The Governor's Wife Read Online Free Page A

first lady, especially one half the world thinks helped engineer her husband’s disappearance. The only people I talk to on a regular basis are the feds. Believe it or not, I almost look forward to that monthly colonoscopy.”
    “Why did Ray do it?”
    “He was looking at thirty years in prison.”
    “Any other reason?”
    “My husband didn’t tell me about his little plan, if that’s what you’re asking.”
    There was a knock on the door, and the assistant stuck her head in. “Your appointment’s in half an hour.”
    “Thank you, Pamela. I’ll just be a few minutes.”
    Marie Perry gave Pamela a withering smile and waited until she’d shut the door. “They’re all interns. Too naïve to realize I’m nothing. So we pretend I’m still first lady. And I go to third-rate fund-raisers and ribbon cuttings. Today it’s a cupcake shop in Andersonville. They pay for my time. Sad thing is I’d probably do it for free.”
    “Let’s get back to Ray.”
    “Ray’s gone, Mr. Kelly. And he’s not coming back.” She crushed her cigarette into an ashtray and pivoted in her chair to look out a window, at the front steps of the Art Institute. I noticed a slight tremor in her hands as she steepled them under her chin.
    “Ms. Perry?”
    “Yes?”
    “Are you all right?”
    She turned her head and pinned me to the wall with a bloodless stare any self-respecting corpse would have been proud of. “You’re the private investigator, Mr. Kelly. What do you think?”

CHAPTER 6
    I walked down Michigan Avenue, trying to shake off the uncomfortable feeling that Marie Perry drank a couple of pints of blood for dinner every night and crawled into a coffin when she needed some shut-eye. I stopped at an afterthought of a bar on the corner of Michigan and Monroe and ordered a Jim Beam, rocks. My phone buzzed and I ignored it. Then I punched in a number and waited.
    “Kelly?”
    “Vince, what’s up?”
    Vince Rodriguez was a homicide detective with the Chicago PD. He was also a friend. It wasn’t like I had a lot of friends. Some of that was by design. The rest just came naturally. Rodriguez, however, was a constant. Someone I could count on even when it wasn’t in his best interest…which was often.
    “Where you been hiding?”
    “Laying low. Working.” I hadn’t talked to Rodriguez in three months. I hadn’t talked to anyone significant in three months. Except for my dog. And I was pretty sure she was getting sick of my act as well. “What’s been going on?”
    “Same old bullshit. Still dealing with the West Side. People hate the cops, lining up to file their lawsuits. Lawyers running around with their hands out.”
    It had been four years since the West Side had been the target of a bioweapons attack. Five hundred people had died and Chicago still hadn’t fully recovered. Physically, emotionally, or psychologically. The city would survive. A little scratched and dented maybe, but that was Chicago. Algren put it best—“like loving a woman with a broken nose.”
    “You got a little time to talk?” I said.
    “Go ahead.”
    “Not on the phone.”
    “Goddamnit, Kelly.”
    “It’s nothing. Just a conversation. One drink and a conversation. You’ll like it.”
    “I won’t like it.” A pause. “Where are you?”
    I told him. Fifteen minutes later, the cop slid onto a stool and signaled for the bartender.
    “What are you drinking?”
    “Beam, rocks.”
    The detective nodded. “Same.”
    The bartender went off to pour Rodriguez’s drink. He pointed his chin at a TV hung from the ceiling. “You see the news yet?”
    “No. Why?”
    “We found an infant up in Lincoln Park this morning.” The bartender returned with the drink. Rodriguez took a sip and sighed. “Damn, that’s good.”
    “What’s it about?”
    “Someone told us they saw this guy leave a baby in the trunk of a car. I happened to be nearby and rolled on it. Turns out the car was using phony plates and had been stolen in