Chicago Broken: Detective Shannon Rourke Book 2

by Stewart Matthews

  Frank came up from behind her and sniffed at the tube.

  “If you’re coming back for more, you’ll be sorely disappointed.” She picked the pieces up, then turned around to go throw them in the trash.

  But she noticed a black leather bag about the size of a purse hanging halfway out of Michael’s closet door.

  “Is that where you got this?” She held the pieces of tube up to Frank’s nose. He made a move to snatch them out of her hand, but she wasn’t about to let him have them back.

  She stuffed the tube bits in her pocket, then squatted down and grabbed the bag. It was heavier than she expected, and the bag’s contents clanked around when she hoisted it up on the bed.

  The zipper had been partially chewed open. She ran her finger between the two sides, opening the bag the rest of the way, and peeked inside. Something metallic gleamed out at her.

  Now she had to know what it was.

  She upended the bag onto Michael’s bed.

  It was all tools. A couple small pliers, a mallet, channel locks, nails, and some more tubes. There were also used copper wires, some wire clamps, and a set of heavy rubber gloves.

  No needles. No little vials or syringes.

  That came as a relief. It was just tools, albeit an odd assortment of them—and she couldn’t remember ever seeing Michael fix anything. She zipped the bag up as best she could, closed his closet door, and made sure Frank followed her out of his room. Shannon set the tool bag on their round kitchenette table.

  Where was Michael anyhow? According to her phone, it was almost 7 PM.

  From outside the closed bay window of her living room, she heard a distant cheer reach out from Wrigley Field.

  Oh, right. There was a Cubs game tonight. He was probably at Murphy’s Bleachers or Cubby Bear.

  The phone vibrated in Shannon’s hand. It was Marcie Talbot.

  “Marcie?”

  “Good evening, Shannon. Have you had any luck with your case?”

  “I got sassed by an old man today. I’m thinking that’s considered good luck in some cultures.”

  “How did that happen?”

  “I was at his house, talking to him about Leigh Corvath—Jennica Ausdall’s boyfriend, and my top suspect.” Between all the talk of Dedrick, she wasn’t sure if she told Marcie about Leigh.

  “Is the old man his father?”

  “No, his bookie. It seems that Leigh had a gambling problem.”

  “I heard a rumor that Jennica’s entire family had a gambling problem.”

  Shannon leaned forward on her elbows with the phone pressed to her ear. “Where and when did you hear a rumor about the victim in my case?”

  “I can’t remember when,” Marcie said, “but I can tell you where.”

  Shannon hopped up from her chair and scrambled for her work bag. She grabbed it from beside the door, then rustled around in it until she found her notepad and a pen. “Go ahead.”

  “Jennica Ausdall was a member of the Chicagoland High School Football Parents’ Association. When you told me her name back at the station, I thought I’d heard it somewhere before, so I looked her up. She was one of the committee chairs.”

  “Aren’t you a little old to play high school football?” Shannon said.

  “My oldest expects to make varsity this year. I’m doing all I can to see if he can find a scholarship. They’ve got all sorts of resources and programs at the association. Lots of schools ask them for prospects, from the little div three programs to the big guys like Alabama.”

  Shannon scratched some notes on the pad in front of her. “Did you know Jennica?”

  “I wasn’t in her circle,” Marcie said, “but I knew some moms who probably were. I took the liberty of calling them up before I called you—I hope you don’t mind.”

  “You hope I don’t mind that you’re helping me solve a murder?” Shannon almost laughed. “After the last two months I’ve had, I’ll take all the help I can get.”

  “Good,” Marcie said. “Well, the women I spoke to told me Jennica Ausdall was the ‘alpha mom’. If you needed a pep rally or a ticket raffle or you were unable to find a keynote speaker at your private school’s alumni luncheon, Jennica Ausdall was the person you called on.”

  “She’s the queen bee.”

  “I suppose that wouldn’t be far off the mark.”

