Fractured (5 page)

“A couple of blocks from here, but we're widening the scope of our investigation to see if any businesses in the area have had any unusual incidents within the last couple of weeks.” She had backed herself into a bit of a corner in order to get in. Now she had to figure out a way to ask about Lou and this mysterious Sergio character. “What do you do here?”

His eyes narrowed and he gave her a suspicious look, but the moment passed quickly. “Packaging supplies. We distribute everything from corrugated boxes to bubble wrap to those annoying Styrofoam peanuts that everyone hates.” He gave her a forced smile.

“You make those products on the premises?”

“Yes. It's an interesting operation. Unfortunately I can't give you a tour today as my time's a little tight. But I could set something up for later.”

“I might take you up on that. How's business been?”

“Can't complain. More and more people shop on-line these days, which is always good for my business.”

If business was so good why did Lou get laid off? Something wasn't adding up. “Do you have a lot of new employees?”

“Are you saying you think one of my people is doing the burglaries?” His voice pitched slightly higher and he shifted in his seat.

She shook her head. No sense getting him all paranoid about his workforce. “Not at all. I'm only trying to get a sense of the dynamics. I'd like to see if there's any common ground between what's happening.”

“I hire an average of two to three people a month.”

“Wow, business must really be doing great. Most companies around here are experiencing layoffs because of the economy. It's good to know it's not affecting your business.”

Somebody was lying. Although she'd like to believe it wasn't her cousin, she had a feeling she was wrong.

“I haven't had to lay off a single person since I took over the business from my father fifteen years ago.”

Her stomach did a nauseous flip, but she trudged on. She scanned through her notepad, examining an imaginary list of questions while she regained her composure.

“Do you have anything unusual to report? Any suspicious activity in or around the area?”

He shook his head. “None that I can think of.” He clicked his pen a couple of times. “When are the burglaries occurring? Is there some sort of a pattern?”

“The usual middle of the night kind of thing. They break into the office and steal money out of the safe. Do you keep a safe on the premises?” Even though she tried to keep focused, her mind kept drifting back to Lou and the reasons why he might lie.

Sure she expected a lot of him. But he had a wife and child. While that unfortunately didn't mean a lot to some men, to Lou it did.

He nodded. “In my office. But nowadays we don't keep a lot of money around. Most of our business is in checks, credit cards or electronic funds transfer. I only keep some petty cash around for office emergencies, that kind of thing.”

“Hmmm. Then I guess you won't have to worry about being a target.” She huffed out a breath as a new thought occurred. “How about disgruntled employees? Have you fired anyone lately?” If Lou had been fired, he might have been too embarrassed to tell her.

When he shook his head, her stomach plummeted. “I screen my employees thoroughly. You can't be too careful.”

“Seems like you're doing everything right.” She got up from the chair, more than a little anxious to leave. Instead of clarifying anything, things had become more scattered and confusing.

While she wanted to ask him about Lou and Sergio directly, she didn't want to risk any inquiry by the department. Right now she had diddly-squat to go on and couldn't risk any wrath that might come her way.

“Thanks for stopping by, Detective Sanchez. I believe the Chicago PD is doing a wonderful job. My business is secure thanks to all your great efforts.”

“That and the fancy alarm system and bullet-proof glass you've got installed.” She nearly bit her tongue after the words came out. The last thing she needed was for him to get annoyed or defensive.

“Just a precaution. You can't be too careful.”

All that effort for a bunch of bubble wrap and a crapload of Styrofoam peanuts. Something didn't make sense.

She walked through the door and got into her car. She examined the building and scanned the neighborhood once again.

Nothing changed from earlier. It looked like a typical warehouse district in the city. Most people were inside unless it was lunch time or quitting time. A steady stream of trucks rumbled down the street to pick up or drop off loads.

She eased her car away from the curb and did a slow reconnaissance of the block. At almost three, there was a chance most of the workers would be clocking out soon.

