He cocked his leg back to kick the tire, but stopped himself. He couldn’t hurt his baby.
Should she say hi to him?
Uh, no. Definitely not. Now looked like a bad time. It’d be smarter to keep walking—her Jeep was parked a few spots ahead.
Shannon slipped over to it. She walked light enough not to make any noise louder than the sound of Dedrick cursing under his breath, but not so light that if he saw her, it’d look like she was trying to slither past—which she certainly was. But, you know, plausible deniability was important.
She leaned up against the side of her Jeep Wrangler, half watching Dedrick, and half feeling around the inside of her work bag until her finger brushed across the teeth of her car keys. She wrapped them up in her hand to ensure they didn’t jingle when she grabbed them.
A couple curses hissed from Dedrick’s direction. She could still see him over the tops of a couple unmarked cars, see how the muscles in his back and his shoulders tensed up beneath his cotton dress shirt when he clapped his hands together in frustration.
Slowly, she inserted her key into the door’s lock, then turned it until it clicked open. He didn’t hear it.
She pulled the handle. The Jeep’s door opened and groaned—no, screamed—like she’d bent the steel with her bare hands.
Shannon winced.
“Hey!” Dedrick definitely heard it. “What the hell did you do to my car?” He was marching over to her.
The universe hadn’t finished having fun with her yet, apparently.
A cold sweat pushed at the underside of her skin. “I drove it.”
“That right?” he said. “Seems like since you had it, I’m finding something else wrong with it every week.” He came right for her. He hopped the concrete divider between two sections of the garage and didn’t stop until he was glaring at her from the far side of the Ford Police Interceptor between them.
“Hello to you, too, Detective Halman,” she said. That was a good baby step, but maybe it didn’t come at the right time.
Dedrick threw his hand up out of exasperation, then let it fall and slap the roof of the Interceptor. “Give me a reason why my car hasn’t run right since I let you use it.” He gave her an expectant look. “Can you say that much to me?”
“It’s a ten-year-old department-issued car.”
“Oh? So that’s your excuse?”
“Seems like a pretty decent one.”
He ground his teeth and shook his head. “Other than you, I’m the only person who’s ever driven it. And the one time you drove it was nearly three months ago when you went after Isabella Arroz.”
So he was going to indict her for being too rough on his car while she stopped a pair of murderers?
Shannon closed her Jeep’s door harder than she should have. “I did what had to be done.” She wasn’t quite yelling at him, but then, she wasn’t quite speaking in a calm manner either. “You read the reports I filed about that case, including what happened when I drove your car. I know you did because I saw your report attached to mine a week after I turned it in. You know damn well what I did with that car.
“If you’re still having problems with it, go take it to the motor pool and have them service it—don’t get mad at me for thinking about my job.”
He glared at her from across the other car. His nostrils flared and his eyes could’ve burnt the whole place down. “It isn’t as simple as getting it fixed.” The words cracked off Dedrick’s tongue like it was a bull whip. “It’s about you taking responsibility for what you did.”
“Responsibility?” She met his gaze across the roof of the car. “You want me to throw down everything and crawl under your car and fix it for you? Is that what’ll make you happy right now?”
“No, Shannon, see, I’m not like you. I don’t expect everyone to fix my problems for me. All I want you to do is admit that you did me wrong.”
That stung her. Upon hearing him put it that way, it took all she had to stop from deflating.
“You knew the risks when you handed your keys to me,” she said flatly. “Sometimes things get damaged.”
Dedrick straightened up at that. A chuckle hopped out of him. “I can’t believe you,” he said. “I swear to God, it seems like you don’t care at all. I thought you were better than this. Of all the ways things between you and I could’ve ended up, I knew you were different. I thought if I’d made some mistake in trusting you, never in a million years would it get this bad.” He scratched the back of his head and laughed again. “I guess that’s what I get for trusting you.”
