Broken

by Vanessa Skye

  “When? How do I know I can trust you?”

  “Like you said, I’m your kind of woman.”

  The banger licked his lips and slowly nodded.

  Berg held up one finger. “But I do have one condition.”

  “What?”

  “Call your men off his children. You’ve got no problem with them,” she said.

  He shook his head. “That goes against our code—he spoke to the cops, they have to die.”

  “Take it or leave it. It’s the only way to get what you want.”

  The banger stared at her. “I don’t like conditions.”

  Berg shrugged, as if she didn’t care one way or the other. She didn’t react as he sat, silent and still, watching her. She had the upper hand, and she knew it.

  Eventually, he spoke. “Fine, I’ll give the order today. When do I get it?”

  “It comes in two parts. You’ll get one part when we’ve concluded our business here today, as a gesture of goodwill. You’ll get the other part when you testify, and I confirm the hit on his children has been removed.”

  “You better not be lying to me, or your life is over,” he said, staring at her with dead eyes. “Don’t think being a cop will protect you. If you cross me, my boys will find you, your family, anyone you’ve ever met.”

  She resisted telling him that she had no family or friends. That she valued her own life less than her dog’s. Being a woman with nothing to lose sometimes came in handy.

  “I’m not lying. Like I said, we’re not that different.”

  And isn’t that just sad.

  Maybe she wouldn’t uphold her end after all. Maybe she’d place a big red target on her back and save herself the trouble of pulling off what she’d failed to do since she was a teenager.

  No you won’t. You want justice, Leigh’s reasoning rang in her head.

  The banger stared at her carefully then nodded once, indicating they had an uneasy alliance.

  Berg heard the guard making his way down the shiny linoleum hallway, his shoes squeaking on the hard surface.

  He swung open the door slowly and poked his head in, as if dreading what condition he’d find Berg in.

  “Great timing,” Berg said, grabbing her black coffee. “Mr. Rivera here has decided to clear his conscience, and we need a witness.”

  Berg wandered into Jay’s office without knocking and slapped three sheets of copy paper down on his desk.

  “What’s this?” Jay asked, obviously still pissed.

  “A full, signed statement detailing how Feeny hired Rivera and his men to take out Lauren and his wife, including dates of conversations, cell phone numbers, cash payment amounts, exchange locations—some of which are sure to involve traffic cams, ATM cameras, and security footage. We’re about to go and check it all out. It even includes directions to a safety deposit box where we will find the cash and a handy recording of Feeny ordering the hits. Rivera got a little insurance for himself to keep Feeny in line. He’s no dummy—a cold-blooded killer, sure, but not an idiot. He’s going to testify to all of it at the hearing. Feeny’s toast.”

  “How did you get this?” he asked her, folding his arms and frowning.

  “Rivera’s a religious man at heart. He wanted to die with a clear conscience, apparently,” Berg said.

  Jay looked suspicious. “With the number of appeals that guy will get? His sentence won’t be carried out for another ten years, if at all! It looks like the death penalty will be outlawed in Illinois next year. His lawyer’s got to know that. You’re good, Berg, but not that good,” he said quietly.

  “Thanks for the vote of confidence,” she said. “Oh, and fuck you.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  Berg shrugged, took a bottle out of her pocket, and placed it on Jay’s desk next to the statement.

  “Hot sauce?”

  “For your girlfriend. I though it’d make the paper her law degree’s printed on more appetizing. Feel free to pass it on with my compliments.” She walked out of the office, slamming the door behind her.

  “Is it true? You got it?” Arena asked as she got back to their desks.

  “I got it.”

  “Up top!” Arena said, hand extended and waiting for a high five.

  Berg left him hanging. “Aren’t you going to ask me how I got it?”

  “I don’t give a fuck how you got it, you saved our asses! I couldn’t care less if you took Maroney’s suggestion and fucked him on the Supreme Court Bench, and they all joined in. You’re fucking awesome!”

