Leal pushed back in his chair and away from Ryan as well, thinking, It’s a good thing Ollie isn’t here.
“In the meantime,” Brice continued, “if Walker gets picked up, we’ll let him sweat it out.”
“What if he lawyers up?” Leal asked.
“What if he does?” Brice said, grinning. “We’ll just tell him we’ll put him in a bullpen with a bunch of guys named Bubba. Then we can spring the real kinky shit on him during the interview. He’ll crack.” He pointed the two fingers holding the cigar at Leal. “How’s Hart doing?”
“She’s all right,” Leal said. His thoughts drifted back to the quiet car ride when he told her how the deal with Bobbi had played out. The silent tears splashing down her face, her not wanting him to see, and him not wanting to let her know he saw them. Her stoic attitude to go along with the deal for “the sake of the investigation.” Man, she had grit, he thought. “She just needs some rest.”
Brice nodded. “Yeah, tell her to take a couple of days off. Undersheriff Lucas is already talking about presenting her with some kind of award. Maybe even the Medal of Valor.” He paused to draw on the cigar again.
“The Medal of Valor?” Ryan said. “Christ, all she did was get herself cut up.”
“Hey,” Leal said, “you weren’t there.”
“Take it easy, you two.” Brice clasped his hands behind his head and leaned back, the embers of the cigar glowing. “Maybe the award isn’t totally called for in this case, but it is an election year.”
“And this’ll score with the female voters,” Ryan said. He smirked.
Leal was boiling, but decided to keep his mouth shut. As far as he was concerned, Hart deserved the medal. He remembered how, cut and bleeding, she’d still managed to snare Bobbi’s foot and trip him after the pervert had delivered the ball-busting kick. Probably saved me from getting my throat slashed, he thought.
“So, anyway, that’s our game plan,” Brice said. “Any questions?”
“What about getting a subpoena for a credit check and his phone records?” Leal asked. He gave a quick surreptitious wink to Smith. “Maybe see if he’s been using his credit cards, too. If he’s on the lam, he’s got to be leaving a trail.”
“Good idea,” Brice said. He brought the cigar away from his mouth and exhaled a large cloud of smoke. “Yeah, that’s a real good idea about the credit cards. Find out all his recent transactions.” He tapped some ash into the tray, and leaned forward, placing his hands on his desk. “I know this has been a difficult case, a cold case, but you’ve all done a good job. I’m proud of you. So now we can afford to coast a little today, take our time doing the subpoenas and getting the warrants prepared.”
Huh? Leal thought. Now was the time to kick it in gear. To really push it.
Brice grinned. “We also got to come up with a plausible explanation of why it’s taken so long to crack this one. In case the press demands it.”
Just tell them you were in charge of the investigation, Leal thought. He smiled.
Brice glared at him, as if reading Leal’s thoughts.
“Something funny, Leal?”
“Nope, just considering plausible explanations, Lieu,” Leal said. At this stage of the game, he didn’t want to risk locking horns with the lieutenant and get kicked off. Not when they were this close to clearing a major case.
“I’m pulling Murphy out of investigations to replace Hart,” Brice said. “He’ll be available to give you a hand.”
“Hey, wait a minute,” Leal said. “I think Hart deserves to be in on this.”
Brice shook his head. “She’s out on sick leave, remember? Everything can’t come to a stop while we wait for her to get better. Plus Murph worked the case before, and he’s familiar with it. I think he’s a good choice.”
Yeah, he worked it before and fucked it up, Leal thought. He knew there was no way he was going to let Hart get excluded from this one. Not after all she’d been through.
“Anyway, that’s my decision, and it’s not open to debate.” Brice continued staring at Leal for a few more seconds, then got up and went to the window. “Great looking day, ain’t it? Pretty soon it’ll be hunting season.” He raised an imaginary shotgun toward the sky and made a sound mimicking a gunshot. Leal rolled his eyes and saw Ryan’s face contorting to stifle a laugh. Quickly averting his eyes from Ryan, so as not to break out laughing, Leal focused on the family picture on Brice’s desk. The blond woman and Brice flanked by two boys who looked like scaled-down versions of their father: bull-faced, thick-necked, and stocky. The picture was obviously several years old, judging from the clothes and Brice’s face, and Leal wondered which kid it was causing the problems now. The younger of the two had on a pair of thick glasses that made his eyes seem unusually large. Too bad they didn’t have the kid take them off for the picture, he thought.
