Too Dark To Sleep Read online

  Richard smiled to himself as he sketched small dollar signs on the yellow pad in front of him. He didn’t bother to look as the door closed and chairs pulled out across from him. It wasn’t until Bradley shook his elbow that Richard Freeman looked up into his wife’s eyes.

  “Good morning, Richard,” Maggie said calmly. “How’s tricks?”

  The man’s stomach banged into his tonsils. Shit, Maggie wasn’t supposed to be up and around. She was out of it, not talking, not eating, not doing anything. His PI was solid on that. Next to his wife sat Simon Katz, one of the top lawyers in the country and a close friend of Paddy Quinn. Katz smiled. Richard didn’t.

  Neither did William Siddell.

  The elderly judge fired a lethal glance at Freeman. That yellow-ass bastard assured him both the wife and the father-in-law were out of the picture. That was the only reason Siddell took the package. Well, the judge thought, the deal was changing rapidly.

  The original arrangement was simple enough. Maggie Quinn had been vegetating for the better part of a year, including several months in a psychiatric ward. Freeman wanted out and he was willing to pay for it. The prenuptial he signed would be conveniently overlooked. Instead of walking away with what he brought to the marriage, Freeman would get half of everything. Trust funds, savings, and the greystone in Old Town. Maggie Quinn willed it to their daughter and hadn’t changed the document since the child’s death. With the prenup, that meant when the woman died, all assets would be dispersed to various charities and organizations. Nothing to Richard Freeman.

  Siddell chewed his lip. He needed a vacation. The cash in the envelope would pay for a nice one in Europe as well as a new Mercedes. The judge looked at Freeman, then Quinn. Well, there was still Florida. “Let’s begin,” Judge Siddell said, clearing his throat.

  It took Richard’s attorney forty-five minutes to describe the last year and a half. Maggie could’ve summed it up in two words. Erin died. Simple, clear. The truth. Unfortunately, lawyers were never very interested in the truth. They were only interested in winning.

  “So, we’ve heard Mr. Bradley. Do you have anything to add, Mr. Katz?” asked the judge.

  “Nothing, your honor,” Simon Katz said. “My client also wishes to dissolve the marriage contract.”

  Richard bit his lip. He lost his half the minute Simon Katz walked in the room, so what else did Maggie have up her sleeve? What punishment had that brain constructed? He kept his eyes on the paper in front of him, feeling his wife’s gaze burn into his skull, performing a mental lobotomy.

  “We have a prenuptial agreement and we intend to abide by it. With a few amendments. To make the proceedings speed along a bit faster, as I’m sure Mr. Freeman would like, I’ve drawn up our requirements.”

  Katz slid a single crisp sheet of paper to the judge, to Richard, and to his attorney. As the three men read in silence, Simon threw Maggie a sly wink and squeezed her hand beneath the table. Uncle Si was one of the many people drifting in and out of Maggie’s life who had family names, but were not related by blood or marriage. It was common in her father’s line of business. For once, Maggie was glad to have an extra relative. It took just one phone call and Uncle Si showed up with a game plan already laid out. Her part was simple. All Maggie had to do was nod and smile, a task she found extremely challenging at the moment.

  “This is a joke,” Bradley fumed.

  “We think we are being more than fair considering the hardships my client has had to deal with for the past year,” Katz countered.

  “This is ridiculous,” Richard said. “Maggie…”

  She looked at him squarely and suddenly Richard Freeman wished he’d kept his mouth shut.

  “We won’t settle. This is completely unacceptable,” Richard’s lawyer bellowed.

  The smile on the aging attorney’s face would’ve made the Cheshire cat blush. “Well, we can certainly take this to a larger venue if that is what Mr. Freeman and his attorney would like. Although, I must warn you, I don’t believe it will benefit anyone.”

  Simon Katz carefully passed a large brown envelope across the table to Richard and his lawyer.

  “What’s this, Maggie?” Richard said.

  “Take a wild guess,” she muttered.

