Audrey Reich is convinced that the fellow in blue jeans she saw hopping over her front fence had something to do with the theft of her lion. Unfortunately for her, she has no proof. The fence jumper–who works for a construction company that’s rehabbing the row house next to Reich’s–denies her accusations, and police have cleared him and his coworkers of all her charges.
Reich and the renovators had clashed several times before the day her lion was stolen. The renovators park their trucks on the sidewalk, Reich complains. They don’t always clean up. And they aren’t nearly as efficient or professional as she thought they should be. “I know something about rehab–I’ve been in real estate since 1963,” she says. “Just look at my house. This house is completely gutted and rehabbed. You should have seen it before I moved here–what a mess.”
Best of Chicago voting is live now. Vote for your favorites »
Now her house is filled with sculpture, African masks, and paintings. “The Tribune wrote this house up,” she says. “They called it the ‘collector’s house.’ Animals are part of my collection. I love animals, including lions. Especially lions. I have an affinity for lions. I just love them because they’re so big and beautiful. The lion at the Lincoln Park Zoo knows my voice. Actually, it’s a tiger. Tigers, lions–they’re all part of the cat family. I have a cat–Rusty. I found him outside all beat up and bloody one day, and I took him in. I also have a dog. I like wolves, too. My dog may be part wolf. He’s from the hills of North Carolina, and he howls constantly.”
“I was crying, I was upset,” Reich says. “There were these three workers standing on the doorway of the renovated house, and they were laughing at me. The police officer was nice, but he said, ‘Lady, there’s nothing I can do.’”
Reich called the police at least five times in the days following the theft. Eventually, detective Mark Reiter came to her home. “Reiter said he was going to look into it, but that he would be gone for two days,” says Reich. “Only he was gone for four days. When he came back, he said he called a number. I said, ‘What number?’ He said, ‘I can’t remember.’ He said, ‘I talked to the contractor.’ I said, ‘Who is the contractor?’ He said, ‘I don’t know.’ I got upset. I said, ‘Forget it. Give me the information you’ve uncovered, and I’ll call a private eye.’ He didn’t like that. He said, ‘Lady, I get four of these [complaints] a day.’ I had to realize that was a lot. And then he hung up.”
Undaunted, Reich drove past Mayer’s office, which is not far from her home. “I should have rung the doorbell, but I was scared,” she says. “So what I did was that I put my reward posters on the trees and poles in the front and back of the house. If the lion was anywhere, I thought it would be in the garage behind the house. Of course, I didn’t look in the garage.”
“But seriously, I’m not giving up. Everyone’s mad at me because I won’t walk away. They ought to know I’m not the type who just walks away.”
