The Innocence Game Page 2

  “Took a guess,” I said.

  Sarah sipped from her pint. There was a silky line of froth on her lip. I gestured to my own face.

  “Sign of a good pint,” she said and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “I didn’t see you around much in undergrad.”

  “I was away a lot.”

  “Away?”

  “I studied abroad for a year.” I hadn’t gone any farther than the library to study during my four years at Northwestern, but I wasn’t going to tell Sarah Gold that. Besides, I kind of liked the man of mystery thing.

  “Really. Where did you study?”

  “Turkey.” Turkey. Where did that come from? I tried to think of what I knew about the city. Until I realized it was a country. Then all I could think of was Thanksgiving. Jesus. I took a breath.

  “That’s exciting,” Sarah said. “I spent a couple of months in Istanbul.”

  I smiled thickly and drained what was left of my pint. She’d barely dented hers. I put my hand up for the waitress who took my order.

  Sarah just shook her head and the waitress left.

  “What did you think of today?” she said.

  I didn’t know what to think about today. Not that Sarah was waiting for an answer.

  “I thought it was a little odd,” she said. “I mean just turning us loose on the files. But I heard that’s how Zombrowski is. Real sink-or-swim type of stuff.”

  We were sitting in a booth by a set of windows that looked out over Sherman Avenue. I had my back to the bar and could hear a low, pleasant chatter behind me. A floorboard creaked, and there was suddenly someone at my shoulder. Sarah’s eyes widened, and she ventured a cautious smile.

  “Hey, Kyle.”

  Kyle Brennan was a year behind us at Northwestern and a starting cornerback on the football team. I’d hated him for two years. The same two years he’d dated Sarah Gold. She’d dumped him a few months before she graduated. I thought it was a great move. From what I heard, Brennan didn’t agree.

  “Hey.” Brennan was maybe six two, with dark eyes, short black hair, and, best I could tell, purple lips. He slid into the booth beside his ex. Essentially, right on top of her. Sarah gave herself a little space and gestured toward me.

  “Kyle, do you know Ian Joyce?”

  Brennan shook his head without looking at me and took a sip from a large plastic cup. Summer practice started next week, and a lot of the football types were getting their drink on while they could. Brennan appeared to be leading the charge.

  “Ian graduated with me,” Sarah said. “We’re in a seminar together.”

  “Some of us are headed into the city,” Brennan said. “Street festival in Wrigleyville. Why don’t you come?”

  “No thanks, Kyle.”

  “We can hang out.”

  “No thanks.”

  “I said we can hang.”

  I leaned across. “And she said, ‘No thanks.’ ”

  Brennan slammed his hand on the table and spilled some of his drink. It was purple, which explained the lips.

  “Who the fuck was talking to you?”

  The buzz around us grew quiet. I could feel the tension ripple across the room and tried to play it off.

  “Relax, pal. I’m thinking you’re about thirty seconds from getting tossed out of here.”

  “I’m not your pal. And do you think I give a fuck?”

  I gripped the edge of the table and felt the flush up into the roots of my hair.

  “Kyle.” Sarah grabbed her ex by the arm. “Look at me.”

  He did.

  “You’re drunk. And you’re embarrassing me. Leave now and I’ll call you tomorrow. We’ll grab some lunch.” She touched the side of his face and gave him a quick kiss. I almost threw up. But Brennan left.

  “Asshole,” Sarah said, and waved as Brennan walked out of Nevin’s with two of his pals.

  “You gonna call him?”

  “He won’t even remember talking to me. I just wanted to make sure he didn’t tear the place apart.”

  “You don’t think I could have handled him?”

  Sarah looked at me—all six feet, hundred seventy pounds—and shook her head. “He’d kill you.”

  “You’re probably right.”

  Sarah lifted her pint. “Enough of that. What were we talking about?”

  “The seminar.”

  “Oh, yeah. Tell me this. What do you think of our classmate?”

