The Shining Girls

Kirby ^{23 MARCH 1993}

‘Give me everything you’ve got.’ Kirby goes straight to Chet.

‘Chill, dude, this isn’t even your story,’ Chet says.

‘C’mon, Chet. Someone must have done a human interest story on her. Korean-American girl working in one of the city’s toughest neighborhoods? That’s too good to resist.’

‘No.’

‘Why?’

‘’Cos Dan phoned this morning and said he’d hang me with my own balls after he’d cut them off with a pair of kiddy’s safety scissors. He doesn’t want you getting involved.’

‘That’s very sweet of him, and also absolutely none of his beeswax.’

‘You’re his intern.’

‘Chet. You know I’m scarier than Dan.’

‘Fine!’ He throws up his hands, a movement hampered by the weight of his jewelry. ‘Wait here. And don’t tell Velasquez.’ She knew he wouldn’t be able to resist the temptation to practice his arcane arts in the stacks.

He comes back ten minutes later with various clippings about Cabrini and CHA’s general blundering.

‘I got you stuff on Robert Taylor Homes too. Did you know Cabrini’s original residents were mainly Italian?’

‘I did not.’

‘You do now. I got you an article on that, and white flight to the suburbs in general.’

‘You don’t mess around.’

He also produces a manila envelope with a flourish. ‘Ta-da. Korean Day 1986. Your girl came second in the essay competition.’

‘How did you do that?’

‘If I told you, I’d have to kill you,’ he says, dipping his mussed-upon-purpose head back behind Swamp Thing. Adding, without looking up: ‘No, really.’

She starts with Detective Amato.

‘Yes?’ he says.

‘I’m phoning about the murder of Jin-Sook Au.’

‘Yes?’

‘I wanted to get some more information about how she was killed—’

‘Get your sick kicks somewhere else, lady.’ He hangs up on her.

She phones back and explains to the duty officer that her call was cut off accidentally. She gets transferred back to his desk. He picks up immediately.

‘Amato.’

‘Please don’t hang up.’

‘You have twenty seconds to convince me.’

‘I think you’re dealing with a serial killer. If you speak to Detective Diggs in Oak Park, he’ll confirm my case.’

‘And you are?’

‘Kirby Mazrachi. I was attacked in 1989. And I’m sure it’s the same guy. Was there something left on the body?’

‘No offense, miss, but we have procedures. I can’t disclose that kind of information. But I will talk to Detective Diggs. You got a number I can reach you on?’

She gives him her number and the number at the Sun-Times for good measure. She hopes this will force them to take her seriously.

‘Thanks. I’ll get back to you.’

Kirby goes through the articles Chet dug up for her. They don’t give her anything about Jin-Sook Au, although she finds out more about unethical real-estate practices and the CHA’s checkered history than she ever wanted to know. You’d have to be unreasonably stubborn and idealistic to try to work within the organization.

She fidgets. She’s tempted to visit the scene, but she goes for the phonebook instead. There are four Aus in the directory. It’s easy to track down the right one. It’s the number that is permanently engaged because it’s been left off the hook.

Finally, she catches a cab to Lakeview, to the home of Don and Julie Au. They do not answer the phone or the doorbell. She sits outside and waits, round the back of the house, never mind that it’s freezing and her fingertips are going numb, even buried in her armpits. And ninety-eight minutes later, when Mrs Au slips out the back door in a housecoat and a cream crocheted hat with a rose on the front, she is waiting for her. It takes the woman ages to walk down to the mini-market, like every step is a duty she has to remind herself of again. It’s all Kirby can do to hang back out of sight.

In the store, she finds Mrs Au standing in the tea and coffee aisle. Holding a box of jasmine tea and staring at it blankly, like it might have answers.

‘Excuse me,’ she says, touching her arm.

The woman turns towards her, barely seeing. Her face is a mask of grief, all deep furrows. Kirby can’t help herself, she’s appalled.

‘No reporters!’ The woman comes to life, shakes her head frantically. ‘No reporters!’

‘Please, I’m not, not technically. Someone tried to kill me.’

The older woman looks terrified. ‘He’s here? We must call the police.’

‘No, wait.’ This is spiraling out of control. ‘I think your daughter was killed by a serial killer who attacked me, years ago. But I need to know how she was stabbed. Did the killer try to disembowel her? Did he leave something behind on the body? Something that was out of place? That you know wasn’t hers?’