  Richard Freeman opened the envelope and pulled out a stack of photos and documents. The color ran from his face, down his neck and into his shoes. Photos of him and the last three girlfriends he’d had in as many weeks, including his current amusement, Vickee. All very compromising. Some illustrating his more adventurous side. A little bondage. A little questionable role playing. A few extra sets of bodies. With the photos were pages of interviews detailing his liaisons. Jesus, he had been careful. Damn careful. Their place, never his. Sometimes hotels, but never the same one twice. Never with his name. Cash, not credit. How the hell did… Richard Freeman bit his lip. Maggie. His wife had a gift for ripping her suspects’ lives apart and he was her suspect.

  “This is irrelevant. My client hasn’t lived in the same house for months. The courts won’t care.” Bradley tried to sound confident.

  “But your boss probably will,” Maggie answered. Richard’s firm was all about a clean house. They couldn’t care less if the attorneys were actually pristine, they just needed to appear that way.

  “Jesus, Maggie,” Richard said. “You wouldn’t…”

  “Try me.”

  “This is blackmail, your Honor,” Bradley screeched.

  And then things fell apart. Richard, Siddell, Katz, Bradley. Everyone was barking at each other as Maggie sat quietly watching. She knew she already won. She won when she walked through the door.

  Judge Siddell slammed his fist down and the room was silent. The decision was obvious. He didn’t need a vacation in Europe. He didn’t need a new Mercedes. He did need a career. Old Man Quinn didn’t carry as much power as he used to, but he could still pull some strings. Katz was proof of that.

  “Possession of the residence with all its contents are to remain the property of Margaret Quinn as well as the trust and the investments in question as per the original prenuptial contract. I am also instructing Mr. Freeman to provide Miss Quinn alimony in the amount of $10,000 per month. Also, Mr. Freeman is to reimburse Miss Quinn $142,469.35, the amount which has been removed from her personal account since the time of her hospitalization. This includes the twelve percent interest charge requested. After the paperwork is drawn up…”

  Simon Katz produced two stacks of papers, ready to be signed. “I took the liberty,” he smiled. “I hope you don’t mind.”

  Maggie glared at her husband. She needed alimony as much as she needed him. Still, Maggie ran the numbers and came up with just the right amount to keep Richard humble. $10,000. He wouldn’t be able to afford his new condo on the lake. Or the Aston Martin he had on order. Richard expected to walk out with Maggie’s house, her money, and her life. Instead, he was leaving with only shreds of the Versace shirt on his back and she hoped it hurt.

  “Have a nice day, honey,” Maggie smiled after the papers were signed.

  “Fuck you.” Richard stormed out with his attorney on his heels.

  “Give my regards to your father, Miss Quinn,” the judge said as he handed her the papers. Maggie was impressed. His hand only shook a little. She nodded, took Uncle Si’s arm, and walked away.

  “Nice to win, isn’t it,” the lawyer chuckled.

  Maggie Quinn didn’t answer. It was time to go home.

  Chapter Four

  It was a good night for a ride. A late spring. Brisk, but not freezing. Still cold enough to entice someone walking home to take a ride from a good-looking stranger. He switched the radio from the slow jazz station to something a little livelier. Pop rock. Innocuous, giving the impression of youth without the strong convictions that sometimes followed.

  Yes, it was a g
ood night for a ride. He felt strong, vital. The case containing his tools lay in the back seat. He wouldn’t be using them tonight, but he always insisted on being prepared. As the thought of stainless steel teased with the promise of a gift, a tingle of excitement rippled through his mid-section. He rolled down the window and let the cool air frost his nostrils. Checking the time, he quickly calculated who might be where. Maybe he’d take a spin along the lake. There might be some bites down there. If not, he’d take a trip over to the Sound Bar or Enclave.

  It didn’t matter. It was a good night for a ride.

  Chapter Five

  Simon Katz pulled away from the curb in front of the greystone. Maggie slipped the key in the lock and the smell of life filled her as the heavy wooden door opened. Sun spilled in through the lace curtains, but Maggie hit the lights anyway.

