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High Crimes
High Crimes Read online
Also by Libby Fischer Hellmann
War, Spies and Bobby Sox
Havana Lost
A Bitter Veil
Set the Night on Fire
♦
THE GEORGIA DAVIS SERIES:
High Crimes
Nobody’s Child
ToxiCity
Doubleback
Easy Innocence
♦
THE ELLIE FOREMAN SERIES:
Jump Cut
A Shot to Die For
An Image of Death
A Picture of Guilt
An Eye for Murder
♦
Nice Girl Does Noir (short stories)
♦
Chicago Blues (editor)
Praise for Libby Fischer Hellmann
War, Spies, and Bobby Sox
“Libby Hellmann’s prose is powerful. Every part of her WW II era yarns are methodically researched, taut, twist-filled and colorful with well developed supporting characters. A gripping performance.”
—Charles J. Masters, author of Gliderman of Neptune, The American D-Day Glider Attack
“Libby Fischer Hellman powerfully illustrates what individuals could have faced while living in such perilous times. This is an engaging read with much food for thought.”
—BookReporter
Havana Lost
“A riveting historical thriller… This multigenerational page-turner is packed with intrigue and shocking plot twists.”
—Booklist
“Hellmann’s writing has matured considerably since her early novels. Her plotting has become more solid and assured, her characters more realistic, her settings wonderfully described. This is a fine, extremely well told novel.”
—Deadly Pleasures
The Georgia Davis Series
“There’s a new no-nonsense female private detective in town: Georgia Davis, a former cop who is tough and smart enough to give even the legendary V.I. Warshawski a run for her money.”
—Chicago Tribune
“Georgia Davis works the affluent suburbs north of Chicago, fertile territory for crime that’s lain fallow far too long. Davis’ arrival on the mean streets is long overdue.”
—Sara Paretsky, author of the V.I. Warshawski Mysteries
“Hellmann writes in many genres, but her Georgia Davis series may just be one of the best crime thriller series being written today.”
—The Dirty Lowdown
The Ellie Foreman Series
“A powerful tale… Foreman’s pluck and grit married to Hellmann’s solid storytelling should win a growing audience…”
—Publishers Weekly
“Libby Fischer Hellmann has already joined an elite club: Chicago mystery writers who not only inhabit the environment but also give it a unique flavor.”
—Chicago Tribune
“A traditional mystery with a modern edge… the author’s confidence shows from beginning to end… refreshing as soft serve ice cream on a hot summer night.”
—Crimespree Magazine
A Bitter Veil
“The Iranian revolution provides the backdrop for this meticulously researched, fast-paced stand-alone… A significant departure from the author’s Chicago-based Ellie Foreman and Georgia Davis mystery series, this political thriller will please established fans and newcomers alike.”
—Publishers Weekly
“Hellmann crafts a tragically beautiful story… both subtle and vibrant… never sacrificing the quality of her storytelling. Instead, the message drives the psychological and emotional conflict painting a bleak and heart wrenching tale that will stick with the reader long after they finish the book.”
—Crimespree Magazine
Set the Night on Fire
“A top-rate standalone thriller that taps into the antiwar protests of the 1960s and 70s.”
—Publishers Weekly
“Superior standalone novel… Hellmann creates a fully-realized world…complete with everyday details, passions and enthusiasms on how they yearned for connection, debated about ideology and came to belief in taking risks to stand up for what they believed.”
—Chicago Tribune
“Haunting…Rarely have history, mystery, and political philosophy blended so beautifully… could easily end up on the required reading list in college-level American History classes.”
—Mystery Scene Magazine
High Crimes
Libby Fischer Hellmann
The Red Herrings Press
Chicago
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Copyright © 2018 Libby Fischer Hellmann
All rights reserved.
Cover design by Miguel Ortuno
Interior design by Sue Trowbridge
Names: Hellmann, Libby Fischer
Title: HIGH CRIMES / Libby Fischer Hellmann
Description: Chicago, IL; The Red Herrings Press, 2018
Identifiers: LCCN 2018955074 | ISBN 978-1-938733-95-6 (Pbk.); 978-1-938733-52-9 (Ebook); 978-1-938733-53-6 (Audiobook)
Subjects: Davis, Georgia (Fictitious character)—Fiction. Murder—Fiction. | Politics—Fiction. | Chicago Metropolitan Area (Ill.)—Fiction. | Mystery Fiction. | Suspense Fiction.
