Empty Promises

mind.
    At 10:00 P.M. Sandra drove up in a Ford LTD and parked facing Stout’s convertible, their front bumpers almost touching. Stout saw her set a thick envelope on the dashboard of the car. Then she picked it up and walked over to sit in the passenger seat of Stout’s car.
    “I didn’t know whether you’d be here or not,” she said.
    “Well, you showed up,” Stout replied. “That must mean you still want your husband killed.”
    “That’s right,” she said. “I have the money right here in my lap. It’s all in twenties, but it might be one bill short. If it is, I’ll make it up to you. You can count on it.”
    “Did you bring his picture and info about the places he hangs out?”
    Sandra Treadway was canny. He could see that she was wary of leaving her fingerprints on something. She handed Stout a piece of paper and pen and told him that he could write down the information she dictated. “You ask what you want to know,” she said. “I’ll tell you and you can write it down.” She dictated a description of Burt Treadway’s car, gave Stout the license plate number, and told him about her husband’s general physical appearance.
    “I have decided I want it done on Wednesday night, the seventeenth,” she said briskly. “I’ve got the schedule all figured out. If he dies on Wednesday, I’ll have the memorial service here on Saturday and then ship his body back to Michigan for burial on Sunday.” Sandra said she planned to fly to Michigan on Sunday morning and be gone for about a week. “I might have the other twenty-five hundred for you before I go … but I’ll have it for sure by the time I get back.”
    She had thought about other locations, but now she was sure she wanted her mother’s house in Oakbrook to be the scene of the killing. Wednesday was Burt’s night to house-sit there, and he would be alone—he understood that Sandra didn’t like him taking his girlfriend to her mother’s house. “He probably won’t get there until late, though, because he spends most evenings with his girlfriend,” she added.
    She cautioned Stout that there might be a few hitches in her plan, but she felt she had most of them covered. “There might be a little problem because my daughter wants to spend some time in that house earlier in the evening,” Sandra explained. “But I’ll be baby-sitting for her, and I’ll just tell her she has to pick up her baby by ten P.M. ”
    “Do you have a key to the house I could have?” Stout asked.
    “Yes … I’ll give you one.”
    “How about if I call you Wednesday evening at your house, just to check and see if your daughter’s back home?”
    “Sure,” she agreed. “That would be better.” Sandra handed Stout one of her cards, which read, “Sunrise Enterprises Firewood,” and told him he could reach her any time at the phone number on the card. Then she gave him a picture of Burt.
    “Will you count out the money for me?” Stout asked, but Sandra refused and told him to do it himself. He took the money, which was in an envelope inside another envelope. She had done everything possible to keep her prints off any of the paper. He counted the bills out loud, laying them on the seat of the car. There was only $2,480 there, and Sandra reached in her purse and gave him a single twenty to make it an even $2,500, as promised.
    For the first time, Sandra questioned her own motivation and murmured, “I guess I’m not a very nice person for doing this?” And then she chuckled and commented, “But then, you’re not any better for agreeing to it, are you?”
    The deal was set, the money had changed hands, and Sandra Treadway was about to have the surprise of her life. Walt Stout lightly pressed the brake pedal of his car to signal Suprunowski.
    Ski slowly pulled his car up beside Stout’s, so close that Sandra Treadway couldn’t open her door wide enough to get out. She looked up, startled, and blurted, “What’s this? What’s going on?”
    “I’m not really Doug,” Stout said quietly. “I’m Walt.” He identified himself as a sheriff’s detective and showed her his credentials. “You’re under arrest, Mrs. Treadway.”
    Suprunowski removed Sandra from the car and advised her of her rights, while Stout let Detective Murphy out of his cramped hiding place in the trunk. Sandra Treadway, red with indignation and shock, refused to say anything at all as she was driven to the West Precinct.
    There the detectives counted the money again.