Random Victim

by Michael A. Black

  Murphy asked the question before Leal could.

  “You’ll all report directly to me,” Brice said. “I’m taking personal command of this one. Murphy, you and Leal pull out all the stops and get that warrant pushed through. And then go serve it. You should be able to get a last known address from Joliet PD.”

  “What about the beeper and the phone numbers?” Leal asked. “We’re in the process of checking them out.”

  Brice compressed his lips.

  “Yeah,” he said, “but the arrest of this Nuke guy should take top priority. All the rest of this stuff is secondary and can be followed up at a later date. Once this hits the grand jury, it’ll be out in the open. I gotta work on damage control.” Brice cleared his throat. “Hart, take the rest of today and go get yourself fixed up at the beauty parlor, or something. Tomorrow morning’s the awards ceremony here, and the press is gonna be all over it. Get your uniform pressed. The sheriff wants some shots of you and him together when he’s giving you the medal.”

  “Lieutenant, I’m supposed to get my stitches out tomorrow,” she said.

  “What time?”

  “Nine o’clock.”

  “Uh-uh,” Brice said, shaking his head. “Reschedule that for the afternoon. After the ceremony you can take an early weekend.”

  They filed out singly, Murphy, Ryan, Hart, and Leal. In the hallway Murphy slapped Ryan on the back and ambled down the hall. Leal and Hart stopped to talk to him.

  “Tom, I’m sorry,” Hart said. “I don’t know what to say.”

  “Same here,” Leal said. “You didn’t deserve that.”

  Ryan seemed to regain a little of his composure. He shrugged and managed a weak smile.

  “I could tell he had a hair up his ass when he called and told me to report in early,” he said. “But I didn’t expect this.”

  “He looked really wound up,” Leal said.

  “Tighter than a six-day clock running backward,” Ryan said. “Damn, I was sure I put that isolation order in the file.” He exhaled a long, slow breath. “Well, I’m gonna miss you guys. And Joe, too. Tell him I learned a lot working with him, will you?”

  Leal nodded and they shook hands.

  “Well,” Ryan said. “I’d better go break the news to my girlfriend, then head over and start drowning my sorrows.” His posture looked bent and defeated as he walked away.

  At the office Murphy surprised Leal by apologizing for his conduct at the search warrant stakeout.

  “I appreciate you not dropping a dime on me to Brice, Sarge,” he said. “And I won’t forget it, neither.”

  Leal nodded an acknowledgment, but said nothing. He’d actually been too busy to put pen to paper to write Murphy up.

  “I can get that warrant walked through, no problem,” Murphy said. “I got plenty of buddies in the State’s Attorney’s office.”

  “We’d better handle that right away,” Leal said. “Go ahead and get things rolling at Felony Review, and I’ll meet you over there in a couple of minutes. I’ve got to talk to my partner before she leaves for the beauty parlor.”

  A simpering grin spread across Murphy’s face. He took the file and left.

  Leal turned and saw Hart looking at him.

  “Beauty parlor?” she said, raising her eyebrows.

  “You know, you’re the only girl I know who looks great without any makeovers,” he said.

  “Right. Now tell me what you really want.”

  “I need you to follow up on those phone calls and the beeper,” he said. “The subpoenas came through. I picked them up earlier.”

  “Anything else?” she asked, smiling. “While I’m at the beauty parlor, that is.”

  “Yeah, give Joe a call. He was supposed to check out that Lunge Hill Corporation for me.” He handed her the keys. “Here, you take the car. I’ll have Murphy give me a ride home.”

  “Better you than me,” she said, smiling. “If I had to spend that much time alone with him you’d have another homicide to investigate.”

  Leal and Murphy had no luck trying to locate Nuke to serve the warrant. The last known address proved to be a boarded-up old apartment building with dark smudges coloring the front wooden panels where someone had obviously tried to start a fire. Detective Brown shook his head and smiled.

  “Why is it when you’re not looking for some scumbag, you see him all over the place?” he said. “I put the word out on him with the patrol guys, though. If they see him, they’ll grab him and call you.”

