Read Online Life Without Parole: A Kate Conway Mystery by Clare O'Donohue - Free Book Online
Authors: Clare O'Donohue
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sure I didn’t lose my money.”
“He told you to be a nice little girlfriend and stand by your man.”
“Pretty much.”
I felt a wine headache coming on. “Call your lawyer, get your money back, and walk away.”
“I can’t do that.”
I leaned across the table and grabbed her arm for emphasis. “Vera, if you’re going to tell me that you care about Doug—”
“If it is a scam, I don’t think Doug’s behind it. I think Doug’s getting scammed too.”
“For Christ’s sake, Vera. Even if he is, so what? He’s a grown man. Let him take care of himself. The best thing you can do is put some distance between you and those people.”
“But I don’t have to, now that you’re involved. You have the perfect opportunity to ask everyone questions and find out what’s going on.”
“You want me to investigate them while I’m interviewing them?”
“Isn’t it pretty much the same thing?”
I sat back. It was the same thing, kind of. “It would make the show more interesting.”
“But you won’t use this on the show,” she said, suddenly alarmed. “I understand about the rest of it, Kate. I do. You can make us all look like rich jerks if you want, but this isn’t for public consumption.”
“But it’s the most interesting part of the story,” I said. “All I’ve got so far is a bunch of self-important people spending ridiculous amounts of money on a restaurant that the vast majority of Chicagoans would not be welcome in. The kind of people who will watch this show will not be welcome there. I would not be welcome there,” I pointed out. “If I can show some real problems, it will give the audience a reason to tune in after the break.”
“But you can’ttell anyone. Not anyone. If anyone suspected you were looking into the threats, someone might actually follow through on them. You wouldn’t want that to happen, would you?”
I took a deep breath. “Let me think about that.”
Vera laughed.
Twelve
I was hungover when I parked my car in the Dugan Correctional parking lot the next morning. The good news about having had too much wine was that I finally had my first full night’s sleep in more than a month. The bad news was that alcohol-induced sleep isn’t particularly restorative, so I didn’t feel any better because of it.
Tim Campbell, the second inmate in the prison story, was finally over the flu or whatever else had held him up the first time. I’d meant to go through his file after dinner with Vera and write questions for the interview, but I never got around to it.
Instead, I sat in my car and briefly reviewed his background. It wasn’t as colorful as Brick’s past. It was just sad. Nearly twenty years earlier, in a meth-induced rage, he apparently stabbed his wife eighteen times with a steak knife; she bled to death on the kitchen floor. She had been eight weeks pregnant at the time, though Campbell claimed he didn’t know and doubted his wife, also a meth addict, did either.
Since then, he’d had three execution dates set, with each date getting pushed back because of appeals. When Governor Ryan commuted his sentence, Campbell wigged out, demanding the state put him to death. For the next three years he’d been on suicide watch, then briefly found Jesus, but he seemed to have put that behind him. What he would be like today was anyone’s guess.
Andres and Victor had the same small room from Brick’s interview lit and ready in just under thirty minutes, record time that turned out to be unnecessary, as there was a delay bringing Campbell from his cell.
When he did arrive, he was all smiles. He was about forty, white, skinny, not particularly tall, with dirty blond hair grown to his shoulders and a small scar on his left cheek.
“Hey, y’all,” he said as he entered, waving his cuffed hands. “Sorrythis whole thing got delayed, but I’m so glad we finally got it all worked out.”
He sat, smiling, looking from Andres to Victor, talking about the
“He told you to be a nice little girlfriend and stand by your man.”
“Pretty much.”
I felt a wine headache coming on. “Call your lawyer, get your money back, and walk away.”
“I can’t do that.”
I leaned across the table and grabbed her arm for emphasis. “Vera, if you’re going to tell me that you care about Doug—”
“If it is a scam, I don’t think Doug’s behind it. I think Doug’s getting scammed too.”
“For Christ’s sake, Vera. Even if he is, so what? He’s a grown man. Let him take care of himself. The best thing you can do is put some distance between you and those people.”
“But I don’t have to, now that you’re involved. You have the perfect opportunity to ask everyone questions and find out what’s going on.”
“You want me to investigate them while I’m interviewing them?”
“Isn’t it pretty much the same thing?”
I sat back. It was the same thing, kind of. “It would make the show more interesting.”
“But you won’t use this on the show,” she said, suddenly alarmed. “I understand about the rest of it, Kate. I do. You can make us all look like rich jerks if you want, but this isn’t for public consumption.”
“But it’s the most interesting part of the story,” I said. “All I’ve got so far is a bunch of self-important people spending ridiculous amounts of money on a restaurant that the vast majority of Chicagoans would not be welcome in. The kind of people who will watch this show will not be welcome there. I would not be welcome there,” I pointed out. “If I can show some real problems, it will give the audience a reason to tune in after the break.”
“But you can’ttell anyone. Not anyone. If anyone suspected you were looking into the threats, someone might actually follow through on them. You wouldn’t want that to happen, would you?”
I took a deep breath. “Let me think about that.”
Vera laughed.
Twelve
I was hungover when I parked my car in the Dugan Correctional parking lot the next morning. The good news about having had too much wine was that I finally had my first full night’s sleep in more than a month. The bad news was that alcohol-induced sleep isn’t particularly restorative, so I didn’t feel any better because of it.
Tim Campbell, the second inmate in the prison story, was finally over the flu or whatever else had held him up the first time. I’d meant to go through his file after dinner with Vera and write questions for the interview, but I never got around to it.
Instead, I sat in my car and briefly reviewed his background. It wasn’t as colorful as Brick’s past. It was just sad. Nearly twenty years earlier, in a meth-induced rage, he apparently stabbed his wife eighteen times with a steak knife; she bled to death on the kitchen floor. She had been eight weeks pregnant at the time, though Campbell claimed he didn’t know and doubted his wife, also a meth addict, did either.
Since then, he’d had three execution dates set, with each date getting pushed back because of appeals. When Governor Ryan commuted his sentence, Campbell wigged out, demanding the state put him to death. For the next three years he’d been on suicide watch, then briefly found Jesus, but he seemed to have put that behind him. What he would be like today was anyone’s guess.
Andres and Victor had the same small room from Brick’s interview lit and ready in just under thirty minutes, record time that turned out to be unnecessary, as there was a delay bringing Campbell from his cell.
When he did arrive, he was all smiles. He was about forty, white, skinny, not particularly tall, with dirty blond hair grown to his shoulders and a small scar on his left cheek.
“Hey, y’all,” he said as he entered, waving his cuffed hands. “Sorrythis whole thing got delayed, but I’m so glad we finally got it all worked out.”
He sat, smiling, looking from Andres to Victor, talking about the
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