“Okay,” Brice said, turning. “Get to work putting the finishing touches on everything. I want a thorough search at each place, especially for drugs, in view of what that pervert told us. What’s the story with him, anyway?”
“They’re handling the bond hearing this morning,” Ryan said. “The state’s attorney’s gonna ask for a high bond so we can keep the asshole on ice at the jail without a chance for an I-Bond in case we need him. We can send Hart down to the grand jury and get an indictment before the prelim.” He laughed. “The sorry fucker’s already gloating over the plea bargain agreement we handed him. Wait till he finds out they’re violating his probation. He’ll be keeping them standing in line in the jail.”
“Just wait till he gets to Stateville,” Leal said.
“Yeah,” Ryan said. “He’ll really get it in the end there.”
Brice laughed, too. Leal took a deep breath.
“One other thing’s bothering me, Lieu,” he said. “Martin Walker seemed to have a solid alibi for the night of the murder. That means he didn’t act alone.”
“We don’t really know that,” Brice said. “Plus, that’s the purpose of sweating him once we get him into an interrogation setting. He’ll crack. Maybe we’ll ask him to take a polygraph test.”
Yeah, right, Leal thought. But he had to admit that he was optimistic about breaking Walker in an interview. And he wanted to get the chance.
“We got him by the balls,” Brice said, holding up his big hand and flexing it. “Soon as we get him, we start squeezing. He’ll flip and spill his guts.”
“Think we’ll be able to find him?” Smith asked.
“He’ll turn up sooner or later,” Brice said. “Just a matter of time. Anyway, the prick ran, and that shows his guilt. We had a high-profile case, and we got it solved for all practical purposes, at a crucial time. That’s what really counts.”
“Maybe we’ll all get on Most Wanted,” Ryan said.
“There’s another thing,” Leal said. “Where was Walker getting his dope from? That person might be involved.”
Brice shook his head. “You’re not working MEG anymore, Leal. Forget about the small stuff. This is the big leagues now. A whole different ball game.”
Leal stifled his response, figuring again, it was better to keep his mouth shut than to risk getting tossed off over some bullshit argument.
“Okay,” Brice said. “You guys know what you have to do. Let’s get to it.”
“So how do your buddies feel about you sneaking off to have lunch with me while they do all the work?” Sharon asked, sipping her iced tea.
“It’s about time they did some of the work.” Leal grinned. “Actually, Ryan encouraged me to come here. He’s having someone type everything up, and I told him Smith already did the credit check, so he could walk him through it.”
“Really? What did he say to that? Ryan hates blacks, right?”
Leal nodded. “He said, ‘You know, maybe I was wrong about him.’ ” Leal shook his head. “I said, ‘Maybe you were wrong about a lot of things.’ ”
Sharon smiled.
“Well, I’m just glad you’re going through the
proper procedures this time,” she said. “Just in case I end up in private practice and have to defend Walker.”
“You wouldn’t do that, would you?” He was being playful.
Sharon sort of half smiled, then set her drink down. The waitress came by and asked if everything was all right.
“Yeah,” Leal said, but he was suddenly sensing that everything wasn’t. I don’t like the way she’s looking at me, he thought. When they were alone again, he asked, “What’s up?”
Sharon reached over and touched his hand, her eyes staring at the tabletop. “Something came up. A real good opportunity for me. In private practice. Big prestigious law firm, lots of money. But…” She sighed. “It’s in New York.”
“New York?”
“Yeah. I have an interview there tomorrow.” She looked at him. “Feinstein and Royale.”
“Huh?”
“That’s the name of the firm. Feinstein and Royale.”