  “That would probably be the best way to handle it,” Leal said. “If he hears about too many coppers poking around it might spook him.”

  “If he ain’t spooked already,” Murphy said.

  “We won’t know that until we catch him,” Leal said. He turned to Detective Brown and thanked him for his help.

  “I’ll give some of my buddies on Will County a call about him, too,” Brown said. “Sooner or later he’ll turn up.”

  “Sounds good,” Leal said. “I’d also like to grab that other asshole that hangs with him.”

  Brown nodded.

  “Maybe if you get ’em both, you can play one off against the other,” he said.

  The drive back on the expressway slowed considerably as they caught the tail end of the rush hour. Leal leaned back in the seat and told Murphy not to even think about smoking the fat cigar he was unwrapping. A couple of rain drops splashed against the windshield.

  “Aww, come on, Sarge. How ’bout if I open the window?”

  “Uh-uh,” Leal said. He didn’t want to have any more conversation than necessary with a man he detested so much. His beeper went off as they were exiting at 127th Street near Leal’s house.

  Perfect timing, he thought as he pressed the acknowledge button and saw Hart’s home number flash into view.

  “Who’s that?” Murphy asked. “HQ?”

  “No,” Leal said. “My dinner date.”

  “I hope you’re hungry,” Hart said, opening the door to her apartment. Rocky, the cat, looked up from his sleeping perch atop the edge of the sofa, and resumed his slumber. “I made your favorite. Steamed vegetables and rice.”

  “Sounds delicious,” Leal said, mentally calculating how many sliders he was going to get at White Castle on the way home. “Your hair looks great. You did get to the beauty parlor, huh?”

  “Just a quick trip. I have a friend who does hair,” Hart said.

  “I mean it. It looks really nice.”

  “It’s okay for Thursday evening. Now come on. I’m starving.” She led him into the dining room and motioned for him to sit.

  After wolfing down the Spartan-sized meal, and washing it down with two glasses of unsweetened, low-calorie cranberry juice, Leal was still famished. He waited while she finished, and declined her offer of herbal tea.

  “What happened in Joliet?” she asked. “Get any leads on Nuke?”

  Leal shook his head. “Just that his last known address was bogus.”

  “How about Willard? Anything new there?”

  “Nothing. Even the snitches are clamming up on this one.”

  “So aren’t you going to ask me what I found out?” she said, placing her muscular forearms on the table and leaning forward. The cut on her left arm had forged itself into a crusty-looking scab, punctuated by the perpendicular row of stitches.

  “I figured you were saving that for dessert,” Leal said.

  She smiled and tapped his arm playfully. After pouring more juice for both of them, she cleared the table, and took the dirty dishes into the kitchen. She came back in with her notebook and motioned for him to join her on the couch. They pulled the coffee table closer in front of them and Hart placed her notebook on top.

  “I’m not sure how all this connects to the Walker case,” she said. “But there’s some pretty interesting developments.”

  “I’m all ears,” Leal said.

  Hart took a sheet of paper with columns of numbers printed on it. Some rows had been highlighted with a yellow magi
c marker.

  “This is a listing of all of Martin Walker’s phone calls for the past month,” she said. “Home and office. This number shows up with more frequency than any other in both columns.” She tapped the paper with her pencil eraser. “It’s nonpublished, but the telephone security gave it to me after I faxed them a copy of the subpoena. It comes back to a Richard Connors in Orland Park.”

  “Doesn’t sound familiar,” Leal said.

  “Well, it will. I ran a Soundex and some title searches on Mr. Connors. Found that he owns four cars—a BMW, a Jaguar, a Mercedes, and a Corvette. Plus, he owns a boat, too.”

  Leal raised his eyebrows.

  “I also checked his credit rating. Thanks to your friend at the credit bureau,” Hart said, smiling. “I hope you take care of her from time to time. Just the mention of your name was enough to get her to help me.”

  “What can I say? My natural charm. It’s a gift.”

  “Don’t forget your modesty,” she said. “Anyway, guess what? Our friend Mr. Connors has no credit rating. Absolutely none.”