Dedrick looked beside himself. Crestfallen. He was always so happy and playful with her—it was hard to see him with his heart ripped out and bleeding at her feet.
The back of Shannon’s eyes started to burn. The Jeep’s door had closed behind her. She turned around and threw it open. It banged against the car next to her, but she didn’t dare look back—she didn’t have the gall show her face to Dedrick.
She jammed the key into the ignition and wrenched it forward. The car didn’t start. She slammed her foot on the clutch and turned the ignition again. The engine hummed to life. With a slap of her hand, Shannon disengaged the brake, put the shifter in reverse and backed out of her spot.
When she put the Jeep into first gear and took off toward the exit, Dedrick was in her rearview mirror, still on the far side of the Interceptor, staring at her. Nothing more, nothing less.
The hot tears rolled down Shannon’s face. She had to get the hell away from him.
CHAPTER 8
Michael shouldn’t have shot that kid in the knee. He shouldn’t have been anywhere near Afonso Arroz and his boys.
What did he get for sticking his neck out like that? He should’ve let Shannon handle Colm’s case—she was the detective; he was the ex-mobster brother with the temperament of a jostled stick of dynamite, not to mention a heroin addiction which was every bit as volatile.
He leaned up against the pedestal supporting St. Anthony’s statue in front of the church where this morning’s meeting was held. Was it a sin to smoke a cigarette beneath the likeness of a saint?
A long tail of blue smoke exited his nostrils.
Did Michael care? He turned his father’s steel cigarette case over again and again in his hand, watching the sunlight dance across the limestone steps in front of the church.
Why was he holding onto this cigarette case? It didn’t matter if Ewan gave it to him or not—for that reason alone, he should’ve tossed it into Lake Michigan. And Tommy Rourke never treated Michael well. His father probably would’ve laughed at him if he saw Michael holding onto it—a guy who’d done the things he’d done didn’t get to be sentimental. Sentimentality was for normal people.
It’d make a hell of a lot more sense if Michael hated smoking. Matter of fact, there were a lot of things in Michael’s life he should’ve hated, but instead, he found himself entangled with them again and again.
At least Shannon had the good sense to distance herself from all the crap.
His phone rang. Michael sat the cigarette case down on the statue’s pedestal and pulled the phone out of his pocket.
“Hello, Ewan,” he said.
“I’d like to tell you I called to ask if you’d paid your respects at Colm’s grave yet,” Ewan said. “But, I swore not to lie to you anymore—I only wanted an excuse to check up on you.”
“I’m fine.” Michael puffed his cigarette. This was his fourth one in ten minutes. “And no, I haven’t been to Colm’s grave yet.”
He had no problem lying to Ewan.
“You sound hoarse.”
“You sound like you care.”
Ewan sighed. “You and I should go visit his grave sometime. Colm would’ve appreciated that.”
“You didn’t know your son half as well as you think you did.”
“Maybe. But it’s a nice thought, the two of us saying hello to him together.”
Michael grunted.
“It’s really quite striki
ng. He’s in my family’s plot—three spots over from your father,” Ewan said. “They do a wonderful job keeping the grounds at Graceland, and some of the memorials there will snatch the thoughts right out of your head. It’s worth going, even if you aren’t there to see anyone in particular.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Michael said.
“You know, I left a fresh bouquet for your father—”
“Don’t.”
He could feel Ewan grimace over the phone. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I thought now might be a suitable time to talk about him with you.”
Michael laughed loud enough for Ewan to hear.
“You and Shannon are my children, you know,” Ewan said. “I promised your father that I’d be here to support the both of you, and I have no intention of ever breaking that promise.”
“Good for you.” Michael snubbed out his cigarette. His hands automatically grabbed and opened the steel cigarette case to pull out another.
“Michael, I don’t blame you for not trusting me,” Ewan said. “Your father and I lied to both you and Shannon, to your mother, and to my ex-wife and my children for a number of years. But I want you to know I’ll never break the promise I made to him. I’ll be here to watch over the both of you. No matter what choices you make, you’ll always be a son to me.”