  “Know anything about her son, Cooper?” Shannon flipped through her notes until she’d found what she wrote down this morning.

  “Cooper Wendt?”

  “I never caught his last name.”

  “It’s Wendt,” Marcie said. “What about him?”

  “I had a real candid conversation with him. We bonded.”

  “Over what?” Marcie said.

  “He hates his parents, too.”

  That made Marcie pause a moment before she continued. “He was one of the top wide receiver prospects in this year’s senior class,” she said. “Other than that, I couldn’t say if Cooper was left or right-handed.”

  “You didn’t talk to any of his friends’ parents?”

  “I didn’t really ask about him, but I can.”

  Did Marcie just volunteer to work Shannon’s case with her? It wasn’t that the help was unwanted, it was just that, in a city like Chicago, a Violent Crimes detective typically had a full case load.

  “You looking for overtime or something?” Shannon asked.

  “Well, I finished my case this morning, and I guess my mind enjoys having something to puzzle out, so I started thinking about your murder. I can leave you to it, if you prefer.”

  “Are you crazy?” Shannon said. “There’s nobody else I’d rather be working with right now.”

  “Would that be because we can gossip about Dedrick together? I love the way his shoulders look in a dress shirt.”

  “Marcie! You’re married!”

  “It isn’t against the law to look.”

  “You’re making me rethink this partnership already,” Shannon said.

  “Oh, like you haven’t checked him out. I would’ve thought that you of all people would agree with me.”

  “Right now, I want to focus on Jennica Ausdall’s murder case.”

  “Right,” Marcie said. “I haven’t told you the best part.”

  Shannon flipped to the first unused page of her notebook. “Go on.”

  “Did you find out much about Jennica’s deceased husband, Samuel?”

  “Well, there was the placard in the garden at Northern Cardinal.”

  “He was murdered,” Marcie said. “And I’ll bet you can guess the prime suspect.”

  The second Marcie said Samuel Wendt had been murdered, Shannon already knew. “His wife, Jennica.”

  CHAPTER 15

  “Since Jennica was walking around Northern Cardinal High School this morning, I’m assuming she didn’t kill her husband.” Shannon leaned back in the dining room chair. Frank took the opportunity to place his white paw on her knee, his politest way of asking to go outside. He’d have to wait a few minutes more.

  “The district attorney thought she did it,” Marcie said.

  “But they didn’t press charges against her?”

  “I’m at home, so I can’t take a look at the case file, but it would seem that way.”

  “Do you know if they prosecuted anyone else for the murder?”

  “It remains unsolved,” Marcie said.

  “There has to be some kind of connection to Jennica’s case.” Shannon leaned over the table and wrote husband murdered, unsolved in her notebook.

  “If all the rumors about the husband were true, it could be someone is targeting their family. Could’ve been an old associate of his, or maybe someone who disagreed with something he did in private.”

  “What rumors?”

  “He was a high-profile attorney,” Marcie said. “A man a lot of people thought wasn’t on the level, if you understand my meaning.”

  “Dirty?”

  “That would appear to be the case. But like so
many of those people, no one could prove anything other than Samuel Wendt had far more money than most of his contemporaries.”

  “If you think Jennica’s murder is the result of ties he had to a criminal element, I don’t think any of those people would wait ten years to kill his wife out of revenge.”

  “Why not? It’d throw off any suspicion,” Marcie said.

  “If it’s an old business partner, he either would’ve killed Samuel Wendt or he would’ve killed his family—and he would’ve done it all at once. People like that kill to protect secrets or take revenge, and in both cases, they don’t want to risk anyone getting away. Waiting a decade would be a huge mistake. I think it’s the boyfriend who did it,” Shannon said. “All the evidence points to him.”

  “What evidence would that be?”

  She told Marcie that his dark-blue Corvette Stingray had been spotted fleeing the murder scene. Then there were the blond strands of hair stuck to the car, and the fact that Leigh Corvath and Jennica Ausdall apparently argued like the Hatfields and McCoys. There was also the blind bookie.