  Berg actually smiled a little. She appreciated that he didn’t ask—maybe he had some redeeming qualities after all. She reached up and slapped his high five.

  “Come on, we’ve got surveillance footage to check. Hopefully, Feeny’s on tape at a meet somewhere. The asshole’s not getting away this time,” she said.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  When I’m counting up my demons,

  saw there was one for every day.

  –Coldplay, “Everything’s Not Lost”

  The high-speed elevator dinged loudly and Berg and Arena stepped out onto the fifty-second floor of ‘Big John.’

  The black glazed John Hancock Center opened in 1969, was located in The Loop, adorned with huge twin antennae at its peak, and considered to be premier office space.

  The spotless glass office doors slid open silently, and the detectives walked up to the huge reception desk of Edwin, Smythe, and Bakker—the law firm where Elizabeth Young had been a paralegal for the previous two years.

  Flashing their badges, they asked to see Elizabeth Young.

  The receptionist nodded, punched some numbers on the phone’s keypad, and directed them to sit in the plush waiting area.

  They walked over to the huge floor-to-ceiling glass windows that dominated the space, drinking in the view of Lake Michigan and the afternoon sun dancing off the surrounding office buildings.

  “So do we have a game plan here?” Arena asked softly as they both stared at the stunning view.

  “This will have to be a voluntary interview, so let’s just hope she says something that gives us cause to arrest her,” Berg replied.

  “And why would she do that, if she’s as smart as you say?”

  “She doesn’t know we are coming, and she doesn’t know we’re on to her. Plus, two detectives have shown up at her workplace. Hopefully, all that will put her off her game.” Berg covered her mouth and quickly swallowed down the sudden nausea.

  “You okay? You look gray.”

  “I stupidly got a deep dish pie from a new place, and I’ve been paying for it ever since.”

  “Bummer,” Arena said and ran his hands through his hair. “There’s no guarantee she’ll speak to us at all, though.”

  “She will.”

  Arena sighed. “And why is that?”

  “Because she thinks she’s smarter than us. It will amuse her to think she’s running rings around us. There’s nothing a sociopath likes more than a good game of cat and mouse. Trust me.”

  “You don’t leave me any choice, do you?” Arena whispered, folding his arms.

  “Detectives!” Elizabeth seemed delighted to see them. “Come in,” she said, waving them into her glass-walled office. She swung the door proclaiming her Lead Paralegal in neat charcoal lettering shut silently after them. “Take a seat,” she said, gesturing to the comfortable, fabric-covered chairs in front of her large marble-topped desk. “Is there something new regarding my sister’s case?”

  “Nice office,” Arena commented as she sat in her leather office chair. “You’ve done really well for yourself.”

  “Thank you,” she said, the wide view of the lake shimmering like a living watercolor behind her. “But I won’t be a simple paralegal for long. The senior partner is paying for me to attend Harvard Law next year.”

  “How’s the baby?” Berg asked, not wanting to start with anything that would give away their agenda.

  “Good, getting bigger every day,”
she replied. If she was puzzled as to why they were at her office, she didn’t show it. “It’s a bittersweet time, though, because as soon as the baby is born, my parents will switch off Emma’s life support. So it’s hard to be overly excited about the impending birth.”

  “Of course. And when do you think that will be?” Arena asked.

  “In about two weeks. A few days and little Emma will measure approximately thirty weeks. They’ll give Em steroid injections to mature the baby’s lungs, and hopefully, after a few weeks in the NICU, the baby will be fine. She’s a fresh start for all of us.”

  “That’s great news! You must be delighted?” Berg asked.

  “Of course,” Elizabeth said without a smile.

  They were interrupted by a timid knock on Elizabeth’s door.

  “Excuse me, detectives,” she said. “Yes?” she called out then sighed, clearly exasperated.

  “Ah . . . I’m sorry to bother you, Ms. Young,” a young man said timidly. “Mr. Bakker was after the Tindall brief he asked you to do last week?”

  “He’ll get it when he gets it. I’m working on it now.”

  “Uh . . . okay.”

