Driving Reign

by TG Wolff

  Win Ramsey looked down from his towering height, face grim under the revelation that one of their own was a pipeline to the underbelly of 601 Lakeside. Ramsey worked his ass off to establish trust between himself and the man elected into the mayor’s office. Now that trust was shaken. “Is Mulgrew behind this?”

  “We don’t know how far this goes,” Montoya answered, taking the brunt of the glare.

  “Posey has been a problem for months. Mulgrew has walked a fine line between supporting the man and condemning his actions.” Ramsey sat back, his chair creaking under his weight. “I was confident when push came to shove, Mulgrew would make the right decision and come to me. This rocks my confidence.”

  “About the search warrant, are you good with it?” Montoya pressed.

  “Your other suspects, where do you stand with them?” This time he looked at Cruz, and by extension, Yablonski.

  Cruz briefed his chief on Peabody. “I haven’t found a connection to Hannigan, but I’m still vetting him.”

  Yablonski ran down his list. “Taylor didn’t know who Hannigan was. He heard from one of the bartenders Sophie had woken up and decided to visit before work. I think he wants to pick up where they left off.

  “Given a choice between talking to me and spending another night with us, Harding decided to talk. He went to Pittsburgh on Friday and came back around ten on Sunday evening. Three friends were with him and he had credit card receipts. He’s an up-and-coming jackass but didn’t do Hannigan.

  “Margot Hennessy got nasty, referred me to her lawyer, and slammed the door in my face. I didn’t have time to press her but am happy to go drag her ass down her for a little cage time.”

  “Unnecessary, Detective. For now.” Ramsey tapped a pen on a legal pad measeled with little blue dots. “I want to know what’s on those recordings before we move. I’ve worked with Posey since the mayor brought him on board. He’s shrewd, doesn’t leave anything to chance. He subscribes to the theory that the best defense is a good offense. Cruz, get over to the County Prosecutor’s Office. I’ll call ahead. I want you to personally debrief him behind closed doors. Then get on those recordings. You have twenty-four hours to summarize what Posey did, to whom, and why. Get to it.”

  Out in the hallway, Cruz looked at Yablonski, shaking his head. “This isn’t going to work.”

  “We aren’t cancelling. We gotta eat, right? So, make your call on the prosecutor then take those files home. You can work right up until we yell ‘Happy Birthday’ and get back at it after the cake is cut.”

  Having a life was more work than Cruz expected. Before Aurora, if the job needed him, the job got him. Now he was juggling murder, political corruption, and birthday dinners.

  “See you at six,” Yablonski said, peeling off toward narcotics.

  Cruz packed the messenger bag he kept stowed in his desk with Hannigan’s tablet and the notes from the interview with Lauren Saylor. Minutes later, he sat in a closed-door meeting debriefing Cuyahoga County Prosecutor Greg Dempsey.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Cruz hurried out of the law office, bordering on rude. Not enough hours in the day for what he needed to get done. By his calculations, he had sixteen hours to get through the recordings of the eighty hours Hannigan worked for Posey.

  “Cruz.” D’Arcy slipped out of her office. “What about Hannigan? Any word?”

  Oh, shit. He did not have time for this. “I’m sorry, D’Arcy, I should have called. This is confidential: Hannigan was found dead yesterday morning. He was a John Doe until today.” More minutes he didn’t have were lost making up for the ball he’d dropped. When the shock wore off and the questions were down to the mundane, he tried again to make his exit. “Can we finish this tomorrow? I have to deliver a report to the chief in the morning and the family is coming over tonight for my birthday. I really need you to cut me a break here.”

  Her blue eyes softened, her mouth quirked into a smile. “Consider it cut. We’ll pick it back up at lunch tomorrow. It’s on me, a belated birthday present.”

  “You’re the best.” He checked his watch, calculating the time until the family arrived as he headed for the door. Again. “See you tomorrow.” He shamelessly used his lights and siren to make up the time he lost. Well, some of it. His city-issue pinned in the truck Aurora used, leaving room for two more in his driveway. He walked in the back door and was met by the unexpected scent of savory pork, tomatoes, and sugar. It was her gift to him and shoved the load of the day off his shoulders. The woman who he never expected in his life stood at his stove.