  “You think Leigh and his bookie worked together to kill Jennica?”

  “It looks that way right now,” Shannon said. “They’re both hiding something from me, that much I can tell.”

  “Have you searched Leigh’s home?”

  “Not yet.” Shannon hadn’t even gotten started on a search warrant.

  “What about Jennica?”

  “Haven’t looked there, either.”

  “Well, I’d say you’ll want to get to bed early tonight,” Marcie said, “because we’re looking at a long day tomorrow. Pick me up at eight.”

  CHAPTER 16

  The alarm screamed from Shannon’s nightstand.

  She swiped at her phone and knocked it to the hardwood floor. It crashed down hard enough to wake up the whole building—never mind that the alarm continued crying out in the pre-dawn darkness.

  If her neighbors in the unit below her hadn’t been awake a minute ago, they were now.

  She tried to roll over and get up, but Frank, who was blissfully asleep, had her left arm pinned.

  “Frank, get up.” She pushed at his belly with her free hand.

  He groaned and rolled over. Shannon slipped out. Her entire arm tingled as the blood raced back into it. Her left shoulder ached, too, so as not to be outdone by any other part of her body.

  She shook it off, got up, turned her phone’s alarm off, then threw some work clothes on in a hurry. A pair of questionably clean jeans and her slate-gray CPD polo would do for her meetings with Marcie today.

  With her star and service weapon clipped to her belt, Shannon left her bedroom (and Frank, who remained blissfully asleep on the bed). She started toward the kitchen for her morning coffee.

  Imagine her surprise when she saw Michael already parked at the table and hunched over his laptop.

  “Well, fancy seeing you here,” Shannon said. “Late night?”

  She’d startled him. His head practically spun off his shoulders when he turned to face her. The only light in the room came from his laptop. It made the lines on his face look a hundred miles deep.

  “Too late,” he said.

  “What were you doing?”

  “Checking a couple places out.” He turned back to his laptop. “I’ve been thinking I need to get out and get a job again. A legitimate job.”

  Shannon felt a little worry rolling around in her stomach. She should be happy that Michael wanted to get back to work, right? Then why did it she feel as if she’d swallowed a rock?

  “That’s great,” she said. “But why do it that late at night? Are you thinking about bars?”

  “Maybe,” he said. “But only if there’s a kitchen—I walked around and talked to a few chefs in Wrigleyville.”

  “Well, aren’t you a little night owl?”

  “It’s always better to catch them after closing,” he said. “Trying to get a chef’s attention when they’re prepping for open—or God forbid, in the middle of the dinner rush—is a good way to get your hand cut off with a cleaver.”

  Shannon laughed and walked over to the sink to get the coffee ready. At least he seemed positive about getting a job. “I would’ve thought trying to talk to them after work would be worse.”

  “That’s the best time,” Michael said. “They’re usually out back taking a smoke break or having something to eat at one of the tables while the staff closes up for the night.”

  “When I’m tired, I don’t want to talk to anyone.”

  “Them, too,” he said. “You get someone tired enough, and they’ll agree to anything. That’s how I ended up getting an audition later today—and why I’ve been up all night working on a resume.”

  Shannon smiled to herself while she poured the coffee beans into their grinder and turned it on. Michael was clever when he really set his mind to something. In another life, he would’ve made one hell of a detective.

  She pulled a mug off the shelf above the coffee maker. When she did, something caught her eye. Or rather, the lack of something.

  “Did you see your tool bag on the counter?” she said.

  “Yeah, I got it.” His fingers danced over the keyboard.

  “I thought when I asked if you could put in the new dishwasher, you said you didn’t have any tools.”

  She could only see the back of his head—his eyes were focused on his laptop’s screen.

  “Michael?”

  “Guess I forgot about them.”

  It seemed like he didn’t really want to talk. She should probably leave him alone and let him concentrate on the resume.