  “I’m home,” she called out.

  No answer. Rayney must be out. Grocery day.

  She pulled back the curtains. The neighborhood wasn’t much when her great, great grandfather, Hugh Quinn built the greystone, but things changed. She was now snuggled between some of the most desirable real estate in Chicago. Even in a depressed market, Richard might have gotten close to a million for his half of the house. But he didn’t own half of greystone. He didn’t own half of anything Maggie possessed.

  She stared at the boxes in the hallway. Rayney was cleaning again. He wanted to put a desk and computer in the spare room so he could study. Finally get that sports medicine degree. That’s where he must’ve found the boxes. Richard put everything unused in the spare room. She ran a cracked fingernail across the packing tape, then pulled back the cardboard. Her heart froze. It was Erin. Right on top. Holding the box tightly, Maggie sank to the floor. A small piece of her wanted to push the box away and forget. That’s what Richard did. Instead Maggie took a slow breath in and a slow breath out. When her heart was finally still, Maggie Quinn unpacked her daughter.

  By the time the container was empty, a child’s life lay at her feet, a life punctuated by large professional portraits. Maggie touched an 11” x 17” photo and smiled. Six months old. Hair barely sprouting on her head. Erin was up teething the entire night before, so they were both pretty crabby when they arrived at the photography studio. But then the lights went on and Erin perked up, smiling the perfect smile as the camera flashed.

  A year old. More hair. All standing up. All very red. Erin started walking just weeks before. Maggie rescheduled the session three times because of various bruises and cuts her daughter inflicted on herself as she explored the steps, the windowsills, the couch. She and Richard joked that DCFS would take them in if she rescheduled one more time.

  Two years. The first freckles. Maggie smiled as she looked at the sad, red eyes in the picture. When Erin first noticed the marks, she thought they were chicken pox. Maggie humored her for the better part of a week, gently smoothing calamine lotion over the tiny brownish-red flecks, trying to convince the child it wouldn’t make any difference. The spots were there to stay. The whole thing blew up the morning of the photo session. Erin wanted the lotion on, Maggie refused. A two-hour battle of wills commenced. Maggie won, but only because she was bigger. Erin cried all the way to the photographer, stopping only after the man bribed her with gummy bears.

  Three years and that contagious sense of humor as the young girl mugged for the camera. Everyone said two was terrible. Not so. Two was easy. A walk in the park. Three. That was the worst. Emerging independence. Everything up for debate. The saving grace was laughter and jokes only a three year-old could tell... or understand.

  Four years and short hair. A neighbor boy smeared a piece of bubble gum into Erin’s scalp. They tried everything, but scissors were the final solution. Erin cried for hours and kept the trimmed strands of red in a special envelope in her closet, only looking at them when she thought she was alone. The rest of the time the little girl repeated the litany Maggie imparted. It really wasn’t important. It was just hair. It didn’t change who she was. Anyway, it would grow back. It never did. After a month, Erin decided she liked short hair, especially since it meant no rip-and-pull sessions with the comb.

  Maggie froze. There was no five-year photo. The appointment was made, but never kept. The sweet taste of saliva filled Maggie’s mouth and her stomach pitched as she fingered an enlarged snapshot which took the place of the professional photograph. Erin, ready for her first day of kindergarten. With red hair in her face. A white and black flannel dress. With white tights. And brown hiking boots. She stared at the photo until her eyes hurt. There were no tears. They were used up months ago.

  “Thanks a lot, Ace.”

  Maggie didn’t need to look to know Richard was standing in the doorway. “What are you doing here?”

  “Who’d you use?” he asked, leaning against the jamb. “One of Buddy’s friends, right?” He nodded to himself, not needing an answer. “So you finally got your pound of flesh. Alimony? Jesus, Maggie. And that bogus interest charge. Give me a fucking break.”

  “What are you doing here?” she repeated.

  “I’ve got a few things I need to…”

  “Nothing here belongs to you. Not anymore.” Maggie closed her eyes, trying to keep everything in its place. “Get out.”

