Thad, of course, got to her first. He grabbed the old lady’s arm, forcing her to drop the pistol.
“Everybody freeze!”
Brittany stood thirty feet away, her service revolver at the ready.
Is everybody in this city armed?
Kathryn let out a pitiful shriek, puny compared to Olivia’s battle cry, and collapsed to the ground.
* * *
The Muni’s docking area filled with flashing red lights and emergency vehicles. The EMTs wrapped Olivia and Thad in Mylar blankets and checked their vital signs while Brittany phoned in the information about Norman Gillis. The Egyptian bracelet was already tucked away in an evidence bag.
Some of the crowd exiting from the gala grew aware of the commotion. With umbrellas over their heads, they huddled in the parking area and watched Kathryn Swift being hauled away in a squad car.
Thad gazed at Olivia from his Mylar cocoon as if he expected her to disappear at any moment, but he said nothing, and she had a shocking glimpse of how he would look as an old man. Still handsome, but tired, the cares of a lifetime etched in his face.
She wanted to rest her head against his shoulder, but he’d erected an invisible barricade she had no right to cross.
* * *
The EMTs urged them to go to the hospital, but they both refused. Thad watched Olivia being helped into a squad car that would deliver her home. He couldn’t go with her. He couldn’t be with her now.
He drove himself home and took the longest, hottest shower of his life. As the remnants of the Chicago River eddied down the drain, he wished he could send the images swirling in his brain along for the trip. That moment when he believed he’d lost her would be seared in his memory forever . . . Believing that this brave, smart, funny, ambitious heartache of a woman was lost to him forever had been the worst moment of his life, worse than sitting on the bench, worse than playing backup, far worse than knowing he’d never be number one.
* * *
Piper sat with Olivia at the police station the next morning as she gave her statement to Brittany. Olivia appreciated having Piper with her today, but it should have been Thad by her side, both of them giving their statements together.
And whose fault was that?
She’d barely slept last night. Even after she was warm, clean, and awash in Throat Coat tea, she couldn’t fall asleep. It was ironic. Like every opera singer on the planet, she was paranoid about catching a cold. She guarded against drafts, stayed away from cigarette smoke, slept with at least one vaporizer running, and didn’t drink water that was too chilled—only to end up underwater in the Chicago River in early May. She was lucky to be alive, but that wasn’t what kept jerking her awake. It was the image of Thad’s face when she’d come up for breath.
Olivia and Piper had barely settled into the chairs across from her desk before Brittany told them they’d caught Gillis. “He was apprehended on Sheridan Road a little before midnight.”
Brittany looked as if she’d spent the rest of the night interrogating him instead of sleeping. She’d abandoned her ice-blue gown and high, strappy sandals for dark pants, a wrinkled white blouse, and sensible loafers. Leaning against the side of her desk was the same big purse she’d been carrying last night. Olivia had wondered why she hadn’t brought a more fashionable evening bag to the gala, and now she knew. A pretty evening bag wouldn’t have held her service revolver, and like most cops, she liked having it with her.
Brittany looked up from her notepad. “Tell me about the bracelet.”
Tell me about Thad, Olivia thought. Is he all right? Have you talked to him? Did he ask about me? Do you love him?
Olivia didn’t say any of that. “Kathryn’s husband Eugene loved Aida, and not long before he died, he sent me the bracelet. He told me one of his buyers had picked it up at a souvenir market in Luxor. I remember that. He called it a costume piece and said it was unworthy of my talent.” She rubbed her temple. “I think we can safely assume it’s not a costume piece.”
“How long have you known the Swifts?” Brittany asked.
“I knew Eugene for almost ten years. He was a fixture on the Muni’s board of directors. Our friendship was never inappropriate, if that’s what you’re wondering. He enjoyed reminiscing about singers he remembered from his boyhood or talking to me about obscure operas—La finta giardiniera, Medea in Corinto, Tolomeo—that sort of thing. I loved listening to his insights. I adored him.”
Piper forgot she wasn’t the one leading the interrogation. “What about his wife?”
“I never met his first wife. As for Kathryn . . . She was always cordial to me, but she didn’t share Eugene’s enthusiasm for opera. Eugene told me she used to sneak out of performances at intermission. Art museums are Kathryn’s passion. That and maintaining her status with Chicago’s social elite.”
Brittany clicked her ballpoint pen. “She doesn’t like opera, but she’s on the Municipal Opera’s board of directors? That seems odd.”
“She took over Eugene’s seat after he died. It added to her social currency. She’s also a good fundraiser, so the Muni was more than happy to have her.”
“What about Norman?” Piper asked.
“Eugene never said much about his stepson. They weren’t close.”