“Oh.” It was all he could think of to say.
“My ex-supervisor, Steve Megally, he’s a friend of Mr. Feinstein’s son. He set up the interview for me.”
“Sounds pretty important,” Leal said. On the inside he was doing his best to hold that churning feeling in his stomach in check.
She rubbed her fingers over his hand. “So I just wanted to tell you. I’m not sure what’s going to happen, and…” The sentence trailed off.
He tried to smile.
“I mean, it’s double what I’m making here, and the opportunity is so good,” she said. “On the other hand, I do like being a prosecutor, and I might even have a chance at a judgeship, somewhere down the road. And things have been nice with us, too.” Her fingertips traced over his hand again. “You’re not saying anything. Talk to me. Tell me what you think.”
“It sounds,” he said slowly, “like a great opportunity.” Leal was still feeling the pinch way down in his gut. Why is it as soon as I meet somebody really special, he thought, they end up getting taken away from me? “As far as us, I like you a lot, but I don’t want to stand in your way. We haven’t got any strings on each other. But I would miss you if you left.”
She squeezed his hand.
“What time are you leaving?” he asked.
“This afternoon. I want to get there early so I’m fresh for the interview in the morning. New York’s an hour ahead of us.”
He looked at his watch.
“You need a ride to the airport?”
“No,” she said. “My sister’s taking me. But maybe I’ll call you for a ride when I get back. I’ll be there tonight and Friday. Coming back Saturday night.”
Leal made an attempt at a smile.
“Well, I guess I should say good luck, then.” And goodbye, too, he thought.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
No False Moves
The apartment proved to be a mixed bag. It was on the top floor of one of those stylish brick buildings that proliferated on the North Side. Leal, Ryan, and Smith showed up with a legion of county cops, evidence technicians, and a K-9 officer. Martin Walker was not there, the landlord said. The guy had been renting it for the past year, only his name wasn’t Walker, it was Brian Tubbs.
“He left me alone and paid his rent on time,” the old man said, looking at the picture. “What do I care what name he used? He wasn’t there much, anyway.”
“How about this person?” Leal asked, showing him a mug shot of the battered Bobbi with his wig.
“Yeah, she’s been here, too,” the landlord said. “Looks like she has some lumps there.”
“Man, you don’t know the half of it,” Ryan said, grinning from ear to ear. “Now, all we ask is that you open the door for us. Otherwise, we’ll do it ourselves.” He pointed to Smith, who was holding a big sledgehammer.
“Okay,” the old man said, “but that dog’s not going to pee on anything, is he?” He looked down at the large German shepherd sitting on the landing, panting.
“The dog’s completely housebroken, sir,” the K-9 officer said.
“Believe me, compared with your tenant, he’s a real sweetheart,” Leal said.
The old man grunted and pulled his passkey from the loop on his belt. It unlocked the bottom door lock, but not the top dead bolt. “That’s funny,” he said.
“How long since you’ve done an inspection?” Leal asked.
The old man scratched his chin, and shrugged.
Smith frowned and gently moved the old man away from the door. He swung the hammer with a pivoting motion that made a sharp cracking sound when it hit just below the lock, and the door swung inward.
All the rooms were checked and photographed. The dog alerted on several places, but no substantive amounts of drugs were found. They did find a scale and a quantity of Pony-Pak rolling papers along with some crack-baking supplies.
“Bobbi told us he’d been expanding their product a bit,” Ryan said, directing the ET to photograph and tag the stuff.
What they found next bothered them more so, although it, too, had been described by Bobbi. Several kiddie-porn movies and a VCR, along with a Polaroid camera, were in a cabinet in the bedroom, along with a stack of stoned-looking young boys masturbating and performing fellatio. From the background in the photos, it was apparent that the pictures had been taken in the bedroom. Some of the photos had obviously been taken by one of the participants, a flabby middle-aged white male.
“That son of a bitch,” Leal said.