  Elizabeth glared at him until he left. Picking up the phone, she punched a few numbers. “Grant?” she asked icily. “Where is the brief I asked you to do? It was meant to be on my desk this morning!” She shook her head as the person on the other end obviously tried to make an argument. “I don’t give a crap if you think it’s your job or not, get it in here ASAP!” She only seemed to take two breaths before interrupting. “If you’ve got a problem, take it up with Edwin. Do you want to go and do that?”

  Arena turned to Berg and mouthed ‘wow’ in disbelief as Elizabeth reamed her subordinate for not producing work she had been asked to do.

  Berg inclined her head in agreement.

  “I thought not. You’ve got thirty minutes,” Elizabeth said and slammed the phone down. “Sorry,” she said to the detectives. “The incompetence in this place is unbelievable.”

  “So you’ve moved out? Were your parents upset?” Berg asked.

  Elizabeth frowned slightly. “I’m sorry, why are you here?”

  “We were in the area,” Arena replied. “Thought we’d drop in.”

  “Okay,” she said, shrugging.

  If Berg hadn’t suspected otherwise, she’d have thought Elizabeth was a normal, driven young law professional who had suffered an undeserved tragedy.

  Elizabeth shook the confusion off her face and answered Berg’s question. “No, my parents understood. I can’t ever go back to where . . . the house belongs to the bank now anyway.”

  “So you’re enjoying your new place?” Berg asked.

  “It’s lovely to have my own space after years of living with my parents.”

  “Lovely house. Must’ve been expensive?” Arena asked, feigning the kind of social gaucheness that people expected from him anyway.

  Elizabeth shot him a look of irritation. “I got a good deal. Property’s slumped, as you know. And living with my parents for all those years meant I was able to save some money.”

  “You put nearly ninety thousand dollars, in cash, in that house. That’s more than some money,” Berg said.

  “You checking up on me?” Elizabeth asked, smiling.

  Berg scrutinized the woman sitting in front of her. She was very cool and calm, and not in the least bit ruffled by their presence. Her smile was genuine—nothing about it forced. It looked almost like she enjoyed the unexpected questions.

  “As I said, I managed to save a large amount of money over the years.” She leaned back in her very expensive chair, the view framing her like a mink stole, her hands clasped loosely in her lap.

  Berg didn’t know much about law firms, granted, but her exclusive office seemed out of place for a paralegal, especially one who had only been employed for two years.

  Elizabeth stared at them, calmly awaiting their next question. She volunteered nothing, not once feeling the need to fill the silences the detectives deliberately left.

  Berg seethed inside but remained calm to an observer. “I guess you were happy to get out of the house anyway, given your parents’ behavior toward you.”

  “What do you mean?” Elizabeth asked, frowning.

  “Well, there’s the obvious . . . favoritism . . . toward Emma.”

  “There’s no favoritism at all,” Elizabeth said. “Emma’s been seriously injured and is not going to recover. If my parents seem to be overly attentive to her right now, that’s only fitting, wouldn’t you say?”

  “So the favoritism only started after Emma’s attack?” Berg asked, leaning forward.

  “There is no favoritism,” Elizabeth repeated firmly, staring into Berg’s eyes steadily.

  “Weird,” Berg said. “Do you find that weird, Arena?” Berg spoke to him without turning her head or breaking the strange eye contact she had with Elizabeth.

  “Yeah, very. Because in all the interviews we’ve done, everyone has commented on the clear favoritism. Odd.”

  A spark of irritation crossed Elizabeth’s face, and before she could smooth the mask back into place, her phone rang. Finally breaking eye contact with Berg, she picked it up and placed it to her ear, listening intently. “I’ll be there in a moment,” she said into the receiver. “Please excuse me,” she said politely.

  As soon as Elizabeth walked out of range, Berg sprang up and walked around to the front of Elizabeth’s desk, opening drawers.

  “Berg!” Arena whispered, looking around to check that no one was looking. “What the hell are you doing? We don’t have a search warrant!”