  She felt him move closer. This would be Richard’s attempt at salvage. Maybe get away with a little more than the papers allowed. Pay Maggie a little less. Wheel the deal. Grease the axle with a dollop of freshly whipped sincerity. God, she hated lawyers. Especially her husband.

  “I’m sorry. You know I am. I… I just thought, since you were...”

  “As good as dead?”

  He paused, thinking twice before lying to his wife.

  “It didn’t look like you were going to come out of it, okay.”

  “So why shouldn’t you have a piece of the pie?” Her voice was calm, almost sincere.

  “Just my share. Since Erin’s been gone and you…” He paused, trying not to stare at his wife’s arms. “I’ve handled a lot,” Richard said, keeping his tone even like a teacher pointing out the obvious to a second grader. “So, yes. Why shouldn’t I have my share?”

  “Because you don’t deserve it.” Maggie’s voice was small.

  Richard froze. She was going to blow. He’d learned that early on in their marriage. The softer the voice, the greater the wrath. He needed to watch his step. “Maggie, look…” Richard ran his hand through his hair. “I was wrong. I was just trying to get on with my life, okay? I made a big mistake. I’m sorry.”

  There it was. That tone. That shit-I-have-to-sound-like-I-really-screwed-up-again tone. The one that was supposed to hide the fact Richard didn’t really feel sorry, didn’t really feel anything. Seven years taught her that. Early on Maggie thought there might be some vague connection between her husband’s head and his heart, but the last year proved otherwise.

  “I’m sorry. Does that make it better? You were right. I was wrong. I screwed up.”

  There it was again. That sickening voice. That arrogant, sickening voice. Maggie’s fist shot out, striking Richard in the chest. He flew back and to his knees, his hands scraping at the floorboards as he gasped for air.

  “Get out.” The words were barely audible. Maggie stood, trying to regulate her breathing, trying to pull in the hate and the pain that went with it. Richard found his feet. But with every move he made, her rage increased.

  “Get out,” Maggie’s lips moved. Before he could answer, her hands were on Richard’s arms, pulling him up, then pushing him against the wall. The force knocked Maggie off balance and her body followed, slamming into Richard, crushing him against the hard oak paneling. She panted as she tried to pick herself up.

  “Jesus,” Richard said rubbing his shoulder. “What the fuck is...”

  Maggie saw her palm slam into Richard’s nose. A bit more pressure and her hus
band would’ve been unconscious. Instead, his nose shifted up and to the right as a stream of blood gushed.

  “Fuck...” Richard bent over and grabbed his nose.

  A leg flew out and connected with the lawyer’s stomach. Clenched fists came down across his back and a knee caught his weak jaw on the rebound. A foot was about to smash into his forehead when something grabbed Maggie from behind. She struggled, wanting one last hit. One last blow. One last chance to deliver a little pain in the only way she was sure Richard could feel it. Had she been in fighting condition, Maggie could’ve escaped the hold. She knew how. She just didn’t have the strength.

  “Easy, easy.” Antoine Rayney’s voice was in her ear. “Cool it. Okay? Just cool it.”

  Maggie let the tension pour out as she watched Richard roll on the floor in agony. Rayney held her until she was coherent enough to sit alone in a chair while he tended his new patient. Twenty minutes later, Maggie Quinn’s very ex-husband was washed and bandaged.

  “She’s fucking crazy,” Richard muttered as he stared at Quinn from the door. “Fucking crazy. They never should’ve let you out.”

  “Come on, man,” Rayney said, holding Richard back. “She’s entitled.”

  “To what? Beat the shit out of her husband.”

  “Ex-husband.” Maggie smiled an evil smile. “You wanna try again? I got my second wind.”

  “Fuck you.” The door slammed behind him.

  Antoine Rayney shook his head, went back to the kitchen, and returned with a roll of paper towel and a bottle of Mr. Clean to wipe Richard’s blood off the floor and walls. “You okay?” he finally asked.

  Maggie was silent. The sun was going down. It would be dark soon and she was already exhausted. It was going to be a long night.