  Just as well. If Shannon took any longer, Marcie would be stuck waiting—not that she’d complain about having extra time for crosswords.

  She got the coffee maker ready to brew, then started it. Rather than distract Michael with more questions, she took her cell phone out and poked around a bit. A job would be good for him. He needed something to keep himself busy.

  When the coffee finished brewing, she poured it into a travel mug with enough sugar and vanilla-flavored creamer to make the drink taste more like birthday cake than coffee.

  “Walk Frank again today, would you?” She moved past Michael, then grabbed her work bag off the rack next to the door. “I think I’m going to be working late again.”

  “Sure. I’ll need to get up and move around in an hour. I’ll take him out with me.”

  “Thank you.” She walked back to Michael and kissed him on the top of his head. “And good luck.”

  “I’m going to need it,” he said. “This restaurant I’m looking at is big league.”

  Shannon opened the front door and smiled at him. Her brother going to work again.

  It was a brave new day.

  CHAPTER 17

  Jennica Ausdall’s home belonged on the cover of a magazine.

  There was a level of wealth Shannon expected to find when she saw that Jennica’s home was in the well-to-do Chicago suburb of Glen Ellyn, but even when adjusting for that, she was hard-pressed to think of Jennica’s home as anything less than immaculate.

  Wood accents and wrought iron traced the living room’s lines, and a leather couch supple enough to lull any insomniac to sleep pulled the space together. A cathedral ceiling looked down on Shannon, and the far wall was a floor-to-ceiling window. It opened out over a nearby pond, complete with willow trees, lily pads, and a rustic-looking dock where a row boat big enough for two people was moored.

  “Eat your heart out, Monet,” Shannon said quietly.

  “What?” Marcie looked up from the search warrant.

  “I feel like I should’ve taken my shoes off at the door.” Shannon motioned at the covers over her shoes. “Wearing these little booties doesn’t feel clean enough to let me walk around here.”

  “If you had to attempt a guess, what would you say her HOA fee was?”

  “More than either of us could afford on a Chicago PD detective’s salary.” This house was easily fi
ve thousand square feet. Shannon had her work cut out for her.

  Marcie chuckled. “Thank God I don’t need this job to survive.”

  “Right.” Shannon grinned as she opened the drawers on the nearest end table beside the couch. Wait. Was that a joke? “Seriously?” She looked at Marcie, who unrolled a strip of Scotch tape so she could hang the warrant up on the glass storm door.

  “We’re decently well-off from Steve’s job. I enjoy keeping my mind sharp.”

  She could live off her husband’s salary? And she was a detective?

  “Oh, what the hell, Marcie? Can’t you do crossword puzzles or something?”

  “That doesn’t quite satisfy me.”

  “Okay, then look for Bible codes,” Shannon said. “Or work on crushing your neighbors with your outstanding garden. You know, something a normal rich lady would do.”

  Marcie smiled at Shannon like she should know better. “None of those things really have the appeal of a Chicago Violent Crimes detective, do they?”

  “I know it’s exciting to go through people’s houses when they aren’t home, but wouldn’t you rather spend time with your family?” Shannon asked.

  Marcie opened the coat closet in the front hall and began searching through it. “My youngest is in middle school, my husband is at work all day. If I let this job go, I wouldn’t have a good excuse for paying a cleaning lady and I’d have to do the dishes myself.”

  “We wouldn’t want that,” Shannon said. “However, it seems a woman of your means would have any number of other things to pass the time.”

  “And there are any number of other jobs a Marine Corps vet would be suited to fill, I think.”

  She wasn’t wrong about that.

  “I guess I see your point. I could’ve worked at the VA.”

  “Really? Doing what?”

  “I don’t know. Filing or something.” Shannon opened the cabinets on the lower half of the bookshelves against the leftmost wall—just past the couch. “Sometimes I wonder what it would’ve been like for me if I had gotten married and had kids.”