  “Just when I thought you couldn’t get any sexier…”

  Aurora’s expression, when her gaze slid to him, was not amused. “I know you aren’t saying a woman’s place is in the kitchen.”

  He crossed to stand behind her, his hands skimming down her sides. “My woman’s sexy everywhere. Bedroom. Living room. Dining room. Kitchen.” He punctuated each word with a kiss to her bare neck.

  “You can’t do that. I’m busy here.” She scrunched up her shoulders, the wooden spoon in her hand making nonstop circles in the saucepan.

  “I’m busy here, too. And it’s my birthday. You’re supposed to give me whatever I want.” He nibbled her ear. “It’s the rule.”

  She turned, then, and, arms winding around his neck, greeted him enthusiastically. “Happy birthday. I think I just got sauce in your hair.”

  He ran his hand down the length and, yes, found a warm, wet spot. He tasted the red sauce from his fingers. “Mmmm. Barbecue. Really good barbecue.”

  She raised his hand to her mouth and tasted. “It is, isn’t it?” The question was not rhetorical.

  “Delicious.”

  “This isn’t as hard as I thought it was. Cooking is just like mixing paint, except with flavors instead of colors.”

  He clasped his hands around her waist when she turned back to the stove. “What can I do to help?”

  “Nothing. I have it all under control. This is my present to you. Well, part of it. Point is, you aren’t supposed to help. I wasn’t expecting you home so early. Easy day?”

  He stepped away from her, the last thing he wanted to do. “Definitely not.” He invested the time to catch her up on the details of an unexpected, event-filled day. He confessed to scowling at the assortment of crap she’d packed for him and how nearly everything had been useful, to which she laughed. He told her how Sophie had used the pepper spray, at which her smile fell away. Then he gave her the thirty-thousand-foot summary of the rest of the day, including the homework assignment that would take him most of the night, at which she blinked rapidly and turned away.

  “Baby, I’m sorry,” he said.

  “No, I don’t want you to be. If I’m a little disappointed, it’s just me being selfish. This is our life. You’ll work, we’ll have a nice meal with friends and family, then you’ll go catch the bad guy.”

  “I can go back to the office after dinner. I don’t want to chase everyone away.”

  She tapped off the spoon and set it in its cradle before turning to him. “Zeus, they all know what you do for a living. They support you, just like I do. Now go get some work done while I finish dinner.”

  His hands went to the face he loved waking up to, holding her where he wanted as he showed her how much she meant to him. Then he let her go and shut himself in his office. Soon, Hannigan’s tablet sat on his desk displaying over a hundred audio files residing in cloud storage. The download signaled complete. Cruz started with the first, dated the morning Val began working for the city. The recording opened with shuffling background noise.

  Hannigan’s voice began. “Tuesday, January the fourteenth. Today I’m starting an internship with Andrew Posey in the mayor’s chief of staff office. This feels right, you know. Like everything I studied and worked for is about to pay off.”

  Cruz thought of Lauren Saylor’s description of Hannigan. Idealistic. Enthusiastic.

  “I didn’t expect Andrew
Posey to be happy to have me in city hall. It was only yesterday I brought him the better idea for Mom’s neighborhood and told him I wanted a job. Talk about a man who can pull strings. Today I’m starting as an intern, a temporary position until the paperwork catches up. I’d rather work for the mayor. I like him better. Posey is all politics. I don’t believe he cares about anyone. He was pissy to me in the men’s room. I think I earned his respect yesterday but…” There was a pause, a space of three seconds where some emotion played out that wasn’t recordable. “I brought this microphone that looks like an American flag and will record anytime I’m with him. My plan is to get promoted by summer, work directly for the mayor, then I can forget these recordings exist. Wish me luck.”

  Cruz queued the next file and let it play. Hannigan had edited the files, keeping fragments of the days. The task of reviewing the content by morning went from glacial to monumental. He had finished with day four when he heard his back door close.

  “’ello ’ello,” his mother’s voice called out.

