“The organized-crime boss for the greater Chicago area, Henry Grayson, has two sons. This is the middle one, Blake. And this”—Ben tapped another photo—“is Blake’s one-time bodyguard, Tony Churchill.”
“So who killed Saul?” Evie wondered aloud. “The middle son? His bodyguard? One of the security people watching for problems that night?”
“We may never know,” David cautioned, “but we can pop news of a recovered body, the fact photographs exist, and do some squeezing on who might know something, beginning with the bodyguard. Whatever happened that night, you can bet it had Blake’s approval, before or after the fact.
“Given the number of people Saul managed to get on film during forty minutes, this wasn’t a table game,” David proposed. “This was a multi-table, bring-a-guest affair. Probably blackjack, roulette, and poker, hosted at an out-of-the-way business controlled by the Grayson family. RB Electric is going to tie back to the Grayson family.”
“Very likely,” Ben agreed.
David tapped the last three photos. “Here’s the gambling husband Saul was looking for—fitting in a way. Saul was doing good work right up until the end of his life. The last pictures Saul took were of the husband, who had taken up gambling again. If this guy hadn’t died in a car accident a year later, he would be the perfect interview about that night.”
“Serious gamblers at this level tend to keep on gambling and eventually come to our attention,” Ben put in. “We’ll see about identifying the other players in these photos. Maybe someone will talk to us. There were a lot of people there that night who might be willing to speak with us.
“The fact your missing person was buried in that wall,” Ben went on, “with these being the last photos he took, either he decided he could safely get closer to get a better picture of what was going on—maybe went up a back stairwell at one a.m. and got himself hit with a bat, then shot in the chest—or more likely someone spotted him, hauled him out of his car and upstairs to see what Blake wanted to do, with the same outcome.”
“That fits with what we’re seeing here,” David agreed. He motioned to the thirty pictures. “It’s good his death didn’t happen in an obscure back alley. People were around, security, Blake’s inner circle, others coming to gamble, waiters, setup and teardown personnel. Add employees that actually worked at RB Electric come Monday morning. You can leverage a few names you know to tell you who else was there and build a pretty sizable list of people to interview.”
“I’m guessing we’ll be officially taking this case off your hands tonight,” Ben said. “News is already out about the skeleton, and there may be more than one body in that building. We need to move with some speed to find these witnesses.”
“I’m fine handing over what we have,” David agreed. “I can get you and a couple others briefed tonight. Let’s hope a slug turns up so that ballistics can tell us about the gun involved. How do you think the Graysons handle this?”
“We put out the word we want to talk to Blake, he’s likely to walk into the station with his lawyer two hours later,” Ben replied. “He’s smooth that way, answers your questions but never admits or says anything specific. He’s also ambitious, impetuous, and not as careful as his old man. He’s got a temper. He likes to get even in person for perceived slights. He likes the connections and the power his family wealth and business give him. He’s been questioned in at least two other murders, but nothing has stuck thus far.
“Blake’s been trying to prove to the old man he would be as good as his older brother at running the business. But rumor has it the old man isn’t buying. Sounds like when Henry decides to step down, he’s appointing his cousin to take over rather than pass it to Blake.”
“You said two sons. What happened to the elder one?” Evie asked.
“There were actually three sons, but the youngest died in a boating accident as a kid,” Ben replied. “The eldest son, Caleb, left the family about ten years back, has built quite an empire of his own, and done so within the law from what repeated investigations and audits have determined. You want to retire from organized crime, get out of the life? You go to work for Caleb. At least that’s the word on the street. And if you do, you don’t talk about what you know from the past—that’s the implicit deal.”
“So no one needs to shoot you to shut you up,” David said.
Ben nodded. “It’s an interesting dynamic. Caleb’s a lawyer, a good one from what I hear, representing all those who work for him, who pretty much enforces that no-comment policy when cops come around. He lets us do our jobs, doesn’t interfere, but doesn’t particularly help either. Sort of a mediated peace—no one shoots his people, and his people don’t talk about anything from their past . . . or anybody else’s. He’ll bend that occasionally by handing us physical evidence—a janitor just found a gun hidden in a heating duct of a building Caleb bought—that kind of help. He’s big into real estate, mostly low-income neighborhoods, single-family homes, apartment buildings.”