Classification: Pending
To Suzy Fischer, who for the past two years has provided a beacon
lighting the way through the dark
Contents
Also by Libby Fischer Hellmann
Praise for Libby Fischer Hellmann
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Three
Chapter Forty-Four
Chapter Forty-Five
Chapter Forty-Six
Chapter Forty-Seven
Chapter Forty-Eight
Chapter Forty-Nine
Chapter Fifty
Chapter Fifty-One
Chapter Fifty-Two
Chapter Fifty-Three
Chapter Fifty-Four
Chapter Fifty-Five
Chapter Fifty-Six
Chapter Fifty-Seven
Chapter Fifty-Eight
Chapter Fifty-Nine
Chapter Sixty
Chapter Sixty-One
Chapter Sixty-Two
Chapter Si
xty-Three
Chapter Sixty-Four
Chapter Sixty-Five
Chapter Sixty-Six
Chapter Sixty-Seven
Chapter Sixty-Eight
Chapter Sixty-Nine
Chapter Seventy
Chapter Seventy-One
Chapter Seventy-Two
Chapter Seventy-Three
Chapter Seventy-Four
Chapter Seventy-Five
Chapter Seventy-Six
Author's Note
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Thank you for reading...
THE ELLIE FOREMAN SERIES
JUMP CUT: An Ellie Foreman Thriller
THE GEORGIA DAVIS SERIES
SET THE NIGHT ON FIRE
A BITTER VEIL
HAVANA LOST
WAR, SPIES AND BOBBY SOX
NICE GIRL DOES NOIR
Chapter One
“Where is she, Curt? Dena’s never late.” The ten minutes of generally accepted grace time had passed, but Dena was nowhere in sight. Ruth had texted and called every two minutes, but her messages went unanswered.
Curt, a bear of a man with shaggy brown hair, beard, and puppy-dog eyes, shrugged. “She’s probably stuck in traffic.” He gestured to the crowd from the wings of the stage. “Look at these folks! Did you ever imagine . . . all this?”
Ruth dared to look out at the masses. Her breath caught. Thousands of people were streaming into Grant Park, three hundred sprawling acres in the middle of downtown Chicago. They were heading to the bandstand shell and stage at the southern end of the park. Ruth remembered the last time she’d been here, an unusually balmy November night in 2008. Obama had just won the election. It was a miracle that the entire world had shared.
Now, though, icy puffs of air aided by a stiff January wind frosted her cheeks and seeped through her coat. The crowd size wasn’t nearly as large as Obama’s, but people seemed buoyed by the cold, cheering and waving signs that proclaimed, “We Are the Resistance,” “Never Give Up,” and other political bromides. Some wore the knitted kitten hats that had become popular after the election. Most were grinning and joking as if the occasion were a rock concert or football game rather than a demonstration.
Curt peered up at the sky. “I hope there’s a drone up there filming this. Maybe we could get the footage to use on social media.”
Ruth glanced up, twisting the shoulder strap of her bag. “Yeah, good idea. But where is Dena?”
Another man, lean and lanky, the Jeff to Curt’s Mutt, fiddled with a microphone stand on the center of the stage. He looked over at Ruth. “Chill. Traffic is shitty.”
Ruth shook her head and waved her cell in the air. “She always picks up. But it’s going to voice mail.”
“Probably on the el.” DJ ran a hand through his long blond ponytail. “But you’re right. We can’t wait forever. What do you want to do?”
“Give her another minute. Dena would never blow this off, DJ,” Curt said. “Not after all her work.”
A flood of memories washed over Ruth. The two of them in Dena’s condo, full of plans and purpose. Working twenty-four-hour days, planning, eating junk food in the omnipresent blue-white light of their laptops. Hard to believe it had been more than a year.
“This is just the beginning!” DJ grinned. “After today, we’ll have a real shot at accomplishing something.”
But what if something happened? Dena had been getting those creepy calls. Ruth pushed the thought away. Lots of prominent people got crank calls, Dena had said dismissively. And she—they, Dena made sure to say—were famous. “Almost.” They would laugh.
Some people in the crowd, clearly impatient, started to clap rhythmically. A signal for the show to begin. Others joined in. Ruth, DJ, and Curt exchanged glances. A wave of nausea climbed up Ruth’s throat.
“Okay,” Curt said. “Color me officially worried.”
