellis, Dickler, and Scaramouche. Call me Davy.”

  “Lawyer?” Herb asked.

  “We’re a public relations firm currently working with the city of Chicago to boost the image of the police department.”

  I glanced at Bains, who gave me a curt nod but no explanation. What the hell was going on here?

  “Lieutenant Daniels.” Superintendent O’Loughlin stood up and extended her hand. She wasn’t much taller standing than sitting. We shook, and her grip was stronger than Davy’s. “I’m glad you’ve finally graced us with your presence. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

  “Car trouble,” I lied. “The pleasure is mine, Superintendent.”

  She did the shaking thing with Herb, and then we were instructed to sit. Bains joined us. Davy remained standing.

  The super pushed a piece of paper across her desk. “My office received a letter this afternoon, addressed to me.”

  Herb and I leaned forward and read.

  I am the one spreading the botulism toxin. I’ve visited sixteen places so far. One was a deli on Irving Park. You will agree to pay me two million dollars, or my next target will kill hundreds of people.

  This isn’t terrorism. I’m not some dumb Islamic fundamentalist. I’m a venture capitalist. I’m investing in fear and death. Pay me or I’ll branch out.

  Take out an ad in the Friday Sun-Times in the personals and say “Chemist—the answer is yes.”

  You’ll hear from me soon.

  To prove I am who I say I am, this paper has been coated with BT.

  Even though I could see the photocopy smudges, I suddenly wanted to distance myself from the paper. Botulism had been the top story for the last two days. The quick and deadly effects of the disease were terrifying.

  “There was a powdery residue in the envelope with the letter,” the super said. “The secretary who opened it is at Rush-Presbyterian. She tested positive for botulism toxin. Three other people at the First District came into contact with the letter. So far they’re asymptomatic, but they’re being treated with antitoxin and remain under observation.”

  Herb also seemed uncomfortable being so close to the note.

  “I heard on the news there are nine dead so far,” he said.

  The super’s mouth became a grim line. “The number is actually thirty-two, with over six hundred confirmed cases. We haven’t released the figures. The CDC, WHO, and USAMRIID have been notified, but everyone else is still under the impression that this is a naturally occurring outbreak, not a terrorist act.”

  My mind harkened back to the anthrax scares after 9/11. The paranoia. The panic. Having this happen in my city was unfathomable. I thought about the tens of thousands of restaurants, cafés, bakeries, delis, supermarkets, and food stands in Chicago. One person, spreading a deadly toxin, could kill untold numbers before we even caught a lead.

  “Has the FBI been contacted?” I asked.

  “Yes. The Feds are sending a Hazardous Materials Response Team, which should arrive anytime. I’m sure Homeland Security will have a hand or three in as well.”

  The super took a deep breath, then hit me with a stare so intense I had to fight to maintain eye contact.

  “You and Sergeant Benedict have been on high-profile cases before, and when this breaks, it will be world news. You’ve had experience with product tampering. You’ve also had experience where the perpetrator contacted the police department.”

  I didn’t volunteer that both of those cases were actually the same case, and that the MO was entirely different from this one. Instead I said, “So we’re here to consult?”

  “No,” she said. “This case is yours.”

  Herb made a tiny gagging sound. I tried to get my head around this. Bains glanced at me like he didn’t believe it either.

  “We appreciate the vote of confidence, Superintendent O’Loughlin. But if this is simply because I’m a woman—”

  “Spare me the kiss-ass and the righteous indignation, Lieutenant. I didn’t choose you because you’re the best cop in the city, or because you have tits. There were ten people on the list ahead of you. All of them men. The mayor got roasted when he appointed a woman in charge of the CPD. I’m not anxious to commit the same career suicide.”

  That’s what I figured. “So why—”

  Davy stood behind the super, the smile on his face so wide, it touched his ears.

  “Your approval rating is at eighty-three percent,” he said.

  “Excuse me?”

  Davy sat on the corner of the desk and gave me a friendly Dale Carn
egie pat on the shoulder. I could feel his hot, moist palms through the silk of my blouse.

  “The people of Chi-Town love you, Lieutenant Jack Daniels. You caught that crazy family last year, that brain tumor guy before that. Plus, the Gingerbread Man. Putting you in charge of this case will counteract some of the negative publicity we’ll receive when the story goes public. You’ll be giving hope to the hopeless.”

