When No One Is Watching (10 page)

Blair lifted his right hand in front of his face, spreading the fingers and staring at the bulky white bandage. “He said there was blood in Danny’s car. He wants me to give a blood sample.”

“How can this be happening?” Kimberly asked, whimpering and wiping her eyes. “This is a nightmare! It’s an absolute disaster!”

Sam took a deep breath and rubbed his face again. “Okay, so now we know what we’re up against,” he announced, his brain obviously shifting into high gear. “We need this to go away and go away fast.”

“And how do we make that happen?” Blair asked doubtfully.

“Here’s the plan, Blair,” Sam replied in a decisive tone. “Part of this is on me and part of it is on you. I’ll see what I can do through my contacts with the Chicago PD and the prosecutor’s office. Your job is to make sure Danny confesses. If he does, the investigation is over. You need to convince Danny that it’s in his best interest to put this behind him, fast! I can probably get the state’s attorney to agree to a plea bargain on pretty favorable terms. Then you need to sell it to Danny. That would tie up this entire sordid mess very nicely. I’ll get on this right away.” Sam paused, looking for a reaction. “Are you on board, Blair?”

“Of course he is, Daddy!” Kimberly shouted from the backseat. “We have no choice!”

Blair looked away from the imposing figure beside him and stared out the window at the deserted parking garage. Sam looked steadily at his son-in-law. “Blair?”

Blair sighed deeply. “Okay, Sam,” he said in a voice that was barely audible. “I’ll give it a try.”

“Maybe I’m not being clear,” Sam said, his voice low and ominous. “Trying isn’t good enough. You
need
to make this happen. There’s no room for failure here, understand?”

Blair looked down, staring at his bandaged finger for a long moment. “I understand,” he said at last.

CHAPTER 14
S
hortly before one o’clock on Monday afternoon, Vic Slazak pulled up in front of the elegant downtown restaurant.

 

“Good afternoon, sir. Welcome to Chez Pierre.” A smiling young man in a black-and-tan valet uniform approached the dirty Crown Victoria as Vic Slazak stepped out. “Will you be having lunch with us today?”

Slazak flashed his badge. “Nah, not today. I just wanted to ask you a couple of questions, if that’s okay.”

“Certainly, sir. Fire away,” the youth said agreeably.

“Were you working here Saturday night?” Slazak asked.

“Yes, sir. We were pretty busy Saturday.”

“Do you recall seeing this gentleman?” Slazak pulled out Danny Moran’s mug shot and handed it to the valet.

“Hmmm … looks familiar.”

“He was driving a new Porsche, a black 911 Carrera.”

The valet’s face brightened. “Yep, now I remember! I’m better with cars than I am with faces. I was the one who parked it for him. Sweet ride!”

“Were you the one who brought the car back out for him when he left here?”

“No, that must have been Carlos. I left here around eleven thirty. The place was mostly cleared out by that time. There were just a few stragglers with that corporate function in the private dining room. This guy must’ve been one of them.” The young man looked again at Danny’s picture as he returned it to the detective. “I would have remembered driving that baby again!”

“Where’s Carlos?”

“Not here yet. He doesn’t do the lunch shift. I think he works another job during the day. But he’ll be here tonight, probably a little before five o’clock.”

“Got an address or a phone number for him?”

The kid shook his head. “Sorry. All I know is he moved here from Mexico about a year ago and he lives with some relatives near Humboldt Park.”

“Okay, thanks, kid. I’ll catch up with him later.”

“You’re welcome, officer. Hope you can stay for lunch next time,” the youth called out cheerfully.

Slazak reached for his cell phone and punched in a number as he pulled away from the valet stand. “That you, Nolan? I need a favor.”

Mike Nolan was one of the nerdy technicians who had worked in the evidence lab for years. Although he and Slazak could not have been more different, there was a mutual respect between them. Nolan was the best there was at analyzing complex evidence and finding precious nuggets of information that escaped the eyes of mere mortals. He also had a knack for piecing together complicated puzzles and arriving at logical and insightful explanations. His manner was persnickety and effeminate, characteristics that normally would have made him a target for merciless teasing by the rougher elements on the force. However, through some combination of his quick wit, his arrogance, and his reputation for being the best at what he did, he was accepted and respected, and any teasing was entirely good-natured. While Nolan was known to be a stickler for policies and procedures, he had a long history of secretly complying with Slazak’s unorthodox requests and playing a significant role in helping the rogue detective solve the cases that no one else could.

