Grant rocked a bit on the mattress, his mind stuck in the horrific past.
“She’s right in here, sir.” Marilyn glanced up from her report to find Jerry Stone being led into the observation room by a uniformed police officer.
She rose and nodded. “Thank you, Officer.” The desk sergeant left the room and Marilyn smiled warmly at the parole officer, extending her hand to shake his. “Good to see you, Jerry.”
“It surprises me you’re still here, um, Detective.” Jerry referred to everyone by their last name, but he blushed when Fox almost slid out of his mouth. “I thought you’d be off to interview Taylor and her roommate.”
“Paperwork,” Marilyn replied, sweeping her eyes to the half-written report on the counter. “Detective Hammond had to run off on another call, but he’s going to meet me later. The prosecutor refused to come in after hours so I want to get my interview with Mr. Madsen written down before I forget the key points.”
Jerry had already begun peering at the camera monitor, and after a few seconds he frowned. “I was going to ask you how Madsen is doing, but from his cell and the camera setup I gather he’s on suicide watch?”
She returned his frown. “That’s right. I’m worried about him—he’s taking this all really hard.”
“Taylor getting shot? Having to shoot his cousin?”
“That, as well as discovering his cousin killed his brother.”
Jerry’s eyes widened. “Madsen’s cousin was the one who stabbed Logan Barberi?”
“Yes.” Her mouth tightened. “At least that’s what Mr. Madsen claims. I need to verify that with Ms. Taylor and Ms. Holland—find out if they also witnessed Carlo Barberi’s confession.”
Jerry studied Marilyn. Her face was drawn with fatigue, and it was strange to see the normally spunky detective so down. “You’ve had a long day, with the funeral and all, huh?”
She nodded.
“You sound rather certain you’ve found Logan’s killer, though.”
“If you’d witnessed Grant, um, Mr. Madsen, describe how he discovered his cousin killed his brother, you’d be convinced too. He was a total mess.” She glanced at the monitor and then at her report. “I’ve been so wrong about him.”
With a sigh she sat back in her chair. “The truth is I’m stalling. I don’t want to go visit Ms. Taylor because I don’t want to face my failures.”
“What do you mean, Marilyn?”
“Jerry, is she going to be all right?”
He nodded.
Marilyn sighed with relief. “Still, Ms. Taylor would not have been shot tonight, and Mr. Madsen would not have been arrested, had I done my job right the first time. I was off pursuing the wrong lead while the true murderer, Carlo Barberi, was terrorizing innocent people.”
Not sure what to say, Jerry was quiet for a moment before venturing, “It was a tough case. You did your best, Marilyn.”
“No, I didn’t! I totally screwed up the investigation by assuming Grant Madsen was the killer. Once I heard he was from a prominent Mafia family, on parole, formerly a sailor at Great Lakes right where we found the body, I knew it had to be him. I knew it.” She sighed again. “But when I interviewed him, and he had an alibi …” Her voice trailed off and she looked down.
Resting a hand on her shoulder, Jerry smirked. “Madsen’s not your typical con, is he?”
His hand felt soft and comforting on her shoulder, and it surprised her, given his hard, gruff demeanor. She let out a half-chuckle. “Hardly. I’ve never had a murder suspect address me as ‘ma’am’ so many times.”
“Taylor’s not quite like any of my other parolees either,” Jerry added, letting his hand fall from her shoulder.
Marilyn stood and faced Jerry with a look of tenderness. “I’m glad, um, I’m glad they found each other in the midst of all this mess.”
Jerry returned her gaze and suddenly felt nervous. Darting his eyes away, he looked at the monitor, finding Grant with his forehead resting on his crossed arms, almost folded onto himself.
“I better go talk to him,” Jerry said. “Taylor begged me to help him if I could.”
Marilyn also focused on the monitor. “After I go to the hospital, Detective Hammond and I have to inform Angelo Barberi that his son is dead. That should be interesting.” Still studying Grant, she felt a sadness wash over her. “I guess Mr. Madsen has been trying to get away from his family his entire life.”
Jerry nodded. “Let’s hope he finally succeeds.”