  Cruz saved his notes, ready to leave work for family. He glanced over his shoulder through the open door and found his mother was not alone.

  “Aurora, this is Roberto Juarez.”

  “Very nice to meet you,” Aurora said, taking the stranger’s hand in both of hers. “Welcome. Let me take your coats.”

  The short Latino wore an olive-green suit with a white shirt. His dark hair was slicked back, showing off a distinct widow’s peak. He lifted his elbow and, oh hell, his mother rested her hand on his arm before they disappeared through the kitchen.

  “I brought flour tortillas,” his mother said. “Very fresh.”

  Aurora laughed. “Wonderful.” She carried the coats into her office. Cruz stepped out of his and into hers, snatching the coats from her hands. “Who is that?”

  “Roberto Juarez,” she said, as if that explained everything.

  “Not his name, who is he.” He snapped the words as he tossed his mother’s coat on the couch and began searching the other. “Why is he here?”

  “He’s your mother’s plus one.”

  “Plus one? Plus one what?”

  “What are you doing? You’re not…you are not searching his coat.” She hissed in a whisper, grabbing the coat. A tug-of-war commenced. “Stop it. Your mother—”

  “Don’t say it—”

  “Brought a date.” She ripped the coat from his hands.

  “The hell she did. My mother doesn’t date.”

  She patted his cheek. “You’re ignoring the facts, Detective.” She set the coat on the couch and turned to leave. “Do not touch it.”

  Cruz stared at it. Aurora wouldn’t know if he did.

  “Yes, I will,” she said, reading his mind before she left him on his honor.

  “Damn it.” He shoved his hands in his pockets, fists threatening to open the seams. He went to the door, nearly colliding with Mariana. He pulled his sister into the small room. “Did you know Mom was dating?”

  “Whose mom?” Mari tossed the collection of children’s winterwear on the couch then pulled the knit hat from her head.

  “Our mom. The Mom who has had her nose in our business since we were old enough to have business.”

  She removed her coat, chuckling. “Mom doesn’t date.”

  “Tell that to Roberto Juarez.”

  “Who’s he?”

  “Her plus one.”

  Mari tossed her coat, hat, and purse onto the couch then joined her brother at the doorway. “All I can see is his sleeve. What’s he look like?”

  “A used-car salesman in a sharkskin suit.”

  “Ick. Really? What do you think he wants with her?”

  “Her paycheck, Visa cards, savings account. I’m going to have Yablonski run the guy.”

  Mid-text, Yablonski’s voice boomed through the door. “Damn, but something smells good. Hell, everything smells good. Aurora, you’re going to spoil my girlish figure.”

  Erin’s laughter followed. “You ruined that a decade ago, honey.”

  Behind the shelter of the door, Cruz swore. “Damn it. Why does the guy have to be so fucking punctual?”

  “I’ll search for him on Facebook,” Mari said, thumbs flying over her phone. “Roberto Juarez. There’s at least ten of them.”

  “Look for the one—”

  “Oh!” Aurora pushed the door open, startled when she ran into the pair. “What are you two doing?” She narrowed her eyes. “Don’t tell me you are spying on your mother’s date.”

  Cruz tried to smile. So did Mari.

  “You two are ridiculous.” Aurora took them each by the wrist and pulled them into the hallway. “Vanessa, Roberto, look who I found.”

  Roberto patted Rhia on the head then diverted his attention to Aurora. His lines at the corner of his eyes crinkled, his smile broadening as he took the hands Aurora turned over. “Jesus and Mariana! Oh, I feel as if I know you both.”

  “Wish we could say the same.” Cruz felt Aurora’s elbow in his ribs.

  The door opened, big feet climbed the steps, and Mari’s husband appeared, cake box in hand. “Happy birthday to my favorite brother-in-law. Oh, hey, Roberto. Nice to see you, man.”

  “You know him?” Mari planted her hands on her hips.

  “Sure, for years.” He put the cake in Aurora’s arms and shook Roberto’s hand. “He owns the nursery I buy from. Best plant man in Northeast Ohio. Hello, Mom, pretty dress.”

