The Green Line (27 page)

Gottlieb didn’t respond and she wondered if he thought she was crazy. Or worse, if he thought she was some strung-out lawyer, doing all the things the cops alleged.

She continued to think it through out loud. “I went to the auction for Ali’s place. The buyer ended up being Callahan’s company. Maybe he found out I was there. And then I saw him yesterday and freaked. He must have known.”

“What?”

“That I know what he’s up to.”

“And what exactly do you think that is?”

She sat for a minute. She had so many pieces. She started talking it through again, while looking at Gottlieb’s notes. “What if Callahan was doing the same thing at Reggie’s and Quick Mart?”

“What?”

“Creating the set-up for an arrest, creating the basis for forfeiture of the properties? He’s got a real estate company now. And lots of his properties were bought at auction.”

“Abby, that seems like a whole lot of trouble and risk just to buy some run-down buildings in a bad part of town.”

“What risk? Callahan’s an ex-cop, acting like a cop. He’s got friends on the force. They all seem to be working together. If he’s stealing drugs from kids on the street, he could be using that for the set-ups. And if he’s stealing money from dealers and thugs, he could be using that money to purchase properties.” She sat back. “It’s like he’s funding his enterprise through neighborhood crime!” She couldn’t help but give a satisfied smile.

“Abby, listen. If you’re right about Callahan, why haven’t the police brought him in?”

“Marcus was going to find the kid today, hoping to get him to turn on Callahan. His boss wanted it all pieced together before they tipped him off to their suspicions. They want to get everyone that might be connected. There could be several police officers involved.”

Gottlieb sat back, taking it all in. “You know, Mr. Rashid told me the police had intimidated him when they seized his building.”

“How do you mean?”

“Well, I guess I can share this now that he’s gone. The police threatened to mess with Rashid’s immigration papers and he was terrified, Abby. He had legal asylum in the U.S.”

“Asylum, why?”

“Because in Iraq he would be killed for being a homosexual.”

“What?”

“He said the police told him they knew all about him and Miguel and his papers and suggested they’d send him back.”

“Oh my God.”

“That’s why I agreed to help him with a reduced fee. I was going to file a civil rights suit against the officers and the city alleging improper behavior. I hoped it would convince the prosecution to drop the forfeiture case.”

“But you didn’t.”

“Didn’t have the chance. I called the prosecutor and gave him a heads up to see if he’d reconsider going forward, but he just said he’d think about it. By Tuesday, you told me Rashid was dead.”

Abby could hardly believe it. It made everything worse. “They killed him. They didn’t want him to fight back. They’ve been saying murder-suicide, but I never believed it. What prosecutor were you dealing with?”

“Gary McDougal.”

Abby slammed the table. “That’s his name! I knew the face, but couldn’t remember.”

“What?”

“Marcus followed Callahan Friday night and spotted him with that guy—McDougal. That would explain how Callahan was able to get Quick Mart to auction so quickly. He’s got McDougal in his pocket too.”

Gottlieb dropped his pen and shook out his hand. “Abby, this is a lot to process. I need to talk to Detective Henton. In the meantime, these cops are looking at you as a trafficker. They said you had four thousand dollars on you at the time of the arrest.”

“The kid must have slipped it in my pocket when the cops showed up.”

“That may be true. But possession of that much cash, even without drugs or contraband, can be considered evidence of criminal activity.”

Abby rested her head on her hands at the table. “This is insane.” Her thoughts turned to the office. The partnership memo. What a joke. If they found out she’d been arrested for drug trafficking, it would all be over.

Gottlieb continued. “We’ll see a judge this afternoon and get you out on bond. I’ll take care of it. But you’re going to be here for a few more hours. I imagine they’ll put you in a holding cell.”

She slammed her fist on the table. “Goddammit!” Now she was angry. So angry that someone could so easily manipulate a situation, set her up, ruin her life. It felt like her head would explode from the rage. “You’ve got to get me out of here.”

