A Winsome Murder by James DeVita Page A

actually have Chicago cases I have to—”
    â€œShe was living in Chicago, so she could’ve been killed here. Right?”
    â€œWell, she could have—”
    â€œDid they have a last known whereabouts on her?”
    â€œI don’t know.”
    â€œWhat was she doing in Winsome Bay? Or was she even there?”
    â€œI don’t know.”
    â€œNo missing persons reports. Where’s her family, the Ellison girl’s family?”
    â€œJames, please, it’s not even our case, so if you don’t mind, I—”
    â€œWhy do you keep interrupting me? I’m thinking here.”
    â€œI’m sorry, I’ve got work to do.”
    â€œSo do it already, go. Nobody’s stopping you. Go.”
    â€œThis is my office, James.”
    D etective Cusumano came in late the next day. “Friggin’ traffic. Put a man on the moon, we still can’t figure out how to merge.” He tossed three copies of American Forum on the table.
    Mangan took one up and flipped through it, looking for an article by Jillian McClay. “What did you get on that girl at the Bank Street Diner?”
    â€œNot a whole lot.” Coose tossed a paper bag on the sink counter and washed out a coffee mug. “Street name, Fenyana Petrakova. Real name, Petra Nadzenia. Where’s the cream?”
    â€œWe’re out.”
    He flipped Mangan a police mug shot and poured a cup of coffee. “That’s her. Picked up a few times for the usual.”
    Mangan looked at the photo. “Jesus.”
    â€œRight?” Coose said. “She’s beautiful. What’s she doing on the street is what I’d like to know. She works a lot the northeast side. Lives in the Dearborn projects.”
    â€œYou check it out?”
    â€œYeah. Nothing much. The landlord—who is a dick by the way— hasn’t seen her for a while. And the guy who runs the Bank Street, whatever his name is …” Coose checked his notes. “Baratov. Savva Baratov . Sells a little more than coffee at his joint, but he’s a nickel-’n’-dimer. Caters mostly to white-collar johns. Pretty straight up. Doesn’t hurt his girls from what I could tell.” He took a bagel out of the bag and tore it in half. “Want some?”
    â€œNo thanks. Where’s the girl now?”
    â€œSays he doesn’t know, but he’s lying. A girl like that? She’s the money.” Between bites of bagel and swallows of coffee Coose read through the rest of his notes. “One of my girls on the street says Baratov’s in with the Russian mob. Says he’s always shoving it in their faces. So I talked to Nazarkov to check him out.”
    â€œYou talked to Nazarkov?”
    Coose grinned. “I did.”
    â€œHow the hell’d you get to him?”
    â€œI know a guy. I made a call. You don’t get any higher than Nazarkov, and he says this asshole ain’t in the club, and if he keeps saying he is, he’s gonna wind up in a fucking caviar can.”
    â€œAll right, put Palmer on this,” he said. “He knows the prostitutes on the Gold Coast and Boys Town. See if any of their friends have gone missing. Then get started on the Hicks case.”
    â€œYou get started on it.”
    â€œI’m busy.”
    â€œSo am I.”
    â€œI’m busier.”
    â€œI’ll do it later.”
    â€œDo it now.”
    â€œWhy are you being such a prick? What’s your problem today?”
    â€œIt’s just that I got a file full of dead bodies here and we’re wasting our time on a friggin’ appendage. Get someone else on it.”
    â€œOkay, I’ll take care of it.”
    â€œOkay.”
    Coose, halfway out the door, said, “Hey, we’re heading over to Dugan’s tonight, bunch of us. Why don’t you get out of your cave for a little while and come along?”
    â€œI got plans.”
    â€œFemale plans?”
    â€œNone