* * *
Frowning at the grown man huddled in a ball on the makeshift bed, Jerry stood outside the metal bars a few moments before asking, “You okay, Madsen?”
Grant lifted his head with a start to find Jerry watching him. Once he got his bearings he asked, “Is Sophie all right?”
Jerry nodded. “She’ll live.” A long, heavy sigh escaped Grant’s lips as he tilted his head back and closed his eyes.
“Thank you,” Grant murmured, and Jerry wasn’t sure if he was talking to him or God. Opening his eyes, Grant scrambled to his feet to approach the bars.
Jerry’s eyes narrowed. Sensing his disapproval, Grant asked, “What is it, sir?”
“Why the hell are you wearing a White Sox jacket? You told me you were a Cubs fan!” Jerry practically shouted.
Right then a wonderful thing happened to Grant Madsen: a refreshing sensation welled up from within, building and spreading throughout his body, and he found himself actually wanting to laugh. Despite all the horrific events still fresh in his memory, Jerry learning the truth about his baseball allegiance finally made him smile.
Shrugging his shoulders, Grant said, “I lied?”
Jerry’s mouth dropped open. “You lied about being a Cubs fan? That’s blasphemous! Why the hell did you lie to me?”
“Calm down, sir,” Grant said, attempting to keep a straight face. “When I first met Sophie outside your office, I was wearing this jacket. She saw it and told me you were a huge Cubs fan—and that you were grumpy that day, so I’d better not admit I cheered for the Sox.”
Jerry took a step back from the bars, warily studying Grant.
“Are you okay, sir?” Grant asked nervously. His smile faded as he noticed his PO’s angry expression. “Sophie didn’t mean anything by it. She just told me to take off my Sox jacket, and I did.”
Jerry shook his head. “Christ, even then she was trying to get you to take off your clothes, Madsen.”
Grant was pleased to see a smirk pierce the veneer of the older man’s sternness. “So, she’s really okay, sir?”
“Yes. I talked to her after her surgery, and she couldn’t get me out of the room fast enough. She wanted me to come over here and check on you.”
“Really?” Grant beamed. “She’s not mad at me?”
Jerry looked incredulous. “You saved her freaking life, Madsen! You landed yourself back in jail, all for her. I’m thinking ‘mad’ isn’t topping the list of how she’s feeling right now.”
Looking down, Grant twisted his hands nervously. “How long before I return to Gurnee, sir?”
“I don’t know. Detective Fox needs to speak to the prosecutor, and there will probably be some sort of hearing.”
Grant nodded. After a beat, he looked up and asked, “Will you tell Sophie I miss her?”
“What the fuck? I’m not your damn relationship counselor! Tell her yourself. You had your phone call, right?”
“No, sir.”
“You haven’t gotten your call yet? You gotta be more assertive, Madsen. The squeaky wheel gets the grease. Didn’t you learn that in Gurnee?”
“I was trying to fly under the radar there. I was hoping not to let on that I was Enzo Barberi’s son.” Grant sighed and jammed his hands into the pockets of his jacket. “The truth is, I don’t really want to make that phone call. They haven’t offered it to me, and I’m not chomping at the bit.”
“Why? Who are you going to call?”
“My Uncle Joe.” Grant chewed on his lower lip. “I can�
��t believe I have to tell him I’ve been arrested again. He’s going to be so disappointed.”
“Better now than never, Madsen. He’s going to find out one way or another.”
Grant nodded.
“I’ll go get some boys in blue to let you make that call.”
“Okay, thanks.” He glanced around him at the cell. “I, um, I guess I’ll stay right here, then.”
Jerry grinned, shaking his head as he walked down the hallway.
* * *
Smoothing a hand over her hair, Marilyn took a deep breath and knocked gently on the door before cautiously pushing it open. She walked into the room, expecting to find the patient conked out while her loved ones nervously paced around her. Instead Marilyn was greeted by Sophie’s inquisitive brown eyes staring from the hospital bed. Kirsten was sprawled out, sleeping on a nearby chair.
“Hi, Detective,” Sophie whispered.
Sitting next to the bed, Marilyn whispered back, “I thought you’d be sound asleep.”