  Unbelievable. I wasn’t the best qualified to run this case, but they picked me because I could smile pretty for the camera.

  “Superintendent O’Loughlin—”

  “The decision has been made. You have a blank check on this. Unlimited resources. If you aren’t competent, find people who are.”

  The super hit the intercom button, asking the nurse to come in with the botulism toxin vaccines.

  I looked at Herb. He was staring into space, either in deep thought, or unable to adequately process the situation.

  I could relate. This wasn’t just a bad case. This was a career killer. They hadn’t caught the anthrax terrorist. Had he continued, he could have crippled the nation. And decades earlier, Chicago had been plagued by another tamperer, the Tylenol Killer, who had laced the pain reliever with cyanide. TK had single-handedly and irreversibly changed the face of over-the-counter drugs. Capsules to tablets. Tamper-proof bottles. Blister packs and double-sealed boxes. Seven dead, and billions of dollars in revenue lost. And he’d never been brought to justice.

  Catching bad guys required evidence and eyewitnesses. Poisoners were the hardest perps to catch. A single, organized, motivated individual, with a basic knowledge of chemistry, could wreak more havoc on Chicago than all of the crime in the last fifty years combined.

  I felt like hiding under the desk. O’Loughlin read my mind.

  “Failure isn’t an option, Lieutenant. This is the second-largest police force in the nation. I’ve got 16,538 people under my command. Fewer than one-quarter of them are women. You fuck this up, you fuck it up for me and for every female who has busted her ass to be treated like an equal in this sexist, chauvinist-pig pen. Catch the guy, you’re a hero and we’ll give you a parade. Screw up, and your career is over.”

  The nurse came in, toting a little white case.

  “And if I refuse?” I asked.

  O’Loughlin didn’t blink. “You can pick up your white gloves and whistle down the hall. We’ll start you at the intersection of Congress and Michigan. Make sure you brush up on your traffic signals before you report for work tomorrow at five a.m.”

  She grinned, and it was chilling. “If you want to speak with your union rep, I have him on speed dial. Or I could voice your concerns when I have dinner over at his place tonight.”

  I looked at Herb again, but he was still spacey. The nurse rolled up the sleeve of my blouse and dabbed my arm with an alcohol pad.

  “Okay then,” I said. “Let’s get started.”

  CHAPTER 3

  THE SUPER HAD a table brought into her office, and Herb and I made a list of cops that we trusted. We picked from different areas so there wouldn’t be shortage in any particular district. When we were finished, we had a task force of a hundred cops. O’Loughlin added eight secretaries to the group.

  “First thing we need to do,” I said, “is close every deli on Irving Park Road.”

  “Be discreet,” Davy suggested. “Panic won’t help the situation. This city tends to riot when its sporting teams win a championship. They won’t react well to terrorist threats.”

  Herb folded his arms, but his heart didn’t seem into it. “The public needs to know.”

  Davy shook his head. “Not a good idea. The tourist business in Chicago is a billion-dollar industry.” Davy held up his fists and began ticking off fingers. “Hotels. Airlines. Taxis. Restaurants. Museums. Shopping. Who would go out to eat if they knew someone was randomly poisoning the city’s food?”

  “That’s the point,” I said.

  “We’re also talking thousands, tens of thousands, of jobs here. Plus Chicago might never recover from the stigma. Look at Toronto after the SARS scare. Hundreds of millions in lost revenue.”

  I didn’t know who I despised more, the homicidal killers or the bean counters. I gave the super my brightest us girls need to stick together smile.

  “Second thing we need to do is lose the PR guy.” I jerked my thumb at Davy. “There’s a shark out there, and he doesn’t want to close the beaches.”

  The super shrugged. “The mayor wants him here. He stays.”

  Herb looked sour. “Are we going to tell the public?”

  “I’ll pass along your recommendation to His Honor.”

  My turn to look sour. “What about the lawsuits that are going to rain down when the public finds out we knew there was a threat and didn’t tell them?”

  “We weigh that against destroying businesses, irrevocably hurting the economy, and yelling fire in a crowded movie theater and the resulting panic it would cause.”

  “But there is a fire,” Herb said.

  She wouldn’t budge. “There’s already been a lot of media speculation that a tamperer is involved. People are being careful.”

  Davy smiled at me like the annoying little brother I never had.

