Fractured (19 page)

Landry answered on the second ring. “What d'you want?” He channeled his inner degenerate and adopted a south side accent.

“I got worried,” she whispered.

“I told you I'd be home in a couple of hours. Now stop nagging me,” he said, obviously getting into his character.

The others hooted approval of his tough talk. Landry hid his disgust. Pretending to turn off the phone, he instead slipped it inside his pocket, keeping the line open so she could hear what was being said.

“She's on my case twenty-four/seven about getting a job and then calls to find out where I'm at. What's wrong with her, is she stupid or something?”

He was met with nods of approval, so continued on. “I heard I might be able to hook up a job here. I need something to keep both my woman and my parole officer off my back.”

They glanced at each other before the one named Nathan finally spoke. “You need to talk to the boss, but he's not in right now. Where did you do your time?” While he kept a casual tone to his voice, the questions was anything but casual.

And judging by the fact he and Isabella had spotted Schmidt's car on the way in, this guy was lying. He didn't know if it was because they wanted to check out his story further or for another reason.

“Indiana.” Landry knew better than to lay claim to a prison in Illinois. They probably had a network of informants that would have him pegged as a liar within minutes. “That's where they caught up with me after I robbed the bank over the state line.” He figured his time here was somewhat limited so thought he'd press the matter a little further. “When is the boss going to be available?”

“Not sure.”

“What do you do here?” Landry looked around, but couldn't distinguish anything of significance.

“Boxes. And more boxes. For variety, some Styrofoam peanuts,” one of the others chimed in.

Then complete silence. Landry figured he'd gone as far as he could for now. “When do you think I could catch up with the boss?”

“How about if you give us your cell number. He'll call you.”

* * *

Her stomach jumped. The longer he stayed inside, the more nervous she became. While she'd anticipated this would be a simple process, with Landry working the scene, it could be a long, drawn-out affair. He had a tendency to be long-winded. And his cell phone was only picking up every other word or so.

She should have given him a time limit. Now, she had no other choice but to be patient and wait.

Not exactly her strong point.

But then the phone went silent. She no longer heard the buzz of conversation. Panic started to sink in before his voice came through loud and clear.

“I'll walk toward Damen. Pick me up there.”

She turned on the engine, pulled away from the curb. Little by little the hyperventilating stopped and her nerves started to settle as curiosity began to take over.

It took her a couple of minutes to spot him and pick him up. He opened up the passenger door and got inside. After tossing off the baseball cap, he relaxed back in the seat.

“Tell me. Tell me. Tell me.” While she tried to concentrate on driving, the desire for information was overpowering.

“You heard most of it, didn't you?”

“But I want details. What was the vibe of the place? What were the guy's names? Did you see anything suspicious? Do you think they bought your story?”

He laughed. “They were suspicious, so I didn't get to see much except for framed newspaper articles spouting the virtues of the owner, Jonathan Schmidt. It seems like he's involved in everything from sponsoring a youth football league to a baseball team to the local boys and girls club. The guys who gave me the so-called grand tour were Mack and Jeff and Nathan.”

A chill riddled down her spine. “Nathan is Isaiah's brother's name.” Even though she knew he worked there, having independent confirmation somehow made it more frightening.

“I'm not sure if they bought my story, but they said they weren't hiring. Said I could talk to the boss, but he wasn't in.”

“Didn't we see Schmidt's Mercedes with the vanity plates parked in front of the building?”

He nodded. “I got the idea they were following some kind of protocol, or wanted to get rid of me. I couldn't tell which.”

She brushed back the fear that surfaced. “What did Nathan seem like?”

“Tough as nails. It seemed like he'd shoot me as easily as he'd shake my hand.”

Oh, hell, what had she gotten them into? “How did you leave it?”

“I gave them a fake cell number and let it go at that.”

She nodded. “Good. I don't think we can go any further with this without involving the lieutenant.”

“Besides, we'd compromise any kind of conviction unless we get a warrant. We'd also have to fabricate some kind of prison trail to make my cover believable. That would be next to impossible without help. This place is solid and it will take more time than we have to break it open.”

“I was afraid you were going to say that.” She tapped on the steering wheel. “Let's circle around in front and check for Schmidt's car.”

Minutes later they were parked in front of Beade Trim, a couple of factories down the block from Schmidt. She pointed to the black Mercedes with the ‘J. Schmidt' license plates. “Is it me, or is there an unusual amount of people coming and going into that place?”

“And all their customers have sweet rides. So far I've seen a couple of Jaguars, a Lexus and a couple of Mercedes.”

“We should write down some of those plates and run them through the system.” She grabbed a scrap piece of paper and pen from the console between the seats and started jotting down numbers.

“Wait a minute.” She had the binoculars on her lap, but brought them to her eyes to study the profile. A face she knew better than anyone else on the face of the earth. “Ramirez.” The air exited her lungs in a whoosh.

Like the others, he pulled up in a luxury automobile. Nondescript, he had on a pair of jeans and a leather coat. On his head, a baseball cap almost covered the silver streak of hair that was his trademark. She handed Landry the binoculars to ensure she wasn't going crazy.

“That's him, all right.”

She grabbed the binoculars back. “What's he doing here? It's got to be something big.” A nervous hitch started in her chest as she chewed on her lip. “How do we get a warrant based on what we know, which is pretty much diddly-squat?”

“Maybe we can talk to Malone.”

“You've got to be kidding.” Why couldn't Landry see how much of an idiot Malone was? “For all we know, Malone could be in on it.”

“I don't think so. Besides, you know the Feds have more power than local, why not use it?”

“We need more. I'm not going to make the same mistake twice. And I sure as hell am not going to lose Ramirez again.”