Michael hung up.
CHAPTER 9
The little bell above the door tinkled when Shannon walked into Corvath’s Garage.
Inside, the waiting area smelled of axle grease and tires. It was paneled up in walnut-patterned laminate with black and white tiles on the floor. To Shannon’s left was a geriatric house plant, probably left to its own devices for the last decade. There was a lime and calcium-encrusted coffee maker next to the plant, with a half-emptied bag of Styrofoam cups stacked nearby.
A tall, thin man with salt-and-pepper hair and bifocals slipping down his nose smiled at Shannon from behind the desk.
“Officers,” he said. “Is there something I can assist you with?”
“I’m Detective Shannon Rourke.” Shannon showed her star and motioned at the two officers flanking her. “This is Officer Harker and Officer Geist. We’re looking for a man named Leigh Corvath. Does he work here?”
The man’s face hardened. He was none too pleased. “What’s he done this time?”
“You know him?”
“I’m Joe Corvath—Leigh is my son.”
“Mr. Corvath, it’s critical that I find Leigh as soon as possible. Is he here now?”
“No, he hasn’t—”
An engine growled in the parking lot in front of the building. It drew Shannon’s attention through the window, where she saw a dark-blue 1970 Chevrolet Corvette Stingray pull into the spot next to her Jeep.
A younger version of the old man behind the counter slipped out from the driver’s side door of the car.
“Leigh Corvath,” Shannon said.
Leigh’s father, Joe, shoved past Shannon and shot out the front door. The welcoming bell clattered after him. He stepped to his son with enough fury to make Leigh lose his footing as he stepped on the sidewalk, unaware of his father. He tripped backward and landed on his butt.
“Should we step in, Detective?” Officer Harker said.
“Not yet,” Shannon said. “If we wait long enough, I’m betting Leigh Corvath will be a lot more cooperative when it comes to putting handcuffs on him.”
And it wouldn’t be a very long wait. Joe’s face was a shade redder than a Bulls jersey. His finger stabbed at his son like he was a mutt who’d left a mess on the carpet for the last time. His hand came back and an open-palm slap knocked Leigh sideways.
Shannon rushed out the door.
“—why they came here looking for you!”
“I don’t know!”
Joe had Leigh’s shirt balled up in his left hand. He pulled his right back to slap his son again.
“Mr. Corvath!” Shannon leapt at him. He was easily a foot taller than her, but she had the advantage of leverage. She led with her bad shoulder by accident. It crashed into his hip hard enough to make her grunt in pain, while Joe spilled away from his son and latched onto one of the CPD interceptors for balance.
A split-second later, the pain in her shoulder subsided to a dull, scorching sensation, and Officer Geist had Joe pinned against the vehicle, while Officer Harker helped Leigh to his feet.
Shannon pushed herself off the pavement with her good arm and got to her feet. Her bad left shoulder was sure to complain at her for the rest of the week. She smoothed back her hair and readjusted the tie on her ponytail while the Corvaths settled down. They didn’t look like the type to struggle much once the police got involved.
“What the hell did you get into?” Joe yelled at Leigh. “Tell me what you did this time—what did Jennica make you do?”
“Nothing, Dad,” Leigh said. “I didn’t do anything. I don’t know why the cops are here.”
“You two got them under control?” Shannon said to Harker and Geist.
Both officers nodded back to her.
Shannon approached the Stingray. The license plate was a match—so there was no doubt this was the car. But the car looked like it had been freshly cleaned.
“Either of you have gloves?”
Officer Harker, who already had Leigh locked away in handcuffs, reached into a pocket on his belt and produced a pair of latex gloves for Shannon. “Size large,” he said.
“Great. I can fit both of my hands into one.”
