Final Option

breakfast that Chicago has to offer.
    As usual, Lou greeted me at the door, offering a warm doughnut hole as he ushered me to the booth where Elliott waited, freshly pressed and brushed for his day in court, wearing a white shirt and fine blue suit. I slid across from him and gratefully accepted a cup of coffee from the waitress.
    Today Elliott was scheduled to testify in the Ernest Folkman trial. Folkman had been a running back for the Bears who’d gone to medical school after retiring from football, returning to his old neighborhood to practice after graduation. On every level Folkman appeared to be a success story until it turned out that he’d been ripping Medicaid off for a cool million a year by charging for services not performed on patients that never existed.
    Folkman managed to keep the whole scheme going by keeping two mistresses, each in a different section of the Medicaid office. The scam might have continued undetected if one of his girlfriends hadn’t caught him cheating on the examining table with one of his nurses and decided to drop a dime to the district attorney. Elliott, who had been an investigator in the DA’s office at the time, spent the better part of three years unraveling Folkman’s long skein of fraud.
    “Big day in court today,” I said. “Are you nervous? I hear Pete DeGrandis is trying the case personally. Rumor has it he wants to move out of the DA’s office and into the governor’s mansion.”
    “I don’t know if the governor’s mansion is big enough. If he wins the election, they might have to build an addition for his ego.” We both laughed. “I confess I’m not exactly looking forward to the cross. You know, Morry Greenblatt’s defending Folkman. From what I hear, the trial is going to be one long game of ‘how low can you go?’ ”
    The waitress came, and we ordered omelets. Western for Elliott, spinach and feta cheese for me.
    “How long do you anticipate being on the stand?” I asked once the waitress had gone.
    “Just today. Why?”
    “I was wondering if you’d have time to look into something for me.”
    “Sure.”
    “One of the employees at Hexter Commodities phoned Barton Jr.. She claims to have been having an affair with Black Bart and wants money. The son wants to know whether she’s telling the truth and asked me to talk to her. I thought maybe you could check her out for me before I pay her a visit. Everybody’s nervous she might go to the newspapers with her story.”
    “There are laws against that kind of blackmail, you know.”
    “You spent too many years with the D.A.’s office,” I replied. “All Barton cares about is protecting his mother and keeping it out of the papers. The publicity is killing the family as it is.”
    “I bet the wife already knows or at least she won’t be surprised. There isn’t a futures trader born who can keep his pants on.”
    I looked around the restaurant, which was filled with bright-jacketed traders fueling up for a day in the pits.
    “I’m glad you’re here to protect me,” I said with a smile.
    “I wouldn’t feel too safe if I were you,” answered Elliott with a wolfish grin. “But seriously, let me give you some free advice. Pay her off, and all she’ll do is come back for a second bite.”
    “I still want you to check her out. I’m especially curious if she might have ever posed for nude photos. I found a set in the drawer of Hexter’s desk.”
    “Can I see them?”
    “I gave them to the police. I’m assuming your interest is purely professional.”
    “That depends on what she looks like.”
    “I don’t know. I’m not sure I’ve seen her. But if she’s who I think she is, she’s gorgeous. Her name is Victoria Lloyd, and she works for Hexter Commodities as a runner.”
    “Do you think you could get me a copy of her personnel file?”
    “I’ll have it messengered to your office this afternoon. When do you think you might be able to have something for me?”
    “If you can wait until the weekend to talk to her, I should have something for you by late Friday. Have you told Ruskowski about her? If she was really having an affair with Hexter she could be a suspect.”
    “If she was having an affair with him I’m sure they know about her already. Besides, I’ve already had more contact with the cops than is good for me.”
    “You're a regular magnet for trouble, Millholland,” remarked Elliott as our breakfasts came. “You know. I’ve been hanging around with the cops