“What is it this time, Slazak?” Nolan asked in a voice that suggested he was being put out.

“Just a couple of little things, Nolan, but I need them fast and I need them on the QT.”

“As usual,” Nolan replied curtly. “What do you need?”

“A blood sample was taken yesterday from an auto accident scene at Eighty-ninth and Hamilton. The driver’s name is Moran. I need that report ASAP.”

“Those reports usually take three to five days, Slazak.”

“I know, but I need it fast. See what you can do.”

“Okay. What else?”

“There was a 911 call from the accident scene. Probably came in a little after midnight. Make me a copy of that recording, will you?”

“Why don’t you just call the 911 control center yourself? That’s routine stuff. They’ll play it for you right over the phone.”

“I tried. I called them a little while ago, and they said they were having some technical problems. I’m pretty sure that’s bullshit, which is why I’m calling you. I want to be sure nothing happens to that tape. It may be important.”

“Anything else?”

“That’s it for now. Thanks, Nolan. I owe you.”

“Yes, you do, Slazak. And I won’t forget it.”

At five o’clock sharp, Slazak again pulled his beat-up black Ford to the valet stand at Chez Pierre, where they were accustomed to a different class of vehicle.

“Nice to see you again, sir,” said the annoyingly chipper young man he had met earlier that afternoon. “That’s Carlos right over there.” The valet pointed to a young man wearing an identical black-and-tan uniform, hanging a set of keys on the rack behind the valet stand. “Hey, Carlos, this gentleman is here to see you.”

Carlos dutifully approached them. “Good afternoon,” he said in a heavy Mexican accent, smiling nervously. He was short and slightly built, and looked considerably younger than his nineteen years.

Slazak sensed his nervousness. “Hi, Carlos,” he said in a friendly voice. He offered his hand, and Carlos shook it weakly, looking down. “Relax, pal, there’s nothing to get uptight about,” Slazak assured him. “I just want to ask you a few questions, okay?” He handed Carlos the mug shot of Danny Moran. “Do you remember seeing this man here on Saturday night?”

“Sí, señor, he was here.” Carlos relaxed visibly upon hearing the nature of the question.

“How do you remember him? There must’ve been a lot of people here Saturday night.”

“I remember this one.” Carlos said it insistently. “He was one of the last to go home. He had too much to drink. He walked like this …” Carlos swayed from side to side, doing his best to imitate a staggering drunk.

“Do you remember his car?”

Carlos nodded vigorously, obviously pleased to be able to answer the detective’s questions. “It was a Porsche, black. It looked new. I drove it.” He smiled proudly.

“So you saw him get into the car and drive off?”

Carlos looked confused. “Oh no, señor. He got into the Porsche, but he didn’t drive it. The other man did.”

Slazak stared hard at the young valet. “Another man drove the Porsche?”

“Sí, señor.”

“What did he look like?”

Carlos stared back blankly. “I … I don’t remember. I was excited to be driving a Porsche, and when I got out, the gentleman handed me a big tip, twenty dollars. I must have been looking at the money and not at his face.”

“This is important, Carlos,” Slazak said, urgency in his voice. “I really need your help. Try to remember what the man looked like.”

Carlos looked down, shaking his head, appearing crestfallen. “I don’t remember,” he said sadly, obviously disappointed in himself.

Slazak silently cursed himself for not having the foresight to bring another picture—a picture of Blair Van Howe. “Do you think you might remember if I showed you his picture?”

“Sí … maybe … I don’t know,” Carlos replied in a dejected voice.

“I’ll be back tomorrow with a picture. Thanks, amigo, you’ve been a big help.” He patted the young man on the shoulder, climbed into his car, and drove off.

After driving several blocks, Slazak pulled to the side of the road and turned off the ignition. It was rush hour in downtown Chicago, and hordes of people scurried past him on their way to train stations, subways, and bus stops. He paid no attention to them. He sat in his car with the engine off, staring straight ahead, tossing the old golf ball from one hand to the other.

