The Green Line

by E. C. Diskin

  “Oh my God, Marcus.”

  He didn’t answer.

  “You don’t have to talk about it. It’s not my business.”

  He wiped his face. “I never found them. I searched and put out missing persons reports. I posted pictures like everyone else all over the city.”

  “They were in the buildings?”

  He turned to her. “I think so.” He could see her confusion. “I’ll never know for sure. I kissed them both good-bye that morning. I was running late. I didn’t ask my wife what she was doing that day. She was on maternity leave. But those buildings collapsed and thousands died and I never found them.”

  He got up and moved over to the bookshelf, checking out her photographs. “She had a good friend who worked on the hundredth floor. My guess is that she wanted her friend to meet Madeleine.”

  “And the friend?”

  He remained fixed on her pictures. “She’s dead.”

  “Haven’t they been recovering…,” she paused, obviously not sure how to phrase it.

  He looked at her then. At her trepidation. “Body parts?”

  She answered quietly. “Yes.”

  He went back to the couch, took another sip and sat down. “It’s been two and a half years, Abby. Two and a half years. They’ve only been able to identify twelve hundred people. They think almost twenty-eight-hundred people died. All that soot that was flying around that day? It was not just buildings. It was people. Turned to dust.”

  “Oh my God.”

  “Yeah.” Marcus wiped his face and looked back out the window. “I tried to stay. I tried to do the job. They needed cops—we had lost half my unit. But I couldn’t be there. I couldn’t go home. Ceelie’s parents wanted to have a funeral. I didn’t want to declare them dead. To me, they were still missing.”

  “I’m so sorry.”

  “Yeah. Anyway, after about a year and a half of being a zombie, waiting for the call, for an examiner to say he’d found them, I gave up.” He looked at her. “I went to my chief and quit. I figured I’d just take off. Go to the Bahamas or something. Bartend. Just get away from everything. But then a couple of days later he called me and told me about his buddy, Duvane. Told me about their conversation. About me doing some undercover work for the Chicago police.”

  “And that brought you to me.” Abby smiled.

  “Yep.” He sat back and took a deep breath. It felt good to tell her. To feel some connection to someone again. “So, what’s your story, Abby? I bet you’ve got a story.”

  She turned away from his glance. “Not really.”

  He sat back and put his feet up and tried to lighten the moment. “Come on. Why are you living here all by yourself? You ever been married?”

  She smiled. “Nope.”

  “Do you want to get married someday?”

  “Oh, I don’t know.” She started getting up. “We should both get some sleep.”

  She was a tough nut to crack but he wouldn’t give up. Though maybe it wasn’t the time. They did need some sleep.

  Abby reached out for his hand. He gave it to her and looked into her eyes. He recognized the sadness. She said good night. He did the same.

  TWENTY

  ABBY woke in a haze. Her head pounded. Her bladder ached for relief. She checked the clock—8:20 a.m.

  Down the hall, Marcus was in the second bedroom, sitting at the computer.

  “Hey.”

  He turned to the door. “Good morning, Abby. I hope you don’t mind. I’ve got some work to do.”

  “No problem.” She yawned. “I need some coffee. You want some?”

  “That would be great.”

  She started down the stairs.

  Marcus called out. “How’re you feeling?”

  “Ugh.”

  She took each step carefully, hoping to minimize the pounding in her head. Her mission was simple: a giant glass of water, several Advil, coffee. She sat at the table, held her head, and waited for the pain to subside. She needed to focus on the partnership memo but it didn’t seem possible.

  She brought Marcus some coffee, curled up in the big chair in the corner of the bedroom, and watched him work.

  “Marcus, have you looked up the circumstances of the forfeitures?”

  “Which ones?”

  “I was thinking about this last night. You said that Weber Properties has many properties that were bought at auction. We know it bought Quick Mart and we know the crime that led to that building’s seizure is suspect. And we know Reilly did the busts at Ali’s and this kid that was here yesterday may have been involved in setting up Ali. So, I’m thinking, what if Reilly was involved in some of those cases too? That would seem more than coincidental, right?”

  Marcus stopped and thought about it. She had his attention.

  “And you said Reilly and this Trip guy know each other. What if this guy is behind Weber Properties? He told me he was ‘in business.’ What if his business is real estate?”

  She could tell that Marcus’s wheels were turning.

  “Okay, I’ll let you work.” She needed to do some work too.

  ABBY came back into the room a few hours later and plopped onto the chair again. She had been in the living room trying to piece together her life history at the firm for the evaluation. Marcus was still staring at the computer with a legal pad full of notes to the side.

  “So, what do you have?”

  Marcus turned to her. “Well, this is interesting. Weber Properties has six properties that it bought at auction over the last year. It’s also listed as the seller of another fifteen properties that were sold over the last few years.”

  Abby pulled her knees up to get comfortable and waited for the stories.