Maybe she should hang around the area and wait. Maybe Lou might show up. Or, more likely, the sky might open up and reveal all the answers to her burning questions.

She drummed her fingers along the steering wheel and forced her mind into detective mode. From where she sat, she could see the workers come out the back doors and walk to their cars.

Curiosity alone forced her to sit watching, wishing, hoping.

Just when she thought she might have lost the tenuous grip on her sanity, she spotted Sergio. She jumped out of her car and ran straight at him.

“Wait a minute.” Landry held out his hand as if his meager protest would have some kind of impact. “Are you crazy? You want me to spy on Isabella?”

“I wouldn't call it spying so much as protecting her.” Malone sat rigidly in his seat, not giving away anything with his body language. The lieutenant remained eerily quiet.

“If she's in danger, why don't you have her at a safe house or something?” As much as his protective instincts were pushed by the request, he needed more information. If she was in some kind of trouble, he wanted specifics.

“I'm not saying the danger is imminent, I'm saying there's potential.”

Landry crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back in the chair. He could play chess with the best of them. “Okay, so why not warn her? Doesn't make any sense to leave her out there hanging.”

“You know Sanchez as well as anybody. No way she'll heed any warning. She'll go rogue and we'll never know what she's doing. If you're hanging around there's a good chance she won't do anything stupid.” The lieutenant looked at Malone when he spoke rather than at Landry, which could only mean the lieutenant was saying what he was supposed to, not necessarily what he wanted to.

“You should know that nobody can stop Isabella if she sets her mind on something.” They were skirting around the issue. “You want to dangle her as some kind of carrot to draw somebody into the open. Is that it?”

“Not really. We wouldn't put her in danger. That's where you come in.”

“I still don't get it. Why not tell her?” Landry shrugged while trying to finagle solid information from them. “I don't mind watching her back, but it would be good if she watched her own as well. Besides, I can't be there twenty-four-seven.”

“I'll have a man assigned to her when you're not around.” Malone didn't hesitate. Not even for a half second.

Landry blew out a breath and struggled to make sense of what they were telling him. Finally it clicked. “You think she might potentially be involved. That's the issue, isn't it?”

The lieutenant shook his head. “Her spare matched.”

He didn't have to elaborate; Landry put two and two together and knew he was talking about the murder weapon. “That's bull, and you know it. If she killed her father, she would have admitted it. Don't you see? She never went to Stateville…”—at least until today—“…even though you,” he pointed to Malone, “have video of her allegedly visiting there. Now somebody plants the murder weapon in her apartment. Seems pretty clear what's going on.”

This Malone guy didn't know Isabella, so he could give him a pass. But the lieutenant knew better. Why the hell would he bend over backwards to please this Fed?

“But it's also a possibility that she killed him.” Malone said the minimum, but Landry suspected there was a whole lot more that he didn't say.

“What was the time of death on Samuels?” Landry asked.

“Why?”

“If you're doing all this conjecture about whether or not Isabella shot him, I need to have all the information.”

Malone's eyes remained focused on him while the lieutenant once again looked to Malone. “The two of you met up in that alley a little before eleven o'clock, but Mr. Samuels was killed sometime between ten and ten-thirty. That would give her enough time to cover her tracks.”

“Why, after twenty-five years, would she up and kill him?”

“That's what we'd like to find out,” Malone responded. “Of course you know this means you can't tell her, or anybody else, about what we're asking you to do.”

Landry shook his head. “Why would I agree?”

“Because you'll do right by her.” The lieutenant's voice was quiet but sincere.

Landry glanced from one man to the other, feeling that knocking sensation inside his chest. “Then tell me one thing, Malone. Why does everyone and their brother think Tyrone Samuels was killed in the laundry room at the prison and knows nothing about any escape?”

* * *

Isabella charged after Sergio, bumping into people, then parked cars as they tore through the alley and spilled onto Division Street. His long stride allowed him to keep his advantage.

“Stop, police.” She'd learned long ago most criminals didn't obey when they heard that command, but said it anyway.