“This pain medication makes it hard to sleep, I suppose,” Sophie said. “I’m dead tired, but I can’t sleep. At least I stopped shivering—I couldn’t stop shaking after the surgery.”
“They say the anesthesia can do that to you.” Marilyn smiled, and then the questions she was expecting began.
“Did you have to arrest Grant?”
“I’m afraid so. He confessed to shooting Carlo Barberi. Is that what you saw?”
Sophie nodded. “But it was self-defense!” Her voice trembled. “Is he back in Gurnee?”
“No, he’s in a holding cell for the moment. We’ll sort it all out starting tomorrow. Now, Ms. Taylor, are you able to answer some questions for me?”
Sophie nodded.
“How did this all begin tonight? Can you tell me the events from your perspective?”
“Kirsten and I were on her computer, in her bedroom, when we heard something in the living room. We went to investigate.” She gulped. “And there was a man by the futon holding a gun on us.”
“Carlo Barberi?”
“Yes.” Sophie shuddered.
“How did he get in?”
She looked down. “I forgot to lock the door when I came in.”
Marilyn arched one eyebrow, and Sophie lamented, “I know, I know. It was really stupid of me. I was just so flustered by my dad that I wasn’t thinking straight.”
“And where is your father now?”
“He’s talking to his attorney on his cell phone somewhere in the hospital. He thinks he can get me out of parole now that I got shot.”
“Not likely, Ms. Taylor.”
“That’s what I told him, but it’s like talking to a wall once he gets his mind set on something.”
Marilyn’s stern look softened. “You can stop beating yourself up about leaving the door unlocked. Mr. Barberi was Mafia. If he wanted in, he was getting in, and a little lock on the door wouldn’t have stopped him.”
Sophie gave her a grateful smile and continued explaining the events of the evening. Eventually she said, “Suddenly I just knew Carlo had killed Logan.”
“How did you know?
Sophie thought for a moment. “Carlo wanted the money Logan had hidden in my office, so obviously he knew Logan, but he also said that they weren’t friends or something like that.” Her heart raced at the memory. “When he held the gun on G-G-Grant, I realized he was going to kill him. He would have done it without a second thought. And it hit me then that Carlo was ruthless enough to kill Logan too.”
The detective was quiet, and Sophie studied her worriedly. “You probably don’t believe me, but I swear that’s how it happened.”
“Oh!” Marilyn interjected. “I believe you. I, um, I just wish I could have identified the killer before you had to. Then maybe you wouldn’t be lying here in this hospital bed.”
Sophie stared at her incredulously. A police officer believing her? Treating her nicely?
Getting back to business, Marilyn clicked her pen and held it poised over her notepad. “What happened when you accused Carlo of murder?”
“At first he looked so busted, but then he tried to deny it. Grant wasn’t about to believe his lies.” She closed her eyes. “Grant kept walking toward him, and Carlo was shouting at him to stay back. They were yelling at each other, and then all I remember is feeling like a speeding train slammed into my arm.” She swallowed hard, trying to slow her breathing. “The next thing I knew, Grant was on his knees …” She felt tears behind her eyes. “And Carlo had the gun to his head.”
Sophie clenched the sheet as a tear slid down her cheek, and the heart-rate monitor beside the bed beeped as the number on its display climbed higher and higher.
“Take your time,” the detective encouraged.
Sophie nodded. “My memory is kind of fuzzy. I think Kirsten was trying to get to the phone, but Carlo wouldn’t let her, and then Grant and Carlo were wrestling on the floor and … the gun went off. I was so scared, thinking Grant was the one who was shot, but then he got up, and I could see it was Carlo.”
“What happened next?”
“Kirsten called 911, and I called Jerry. I, um …” She blushed. “I asked Grant to hold me. Then I woke up here.”
“Speaking of waking up,” Marilyn nodded toward Kirsten stretching in the chair, blinking her blue eyes at them. “I think your roommate just joined us. I’m Detective Marilyn Fox, Ms. Holland.”
Kirsten finished removing her earphones and frowned at Sophie. “I told you to wake me up when the detective got here!”
“Actually, I wanted to talk to Sophie on her own first,” Marilyn said.
“Oh,” Kirsten responded, bleary-eyed. “That makes sense.”