  Leal hunched forward and stared at her. She tapped the pencil eraser against her strong-looking teeth.

  “Which means he deals strictly in cash,” she said. “I called a friend of mine in real estate, and had her do some checking. She got back to me and said that she talked to the realtor who handled the sale in Orland.”

  “And?”

  “And,” she said, “he paid cash for it. Can you believe it? That house had to go for several hundred, easy.”

  “Yeah, I can believe it, if what we heard about this guy is true. He’s got to be the high roller that Willard the Snake told us about. Any arrest history?”

  Hart shook her head. “No record, but I do have more. Oh, I called Joe Smith, by the way. Both baby and mother doing fine.”

  “Good,” he said. “Now tell me what else you got.”

  “The Lunge Hill Corporation that Miriam Walker was on the board of directors?” Hart said.

  Leal nodded.

  “Guess who the major stockholder is?”

  “Connors?”

  She smiled. “You win. And I’d be willing to bet that this Lunge Hill thing, which is a conglomeration of several smaller businesses, had Martin Walker on the payroll somewhere as a consultant, or something.”

  “And used his savings and loan for money laundering,” Leal said. “Having a respected lady judge as a board member, and allowing her to give away money to philanthropic causes would certainly be a good cover.”

  “So do we figure that Miriam knew about the operation then?”

  “Maybe,” Leal said. “But maybe not. At this point, we can only speculate on that. And on why she was killed. We know that Nuke and his cronies carried it out, and that Martin wanted it done. Maybe she threatened to spill the beans, so she became a threat to them. Anyway, the exact reasons are still murky right now. Can we tie this Connors guy to Nuke?”

  “I was saving the best for last,” Hart said. She paused, increasing his anxiety level.

  “What?” he said. “Tell me.”

  “That beeper we found in the grave,” she said.

  He nodded.

  “The phone number on it was Connors’ home, nonpub-lished number. And guess whose beeper it was?”

  “I figured it was Walker’s.”

  “So did I, but I decided to check on it anyway. The beeper was leased from Chi-Metro Communications to Richard J. Connors.”

  Leal’s brow wrinkled. “But how did it end up with Walker? And why would a guy have his own, privately listed number on it? Unless…”

  “He loaned it out to somebody,” Hart said, completing the thought. “Somebody like Nuke, maybe?”

  Leal gave a low whistle.

  “Ollie, you’ve done a helluva job. If I wasn’t afraid of a sexual harassment suit, I’d kiss you.”

  “Well, don’t let that stop you,” she said, blushing slightly.

  He leaned over and kissed her gently on the forehead.

  “Thanks,” she said. “So where do we go from here?”

  Leal considered this for a moment.

  “Right now, let’s just document what we’ve got so far,” he said. “And let’s just keep it between you and me.”

  “We don’t tell the LT?”

  Leal shook his head. “Brice is too ham-handed and single-minded. He’s got it in his head to get this Nuke guy before anything, which isn’t really a bad way to go. Plus, this white-collar angle is a little too complex to throw at him until we’ve got all the answers.” He thought for a moment. “I’ve got a couple of buddies in Financial Crimes. I’ll touch bases with them and put them on to our Mr. Connors. Plus I want to check him out a little myself.”

  “Okay by me,” Hart said.

  “And one more thing,” he said. “I’ll take the responsibility for pursuing this angle. For now, anyway. If Brice finds out about it and gets pissed, I don’t want him going after you.”

  “Hey, we’re partners,” she said.

  “I know that. You’re the best partner I’ve ever had,” he said, reaching out and squeezing her hand. “But after what happened to Ryan today, I don’t want it to appear that you’ve done anything that Brice could interpret as insubordination.”

  “Like not following his orders and going straight to the beauty shop?”

  “Yeah, but when the time comes,” he said. “I’ll make sure you get the credit you deserve. And Joe, too.”

  She squeezed his hand back.

  “Frank, I want to be in on the rest of it. Plus, I’d like a chance at this Nuke guy when we get him.”