  “Havens?”

  “You know anything about him?” Sarah spoke like she knew a lot and was waiting to unload.

  “I heard he went to the University of Chicago.”

  “Law school. Top of the class. Editor in chief of the Law Review.”

  “So what’s he doing here?”

  Northwestern’s Medill School of Journalism was probably the best in the world. Or at least in the top two. Still, it was journalism. The average pay coming out of Medill was thirty to fifty K a year. And that’s if you landed in a big market. Editor in chief of the Law Review at Chicago could easily triple that. I knew the numbers. Mostly because I’d managed a nearly perfect score on my LSAT. So I’d thought it through.

  “Havens doesn’t want to be a lawyer,” Sarah said. “Just did it for kicks.”

  “Number one at U of C Law School … for kicks?”

  “Actually, there’s more to it than that. He got involved during his third year with a legal aid clinic on the South Side. Worked on a child abuse case. From what I hear he freaked out some people with his intensity.”

  “I could see that.”

  “Yeah, well, I guess he decided the law wasn’t his thing.”

  “And what does the boy genius want now?”

  “No one knows. Except he wanted into Medill, and specifically this seminar.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “I do my homework, Ian. Havens actually negotiated his admission into Medill. Told the school he’d enroll, but only if he was guaranteed a seat in Z’s seminar.”

  “And Medill went for it?”

  “Why not? Big-time student. And they were probably going to let him into the class anyway.”

  The talk about Havens was interesting. So much so that I’d forgotten whom I was talking to. Now I caught a whiff of her from across the table. She wore a thin gold chain around her neck. A vein beat softly in the hollow of her throat.

  “What do you think?” Sarah said.

  “About what?”

  “Havens?”

  “Oh, yeah. He wanted in on the seminar. So what?”

  “That letter he found was pretty strange.”

  “It’s probably nothing.”

  “Probably.” Sarah took a small sip from her pint. “Can I tell you something else?”

  “Sure.”

  “I don’t belong in this class.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Everyone at school knows how smart you are, Ian. And, no offense, Havens might be even smarter. I’m out of my league.”

  “Bullshit. You applied and got in. You belong.”

  She lifted her chin a fraction. “You know why I got in?”

  “I’m not sure why I got in.”

  “Please. The only reason I got in was because of my work with Omega.”

  “Omega?”

  “It’s a women’s organization in Evanston. They run a shelter service for abused women. We set up safe houses and move women in and out of them. Hide them from the assholes trying to beat them up until they can make other arrangements.”

  “And you work there?”

  “I volunteer. One night we were taking a woman out of her house and the husband showed up drunk. Bashed in my windshield with a baseball bat.”

  “Did you get her out?”

  “You bet. I wrote a couple of articles about it for one of my classes.”

  “Holy shit. I’d like to read them.”

  Sarah touched my hand, and I felt my heart jump. “Thanks, Ian. I’ll show them to you. Anyway, that’s why
I got into this seminar. My teacher loved the stories and pushed for me. Actually, it’s kind of ironic now that I think about it.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Me trying to help abused women and hooking up with a jerk like Kyle.”

  “You can’t quit, Sarah. Not after one class.”

  “Who said anything about quitting?”

  “You just told me you weren’t good enough.”

  “Oh. I was just venting. I’m plenty good.”

  “So you’re not gonna quit?”

  “And let Jake Havens get the last laugh. Please.” She tipped her eyes toward the front door. “Speak of the devil.”

  I turned and looked. Jake Havens had slipped onto a stool and ordered himself a drink.

  Havens was staring at a line of bottles behind the bar. Light glinted off the glass. I tapped him on the shoulder. It was a workingman’s shoulder, full of knotted muscle, tendon, and sinew. Havens turned a fraction.

  “What’s up?”

  “Thought you might like to come over for a drink?”

  Havens nodded to the booth and Sarah, alone in it. “You two pals?” Up close his features were hard and clean, betraying no real interest in the question he’d just asked or whatever response might come back.

