Fractured (6 page)

“Routine.” She forced herself to think. “What did he tell you?” While she was being evasive, she suspected Landry was as well.

“That your spare matched for the murder weapon.”

She pulled the hair away from her face and tried to think. “I know, but who would know where I kept it?”

He shrugged, “I hate to state the obvious, but Lou had access to your place, didn't he? He also looked guilty as hell when we saw him last night.”

She bristled, but at the same time knew the logic of his words. “Just because he looked guilty doesn't mean he did anything.” She closed her eyes and pushed back the feeling of helplessness. Somewhat used to the concept in her workday life, she never experienced it much in her personal life. This whole thing was really starting to tick her off.

“Then what was he doing?”

“I don't know, but I know he didn't kill my father.” She rubbed the edge of the handkerchief between her thumb and forefinger as she traced the edges of her grandfather's initials. What she wouldn't give to have him in her life again, if only for a few moments, to help her overcome this hurdle. Right now she craved more predictability and less chaos.

Landry glanced at her hand before returning his gaze to her face. “Maybe not. But I bet he knows who did.”

“That's what I'm afraid of.”

While Isabella had her secrets, Landry had his own. And no matter how he justified it in his head, he was lying to her. If she were in trouble, he'd be the first to stay by her side until the danger passed, even if he had to handcuff himself to her. But this whole thing felt different. While he remained uncertain about Malone, the lieutenant was a solid guy. Landry had no choice but to play this whole thing out as long as he could.

“Let's start at the beginning and work backwards. Are you going to come clean about what you were doing in the alley the other night? Don't you think it could possibly be connected to all this? Maybe somebody knew you'd do anything to nail Ramirez and set you up. Speaking of which, has anybody caught wind of him now that he's out of jail?”

“Will you knock it off with Ramirez? It doesn't have anything to do with this.” She avoided looking him in the eye and fiddled with her handkerchief. “If this is what it's like rooming with you, maybe I should take a pass.”

He rolled back the intensity, knowing she'd bolt if he pushed too hard. Then everything he told the lieutenant and Malone he could manage would disappear and she'd go totally rogue. “Listen, Isabella, maybe you rattled the wrong cage. Somehow it's got to connect back to what you were doing in the alley.”

Maybe if he let her think about it for a few moments, she'd finally see the connection. Although, based on the combination of the look on her face and the frantic way she was worrying that handkerchief, she already spotted the connection and was trying to keep him out of the loop for as long as possible.

She huffed. “It was small-time stuff. You know those gangbangers, if they're not running drugs, they're selling guns. Same old, same old.”

“It had to be more than that or you wouldn't be so protective about it.”

She moved toward the kitchen. “You just got off shift, aren't you a little tired? Hungry? Hey, I'll make you something to eat.”

He laughed. “We both know you don't cook, so stop avoiding the question.” He grasped her arm. “Come on, Isabella, what were you doing in that alley?”

“What is this, the Spanish Inquisition?”

“No, it's the Irish Inquisition, Landry Taylor-style. I know you're hiding something.”

She chewed her lip for a few moments before speaking. “What if the information on Ramirez was correct but we were looking in the wrong spot?” Her voice was barely audible. “What if it was all an elaborate set-up? What if the Feds were in on it?”

“I'd say you were crazy.” He forced a smile while he contemplated the possibilities. “But I have to admit I'm mildly intrigued.” He wasn't sure where she was going with this, but figured it best to let her play it out at her speed.

“I don't give up my secrets mildly.” She grinned and placed her hands on her hips. “I got an anonymous tip—” She held out her hands to stop his protest. “I know that is not a by-the-book response, but I had this gut twitch telling me I was on to something.”

“Let's say, for example, your tip told you the Ramirez sting was a set-up and asked you to meet him in the alley. Am I getting warm?”

She nodded. “I was supposed to find out more, but that's when I got shot at.”

“You sure it wasn't Ramirez?” He didn't believe she was keeping this information from him but wanted to make sure. With Isabella, he never knew.

She shook her head. “Didn't even know anybody was there until I got knocked on my butt.”

“And you shot back?”

“Once. But I missed.”

“How did they make you and you didn't make them?”

“No clue. My back was protected and I had vision from three sides.”