Gottlieb put his hand on hers. “I’ll see what I can do. I think you’re supposed to be in front of Judge Tobin at four.”

“Four o’clock? It’s only noon.”

“I know, Abby. Let me see if I can get you in front of someone else a little earlier.”

“You’ve got to find Marcus. Maybe he or Duvane can get all this taken care of.”

Gottlieb packed up his things. “Maybe. I’ll call him.” He stood to go.

“Thanks, Ted. I can’t believe this is happening. You’ve got to fix this.”

“I’ll do what I can, Abby. Try not to worry.”

Her voice lowered, exhausted by the morning’s events. “I’m supposed to be at work right now.”

Gottlieb gave her a half smile, like he understood, but obviously couldn’t fix that. He headed for the door.

Abby stood to stop him. “Can you please call my friend, Sarah?”

He turned back.

“She’s my closest friend at the firm. She should be in the office today. Just back from her honeymoon. You need to call her. You need to tell her what’s happened. That she can’t tell anyone. That she needs to cover for me, take care of things for me today, and I’ll call her tonight. Her name’s Sarah Wilson—well, Sarah Baker now. Please call her.”

Gottlieb grabbed the door handle. “I will.”

· · ·

MARCUS
sat at the table by the window, thinking about his meeting with the examiner, scribbling notes on a napkin. He had wanted a more specific time of death on the prostitute. Then, if Leon could identify Callahan as the one who sent him on an errand, his testimony, along with Abby’s vague description, would be compelling. But Leon’s credibility would be a major hurdle.

Nothing in the doctor’s report had helped and he seemed unable to give Marcus anything more specific. As they talked it through, it seemed logical that she was killed with one of her stockings, but it hadn’t been recovered. No prints, no DNA, nothing to finger anyone. Marcus had then gone over the findings on Rashid and his friend. The report had appeared cursory. Marcus had been unable to locate a weapon’s test finding and had mentioned this to the examiner.

“I wasn’t given a weapon to test,” the examiner had explained.

“How is that possible?”

“I just wasn’t.”

“Then how could you determine suicide?”

“The gun was obviously close to the victim’s head, given the wound. The weapon was found next to his hand. It wasn’t rocket science.”

Marcus had been annoyed. This man was clearly overworked, underpaid, and phoning it in. “You just said you didn’t get a gun to test.”

“That’s right.”

“So we don’t know whose prints were on the gun and whether the gun at the scene was even fired. How do we even know that it was found next to the body?”

“It was in the police report.”

“So what happened to it?”

“I don’t know. It wasn’t given to me. I didn’t test it.”

“Didn’t you question the officers about where it was?”

“Hey, they bring me evidence and I test it. I’m not the investigator.”

Marcus knew that if Reilly was dirty, there might never have even been a gun found at the scene. He wrote
Reilly’s gun
on the napkin and circled it. Then he thought more about the Rashid case. Reilly had a partner. Where was he in all of this? If Reilly had actually murdered Rashid and his friend, his partner was either in on it, or not around. Another cop to investigate, he thought.

Marcus looked at his watch. He’d been waiting for about thirty minutes. He was antsy. He went back to the counter and asked for the manager.

“Excuse me. I’m looking for Patrick Ellis. I was under the impression he would be working now?”

“Yep. His shift started at noon. Can I help you?”

“I don’t suppose you’d know where he is?”

“Nope.”

“Is it normal for him to be late?”

“No, and I don’t think he’ll be working here anymore.” The manager was obviously as annoyed as Marcus.

“Right. Thanks.” Marcus headed for the door.

TWENTY-THREE

ABBY
was lying on her cot in the windowless holding cell, staring at the cinder block wall by her side. She stared into the tiny pucks and grooves of the wall, wondering what she could have done differently, wondering where Marcus was, wondering if Callahan killed Ali.

The sound of the metal lock down the hall was followed by footsteps. She sat up. Marcus?