  “We went to undergrad together,” I said.

  “I figured that.” Havens picked up his pint and led the way back to Sarah. Like it was his idea and I could come along if I wanted.

  “Sarah Gold. Like the name.” He slid into the booth and immediately owned it. I pulled up a chair. It was almost five now, and Nevin’s was filling with an after-class, happy-hour vibe. Everything seemed to dim, however, as Havens leaned across the table.

  “That your boyfriend who was in here?”

  “My ex.”

  “You got a lot of ghosts following you around?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Forget it.” Havens took a sip of his beer. “What did you think of today?”

  “Honestly?” Sarah said. “I thought there’d be more guidance.”

  “You mean hand-holding?”

  She threw Havens’s condescension back at him with a smirk of her own. He’d have to do a lot better if he wanted to get under Sarah’s skin. Or anywhere else, for that matter.

  “I’d think she might want to set up some parameters for our research,” Sarah said. “Maybe an overview. A little more background on cases she’d like us to look at. A section of the country to focus on.”

  “I already have a case.”

  “So you told us.” Sarah’s eyes brushed mine, then danced away.

  “Why don’t you take a look?” Havens pulled his backpack onto the table.

  “Actually, I’ve got to get going.” Sarah was on her feet, looking down at Havens, making him seem suddenly small. And being infuriatingly nice about it. Inside, I was tickled. Havens took it in stride.

  “Z just e-mailed me. She got the okay from the clerk’s office for tomorrow. It’s a Saturday, but I guess the county people are there in the morning. You guys have cars?”

  We both nodded. Sarah slumped into the booth. Havens was back in control.

  “Here’s what I’m thinking,” he said. “One of us takes the records center. Goes through all the paper files on Harrison and pulls out whatever’s relevant. The other two go to the evidence warehouse. See what’s there.”

  “I’ll take the records center,” Sarah said.

  I looked over at her. “Evidence warehouse sounds like more fun.”

  “Picking through the bloody clothes of a dead little boy? No thanks.”

  Havens shrugged. “Fine with me. I’ll e-mail the addresses to both of you. They open at nine. Z suggested we get there first thing. Joyce, why don’t I meet you there …”

  Sarah’s head snapped to one side as Kyle Brennan slammed back into the booth beside her. He had both elbows on the table and his nose pressed close to her cheek. “Miss me?”

  Sarah looked more embarrassed than alarmed and pushed at her ex’s forearm. He crowded in closer.

  “Fuck these losers. Let’s get out of here. Head into the city.” Brennan put a hand on her shoulder. His other went under the table.

  “Kyle, no.”

  “Hey, asshole.” I made a move toward Brennan, not really sure what I hoped to accomplish once I got there. Fortunately, Havens beat me to it.

  He dragged Brennan out of the booth and put him on his belly. It took all of three seconds. Brennan flopped like a fish at the bottom of a boat. Havens kept a knee in his spine and a forearm across the back of his neck. “You need to calm down.” Havens cinched his knee down a touch so the side of Brennan’s face pressed flat against the sticky barroom floor. There was a low hissing sound. That was Brennan, struggling to breathe.

  “Hey, man. Let him up.” One of Brennan buddies stepped forward, but not too far.

  “He’s fine,” Havens said. “Just taking a little time-out.”

  Brennan grunted and flipped onto his side, swinging an elbow in the general direction of Havens’s jaw. Havens leaned back and looped one arm around Brennan’s neck, his Adam’s apple fixed firmly in the crook of Havens’s elbow. Havens flexed. Brennan’s eyes fluttered, then closed. His chest didn’t look like it was moving. The already quiet bar had turned into a morgue.

  “Let him up,” I said. Havens glanced at me, then released his grip. Brennan’s pals rushed in. The football player hung limp in their arms.