  “So far, I’ve only gone through its current properties. We know about Quick Mart, but as far as the others…,” Marcus turned back to the monitor and read aloud. “Well, here—a building on the corner of Cicero and Madison. Looks like there was a store front on the first floor and apartment above.”

  “Just like Ali’s building.”

  “Yeah. The owner, Gloria Washington and son, both arrested.”

  “By Officer Reilly?”

  “Yes.” He paused dramatically. “Alleged drug trafficking. The building was seized.”

  “When was this?”

  “May 2003.”

  “And?”

  “Both convicted, two months ago.”

  “That doesn’t sound bad, does it?”

  “Not really. But Weber Properties bought it at auction for eighty-two thousand. The sales disclosure stated structural damage.”

  “So?”

  “So, it was bought at auction in November and it’s on the market right now for two hundred and fifty thousand. I don’t know what they did in just three months, but that’s quite a profit.

  “Here’s another one. A three-flat on Davis Boulevard. That’s by Cellular Field. Last spring the building was seized as part of a drug bust. Cash and a large quantity of drugs recovered in one of the apartments. Tenants arrested.”

  “Who was the arresting officer?”

  “J. O’Brien and D. Miller.”

  “Oh. Okay, what about the owner? You said ‘tenants’ were arrested?”

  “Yeah. Owner was Juan Domenz.”

  “Did he fight for the building’s return?”

  “No.”

  “Why?”

  “He’s missing. There was a missing persons report filed for him on June first. Case is still open.”

  Abby didn’t know what to make of it.

  “So no one stopped that building from going up for auction?”

  “That’s right. It just took a few months. Building sold at auction for a hundred and seventy thousand. It’s on the market now as condos, each listed for two hundred fifty thousand.”

  “That’s incredible.”

  “Here’s another one. A liquor store on California Avenue. That’s by the United Center. Owner of the store, Jimmy Robinson, was arrested for drug traffickin
g in August. He was convicted last month. He’s serving a fifteen-year sentence.”

  “Well, that doesn’t sound too suspect. Who was the arresting officer?”

  “M. Reilly.”

  “Officer Reilly.”

  “Yeah. The fourth property has a similar story. Drug bust. Arrests, convictions. And the arresting officer was J. Mackenzie.”

  “And the last one?”

  “Another Reilly arrest.”

  “So Reilly is not the only officer behind these buildings.”

  “No, but I know about these other officers. They’re not to be trusted.”

  “Who?”

  “J. O’Brien, D. Miller, J. Mackenzie. They’re all on leave right now. There’s a lawsuit pending.”

  “Wait, I know those names too.” Abby jumped from her chair, ran down the stairs to the living room, and came back moments later with the Ramirez testimony in hand. “I just took on this new pro bono case.” She quickly reviewed the document. “Those are the names of the three officers that apparently assaulted and terrorized this woman down at Stateway Gardens.”

  “Yeah, Duvane told me about the case. Wanted me to look into it. See if I could come up with the fourth cop, the only one unnamed in the complaint.”

  Abby was still reading from the papers. “The named officers all had crew cuts. The fourth had blond hair.”

  “And you know who else described three cops with crew cuts and a fourth with blond hair?”

  “Who?”

  “Leon. The bartender from Reggie’s. And he swears he’s been set up to go down for trafficking.”

  “And the building’s been seized.”

  “Yep.”

  Abby continued. “We need to figure out who’s behind Weber Properties. And maybe we should look into that missing person case—what did you say his name was?”

  Marcus reviewed the notes again. “Juan Domenz.” He looked back up at Abby. “But listen, I’ll handle the investigating. I’m here to protect you.”

  “I know. I’m not suggesting I become your gun-totin’ sidekick.” She stood to leave. “You keep working. I’ve got stuff to do anyway.” Abby went to her room, changed into jeans, and headed down to the living room. She opened her laptop, got on Google, and typed Juan Domenz Chicago missing 2003 and waited.

  · · ·

  MARCUS pulled up the Weber Properties address and called Duvane.

  “Hey, Henton here. Listen, this Trip character, the mystery cop, he’s connected to Reilly. And I think there’s something to this Weber Properties that now owns the Quick Mart.”

  Duvane cut him off. “I know who he is. I was just going to call you, Marcus.”

  “Well?”

  “His name is Thomas A. Callahan, the third. After you left me that message last night that he didn’t match any of the records, it occurred to me to check officers who aren’t on the force anymore. Thomas Callahan was an officer from 1994 to 2002. His file is clean. He was well-liked. Out of the twenty-fourth district. That’s Rogers Park. He was on different task forces during his tenure. First the neighborhood outreach, a little SWAT, and then the Asset Forfeiture Unit. No problems.”

  Marcus was taking notes. “A career cop that leaves his job at what, thirty-four? Who does that?” Of course that’s what Marcus had tried to do, but he knew it was unheard of.

