The Innocence Game (20 page)

“So how did it get there?”

“Citric acid is a preservative. It’s often used to preserve blood samples taken at autopsies.”

“Someone took this blood from a test tube,” Rodriguez said. “Most likely one of Skylar Wingate’s autopsy samples.”

“And they planted it on James Harrison’s jeans,” I said.

“That’s what they’re worried about,” Rodriguez said. “That you might get hold of a swatch. And someone like Sam would be smart enough, and curious enough, to run the right test.”

Despite everything else, I couldn’t help but enjoy the moment. We’d done something. Actually proved something. When no one believed we could.

“What about the other two cases?” I said. “Scranton and Allen?”

Moncata spread his hands. “Bring me some evidence to test.”

I looked at Rodriguez. “There’s more to this than just Harrison.”

“I agree.”

“You do?”

“Let’s talk about your arrest today.”

I felt a slow, cold rumble in my stomach. “Okay.”

“Did the detectives mention any sort of DNA evidence?”

“Detective Coursey did, yeah.”

Rodriguez glanced at Moncata, who dug into his files again. “Remember this?” The scientist laid down the chain of custody report from 1998 for Harrison’s jeans.

“Sure,” I said. The slow rumble had become a hot churn.

“Look at the officer’s signature.”

Marty Coursey’s name was scrawled across the bottom of the page.

“Coursey was one of the rank-and-file uniforms on the Needle Squad,” Moncata said. “Laid the groundwork for a lot of scientific testimony that came in. A real prick, as I recall.”

“I can vouch for that,” I said.

“So it was Coursey who told you they had DNA?” Rodriguez said. I nodded.

“Did he say it was yours?”

“He seemed pretty sure.”

Rodriguez glanced again at Moncata. Neither man seemed surprised.

“I didn’t rape Sarah, Detective. I went by the house. I guess I was jealous or something. I don’t really know. But I didn’t go in. And I didn’t rape her.” The words came out in a rush. As if once spoken, they’d somehow wipe the slate clean.

“I believe you,” Rodriguez said. “Not that it’s gonna matter.”

“What does that mean?”

Rodriguez pulled out a photo and held it facedown in front of him. “I need you to ID someone, Ian.”

“Okay.”

He slid the photo across and turned it over. I took one look. Then my late-night taco feast came up all over Sam Moncata’s table.

They cleaned me up. Then they cleaned up the table. Moncata thought the whole thing was pretty funny. Even bragged to Rodriguez he’d seen it coming. I lay down on a small couch they had tucked against a wall. Sam got me a Sprite out of one of the vending machines. Rodriguez pulled his chair close and told me to sit up. I did. He showed me the picture of the girl again. Carefully this time.

“Her name’s Theresa Marrero.”

“I know her name,” I said. “Her first name, anyway.”

“She’s a big-time snitch. Do anything, say anything a cop wants if it means she gets her deal. And she’s good at it.”

“How did you know about her?”

“You mean how did I know about her and you? I didn’t.”

“Then how?”

“Actually, Z put it together. When she heard about your arrest, she suggested I pull a month’s worth of booking sheets for Coursey. Theresa was the third name we pulled. Coursey popped her for felony possession three weeks ago. Yesterday he told the prosecutor he didn’t think the case was gonna go anywhere and got the charges dropped. We grabbed the jacket on Marrero and found out she’d been hired at the Street Ministry. James Harrison’s old stomping grounds.”

“And you figured I’d met her there?”

“I showed you the picture. You told me the rest.”

I took another sip of Sprite and watched the can shake.

“What happened?” Rodriguez said.

Moncata had stopped cleaning. The detective waited patiently.

“I met her at the Street Ministry,” I said. “Ran into her again at a bar in Evanston two nights ago. Maybe it was three since I don’t really know what day it is.”

“The Fourth of July?” Rodriguez said.

I nodded. “We went back to my place.”

“Did you use a condom?” Moncata said. He’d found a plastic pitcher somewhere and was filling it with water.

“To be honest, I don’t remember.”

Moncata put the pitcher on the table, along with a couple of glasses. “How many drinks did you have, Ian?”

“Three beers. Maybe four. Some tequila later on.”

“And you don’t remember a thing?” Rodriguez said.