  “Sure,” Leal said, realizing that he and Ryan had monopolized every interview so far. “I’ll make sure you get in on the arrest, too, if you want. I promise.” He held up three fingers in a mock Boy Scout salute.

  Hart smiled, then suddenly looked downward.

  “Frank, I’ve got to tell you how much getting this assignment, and working with you, has meant to me.” She paused, and he was reasonably certain that he saw her eyes starting to mist over. “It was the kind of case I’ve always dreamed about. And when I started, I had so many doubts. But having you as a partner…it’s been…” She shook her head slightly and wiped at her cheek. “I can’t seem to find the right words. It’s just that I’ve learned so much. I’ve come so far…” Her arms encircled his neck.

  He reached out to hug her.

  “We both have, kid,” he said. “We both have.”

  CHAPTER

  THIRTY-THREE

  Comrades and Adversaries

  The long row of white TV vans with emblazoned logos and extended antennae lined the circular curb in front of headquarters as Leal and Hart pulled into adjacent spaces near the outer edge of the parking lot. She’d called him earlier and told him she was driving down in her own car since she had the doctor’s appointment. They’d coincidentally tagged up on the expressway and driven the rest of the way almost side by side. Hart stepped out of her car first and stood there waiting for him.

  Man, Leal thought as he looked at her freshly pressed tan uniform and patent-leather shoes. She looks sharp. She’d let her blond hair fall gently over her shoulders in a profusion of curls instead of wearing it back, and had more clothes covered in plastic slung over her shoulder.

  “You look great,” he said. “You going to change into soft clothes afterward?”

  “Yeah, I had to shift the doctor’s appointment to this afternoon, so I’m taking off right afterward.” They began walking toward the front of the building where groups of reporters were filming backdrops for their upcoming newscasts. “As soon as they get all the pictures they need, that is.”

  “Want me to snap a few extra of you?”

  “No, but thanks anyway.” He watched as her eyes surveyed the news vans. Her pace slowed. “Frank, I still don’t feel totally right about this.”

  “Ollie, we already talked about that, remember? You got to do this one for the Gipper.” He smiled. “B
esides, I’m proud of you. And as far as I’m concerned, you deserve it.”

  “Thanks,” she said, and reached out and squeezed his arm as they got to the front steps. “You won’t forget about including me in the wrap-up, will you?”

  “I won’t forget. We’re partners, Pancho.”

  “I thought you didn’t want me to call you that?”

  “Call me what?” he asked, pulling open the door for her.

  “You know. Cisco.”

  “Well,” he said, smiling broadly. “It is permissible under certain circumstances.”

  Laughing, they went to the office where Hart hung up her clothes, and they were dismayed to not find the cof-feemaker turned on.

  “Guess I’m actually starting to miss Ryan,” Leal said.

  “Well, you’ve still got Murph,” she said.

  Leal groaned and rolled his eyes.

  They found Murphy in Brice’s office, sucking on his own cup of machine coffee from the cafeteria. Undersher-iff Lucas was there with a script of the ceremony. He huddled with Hart, explaining exactly how they wanted her to stand, how they wanted her to approach the sheriff, and, most importantly, what not to say. That included virtually anything about the ongoing investigation, how she got injured, and so forth.

  “If they push you,” Lucas said, “just say, ‘I’m unable to comment on that at this time,’ and I’ll step in. Got it?”

  “Yes, sir,” she said.

  “Good. Now after the sheriff presents you with the Medal of Valor, a short photo session will follow.” Lucas looked at his watch. “You’re more than welcome to join us at the postconference luncheon.”

  “Thanks, but I have to change clothes and go to my doctor’s appointment,” she said.

  “Well, if you need any help changing,” Murphy said, “I’m available.”

  He laughed, apparently thinking that would ingratiate him to the others, but all it did was bring a flush to Hart’s cheeks.

  “I think I can manage, thanks,” she said.

  Lucas emitted a short, forced laugh, but it, too, fell short, creating a feeling of distance rather than one of camaraderie.

  “You’ve all done an excellent job on this,” Lucas said. “Lieutenant Brice will brief you on the next phase of the investigation. You’ll have to excuse me while I check on the sheriff.”