“And now I need to interview you separately, Ms. Holland, so why don’t we let Sophie get some rest?”
Kirsten stood and followed Marilyn.
“You can call me Kirsten, Detective. Is it all right if I call you Marilyn?”
“Of course, Kirsten.”
“Oh, good,” said Kirsten. “I thought you were going to be all cold and standoffish like Officer Stone.”
“Oh, he’s not cold at all,” Marilyn protested as they left the room.
* * *
By the time Marilyn and Kirsten returned, Sophie’s father had resumed his place at her bedside. He gently held Sophie’s hand as she snoozed and gazed apprehensively at her, seemingly worried she’d stop breathing at any moment.
“It took you long enough to get here, Detective,” Will quietly seethed, ignoring Kirsten.
Marilyn raised her eyebrows. “It’s nice to see you too, Mr. Taylor.”
He released his daughter’s hand and tenderly placed it on the sheet, turning expectantly to the detective. “So, what’s the update?”
“Well, sir, I arrested Grant Madsen—”
“Good.”
“Although Sophie’s and Kirsten’s stories corroborate that he was acting in self-defense.”
“That’s bullshit! You have to keep that man away from my daughter, Detective.”
“Dad?” Sophie’s weak voice made him swivel and find her sleepy eyes staring up at him. “Please be nice.”
“You can’t be serious, Sophie. He’s from a Mafia family!”
“But he isn’t a criminal like them. He doesn’t work for them.”
“Actually,” Marilyn interrupted, “he told me that before Carlo came to your place, he’d been at his and threatened him. Grant agreed to start working for them so Carlo wouldn’t hurt you, Sophie.”
Sophie’s heart ached even more for Grant.
“This is great, just great,” Will sputtered. “You know what, Sophie? Just go to your Mafia boyfriend, I don’t care. You two can commit your little crime spree together, Bonnie and Clyde style. But when you go back to prison, don’t expect me to come visit you.”
“Visit me in prison?” Sophie cried. “I’ve already learned not to expect that, Dad.”
In the midst of the family squabble, a grin of reco
gnition spread across Marilyn’s face. “Bonnie,” she said out loud, causing Will and Sophie to pause their argument. “I finally get why Grant called you that.” She winked at Sophie.
Sophie’s cheeks flamed.
Suddenly Marilyn seemed to come to her senses, and she officiously announced, “I have to leave now. I have to make a notification of death. You two need to let Ms. Taylor rest, and I’ll be in touch.” Smiling briefly at Sophie, Marilyn quickly left the hospital room, taking a deep breath as she strode down the corridor. She was headed to a Mafia compound, the home of one Angelo Barberi.
* * *
Joe stood by his chair as his nephew was brought into the interrogation room. Grant’s hands were cuffed in front of him and his eyes were huge. He held his breath, waiting for Joe’s reaction.
“Sit, Madsen,” the officer barked, and both Madsen men took their seats.
“You have fifteen minutes,” he informed them before exiting.
“I think we’ve done this once before,” Joe said.
Expecting to receive a tongue-lashing, Grant was surprised when instead Joe asked, “How are you doing?”
“Fine.” Grant nodded. “Now that I know Sophie is okay, they can do whatever they want to me. I don’t care.”
“Well, I care,” Joe insisted, more loudly than he intended. Lowering his voice, he continued, “I’m going to get you an attorney.”
“It’s too expensive,” Grant countered. “I’ll just take the court-appointed guy.”
“Yeah, ‘cause that worked out so great for you last time.”
Grant looked down at his cuffed hands. He hated putting Joe through this again. “Maybe I won’t have to go back inside for as long this time,” he mumbled.
“Maybe you won’t have to go back inside at all. It was clearly self-defense.”
He forced his eyes upward to meet Joe’s. “I killed Carlo, Joe. I killed my cousin.”
“He held you at gunpoint! He shot Sophie! H-h-he murdered your brother!”
But Grant looked guilty as hell, and Joe became even more incensed. “Goddamn it!” he shouted, rising from his chair.
Grant cringed.
“Why do you blame yourself for all of this?” Joe raged. “It’s not your fault! You can’t help which family you were born into!”
With Good Behavior [Conduct Series #1] Page 42