“Except it was darker than hell.”

“At the time I figured me and the bad guys were on equal footing.” She chewed her lip. “Except what if we weren't? Somebody with a night scope could have hit me without too much trouble, especially if they were on a roof of one of the garages.”

He suppressed the fear that crawled up his back. She'd been a sitting duck. “If that's true, they could have taken you out easily with a shot to the head.”

She nodded slowly. “Are you thinking they shot me in the chest knowing I'd be wearing a vest?”

“Maybe they wanted you distracted, but not harmed.”

“No bad guy gives a cop a pass like that.”

He drew in a breath as he contemplated how best to play this. He didn't want her going off without thinking through the possibilities. “Bad guys don't get tested for their marksmanship on a regular basis.”

Although neither the lieutenant nor Malone came right out and said it, he had to figure there was some suspicion that whatever happened was an inside job.

“Feds? Why would they take a pot shot at me?”

He sucked in a breath and tried to ignore his duplicity with Malone. “Your father gets out of prison through some miracle that has yet to come to light. He shows up on your doorstep on the same night you were shot at.”

She held up a shaky finger. “Wait a minute, what are you saying?”

“I'm listing what we know.” He took a swig of beer. “Which reminds me, when I asked my cousin's friend what happened at Stateville, he gave me some line about your father getting stabbed.” He held out his hand. “Work with me on this. I got to thinking maybe for the same reason the Feds gave your father a get out of jail free card. If I follow that line, I've got to think that shot taken at you might be more than a coincidence.”

“You think it's all connected? You think the Feds sprung my dad?” Her hands stilled their incessant movement.

He nodded. “It's the only explanation. We've been looking at it all wrong thinking about the embarrassment factor for Stateville with him being their first escapee.” While Malone didn't admit to it; he also didn't deny it. Landry figured that had to mean something. And while Isabella wasn't putting all her cards on the table, he was. Most of them, anyway.

“Why didn't I see this before? Prisons are the worst gossip pits. If somebody made an escape, there would have been rumblings all through the place regardless of any cover-up attempt by the powers that be. Instead, they let it leak he'd been stabbed. If all that's true, I'd like to ask Malone why he insinuated I had something to do with my father's escape.”

Good point. Landry still couldn't figure out how that fit into the whole scheme of things, or if it was another red herring planted by Malone and his cronies.

“Asking the Feds isn't going to get you anywhere. They'll never admit to what they're up to. By the time you leave the room, they'll have you convinced Martians are involved somehow.” He didn't want her stirring up too much trouble with Malone. At least not yet. Not until he could weasel a little more information out of him.

“Martians? They'd have to talk pretty long and fast to get me to believe that one.” For the first time in a couple of days, she seemed to relax as she stuffed the handkerchief back into her pocket. “Russians maybe, but there's no way I'd fall for Martians.” She giggled. “Really, Landry who talks about Martians anymore? Didn't that discussion end sometime in the sixties?”

“Maybe I'm spending too much time with my grandmother.”

“Ah, that explains it.”

* * *

Isabella sucked in a deep breath, relishing the familiar minty smell and the soft chest chair texture beneath her fingertips. For once she didn't resist, instead wallowing in the peace and comfort surrounding her.

But as her eyes popped open, realization struck. Somehow she'd become nestled into the crook of Landry's arm. How had that happened? She'd like to blame him for violating their ‘safety zone,' but evidence told a different story.

That was the problem. She was her own worst enemy. Getting used to Landry hanging around ratcheted up her vulnerability and, worse yet, contributed to her dependence.

As carefully as possible she disengaged and slid out of bed. Next, she tiptoed into the bathroom, showered and dressed in record time. She needed space.

Besides, after their discussion last night, she had a lot of things she wanted to investigate. She'd love to pay a visit to Malone and shake the truth out of him, even though that effort would be futile.

He or one of his pea-brained friends had to have planted the gun at her place. There was no other explanation. She'd never believe anyone from CPD would set her up. Sure there were a few bad apples, but not nearly as many as the media would have people believe.

She needed to start somewhere and figured she could only work with what she knew. Finding Lou or Sergio was Plan A, even though right now that seemed a bit like finding a needle in a haystack. But having a friend in the medical examiner's office didn't hurt. Working that angle until something better came along would at least get her the time of death and other specifics.