She put a glove on each hand. The fingertips hung off like deflated balloons. They’d better not laugh at her. “Is your car unlocked?” she asked Leigh.
“Yeah.”
“Do I have your permission to search it?”
“I guess so.”
She pulled the driver’s side door open.
The car’s interior was immaculate. Honest to God, it smelled like cedar inside. The black, leather bucket seats shined like obsidian. There were chrome accents all over the car—like a chrome shop had a Black Friday three-for-one sale, and it looked like someone had gone through the trouble to restore the car’s original steering wheel.
Shannon knew just enough about classic cars to understand that a lot of love had been put into this Corvette Stingray—and that it had been thoroughly cleaned this morning.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Leigh said.
“Excuse me?” She looked at him over her shoulder.
“Sorry, Detective,” Joe said. He pointed at the car. “My son has a bit too much of his pride wrapped up in that one, though I can’t hold it against him too much. It’s been a long year of finding the right parts and putting them all together.”
“It was longer than a year, Dad.”
“No it wasn’t. We bought that car in August of last year.”
“How many months were we looking for a Stingray before then?”
“I don’t know,” Joe said. “I was working here while you looked.”
“You’re acting like I was screwing around.”
“That’s not what I said—”
“Gentleman,” Shannon held up her hands, “hold the argument for later.”
These two were looking to be a real treat. She couldn’t wait to find Joe strangling Leigh in one of the interview rooms.
Shannon closed the driver’s door. She walked around the front of the car, her eyes tracing the reflection of the shop on the freshly waxed hood. There was no blood, but something else caught her eye.
Hair.
It was only a few strands of long and blond hair, riding the breeze like streamers, pinched between the car’s front bumper and the driver’s side quarter panel.
Shannon took out her cell phone and took a picture of it.
“Anyone have an evidence baggie handy?”
“A what?” Joe said. “Why? What are you looking at over there?”
She glanced at him, then looked to officers Harker and Geist.
“I keep all that mess in my Interceptor,�
� Geist said.
“Harker?”
“Ain’t got much room for that in my belt.”
“Detective, would you please tell me what you’re looking at over there?”
No, she wouldn’t, but she had to tell Joe Corvath something. It wouldn’t be right to arrest his son without explanation. She had to set her feelings aside. Leigh had the car spotted by a witness at the scene, and even more damning, it appeared that Jennica Ausdall’s hair was stuck on it.
It didn’t matter what she felt; Leigh Corvath had probably killed his girlfriend.
“I’m taking Leigh with me for questioning,” she said. “He’s a suspect in the murder of Jennica Ausdall.”
The two Corvaths moved inversely to each other. Leigh sank to his knees, out of Officer Harker’s grasp. His face slackened and his eyes assumed the sunken quality of a desiccated man remembering the last drop of rain he’d ever felt on his skin.
Joe sprung up. His mouth twisted in rage, and for a moment it looked like he’d belt Leigh all over again, but Geist was there to hold him in place.
“What do you mean murder?” The question was ostensibly directed at Shannon, but he shouted it at his son. “Leigh, what happened? Did you kill Jennica?”
Leigh made no reply. Officer Harker helped him to his feet and guided him to the back of his cruiser. He didn’t appear to be aware of any of it.
“You can’t arrest him.” He turned to Shannon. “You can’t arrest my son, he’s innocent.”
She didn’t have the heart to say anything back.
CHAPTER 10
“The sooner you tell me the truth, the sooner this is all over.” Shannon looked across the white table in the small interrogation room back at the District 12 station. Seated across from her was Leigh Corvath. He was tall, angular, and on anything except the worst day of his life—which today probably was—she’d bet he was kind of cute for a murderer.
“I am telling you the truth. Yeah, Jennica and I argued last night. Was I late to work this morning? Yeah, I was. But none of that means I killed her. Why would I kill her?” He looked like he was well past exasperation.
Chicago Broken: Detective Shannon Rourke Book 2 Page 5