“She might have dropped something in his drink,” Moncata said and turned back to me. “She had sex with you, son. Used a condom and harvested the semen. Then she gave it to Coursey.”

“They figured they’d wait until the time was right and set you up for something,” Rodriguez said. “You gave them their chance by hanging around Sarah Gold’s house at two in the morning.”

“Can they do that?” I said. “I mean, would it work?”

“If Coursey has your semen,” Moncata said, “he could theoretically ‘find’ it anytime he wanted. On any piece of evidence. It would certainly be enough to get you arrested.”

“Which means,” Rodriguez said, “that Coursey owns you. At least for the time being.”

“Then why hasn’t he charged me?”

Rodriguez scratched an ear and shrugged. “Probably because he knows I pulled the booking sheets on Marrero. And he’s thinking I might be able to blow it all up. Besides, Coursey doesn’t necessarily need you in a cell right now. Just worried you might be.”

“Wait a minute,” I said. “If they set me up to take the fall…”

Rodriguez saw the dark light flick on in my eyes and nodded. “That’s right, Ian. If they framed you with Marrero, they also broke into Sarah’s apartment and assaulted her. Either Coursey himself. Or one of his cronies.”

“It was Coursey,” Moncata said. “Fucking guy would love that.”

“They take care of you and Sarah with one move,” Rodriguez said. “And your little seminar is cooked.”

I knew it was true. And knew we were caught. Myself and Sarah. In a web I’d constructed for the two of us. Moncata must have read it on my face.

“You won’t go down for this,” the scientist said. “If they did decide to prosecute, there are things we could do to attack the forensics.”

“I can’t go to prison,” I said.

“It would only be until you make bail.” Moncata gestured toward Rodriguez. “And the detective here could get you protective custody.”

“You don’t understand.” Then I told them about Brian Hines. And how he had James Harrison and the other two killed inside. Rodriguez wrote down Hines’s name in a small black book.

“Hines is dead,” I said. “But I’m sure they have others who can do the job.”

“You’re not going to jail,” Rodriguez said. “Not even for a night. Sam?”

Moncata stood and stretched. “Time for an old man to get some sleep.” He patted me on the shoulder and shook my hand. “I’m sure we’ll be seeing each other again.”

I watched him leave and wondered if that wasn’t my last friend in the room. “Where’s he going?”

“There’s a guy I want you to meet,” Rodriguez said. “He’s not with the police. And sometimes he pushes things a little bit. But he’s a guy I’d trust with my life.”

“Why can’t Sam meet him?”

“For right now it’s better if it just stays between us. No Sam. No Z. All right?”

“Do I have a choice?”

“Not really.”

I was alone for a few minutes, just me and the corpse cooling on the slab a few feet away. Then the door opened and Rodriguez was back with his friend.

“Ian, I’d like you to meet Michael Kelly.”

He was a shade under six feet. About a hundred and eighty pounds. Irish, with curly black hair, and blue eyes—scarred at the edges, but still cool and smooth in the center. He wore jeans and a loose gray T-shirt. His shoulders were wide, and he had the hands and arms of a boxer. There was a gun clipped to his hip.

“Hello, Ian.”

“Hi…”

“Call me Kelly.”

“Hi, Kelly.”

“You okay with all of this?” His voice was softer than he looked, with a trace of Galway in it.

“I’m not sure I have a choice,” I said.

Kelly seemed amused by the answer but didn’t respond. He took a seat, clasped his hands behind his head, and kicked a pair of New Balance 902s onto Sam Moncata’s recently polished table. Rodriguez waited for his friend to settle in, then turned back to me.

“Here’s the plan, Ian. I have to work the two fresh murders for the next day or so. Sam’s gonna run the bite-mark evidence with the feds, and we have a couple of local things I need to check out. Meanwhile, Kelly’s going to stash you somewhere. The idea is if Coursey can’t find you, he can’t arrest you. I’ll have someone pick up Havens as well.”

“What about the cover-up?” I said. “We’ve got the citric acid on Harrison. We can do something with that.”

“Let me deal with the hot homicides first,” Rodriguez said. “Sam’s got the Harrison evidence under lock and key. We’ll play that card when the time is right.”

“So Jake and I just hide?” I said.

Rodriguez looked at Kelly, who didn’t seem to know how to blink, then back to me.

“What is it?” I said.