  “Gracias, Tony. It is new.” Their mother went with Aurora into the living room, Yablonski and Erin, Roberto and Tony following.

  “Blue looks good on you,” Roberto said. “And it’s my favorite color.”

  Mari tugged on her brother’s arm, keeping him back. “She dressed for him. Look at her makeup. And her bra. Her breasts were not that high yesterday.”

  “No fucking way I’m looking, Mari. Not even for you.”

  The door opened again. Bollier walked in, followed by a man carrying a statue of Don Quixote wearing a bow.

  “Who’s that,” Mari whispered.

  “Jonathan Fisher, Bollier’s partner.”

  “Partner? As in…”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, isn’t this a night for surprises.”

  Win Ramsey’s conference table was crowded with familiar faces. Ramsey sat at the head, commanding the attention of all. On his right was narcotics Commander Traylor Deere with Yablonski next to him. Public Information Officer Alison Hyatt came next with Cleveland police’s lead on all things psychological, Dr. Ming Chen, sitting opposite the chief. FBI Special Agent Zachary Bishop rounded the turn with Cruz and Montoya filling out that side of the table.

  Cruz hadn’t slept the night before, which was damn impressive considering he’d eaten a pound of brisket, a bushel of mashed potatoes, and a plate of salad because life was all about balance. The chunk of cake was self-preservation, the sugar lit the synapses of his brain like a pinball game. Then there was the coffee. The one that sat in front of him was his first, technically, since he never let it go empty.

  He’d finished scribbling his notes minutes before heading to the chief’s office. Fatigue and caffeine had not been good for his handwriting, he realized, when Montoya asked why he wrote them in Spanish. It was English. Poorly written, badly misspelled, but English.

  “The majority of the audio files are the innocuous details of a high-ranking civil servant. Certainly not meant for general public consumption but far from criminal. Posey was working overtime to land a very large German investment including putting together an incentive package to close the deal before any competitors, that is other cities, knew the manufacturer was even considering expanding in the States. He plans to use the project as a seed to launch a renaissance. His goal is for Cleveland to reclaim her status as a top US city, as she was before Rockefeller left.”

  “Rockefeller?” Yablonski said.

  “As in John D. Posey knows Peter Mulgrew has
gubernatorial aspirations and plans to step into the shoes he vacates.”

  “Posey as mayor doesn’t thrill me,” Ramsey said, his pen drawing circles on the paper, “but I’m not hearing anything that needs our attention.”

  “Hannigan’s audio files recorded three exchanges where an adviser called Cracken was involved. A first name was never used. The second time Cracken appeared was the day after Yablonski’s snitch Sasha Carter died. A call from Cracken was transferred into the speaker phone.” His gaze was on his friend as he shared the newest information. “Posey asked if he found something to keep Yablonski busy. Cracken responded affirmatively, going on to describe, among other details, how he made the call to Carter’s brother and arranged to have the water truck searched.”

  “Fucker!” Yablonski jumped to his feet. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

  “It was the last file I listened to this morning.” Cruz set a thumb drive in the middle of the table. “The day she OD’d was the same day you torqued Posey about Jonathan Fisher.”

  Bishop signaled for the evidence to come his way. “We’ll need it all. Posey just crossed into my jurisdiction and is about to get a can of whoop-ass unleashed on him. A woman scorned has nothing on the federal government. The Justice Department has no tolerance for corrupt city officials and police.”

  All eyes snapped to the opposite end of the table, waiting for the chief to bat it down. “Posey crossed a line that I won’t tolerate. I want to know who this Cracken is and how he connects to our house. He is a cancer that we will eradicate. You heard the man, everything you have on his desk by noon.”

  Cruz liked Bishop, respected him, but it didn’t mean he wanted to turn his case over to him. “You can have Posey for conspiracy. It doesn’t answer the question of who killed Val Hannigan.”

  “It was personal.” Chen opened a thin folder and laid out photographs. “The violence to the head and face had little to do with killing. Clearly, this was a punishment.”

  The tumbler in a complex lock clicked, another piece falling into place. Cruz pointed to one of the images. “Last his girlfriend knew, Hannigan was on his way to see Posey.”