  “Not careful enough,” I insisted. “Let’s confirm the rumors. If everyone is on the lookout, maybe he’ll stay in his house and stop poisoning our city.”

  Now the super folded her arms. “The decision has been made. We sit on it for now.”

  You can’t fight City Hall. I changed gears. “How many other contaminated scenes have we found?”

  O’Loughlin picked up one of the folders littering her desk. “None have been verified yet, but there are eleven possibles. The CDC is taking patient histories at area hospitals to pinpoint outbreak epicenters. We’re meeting with them later today.”

  “Any evidence from the scenes?” I asked.

  “That’s what you’re here for.”

  “Have they been closed? Even the possibles?”

  “Yes.”

  I put Herb in charge of that.

  “Also,” I told him, “interview the people exposed so far. The sick, and the families of the deceased. Plus the cops and the mail carrier who handled the letter.”

  The super raised her eyebrow in a question.

  “Sometimes big crimes are committed to cover up smaller crimes. Maybe the Chemist had a specific target, and the rest of this is all smoke and mirrors.”

  “I’ll need more cops,” Herb said.

  “Retirees,” I said. “Put them back on limited duty.”

  The super nodded, then took a phone call.

  The extortion letter had gone on ahead to the crime lab, and I dug out my cell and spoke briefly with my guy there, Scott Hajek. He’d confirmed botulism in the envelope and on the letter through the wonder of mass spectrometry. Postmark came from the post office around the corner, mailed yesterday. Stamp and seal on the envelope both self-adhesive, so no saliva. Eleven prints found on the envelope and paper. The letter had been printed on an inkjet, using Arial Black font, available on almost every computer made after 1994. No hairs or fibers or business cards revealing the Chemist’s address had yet been found, but Hajek was still on it.

  “Priors,” Captain Bains said. He’d been silent for so long, I’d forgotten he was there. “I can get a team searching for anyone in our system with a past record of poisoning, product tampering, or extortion.”

  “Keep it open to women,” I said.

  O’Loughlin cut off her phone conversation in mid-sentence and gave me the eyebrow.

  “Poisoners tend to be women,” I said. “It’s a crime that doesn’t involve physical aggression or personal contact.”

  “How about the botulism itself?” Herb asked. “Any way to trace that?”

  “Maybe I can help with that.”

  I looked over my shoulder, and in walked . . . a hottie.

  While I appreciated a good-looking guy as much as any woman, my days of getting dream
y-eyed and giggly were thirty years behind me.

  This man, however, made me feel sixteen again.

  He was gorgeous. Early thirties, tall, broad shoulders and narrow hips, a Marlboro profile, and piercing blue eyes that were otherworldly. His suit wasn’t as expensive as Davy’s, but he filled it out a lot better. It was as if God had taken half of Brad Pitt’s genes, mixed them with half of Sean Connery’s, and added more muscles and thicker hair.

  “Special Agent Rick Reilly, HMRT.”

  He did a round of hand-shaking. When his fingers touched mine I felt a shock, then spent the next few seconds wondering if I’d imagined it or not.

  “Clostridium botulinum is a bacteria that occurs naturally in the soil throughout North America,” Rick said. He had a rich baritone, with just a hint of Southern lilt. “It produces a toxin that has the honor of being the most poisonous substance in the world. A single gram could effectively kill a million people. Symptoms of food-borne illness can begin as early as two hours after exposure, or may be delayed for as long as two weeks.”

  “What are the symptoms?” Herb asked.

  Rick sat on the super’s desk, facing me and Herb. His crotch was just below eye level, and the very fact that I was even thinking about it meant my mind wasn’t in the game. I refused to look.

  “Let’s say you ate some contaminated seafood. It doesn’t matter if it came straight from the freezer, or the microwave. Heat and cold might kill the bacteria, but the poison they produce is still deadly. The next morning, your mouth might be unusually dry. You might also have some abdominal cramps. Maybe even some vomiting. But no fever. It feels like a hangover. What’s happening is that your bloodstream is circulating the toxin to your neurological junctions, where it binds irreversibly, blocking acetylcholine release.”

  “English,” O’Loughlin barked.

  “It goes where your nerve endings meet your muscle fibers, and paralyzes them. You can’t walk or move. Your face droops. You get double vision and lose your gag reflex. And eventually, you can no longer breathe.”