“We need to talk about Jake,” Rodriguez said.

“What about him?”

Rodriguez leaned forward, hands loose, elbows resting on his knees. “How much do you know about him?”

“How much do I need to know?”

Kelly kicked his feet off the table and poured a glass of water from the pitcher Moncata had left out. Rodriguez kept talking.

“You know about his childhood?”

“His brother drowned. So did mine.”

“How about law school?”

“How about it?”

“Jake was involved in some clinical work while he was in law school. He worked with kids in Juvie Court. Got involved in a bad case. A mom who killed two of her kids and was about to do the same to a third. The court didn’t see it that way. Said the first two deaths were accidents and put the kid back with the mom. Jake didn’t like that.”

“What did he do?”

“He showed up at the house and tried to take the boy by force. The mom offered to sell him the kid. When that didn’t work, she called the police. It all got settled. Mom’s doing twenty on a drug beef and the kid’s in a foster home. But…”

“But what?” My mouth was suddenly parched. Kelly handed me the water I thought he’d poured for himself. I took a sip and tried to give it back.

“Keep it,” Kelly said.

“We’re concerned,” Rodriguez said. “Incident like that in law school. Before that the trauma with his brother. Now he pops up in the middle of a case where more kids have been killed.”

“What are you saying, Detective?”

“He thinks your friend Jake might be a little unstable,” Kelly said. “Might be looking to take the law into his own hands if we ever find this guy.”

“Never happen,” I said and thought about Jake’s altercation with Sarah’s ex in Nevin’s. The pictures of dead children on his bedroom walls. The hard anger in his voice.

“You don’t have to believe it,” Kelly said. “What the detective wants is for you to be aware.”

“Aware of what?”

“The situation,” Rodriguez said. “Kelly’s gonna check on a few things about Jake while the three of you are together. Hang around a little and observe. Look, I’m not saying Jake’s gonna hurt anybody. Or anything like that. I just wanted you to know. And be warned. Okay?”

I pulled my eyes off my shoes and took a look around the room. There were no easy answers to be found. And I was out of options.

“One condition,” I said and held up a finger.

“What’s that?” Rodriguez said.

“I want to see Sarah.”

The room was small, the couch, uncomfortable, and there was at least one body in the freezer next door. Still, I slept the sleep of the dead in the Cook County Morgue. And didn’t mind the irony a bit. Rodriguez woke me at just after eight. We didn’t talk much on the drive to Northwestern Memorial Hospital. He insisted on speaking to Sarah first. When he came out, he had a tight look on his face.

“How is she?” I said.

“She’s fine. I caught her up on most of what we talked about.”

“Including who actually attacked her?”

“Yeah. Believe it or not, Coursey’s been in to see her twice. Working the case.”

“What if he finds out I’m here?”

“That’s why we have to hustle. Ten minutes, no more. And if anyone ever asks down the road, the whole thing never happened.”

“Is there anything I should tell her?”

“Something that’s gonna make her feel better would be nice.”

She was sitting up in bed, like she had the flu, except one eye was mostly shut, her lip was split, and a bruise in twisted shades of yellow and purple ran down one cheek and along her jaw.

“Does it hurt to talk?” I said.

“Not too bad.” Her voice sounded brittle, almost afraid of itself. I decided to cut my ten minutes to five.

“How long are you going to be in?”

“They’re supposed to let me out tomorrow.”

I looked around. The room was bare, with just a spray of flowers in a vase by the door. “Is your family coming down?”

“My mom and dad are coming in today. I didn’t tell them until last night. Couldn’t deal with all the drama.”

I moved a little closer. “Listen, I just wanted to say I’m sorry…”

She shook her head and opened her arms. I held her close and felt her bones under the hospital gown.

“Sarah…”

“Don’t talk about it.”

“I was there that night. I shouldn’t have been, but I was. They set me up. Set us up.”

“I know what they did. And I know why.”

“You don’t think I attacked you?”

A fragile smile peeked through the catalog of bruises. “Never did.”

She settled her head against my chest. My fingers found the pulse along her wrist. I sat on the edge of the bed and counted heartbeats.

“You remember the volunteer work I told you about? Helping women who’ve been abused?” Her voice was low and muffled, like she was in a confessional.

“Sure.”

She looked up. “I’m on the other side of that now. And I need to be strong.”