The Innocence Game Part 13

"Sarah Gold."

"Sarah Gold. Now isn't that just lovely. Are ye a friend of Ian's?"

"We go to Medill."

"Medill. How come I've never seen ye around here?"

"I usually come at night. After I've had a few beers."

"Aye, a good few pints never hurts." Smitty gave her his best Glasgow chuckle. He took her hand in his and looked like he was ready to settle in for a nice long chat. Meanwhile, the dog line was snaking out the door.

"Smitty," I said, "you got some people waiting."

He waved me away. "Them doggies aren't goin' anywhere, Ian. I see the little f.u.c.kers every day, and not one has ever jumped up and run down Central Street."

I pointed to myself and Jake. "We gotta get back to campus."

"We do," Sarah said.

The Scotsman reluctantly let go of her hand and straightened. Someone yelled about the hold up. Smitty was oblivious. "What can I get for ye?"

Jake and Sarah ordered the number one: a hot dog, fries, and a c.o.ke. Jake got his with mustard. Sarah dragged hers through the garden. I spent the extra fifty cents and got a number two: a Polish, fries, and a c.o.ke. Smitty piled on extra fries for Sarah. She promised she'd be back.

The outside tables were full, so we sat on a row of stools jammed up against a wall covered in Northwestern and Chicago sports memorabilia. I stared at a picture of the Wildcats' 1949 Rose Bowl squad. Havens got an SI cover of Mike Adamle scoring a touchdown for the Bears. Sarah, a picture of Bobby Hull with all his hair and phony teeth.

"Good fries," Havens said.

"Great fries." Sarah took a bite of her dog and dripped mustard and relish down her fingers. "Hot dog's good, too."

"Smitty wants to throw you over his shoulder and take you back to wherever he's from," Havens said.

"Scotland," I said. "Glasgow."

"I think he's cute," Sarah said.

"They have a little dug-out bas.e.m.e.nt," I said. "You access it by lifting up a piece of the floor. Smitty likes to take his women down there. He lays out a blanket for them. Right between a sump pump and the rat traps."

"Gross," Sarah said. Havens chuckled. We all dove in to our food.

"What's our next step with Harrison?" I said between bites of my Polish.

"Z gave us a week," Sarah said. "From what I've seen, it's just not enough time."

"It might be enough," Havens said.

"You know something we don't?" I said.

"We've got a meeting Tuesday with the princ.i.p.al at Skylar Wingate's school. She wasn't working there when he disappeared, but she's going to introduce us to at least one teacher who was."

"A teacher who knew Skylar?" I said.

"This guy was his gym teacher," Havens said. "Skylar's last cla.s.s on the day he disappeared. The cops were all over him as a suspect, but the guy came up clean."

"And what's he gonna tell us?" I said.

"I'm guessing we'll find out Tuesday." Havens had polished off his dog in three bites. Now he rolled up the wrapper and swished it into a barrel on the other side of the room.

"Nice shot," Smitty said.

Havens waved him off and turned back to me. "You don't like the school idea?"

"It's not that," I said.

"You got anything better, I'm listening."

"There's one other thing we should probably think about. I got it from the police reports we picked up in the evidence warehouse."

"One of the things you 'remembered'?" Havens said.

"Yeah. It was the address and phone number for the Street Ministry. And a couple of names."

"What's the Street Ministry?" Sarah said.

"It's a homeless shelter and soup kitchen," Havens said. "A couple of blocks from Skylar's school. James Harrison was living there at the time he was arrested."

"I was thinking I might check it out while you guys talk to the teacher," I said. "Two birds with one rock."

"One rock?" Havens said.

Sarah smiled. "Sounds good, Ian."

Havens seemed a little hacked off, probably because he hadn't thought of it. Or maybe because of the way Sarah called me Ian. Wishful thinking, perhaps, but it was my daydream, so what the h.e.l.l. In the end, Havens rolled with the plan.

"I'll text you guys the address for the school. We're supposed to be there at nine-thirty." Havens turned to me. "Is it all right if I leave the files on the other two cases with you? My neighborhood's had a lot of break-ins this summer, and I don't want to lose the stuff."

"Sure."

The three of us walked out to his car and transferred Havens's Bankers Boxes to Sarah's trunk.

"I've got a couple more in my apartment," Havens said.

"You home tomorrow afternoon?" I said.

"Should be."

"Give me your address and I'll swing by."

Havens jotted down the address, then climbed into his car.

"Hold on," I said and put a hand on the door. "We should talk about Z."

"What is there to talk about?"

"She covered the Scranton case."

"More than covered," Sarah said. "She won the Pulitzer Prize for it."

"And knew everything that was going on inside the investigation," Havens said.

"What does that mean?" I said.

"Who knows? Maybe she was in the cops' hip pocket. Maybe when she realizes we suspect Wingate is connected to Scranton and they were both framed, she tries to screw us. Maybe she already knows and is s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g us as we speak."

"That what you think, Jake?"

"I don't know and I don't care. We've got our teeth into this thing. I say we take it where it goes, at least for another week. If Z gets herself f.u.c.ked in the process, too bad." Havens trailed a hand out the window as he pulled away from the curb. "Have fun you two. See you tomorrow, Joyce."

He gave me an evil grin and was gone.

Sarah and I watched Havens's car disappear down Central. Then we began to walk.

"You think he's right?" I said. "About Z?"

"Probably not. But there's no reason to tell her everything either."

"She probably knows the Scranton murder as well as anyone. If there's something there, she might be able to see it."

"And then there's the other possibility," Sarah said.

"You think she'd screw around with us on this?"

"You're talking about a major milestone in her career, Ian. If our theory holds up and they arrested the wrong guy, it becomes a major embarra.s.sment. Or worse."

We walked for a while, past a small group of stores and into another residential block. The houses here were nice, with wide driveways and watered lawns. A woman came out of a Prairie-style home carrying a stack of plastic chairs. She lined them up in a row at the corner of Lincolnwood, and disappeared back down the driveway. Next to her white chairs was a blue blanket and battered chaise longue. Across the street was a line of twenty folding chairs.

"What's up with all this?" Sarah said.

"All what?"

"The chairs on the sidewalk?"

"You've been in Evanston for how long?"

"Four years and counting."

"It's July first. People are putting out their chairs to reserve spots for the Fourth of July parade."

"Seriously?"

"Never been here for the summer?"

"No."

"People used to get crazy. Stake out spots two weeks in advance. Rope off areas. Now they have a law. July first and no sooner. By tomorrow Central will be covered in lawn chairs, beach chairs, blankets. I've seen whole living rooms out here."

"Folks love their parade, huh?"

"An American cla.s.sic."

We'd drifted a mile or so down Central, into another commercial strip. There was a small park to our right.

"You want to sit?" I said.

"Sure."

We found a bench. People were taking their kids in and out of an Italian ice store across the street. We sat in the sun and let it warm our faces.

"I need some color," Sarah said.

I looked over. She had her eyes closed. Her skin was perfect.

"You look great," I said.

"Please."

"You're a beautiful woman, Sarah."

She shaded her eyes and stared at me. "Don't say that."

"Why not? It's true."

She sighed and stretched. Then dismissed me by closing her eyes again.

"What's up?" I said.

"Nothing."

"Tell me."

"You don't want to hear it."

"Fine."

We lapsed into silence until Sarah broke it.

"You want to know what I am, Ian?"

"From the sound of it, maybe not."