‘Are you all right, ma’am?’ A cashier has come round from behind the counter to put a protective arm around Mrs Au, because the old lady is flushed and shaking and crying. Kirby becomes aware that she’s been shouting.

‘You’re sick!’ Mrs Au screams at Kirby. ‘Did the man who did this leave something on the body? Yes! My heart. Ripped right out of my chest. My only child! You understand?’

‘I’m sorry, really sorry.’ Shitshitshit. How could she have got this so wrong?

‘You get out of here, now,’ the cashier warns. ‘What is the matter with you?’

If she still had an answering machine, she might have been able to deflect it. As it is, she gets to the Sun-Times the next morning to find Dan waiting for her in the lobby. He grabs her by the elbow and sweeps her outside.

‘Smoke break.’

‘You don’t smoke.’

‘For once in your life, don’t argue. We’re going for a walk. Cigarettes optional.’

‘Okay, okay.’ She jerks her arm away from him as he walks her out the building and down to the riverbank. The buildings reflect in each other, an infinite city caught in the glass.

‘Hey, did you know about blockbusting? Skanky real-estate agents moving a black family into an all-white neighborhood and then putting the fear into the other residents that it was all going to hell and getting them to sell out at a loss, and taking a fat commission?’

‘Not now, Kirby.’

The air off the water has a bite to it, the kind that sinks itself through your bones into your marrow. A cargo boat trundles along, churning the water in its wake, neatly sliding under the bridge.

Kirby gives in to his silent accusation. ‘Did Chetty rat me out?’

‘For what? Accessing old clippings? That’s not illegal. Harassing a murder victim’s mother, however…’

‘Crap.’

‘The cops called. They’re unhappy. Harrison is apocalyptic. What were you thinking?’

‘Don’t you mean apoplectic?’

‘I know exactly what I mean. As in, rain of fire on your ass.’

‘It’s not exactly anything new. I’ve been doing this all year, Dan. I even tracked down Julia Madrigal’s ex-boyfriend. Who was awful in a really sad way.’

‘Bendito sea Dios, dame paciencia. You do not make this easy.’ Dan rubs at the back of his head.

‘Don’t do that, you’re going to make yourself bald.’ Kirby snipes.

‘You need to calm down.’

‘Really? That’s really what you’re telling me?’

‘Or at the very least be reasonable. Can’t you see how crazy your behavior looks?’

‘No.’

‘Fine. Do it your way. Harrison’s waiting in the boardroom for you.’

A detective, a city editor and a sports reporter walk into a room. There is no punchline. Just an epic shitstorm coming on her head.

Detective Amato is wearing full uniform, complete with bullet-proof vest, to let her know how serious this is. He has old acne scarring on his cheeks, like he’s been sandpapering his face. It makes him look weathered, like a cowboy. A hint of gritty history gives you class, Kirby thinks. But the puffiness in his cheeks and the pouches under his eyes say he’s not getting a whole lot of sleep. She can relate. She spends most of the lecture staring at his hands. It keeps her head down, which makes her seem more contrite.

His wedding ring is gold and scratched and pinches into his finger, which tells her he’s been wearing it a long time. There’s a trace of black ink on the back of his hand, the remnants of a phone number or a license plate he had to jot down in a hurry. She likes him more for that. The speech – she’s not required to respond other than occasionally nod tightly – is all stuff she’s heard before from Andy Diggs, back when he still took her calls and didn’t fob her off to some junior officer to take a message.

It’s not appropriate, Detective Amato says. He’s spoken to Detective Diggs, who is working her case. Yes, still. He filled him in. No one appreciates what she’s going through more than they do. They have to deal with this all the time. Wanting to nail the bad guys to the wall. Doing anything they can to find them. But there is a process.

She’s distorting the evidence with all this speculation and getting witnesses mixed up. Yes, the victim was stabbed and slashed multiple times in the stomach and pelvic area. The cases do have that in common. But there was no object left on the body. The MO was completely different to the attack on her. No restraints. No indication that it was planned ahead. And he’s sorry to speak so frankly, but the attack was amateur compared to what happened to her. Sloppy even. A killer just starting out. It was a horrible, opportunistic crime. They’re not ruling out a copycat murder. Which is exactly why the police have been so tightlipped on all this, because they don’t want to set off any more, and please appreciate that he’s here in an informal capacity and this is all off the record.