  “Sit him up straight,” Havens said. They did. Havens punched Brennan once in the back, between the shoulder blades. He coughed and his eyes flickered open.

  “Get him out of here,” Havens said. No one had to be told twice. Havens slid back into the booth. I looked around for Sarah.

  “She left,” Havens said. “Probably too embarrassed.”

  I took a seat across from him. We were quiet for another minute.

  “Where did you learn all that?” I said.

  “All what?”

  “Putting a guy out like that?”

  Havens shrugged. There was a long scratch and fresh blood on his forearm, but he didn’t seem to notice.

  “You lift weights?” I said.

  “I used to long line tuna out of Chatham and Gloucester.”

  “New England?”

  “I fished full-time for three years. Worked Georges Banks a week, month, at a time. Slept on the boat. Snow, ice. All kinds of seas. Hauling heavy lines and nets.” Havens moved his hands to cup his pint. “Don’t need weights when you’re doing that.”

  “Huh.”

  We fell silent again. I could hear some talk at the bar, but everyone seemed to be giving us a wide berth. Havens began to pull papers out of his backpack. “You want to take a look at what I’ve got on the case?”

  “Why not?”

  He nodded like that was the only sensible answer. “I heard you’re one of the stars up here.”

  “Up where?” I said.

  Havens raised his chin. “Here.”

  “I don’t have time for that stuff.”

  “What stuff?”

  “The Chicago-Northwestern stuff. Our school’s better. More rigorous. Academically pure. All that garbage.”

  “You think that’s what goes on in Hyde Park?”

  “It goes on in Evanston. And it’s what I’m hearing from you. Listen, I know you’re a smart guy. Now, I know you’re a badass, too. Good for you. Great for you. I probably couldn’t beat myself up. But I’m smart. Never been a problem. Sarah’s no dummy either.”

  “You sure about that?”

  “Positive. So why don’t we cut the bullshit and work together. You’re a goddamn lawyer on top of everything else. Let’s just get into the cases. Your case, Z’s case, any case. Pick one out and see what we can dig up.”

  “Is Gold okay with that?” Havens said.

  “I don’t know Sarah that well, but I think she’s a pretty straight shooter.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Fucked if I k
now. Just thought it sounded good.”

  Havens cracked a smile that seemed genuine enough and lifted his mostly empty glass. “You got a thing for her.”

  “Hardly.”

  “Been like that since when? Sophomore year?”

  “Fuck you.”

  Havens widened his eyes and opened his mouth to laugh. His teeth, of course, were white and straight. “Jesus Christ, Joyce. Lighten up.”

  Jake Havens could kick the shit out of me in any one of a half-dozen ways, but I didn’t care. I never cared. And that had gotten me a nice ass kicking more times than I cared to count.

  “Can’t blame you,” he continued. “We all got one, right? Maybe more than one. Besides, she’s pretty hot.”

  “Yeah, Sarah’s hot.”

  “But it’s her world and you’re just in it?”

  “Something like that.”

  “ ‘Something like that.’ Exactly like that. Welcome to the club, my friend. I’m gonna get another one. You?”

  “Thanks.”

  Havens headed to the bar.

  “Hey,” I said.

  Havens turned, empty pint glasses in both hands.

  “You really think Harrison’s innocent?”

  Havens slipped back into the booth. “Forget the letter. You saw the shirt. If that’s from the victim, it should be easy to prove. And if it is real …”

  “Then it was sent by the killer.”

  “Not necessarily.”

  I tilted my head and frowned. “That’s what you told Z.”

  “But that’s not the only possibility, is it? If that shirt was part of the state’s evidence, anyone with access could have sent me a piece. Cop, prosecutor, evidence tech.”

  “A whistle-blower?”

  “Could be. Someone sending us a message. Telling us this guy was framed.”

  “Is that what you think?”

  “I don’t think anything … until we see the evidence.”

  “But why send the letter to you? Why not the Trib? Sun-Times? I mean, you’re a student in a seminar.”