He looked over his shoulder and kept running. From that brief glance, she thought he might have looked scared. Then again, that might have been wishful thinking.

Normally, given her size, she didn't strike terror into anybody by looks alone. But maybe he had a stash of weed in his pocket, or even something a little stronger. There was also the possibility he lived here illegally. But she was betting it was much, much more than a few drugs or a questionable immigration status that made him take off. Potentially, he might know something about Lou. Or, even worse, he could be somehow tied into his disappearance.

“I need to talk to you.” She was no slouch when it came to running, but this guy either had equal stamina or he had a heavy doze of fear or chemical enhancement egging him on. Either way, she found the distance between them increasing.

She was a block behind him now, with dozens of people in between. His dark wavy hair stood out in the crowd, but it was harder and harder to keep a visual. Her breath hiccupped in her throat as she tore around the corner and stopped.

There was only a sprinkling of people on the sidewalk. And none of them was Sergio.

It was like he'd disappeared. Now what?

As she walked back to her car, a text from the lieutenant popped onto her phone. “Station ASAP.”

That could only mean trouble.

Memories from the Ramirez fiasco resurfaced. Six months later, and she still couldn't get past the humiliation. She'd been so sure and confident about her information, half the department had been involved in what she'd envisioned to be the bust of the decade based on what a very reliable informant had told her. Unfortunately, they ended up scoring nothing but a couple of ounces of weed. Ramirez served a few months on a minor parole violation. She, on the other hand, lived with the humiliation every day for the last six months.

She touched at the handkerchief in her pocket for luck, walked up the steps and yanked open the station door. Nobody paid her much attention. And, as usual, there was a constant buzz of activity which sounded a little like the drone of a beehive, the hum of disjointed conversations either in person or on the phone, the shuffling of paperwork, the ringing of phones. The smell of coffee, intermingled with the aroma of cigarette smoke, permeated the air.

She knocked before opening the door to his office. “Hi, lieutenant, what's up?”

“Sit, Sanchez. There's something I need to talk to you about.” Most times with her, he'd joke around, tell a few stories about the good old days before he got down to business. Today was markedly different.

“If this is about Stateville, I can explain that.”

He held out his hand. “I know all about that and don't care, even though the Feds are all over me about it.” He drew in a deep breath. “The gun at your place matches the murder weapon.”

“What?” Her mind switched gears as he hit her with something out of left field.

“You heard me. Not your service weapon, but the one you had stashed in your apartment, is the gun that killed your father.”

Her mouth refused to work. She couldn't even remember the last time she'd used it. How could somebody even know where she'd kept it?

But Lou had access to her apartment. In her absence he could easily find out where she kept her spare.

With considerable effort, she forced her mind to focus. “I haven't fired that thing in months, maybe years. I kept it around mostly because I hadn't gotten around to disposing of it.”

He shook his head. “It had your fingerprints all over it.”

A shiver wormed down her back. “Of course. It's my gun. But I told you I didn't do it. There's got to be some kind of mistake.”

He tsked and took a sip of coffee. “Look, Sanchez, nobody here would blame you if you offed your father. He was a bad dude, killed a couple of undercover cops before they locked him up. I could understand why you might feel threatened by him. Cop to it and you'll probably only get a slap on the wrist.”

“But I didn't do it.” She gulped in some air before continuing. “You know there was no love lost between me and my father. Heck, I told most people he was dead even before he was, but I didn't kill him. It happened like I said earlier. When Landry and I got to my apartment, he was already dead.” She heard the whiny sound to her voice and didn't like it, but at the same time couldn't seem to prevent it. “I'd have no reason to lie about it.”

He studied her long and hard before he spoke. “Then I guess we're going to have to figure out who and why somebody's trying to set you up.”

* * *

Attempting to settle nerves that didn't want to settle, Isabella had her grandfather's handkerchief clutched in her hand while she paced the floor. There were so many crazy possibilities running through her mind she barely noticed when Landry got home around midnight. He stopped her mid-stride and yanked her into a hug.