CHAPTER 15

Tuesday

I
t was lunchtime, so the office was quiet. Danny Moran sat at his desk, wondering what to do next. News of his accident and Terry McGrath’s subsequent death had made the front page of both the
Tribune
and the
Sun-Times
that morning. The firm’s executive committee had convened an emergency closed-door meeting to discuss the subject, and Danny had just been advised of the outcome. He was being placed on an indefinite leave of absence, pending resolution of the criminal charges against him.

 

Danny felt paralyzed as he stared at the empty boxes on his desk. He didn’t know whether to take just the active files he was working on, so that he could arrange an orderly transition to a colleague for temporary assistance, or whether he should pack up all of his personal belongings, assuming he would never be coming back.

He looked down at the two newspapers in front of him. The harsh headlines had left him feeling physically stunned when they leapt off the pages at him earlier that morning. Now they lingered as a loud and painful reminder of his predicament, echoing the accusations of his own conscience. “Prominent Attorney Involved in Fatal Crash” was the headline splashed across the front page of the
Tribune
. “Drunken Lawyer Causes Fatal Accident—Kills Neighbor,” blared the
Sun-Times
.

Page 3 of the
Sun-Times
contained another article entitled “Rise and Fall: Careers of Well-Known Attorneys Move in Opposite Directions.” The article explained how, just a week earlier, Danny Moran and Blair Van Howe were considered two of the city’s most prominent attorneys, who were basking in the glory and acclaim resulting from the Champions HealthCare trial. Blair Van Howe seemed to be following a meteoric trajectory toward even greater renown and accomplishment, as his political career was off to an auspicious start. In stark contrast, Danny Moran’s distinguished career and promising future had been all but destroyed in the blink of an eye. The story made Danny out to be a despicable scoundrel, a wealthy, self-indulgent drunk whose reckless disregard for the law left two small children to face life without their father.

Danny’s eyes skimmed over the words again. Even his longtime partner appeared to have turned on him. “Drunk driving is a heinous offense,” the congressional candidate had said to the reporter. “This accident is a tragic and compelling illustration of the cost of such behavior. It causes countless deaths and injuries throughout this state, leaving ruined lives and broken families in its wake. I will do everything in my power to shine a bright spotlight on this problem. We need to make this a priority for law enforcement authorities and see that violators are dealt with severely and held accountable for their actions.”

Blair peered around the corner into Danny’s office. “Stop reading that shit, Dano. You know how the press is.”

Danny looked up as Blair walked in, closing the door behind him. “The thing is, I can’t argue with any of it, Blair. It’s harsh, and it hurts to read it, but I can’t argue with the truth. They’re not saying anything I’m not saying to myself.”

Blair sat down opposite Danny and pointed a finger at the newspaper article open in front of him. “Well, I want you to know that they quoted me out of context. Most of what I said to the reporter was about you—what a good and decent man you are, a great father, and a great friend to countless people, including me. That prick of a reporter left all the good stuff out.”

“There’s no need to explain, Blair. We both know how the media works. Besides, your comments were perfectly appropriate. That’s exactly what you should have said.”

“I heard about the executive committee’s decision. I’m really sorry.”

Danny shrugged and smiled weakly. “Again, they did exactly what they should have done. They don’t have much of a choice, do they?”

Blair leaned forward, folded his arms on Danny’s desk, and looked intently at his friend. “Listen, Dano, I know it must seem like everyone is abandoning you, but I want you to know that you’ve got friends who care, and they’re working behind the scenes to help you through this. I’m doing what I can, and Sam is working his angles. We want to help.”

Danny looked puzzled. “Help? How? What exactly are you doing?”

“There have been discussions, Dano, with the right people. I think we’re close to arranging a deal on very favorable terms.”

“What kind of deal?”

“A plea bargain. Here’s what it would look like: You would have to plead guilty to negligent homicide, as well as DUI. You’d lose your driver’s license for a year, maybe two. You’d have to do some community service, and you’d receive a seven-year prison sentence, almost all of it suspended.”