* * *

As soon as Landry dropped her off at her car, he dialed Malone. “Do some digging on Schmidt Packaging. It's not just Isabella. They had what looked to be an all star parade of drug dealers, including Ramirez, in there this afternoon.”

“What the—?”

He was a little shocked that Malone lost his cool and swore. Normally, the guy was the epitome of professionalism. Clearly this case was getting to him.

“Actually we only identified Ramirez, but I've got to think the others were there for the same purpose. Don't have any specifics, but the whole operation looks dirty.”

“We don't have enough for a warrant.” He spewed another series of curses. “I've been working with DEA on this. We both think there's something funky going on there, but the owner's reputation is solid.”

“That's what I hear. But maybe we can find a crack in it somehow.”

“Except he's got Clark Kellog for counsel, so you know if we do anything even close to the line, we're screwed. That guy will have us running circles before he nails us to the wall.”

Landry swore softly. “Isabella's not going to sit patiently in the wings waiting for Schmidt to hang himself.”

Malone chuckled. “She's not going to let go without tearing off a piece of flesh.”

“Don't I know it.” Landry tried not to think about what that would mean if she ever found out he'd been working with Malone all along.

* * *

Like a simmering pot waiting to boil, Isabella could almost feel the sense of something waiting to break free and rumble to a start. For once, she erred on the side of caution and went into the office instead of snooping around even more on her own. Maybe Landry's constant reminders about back-up were finally sinking in.

“Hey, gimp. How ya doing?” Matthews plopped down in the chair in front of his desk.

“Frustrated.” She folded her arms across her chest and leaned back in her seat.

“Good sex will cure what ails you.” He gave her a cheesy grin. “It just so happens I'm available.”

“As if…” She shook her head. “Besides, it's not that kind of frustrated. It's just that…”

“Ramirez again? You need to let that one go.”

“But I saw him this afternoon at a place called Schmidt Packaging. Do you know anything about it?”

“Never heard of it. Are you sure it was him?”

“Pretty sure.” She didn't want to implicate Landry as her partner-in-crime so kept his name out of it.

“You wanna know what I think?” He didn't wait for her to respond. “I think you want to nail that guy so bad you're seeing him in your sleep.” He stood and patted her arm.

“Where you going?”

“Following up on a couple of leads. I stopped by to pick up some notes.” He opened his top drawer and grabbed his notebook. “When you getting off desk duty?”

“Hopefully real soon.”

“See you later, partner.”

She shuffled through some papers and made phone calls. Even though her mind was preoccupied, she tried her best to get something accomplished. Pulling the paper with the license plate numbers out of her pocket, she fed them into the computer. Seconds later, she scrolled down the list, becoming more frustrated by the minute. Rental company. Rental company. Rental company.

Her finger stopped at the last name on the list—Jason Matthews. Nope, it couldn't be him. She had to have copied down the wrong number. Instinctively, she glanced at the desk next to her and shook off the thought. Matthews was more interested in getting laid than getting involved in drugs. No way. But still…

As nonchalantly as possible, she scooted her chair towards his desk and opened up the drawer rifling through errant bits of paper. ‘Sue 555-3512, ten-thirty Saturday'—that had to be a hot date. ‘Al—flight #522—Saturday.' That could mean anything.

Frustrated and out of leads, she did a Google search for Jonathan Schmidt and came up with several hits. When she clicked on the first one, there was a picture of him shaking hands with the mayor. Evidently he'd donated a huge chunk of change to the city's park and recreation centers for development on the neglected south and west sides. The mayor had a beaming smile as did Schmidt. In the article it explained that he'd gotten into trouble when he was young and therefore wanted to insure that youth in the city had an alternative to running with the gangs. The new park was named after his father, who'd died a few years earlier.

She knew the guy lived in the posh suburb of Winnetka his entire life, so she figured the likelihood of him being involved in a gang was a big fat zero. In a suburb where the median income is in excess of a half million dollars, they don't tolerate that kind of riff-raff. She couldn't help but be a little curious about his brush with the law as a juvenile.

To the casual observer, the guy seemed like a stellar citizen. More than that, he seemed like a real do-gooder. Was it her? Was she more callused than the rest of the population? Did others not see a side to him that seemed a little slimy? Or was it the fact that sometimes people saw what they wanted to see?

Now what? Landry wanted to venture outside the purview of the department, but she still had an affinity for following the natural course of action.

She needed to figure this out, and she needed to get the lieutenant on her side. She could no longer sit around and let things happen to her. She needed to be proactive.

He seemed preoccupied when she knocked on his door, but ushered her in nevertheless. “What can I do for you, Sanchez?”

“I need to run some things by you, lieutenant. I can't make sense of any of it.”

“Maybe because it's not supposed to make sense.”

“Is something going on? You seem upset.”

He rubbed his hands through his thinning hair and looked at her. For a few minutes she thought he might say something. Then he shook his head slightly as if he'd thought better of it. “Just the usual.”

“Bet you can't wait to get out of here.” She tried to poke around the perimeter of what was bothering him, but didn't know where to start.

“Sometimes this place is so screwed up, I don't know which way is up anymore.” He seemed unusually despondent. But he'd made it clear he didn't want to discuss the situation.

“Maybe I should come back at another time.” Given his current mood, she couldn't expect to get far. She might as well cut her losses.

“No.” He shook his head. “What's on your mind?”

“I'm still bothered by Schmidt Packaging. The owner has a juvenile record, but of course I can't access that.” She added the last for effect, hoping maybe he'd peek and give her a few hints. At the moment, she didn't want to drag Landry into it, and she didn't want to tell him she'd been staking the place out for much of the morning.

“Leave Schmidt alone.” He said the words with such conviction, they somewhat took her by surprise. “I've been given orders directly from the mayor's office.”