It was Gottlieb. “Well, come on then. We’re going to see Judge Shepherd. The hearing is in ten minutes.”

Abby got up. “I thought you said something about Judge Tobin?”

“Yeah, I was able to get us an earlier hearing. Shepherd’s doing bond hearings at two o’clock.”

Abby had been in the holding cell for an hour and a half. It had felt like a hundred. She couldn’t believe this was her life.

“Now, don’t worry about a thing.” Gottlieb was holding the cell open for her. “We won’t argue the merits of the case, I’ll just point out that you have no prior record, strong ties in the community, a prominent position at Simon & Dunn, and we’ll wait for the judge to set the amount. It’s pretty standard by statute. It’ll probably be twenty thousand.”

“Oh God.”

“What?”

“This is public information, right? I could end up being in the news.”

He patted her shoulder as they entered the crowded courtroom.

“Please don’t mention my job,” she said softly.

“I’ll only bring it up if necessary.”

IT
was unreal. Like a dream. Being in court. The accused. The wrongdoer. Waiting for a judge to determine her fate. She wanted to scream at the top of her lungs. But ranting lunatics didn’t get far in court. She sat in silence and let Gottlieb do his job. They were the third matter on the docket. It didn’t take long.

“Okay then. I’ve got the bond. Let’s get you out of here.” Gottlieb guided Abby through the crowd toward the giant double doors. And then she saw him: David. He was standing against the back wall, probably waiting for his turn with the judge. He looked bewildered. He’d obviously been in the room while her matter was in front of the judge. She watched him as his blank stare finally met hers. She couldn’t control her reaction. The floodgates opened and she covered her face as Gottlieb guided her toward the exit.

David rushed toward her as Gottlieb continued to try and pull her out of the room.

He called out to her. “Abby, what’s happening?”

Abby turned toward him then, separated by the crowd of people standing along the back of the courtroom. “I didn’t do anything, David! I swear. Don’t believe it!”

A gavel pounded behind her and the judge asked for order. David looked toward him. Gottlieb and Abby finally made it to the hall and found a bench.

“Who was that?”

Abby wiped her face repeatedly. “My ex-boyfriend, a prosecutor in the state’s attorney’s office, who’s probably now wondering if I’m a junkie.” The tears continued, but she acted as if they had stopped.

“Abby, you need to go home. Get some rest. This has been quite a day.”

She closed her eyes and rubbed them hard as if she could clear away the chaos. “I need to find Marcus and tell him what’s happened. Maybe he’s found the kid. Maybe he can get this all straightened out.”

“I called him earlier. I didn’t get him but I left a message about what happened to you and asked him to call me.”

Abby sat, staring at her briefcase. Her memo was due today. She wiped her face again, looked at Gottlieb, and took a deep breath. “I’ve got to go to work.”

“Abby, don’t do it. You don’t exactly look your best. It would be nearly three o’clock by the time you got over there. Just call it a day.”

She wiped her face again, trying to improve the mess. “You don’t understand. This partnership memo is due today. I have to turn it in. If it’s late, I might as well forget it.” She could hear her own desperation.

“Abby, come on. This is the computer age. Go home. E-mail it to your assistant. Let her deliver it for you.” He stood and pulled her up to join him. “Come on. I’m putting you in a cab.”

She didn’t argue. She felt like she’d been punched in the stomach. She just wanted to curl up into a ball.

· · ·

MARCUS
sat in traffic on Division and North. He was going to check that Madison property and see what he could find out. It was now three o’clock and he felt no closer to getting Callahan. He’d been chasing dead ends for two hours. This kid was key, he could feel it, but he couldn’t find the little shit. He’d gone back to the kid’s apartment, only to get nowhere with the roommate, and returned to the halfway house to talk more with the director for ideas of where to look. Nothing. He’d then gone to his neighborhood to find Leon and get him to identify Callahan, but he hadn’t found him either. The phone rang. It was Duvane.