As quietly as possible, she left the apartment and walked down the front steps. It was a weekday morning and people were out and about either jogging or bustling off to work or school. After spending some time in the area, she recognized some of the faces: the men in their suits rushing to the El, or the students hustling off to nearby DePaul University, or the mothers with their children in tow, off to yoga class or the daycare center before work.

She even recognized the bums on the street corner. They tended to be territorial about their turf, so that wasn't a big surprise. Even though most people tried to ignore street people through fear or guilt or something else less tangible, she knew that they could be a wealth of information. They were almost like a tornado siren before the big one hit; they had the pulse of the neighborhood in their blood.

They knew the cops, both the ones that left them alone and the ones that hassled them. They knew the kids, both good and bad. They could read the faces of the people and know instinctively which ones would cough up some change and which ones would walk by.

That's when it hit her. She had an untapped resource that might potentially produce some information.

Now when she got into her car, she not only had a Plan B to work with, she also had a Plan C.

She'd start out with Leo. Most days he hung around the corner from her house. Frequently, she'd drop him a couple bucks, or hand him a fresh cup of coffee or a sandwich if she'd stopped to get one for herself. At night, in the winter, he'd make the trek into the Loop and stay on Lower Wacker Drive where many of the homeless congregated. Every once in a while the cops would make an effort to roust them, but they always came back. In the end, it was a vicious cycle that nobody would win. There'd always be homeless people and there'd always be those who wanted them to somehow become invisible.

She wasn't sure where Leo stayed at night during the summer. Her guess would be he stayed in the neighborhood alleys and parking lots, or maybe one of the parks since both Oz and Lincoln Parks were close by.

It took her about fifteen minutes to travel the couple miles from Landry's neighborhood to hers due to the morning congestion. She stopped at Starbucks and grabbed two coffees before she headed to Leo's usual spot.

The late October wind had picked up swirling the dirt and leaves around the sidewalk. She felt the beginnings of the winter chill in the air and wished she'd taken some gloves from her apartment.

Leo wasn't at his usual corner. But he couldn't be far. If nothing else was predictable in her life, Leo was.

Finally, she spotted him. He had a squeegee and a bottle of watered-down Windex and was cleaning off the front windshields of passing cars. Most people hated when the homeless did that. No doubt they felt an invasion of privacy or guilt eating at their conscience. Some made sure their doors were locked. Others rolled up their windows in silent protest. Frankly, she didn't see how Leo could make any money doing that considering the unpredictable nature of people's reactions, unless maybe they paid him to move on.

After the light changed to green, he shuffled back toward the sidewalk.

“Hey, Leo.” She motioned with coffee in hand.

He smiled and headed her way. She never could guess his age, but suspected he was much younger than he appeared. Life on the streets played out in his appearance as well as in the lack of agility with which he moved.

“Thanks, Detective Sanchez.” He took a good long sip before he spoke again. The simple pleasure that coffee brought him broke onto his face. “Haven't seen you in a while.” He held the cup in gloves with the fingers cut off. As usual, he'd concocted a rag-tag mix of Salvation Army clothing store finds to keep him warm.

She didn't know his story but assumed that one day he might tell her. Judging by the fact that he constantly smelled of liquor, she suspected alcoholism was a big part of why he was in this situation.

“Been busy. You know what they say, a cop's work is never done.”

“I thought they say that about mothers.”

She smiled and considered the unlikely comparison. “Mothers, cops, same thing.”

He nodded. “True enough.” He took another long sip, which made her glad she'd bought the extra-large size. “You need something, Detective?”

“Actually, I was hoping you might have seen something.” She drew in a deep breath. “A man was killed in my apartment the other day.”

“I heard something about that.” His gaze shifted first one way then the other before settling back to her.

“Cops talk to you?”

“Oh, heck no. They think we're nothing but a bunch of drunks.” He laughed so hard at his joke he started to cough. “I guess they're right about that.”

“I know you don't usually hang around past seven or so at night, but I was wondering if you saw anything unusual around my place the last couple of days.”

He rubbed his stubbly face. “Now that you mention it, I saw a truck. At first I thought you were moving out.” He winked. “But I knew you wouldn't do that without letting me know.”