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friends in the press. About any of this.”
    Masters dropped the file back onto the table and turned to Rodriguez. “We done here?”
    “Yeah,” Rodriguez said.
    Masters left without another word. Rodriguez and I walked back through the bull pen and out to my car.
    “What was that about?” I said.
    “What?”
    “Masters. Laid it on a little heavy at the end there, don’t you think?”
    “A lot of people watching this case, Kelly. Kind of people who turn working cops into memories. In a hurry.”
    “So the heat is coming from the Fifth Floor.”
    “Yup.”
    “What do they want?”
    “They want us to bury it. Right now, Bryant isn’t even classified as a homicide. ‘Undetermined cause,’ I believe, is the phrase we’re using.”
    “‘Undetermined cause,’ huh? And now I put one of the mayor’s guys in the middle of it.”
    “See why you’re such a popular fellow?”
    “Woods didn’t have anything to do with it, Rodriguez. He was just there. Like me.”
    “Not quite. You followed him to Hudson. But he went there for a reason. Maybe not to kill anybody. But he went there for a reason.”
    “So what are you guys going to do?”
    “Us? Leave it the fuck alone.”
    “Really?”
    “Absolutely. Mostly because I don’t want to wind up with a kilo of cocaine in the trunk of my car some night.”
    “Downtown can play rough.”
    “You know better than most.” Rodriguez lifted an eyebrow. “Besides, I got a secret weapon.”
    “You think I can’t resist taking a shot at this?”
    “Am I wrong?”
    I shrugged. “Probably not.”
    “Here’s the deal,” Rodriguez said. “You take a look at the Bryant thing. Quietly.”
    “And if it goes sideways?”
    “I’ll cover what I can. Until we find out what’s going on, however, it all stays out of the press.”
    “Fair enough,” I said. “But let me ask you something. Why the interest? I mean, why get involved at all?”
    We had stopped in front of my car. Rodriguez slid a foot onto the bumper and watched traffic fight its way down Belmont. It was early April in Chicago, and I could see the cop’s breath as he spoke.
    “You know why, Kelly. It’s what she’d want us to do. Or at least try.”
    Nicole Andrews had been part of Rodriguez’s life as well. The love he waited for, only to never have. I’d had more time with her. A childhood’s worth and that would have to do.
    “I’ll take a look, Detective. But I don’t think the Fifth Floor is behind this.”
    “Maybe not. But they’re worried about something. Been around long enough to know that.”
    “The Chicago Fire? Eighteen seventy-one? Seems like a long time ago to be killing folks.”
    “Do me a favor. Just take a look.”
    I agreed and we shook hands. Then I got in my car and pulled out of the police parking lot. As cops go, Rodriguez was a good one. Straight shooter and good instincts. This time, however, he was wrong. People murder people for just a very few reasons: money, jealousy, revenge, power. They all make sense. The Great Chicago Fire of 1871? Not so much.
    I took a left and headed east on Belmont. Rodriguez needed a vacation. A little R amp; R. I’d give his hunch a day or two and tell him there was nothing there. Then I’d move on to more pressing issues. Like how to get Johnny Woods to stop beating up his wife.

CHAPTER 10
    T he Chicago Historical Society sits just off Lake Michigan, at the corner of Clark Street and North Avenue. I walked in with the midmorning senior citizen crowd. The lady at the wooden desk in front had volunteer written all over her. She was twenty years past her prime, with enough money to make it not matter. She wore a black wool suit with big gold buttons, black pumps, and a red silk scarf with black horses and yellow chunks of chain on it.
    Bolted just above her head was a set of massive radiators belching steam and pouring heat onto an unsuspecting public. The volunteer, however, refused to let it spoil her day in the city. She smiled and