Despite the warmth and comfort that rattled through her body, she tried to pull away. She didn't need him. Couldn't need him. But he wouldn't let go. And it felt so good.

After a few seconds, she gave up the fight, and sunk into the sensation. She sucked in a deep breath, relishing the minty scent surrounding him.

He wrapped his arms tighter and whispered into her ear. “I spoke with the lieutenant. He told me about the gun.” After several seconds, he moved back enough so that she could see into his eyes. And waited. “Talk to me, Isabella.”

While the tenderness in his voice spoke volumes, every inch of maleness combined to make him appear more dominant than his physical attributes alone would dictate. Why hadn't he given up on her? Didn't he get it? She didn't need anybody in her life. Clearly Landry had never gotten the memo.

She desperately wanted to give in and allow him into her thoughts, emotions, her own private hell, but knew better. Getting sucked into a relationship destined to fail would be a disaster. She shifted her arms so that they were no longer clutching his back like some kind of lifeline, instead allowing them to hang limply at her sides.

He must have sensed her need for space and inched back to give her some room. Closing her eyes, she warded off the sense of loss that followed.

She bucked up and drew in a deep breath. Folding her arms across her chest, she gave herself another few desperately needed inches of space.

Even though she trusted him, she couldn't let him in even a little. Because pretty soon a little became a little more. Then before she knew it, he would be all inside her business. She didn't need anybody inside her head but her.

Sometimes she couldn't remember why they'd broken up: Like when she remembered the hot, sweaty, died-and-gone-to-heaven sex. But at times like this, she remembered all too well. He craved intimacy. While she…well…yeah…not so much.

“This is my problem. I don't need your help.” Her trembling voice undermined the force of her statement.

“Somebody's setting you up. We need to figure out who and why.”

We. We. We. Why did he keep saying that? This was her problem, not his. Why couldn't he get it through his thick skull she was alone in this, just like always.

“How do you know? Maybe I offed my father and then brought you back as my witness.”

Why did the very idea seem so off-kilter in her head? The whole scenario equated to simple math. She was a cop. He was a bad guy. No harm. No foul.

“We both know you'd have admitted to shooting him instead of engaging in this Mickey Mouse charade. Besides, the timing would have been pretty tricky getting yourself shot at in the exact alley where I would show up.” He smirked and nodded simultaneously. “Sure, that could happen. The odds might be ten million to one, but you never know.”

“Like the lieutenant said, my dad was scum. The worst that could happen to me is I'd get a slap on the wrist.” Was it her imagination, or did her voice lack a sense of conviction when she spoke? She glanced at Landry to see if he noticed as well, but if he did, she couldn't tell by the expression on his face.

“Exactly. Whoever set you up like this had to know that, so the question is why bother? If we're thinking embarrassment, my money's on Ramirez. If we're thinking the goal was to keep your hands tied for a couple of days, then we should go over your case load.”

His thoughts sent a chill from the tip of her skull to her toes. Exactly. Why go through all the trouble for nothing? There wasn't even a remote possibility she'd be prosecuted for murder.

No state's attorney would even consider the case. To do so would be political suicide. A cop against a convicted murder recently escaped from Stateville. No way would that happen.

Then again, Ramirez would do something like this for the sport of it and to further humiliate her. But how would he possibly know her father had broken out of prison? It didn't make sense.

“What could anybody gain by doing this?”

“An investigation would keep you out of the game for a couple of weeks while they cleared you of any wrongdoing. So the real question is, who have you been pissing off lately? What cases have you been working on? And what were you doing in that alley the other night? And don't even try to give me that bull about it not being connected to Ramirez, because we both know it was.”

“What exactly did the lieutenant ask you?” She evaded his question, at least for the moment.

When he hesitated before he spoke, she wondered why, but didn't ask. “He went over the same questions that we were asked the other day. When did we hook up? What happened when we got back to the apartment? How long had I been with you? Who found the body, me or you?”