It is a stabbing. But there are a lot of stabbings. She has to trust the police to do their job. And they will do their job. Please trust him.

Then Harrison apologizes for ten minutes while the detective fidgets, clearly wanting to get out of there now he’s said his bit, about how she’s not an official employee, and of course the Sun-Times has always been supportive of the efforts by the Chicago PD, and if there’s anything they can do, here’s his card, give him a call anytime.

The cop leaves, squeezing Kirby’s shoulder as he goes. ‘We’ll get him.’ But she doesn’t see how that’s supposed to comfort her when they haven’t so far.

Harrison looks at her expectantly, waiting for her to say something.

And then he lets rip.

‘What the fuck were you thinking?’

‘You’re right, I should have prepared better. I wanted to get to her while it was still fresh. I didn’t expect it to be so raw—’ Her gut clenches. She wonders if Rachel looked the same way.

‘This is not the time for you to answer me,’ Harrison rages. ‘You have brought this paper into disrepute. You have compromised our relationship with the police. You have possibly damaged a murder case. You have upset a grief-stricken old lady who did not need your shit. And you have breached your mandate.’

‘I wasn’t writing about it.’

‘I don’t care. You cover sports. You do not run around interviewing murder victims’ families. That is why we have experienced, sensitive, actual crime reporters. You do not stick your nose one inch outside your beat. You get me?’

‘You ran the article I did on Naked Raygun.’

‘What?’

‘The punk band.’

‘Are you trying to make me insane?’ Harrison is incredulous. Dan closes his eyes, his expression pained.

‘It would be a good story,’ she says, unrepentant.

‘What would?’

‘Unsolved murders and the aftermath. With a tragic personal spin. Pulitzer material.’

‘Is she always this impossible?’ Harrison asks Dan, but she can tell he’s rolling the idea around, considering it.

But Dan isn’t playing. ‘Forget it. No chance.’

‘It is interesting,’ Harrison says. ‘She’d have to do it together with an experienced reporter. Emma maybe, or Richie.’

‘She’s not doing it,’ Dan says, his voice hard.

‘Hey. You don’t speak for me.’

‘You’re my intern.’

‘What the fuck, Dan?’ Kirby is nearly shouting.

‘This is what I’m talking about, Matt. She’s a train-wreck. You want a proper scandal? Tribune headline: Cub Reporter Loses Her Shit. City editor held responsible for emotional breakdown. Murder victim’s mother hospitalized for shock. Korean-American community outraged. Homicide cases in the city set back twenty years.’

‘Okay, okay, I got it.’ Harrison waves his hand like he’s shooing a fly.

‘Don’t listen to him! Why are you listening to him? Are you hearing this crap? That’s not even plausible. C’mon, Dan.’ She’s willing him to look at her. If he’ll just meet her eyes, she’ll be able to call him on this damn bluff. But Dan stares straight at Harrison and delivers the killing blow.

‘She’s emotionally unstable. She’s not even going to classes anymore. I spoke to her professor.’

‘You did what?’

He meets her eyes. ‘I wanted her to write you a referral. To try and get you a real job here. Turns out you haven’t been to class or turned in an assignment all semester.’

‘Fuck you, Dan.’

‘Enough. Kirby,’ Harrison says, with the same tone he uses for deadlines, ‘you’ve got a good sense for a story, but Velasquez is right. You’re too wrapped up in this one. I’m not going to fire your ass.’

‘You can’t fire me! I work for free.’

‘But you are going to take a break. Time out. Go back to school. I mean it. Get some thinking done. Go see a shrink, if that’s what it takes. What you do not do is try to write a story about murders or go sniffing around the families, or set foot in this building again until I say so.’

‘I could go across the road. Or take it to The Reader.’

‘Good point. I’ll phone them and let them know not to deal with you.’

‘You are being so unfair.’

‘Yeah, sure. Welcome to having a boss. I don’t want to see you here ’til you’ve pulled yourself together, you get me?’

‘Sir, yes, sir,’ Kirby says, not even trying to hold back the bitterness. She stands up to go.

‘Hey, kiddo,’ Dan tries. ‘You want to get a coffee? Talk about it? I’m on your side.’

He should feel bad, she thinks with a jagged spike of fury. He should feel like shit warmed up and slathered on a cheating ex’s car windscreen.

‘Not with you.’ She stalks out.