Life Without Parole: A Kate Conway Mystery by Clare O'Donohue Page B

started asking about the costs. I’m a silent investor, but I’m not a stupid one.”
    “You only started asking about the costs after you handed over the money. That doesn’t exactly make you Warren Buffett.”
    She laughed, sounding almost relaxed. “Fair point. But the whole thing was weird right from the beginning. I wrote the check out to some venture capital group and when I tried to trace them, I couldn’t find any of the partners.”
    “Did you ask Doug about that?”
    “Yeah. He said that there were some IRS issues and that the group had formed offshore.” She saw the alarm in my eyes. “You would be surprised how often businesses do things like that.”
    It sounded dicey to me, but then my idea of high finance was paying off the full balance on my credit card. Vera understood that world better than I did. “How much did Doug invest?” I asked.
    “The same as me,” she said. “He was originally hired to get investors for the place, and he liked it so much he decided to put his own money in. That convinced me it was a good risk.”
    “Except that’s not why you did it, Vera. You did it to bond with a guy you barely know.”
    “I know him. I met him on a dating site. He used to work for some financial firm that went under, so he opened his own small company and now he mainly invests his money and the money of some clients.”
    “And the others?”
    “Roman’s got money in eight Chicago restaurants, and two in New York. As far as I can tell he’s a legitimate businessman. He’s a tough guy, but he’s been around a long time and this is Chicago, so he’s got connections.”
    “Meaning what? He’s mobbed up?” I said it as a joke, but Vera didn’t laugh.
    “Ithink he knows people, but that doesn’t mean anything. It’s just…” She hesitated. “Getting a liquor license in Chicago is a complicated process. There’s all these classes of licenses and you have to apply for the right category, like if you have outdoor seating, or want to stay open late. And then there’s the background check. Anyone with as little as five percent interest in the restaurant has to be fingerprinted, get a criminal background check, submit information about their finances.”
    “Did everybody pass the inspection?”
    “I don’t know. All I know is that when I looked at the liquor license application, Roman’s name wasn’t on the list as one of the owners. And he’s supposed to own fifty percent,” she said.
    “You think he has a criminal record or something?”
    “Maybe, but then how did he get liquor licenses for all his other places?”
    She had a point. “And, as you said, this is Chicago,” I said. “It may not be the same ‘vote early, vote often’ Chicago of my youth, but you can still bribe a public official, can’t you? We haven’t gone that straight.”
    “That’s my thinking. If he wanted to be on the ownership papers, he could find a way around the licensing board.”
    “Was Ilena on the application?”
    “Yes. Ilena, Erik, me, Doug, and Walt Russo.”
    “Who is Walt Russo?”
    “The chef. I don’t think he’s putting up any money, but he’s a five percent owner because of who he is.”
    “The chef.”
    She looked at me, puzzled. “He’s not just any chef, Kate. He’s one of the hottest chefs in the city. You’ve heard of Maison Pierre, haven’t you?”
    “Was that the fancy place on Michigan Avenue that had a fire?”
    “It was on State Street, but yes. There was a fire that absolutely gutted the place about three months ago. That’s the only reason Walt was available.”
    “So you, Doug, Ilena, Erik, and Walt—all of you are on theapplication for a liquor license. Except Roman,” I said. “Did you ask him about it?”
    “I asked Doug.”
    I waited again, and again Vera hesitated. “And he said…”
    “He told me that I should stop worrying,” she said. “That I wasn’t a businessperson. That I didn’t understand how these things work. That he’d make