“More fuel for the fire,” Ryan said, handing the stack to an ET with an evidence bag. He snapped at his latex gloves after he dropped the photos. “Makes me still feel like washing my hands, you know?”
“Really,” Leal said. “If I find him, he’s going down hard.”
“The way it looks, we’ll probably be figuring out who we want to play us on Most Wanted,” Ryan said.
“I want Eddie Murphy to play me,” Smith said. “Him or Laurence Fishburne. How ’bout you, Sarge?”
Leal shrugged.
“I’ve been told I resemble Tom Selleck,” Ryan said. “But he hasn’t been doing much lately. Maybe somebody more popular.”
“Gain a few pounds and we’ll see if Drew Carey is busy,” Leal said. Smith laughed, and Ryan smirked. It was the first time Leal could remember that the three of them had shared a light moment together.
“Okay,” Ryan said, imitating John Wayne. “Looks like this little fracas is about over.” He went back to his regular voice as he took out his cell phone. “The state’s attorney wanted us to check with him before we hit the house to review anything new that we might want on the warrant.” He began dialing.
“What about the office?” Leal asked.
“We can do that next,” Ryan said. “All we’re looking for there are copies of his records. We got some dudes from Financial Crimes to do most of that one. They know what to look for.” He put his hand over the receiver. “The boss wants to come along when we hit the house.”
“Look,” Leal said, “why don’t you guys finish up here. I gotta go outside and make a call.”
“Got a hot date?” Ryan asked. “With Sharon Divine?”
The comment stung, but Leal just replied, “No, I told Hart I’d call and give her a heads-up after we were done.”
Leal was just on the verge of disconnecting when Hart finally answered. He figured her caller ID had identified him, because she answered with a, “Hi, Frank, how did it go?”
“We just got finished sorting through the apartment. About what we expected.”
“Did he have a lot of kiddie porn?” she asked hesitantly.
“Yeah, including some homemade shit. Polaroids.”
“What a creep. I hope I can be there when we nail him good.”
Leal hoped that, too, and debated telling her about Brice’s decision to bring Murphy into the picture.
“What took you so long to answer the phone?” he asked instead.
“I just got out of the bathtub,” she said. “The doctor said I could do some light exe
rcise, so I went for a walk. Then I have this special ointment that’s supposed to minimize any scarring. What a trip trying to put that on my back.”
“Need any help?” Leal said.
“Oh, yeah, right,” she said, her tone light.
It’s good to hear her laugh, at least, Leal thought.
“So what’s your next move?” she asked.
“We’ve got the warrants all set. Financial Crimes is going to the office with us and we’ll grab all the records we can. Then we’ll hit his house.”
“Wish I could be there for that.”
“Yeah, me, too,” he said. “But I do have some other good news.”
“What?”
“You’ve been nominated for an award for pinching Bobbi and helping break open the case. Undersheriff Lucas will be contacting you. And,” he purposely waited, “it just might be the Medal of Valor.”
He waited for her to say something. “Ollie?”
“You’re kidding, right?”
“No, why?”
Leal looked up to see Ryan, Smith, and a host of others coming out of the apartment, Ryan grinning at him and pantomiming kissing into a mock telephone.
“Look, Ollie, I have to go. But don’t worry, I’ll call you later and give you a heads-up, okay?”
Ryan slapped Leal on the back and said, “Time to go, Frankie, unless you want to keep making time with your girlfriend.”
“I got to go,” Leal said.
“I heard him,” Hart said. “Good luck, and be careful, Frank.”
“You, too, kid,” he said, hoping she’d get through this all right. But then he reflected a moment more and figured she would. She has cojones. He smiled at the thought. In a figurative sense, she’s got ’em.
Ryan called on the tac frequency for Leal to meet him at the small ice cream shop that was about half a mile from Walker’s house. Orders were that they were supposed to use that as a staging area, and when Leal pulled up he saw a line of perhaps a dozen squads parked along the road, with all the coppers standing there eating ice cream cones. He spied Ryan and Smith sitting in some wire chairs under a large umbrella on the back patio.
Random Victim Page 19