  “Just looking.”

  “In full view of about three hundred lawyers? Are you nuts?” Arena’s voice was frantic as he watched Berg quickly check through Elizabeth’s drawers.

  “Calm down. Just let me know if she comes back.” Berg got down on her knees and looked in the bottom drawers, the top ones yielding nothing of interest.

  Arena swore and got up to stand by the door. “Hurry up!”

  “Bingo!” Berg cooed in delight, holding up a worn Realm of Blood handbook.

  “So?” he whispered, keeping a lookout. “She’s a gamer, big deal.”

  “Pretty coincidental, wouldn’t you say? Elizabeth plays the very game that caused Buchanan to attack and murder her sister. This could be the link between Elizabeth and Buchanan—how they met and how she manipulated him into killing Emma.”

  “Not likely!” Arena argued back, his voice still low. “About eleven million people play the game worldwide!”

  “Then how come she never mentioned it?”

  “She didn’t mention she’s a gamer dork? Color me shocked. Shit! She’s coming. Get back in your chair!”

  Berg scrambled out from behind the desk and plopped back down on the chair, not a hair out of place.

  Arena was only a fraction of a second behind her.

  “Sorry!” Elizabeth exclaimed. “Where were we?”

  “We were discussing how your parents loved Emma more,” Berg said flatly.

  Elizabeth’s laugh sounded a bit forced. “Actually, I believe I was saying that wasn’t true.”

  “And we’ve got statements to the contrary,” Arena said.

  Elizabeth sighed. “Look, I don’t really want to say anything unflattering about my sister.” Elizabeth’s face seemed to crumple. “Especially not when she’s only got a couple of weeks left.” She choked and made a show of wiping away tears with a tissue from a box on her desk.

  Berg resisted the temptation to roll her eyes. “Why would you be saying anything bad about your sister?” she asked. “If anything, your parents are at fault here, not Emma, and not you.”

  Elizabeth looked down, before making up her mind. “I love my sister,” she said. “But she has—had—her . . . problems. My parents were only trying to protect me with their behavior. Obviously, no one outside the family could possibly know this.”

  “What do you mean?” Berg asked, curious.
“How were your parents protecting you by playing favorites?”

  “I am my parents’ favorite,” Elizabeth said. “I know that for a fact. How could I not be? I’m smarter, more independent, and more successful than Emma ever was, but they could never show it because Emma would fly into jealous rages anytime they showed me any affection. It was that way from when she was quite small. Believe me, detectives, I grew up with bruises all over me because my sister couldn’t control herself. Everything my parents did, they did to protect me.”

  Berg and Arena were so stunned by the wild claim, that they were momentarily speechless.

  “Your sister was physically violent toward you?” Berg asked after collecting herself.

  “Yes. I remember, when I was young, she would pinch herself then run off to Daddy and tell him I’d pinched her, showing him the mark. But I loved and adored her anyway. As she got older, she learned to control herself a little better, but she still had her bad days.”

  “And your parents never did anything about it?”

  “What could they do without putting her in special care? And if they tried, it got worse. Emma would find ways to hurt me when they weren’t watching . . . find ways to leave no marks. If that failed, she would just hurt herself and say that I’d done it so I would be punished.”

  Berg decided to change tack—the claims were getting more outrageous and she soon wouldn’t be able to stop herself from arguing. “You ever play Realm of Blood?”

  “That’s a strange question,” Elizabeth said, raising her eyebrows.

  “Are you stalling?”

  Elizabeth stared at Berg then flicked her gaze to the desk drawer. A hint of a smile played across her lips before she rearranged it back to neutral once more. “Yes, actually. After what happened to Em, I wanted to try and understand what the killer was thinking, so I tried it. Didn’t get very far!” She rolled her eyes and chuckled. “It’s insane how people can get so caught in a make-believe world.”

  “It is, isn’t it?” Berg cocked an eyebrow. “You didn’t play it before the attack?”

  “No. Never.”

  “So you didn’t know Buchanan before the attack?”