“Relax, people,” DJ said. “Nothing bad’s happened to Dena. She’s indestructible.”
“She was fine yesterday,” Ruth said. “She was pumped.”
“Did she go over what she was going to say?” DJ asked.
“Of course. She practiced—you know—rehearsed it with me. And Curt.” She nodded at him.
“Well, you’re número dos,” Curt said. Was there a hint of resentment in his voice? Ruth wondered. “If she doesn’t get here soon, you’re on deck.”
Ruth let out a tiny cry of terror. “I can’t!”
“Why not?”
“There are thousands of people out there. They—they’re expecting Dena.”
DJ slipped his hands in his pockets. “The show must go on.”
“There are way too many people. I’d rather die!”
“You have to try. Look, at least start. You’re the only other person who knows what to say. You’ve been with Dena from the beginning.”
“What do they say?” DJ added. “Pretend all the people in the crowd are naked?”
Curt waved a hand. “No. Just focus on what they need to hear. And feel. And do. That’s what Dena would say.”
“Yeah, but she’s experienced at—at public speaking,” Ruth said. “I’ve never done this before. I’m the backstage person.”
DJ said, “Look, we’ll help you out. And Dena will probably get here while you’re talking. As soon as she does, you’re off the hook.”
Ruth’s eyes raked the crowd. “Oh my God. I really have to do this.”
A whispery whine made them gaze upward. Curt grinned. “I knew it. Thar she blows!”
Ruth could just make out a speck in the sky. “A drone?”
He nodded. “Maybe CNN, huh? Hope they’ll give us their video.”
“It’s probably just channel five.’”
Most of the crowd was clapping now. Ruth could tell they were edgy.
“You ready?” DJ adjusted the mic. He tilted his chin in the direction of the crowd. “They are.”
Ruth turned her back on the crowd. She had to center herself. Just then, the aroma of patchouli oil wafted toward her, discordant but familiar. Dena! Ruth whipped around. While the possibility of public speaking hung in the offing like a Christmas bauble, attracting and panicking her at the same time, now her anxiety melted away. Dena jogged up the steps to the stage, all energy, confidence, and red cheeks.
“Where have you been?” Ruth shouted above the noise.
“In traffic,” Dena said breathlessly. “I had to ditch the car. Had to run all the way from Chicago Avenue. Give me a minute to catch my breath.”
The crowd, realizing their leader had arrived, grew louder, more boisterous. Dena had it, Ruth had to admit. Whatever they called it now. Charisma. Magnetism. Eloquence. Ruth might be Tonto, but Dena was the Lone Ranger. An electric buzz seemed to emanate from under Dena’s skin. Ruth could almost feel it make contact.
Despite his casual attitude earlier, DJ anxiously cut in. Was he feeling it too? “We have to start. Look at them.” He gestured again toward the crowd.
Dena glanced out. So did Ruth. DJ was right. The crowd seemed to swell with anticipation. Ruth watched as Dena rolled her shoulders and started toward the mic. “Okay. You guys come out too. Stand behind me.”
Ruth nodded. As if they knew the show was about to begin, the crowd noise suddenly dropped. In her quilted jacket, with her long black braid hanging down her back, Dena adjusted the microphone stand.
“Good morning, Resistance!!”
The crowd roared.
It was then that a crack-crack-crack spit through the air.
Chapter Two
Dena jerked. Her arms flew up, as if making a supplication. Then she collapsed on the ground. The crack and spit persisted. It was coming from above and to the side of the stage. Sweeping from the stage out to the crowd. Protestors in the front rows fell like dominoes. As the crowd began to realize what was happening, shrieks and cries erupted, and people in the front massed and swarmed those farther back in a panicked effort to escape. Protestors climbed o
r stomped over others, and the screams of people mowed down by their neighbors intensified. Thousands of confused, frightened people rushed the park’s exits, scattering like cockroaches exposed to unexpected light.
Ruth was staring at the horrific scene when someone or something tackled her from the rear. Her feet went numb, she lost her balance, and she dropped. A tremendous weight pressed down on her. Pain so sharp she couldn’t inhale. She was on her stomach, and she tried to roll over so the weight would fall off, but when she tried to move, nothing happened. She wanted to let the weight know she couldn’t breathe, but she couldn’t form the words. The edges of her vision grew dark. Just before she lost consciousness, she heard sirens.
Chapter Three