  “Exactly.”

  Marcus looked at his notes and circled Callahan’s name, Reilly, Mackenzie, and the others too. “We’re thinking maybe this has something to do with property. All the Weber Properties I’ve looked up were seized by one of the cops we’re investigating. And Callahan seems connected to at least a couple of the properties and he’s connected to all these cops. What if this is a forfeiture scam?”

  “How do you figure?”

  “Weber Properties is buying bargain properties and selling them for fantastic profits.”

  “Look at the market. That’s the way it is now.”

  “Callahan is driving around in a Mercedes owned by a TWC Industries and title was transferred from the Chicago Police Department.”

  “Another auction purchase?”

  “I don’t think so. Looks like the Illinois State Police auctions off forfeited vehicles. A car would be owned by Chicago Police if they had kept the car after forfeiture for ‘official business.’ Title transferred to TWC Industries in December 2002. And didn’t you just say Callahan left the force in 2002. When?”

  “Let’s see. December.”

  “And he’s got friends on the force. He knows the system. He was with the Asset Forfeiture Unit. Reilly’s still in that unit.”

  “Interesting.”

  “You gonna bring him in?”

  “Not yet.”

  “He may have murdered that woman at Reggie’s. I think the bartender can place him at the scene.”

  “But Ms. Donovan can’t. And the bartender is up on charges.”

  “Well, we’ve got him on impersonating an officer, then.”

  “That’s nothing, Marcus. I want to get to the bottom of this bullshit. If this involves the Chicago Police in any way we better be very careful here. The asset forfeiture group brings in major money for the department. If we start making allegations without solid evidence, shit will hit the fan. I want Reilly if he’s doing something, and if there are more cops involved in what Callahan’s up to, I want them all.”

  “Okay. There could be a connection to the prosecutor’s office too. I spotted Reilly and Callahan with a guy last night who Abby recognizes as a prosecutor from the state’s attorney’s office.”

  “Shit. Marcus, we gotta get to the bottom of this.”

  Abby came back into the room in jeans and a sweatshirt. Not an ounce of makeup on her face and she looked like an angel. A really tired angel.

  Marcus hung up with Duvane and stood. “Abby, I gotta go.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “I need to go check out the Weber Properties office and then I’m going to see some of its properties.”

  “I want to come.”

  “No way, Abby.”

  “Didn’t you say you wanted to protect me?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “This guy may have murdered a woman and he’s after me. If you felt you needed to sleep here last night, then you shouldn’t leave me alone now.”

  “Abby—”

  She cut him off again. “Didn’t you tell me the address for Weber Properties was in River North? That’s not exactly the west side. I just want to ride along. I’ll sit in the car. I don’t want to be here, Marcus.”

  Marcus wasn’t sure about this, but then again, he wanted to keep her close. It was the only way he knew to protect her. “Okay, let’s go.”

  · · ·

  ONCE Marcus pulled out onto Lake Shore Drive, Abby stared out the window at the icy lake. Much to her amazement, people were running along the lakefront. It was about thirty-five degrees. Everyone in the city obviously appreciated the break from freezing temperatures. Chunks of ice were floating along the shoreline. Marcus was heading south, giving her a great view of the skyline and the Drake Hotel perched near the water’s edge. Sarah’s wedding. It seemed like years ago now. She missed Sarah.

  Abby leaned back against the head rest and turned to Marcus. “I did a little more research on the Internet.”

  “Abby, I thought you’d leave the investigating to me.”

  She didn’t respond.

  “What did you find?”

  “Two things. First, I looked up Juan Domenz. Found a Sun-Times article from the time of his disappearance. Neighbors and relatives were interviewed. I didn’t really learn anything. It was a brief article. And no other stories out there.”

  “But something’s on your mind, I can tell.”

  “Yeah.” She turned to face him. “We’ve got at least three crooked cops—maybe four, if Reilly turns out to be crooked too—connected to the forfeitures of buildings that end up in the hands of Weber Properties. And the man I met, who showed up at my townhouse yester
day—”

  “Thomas Callahan.”

  “What?”

  “Duvane just told me. He’s an ex-cop and his name is Thomas A. Callahan, the third.”

  Abby nodded. “Well, that makes sense. I was going to say that I looked up the name Trip on the Internet because I remembered joking with him about that name. He gave me the sense that it was a nickname. Turns out Trip is short for ‘triple’ and often used as a nickname for boys who are the third. I was going to say you should search for cops with those kinds of names.

  “Anyway, Trip,” she corrected herself, “Callahan, is connected to all these guys and I probably saw him leaving Reggie’s Bar.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Seems like anyone who could fight those forfeiture proceedings was eliminated. And he’s coming for me.”

  Marcus put his hand on Abby’s and squeezed it. She looked at him.

  “Hey. Don’t go there. Callahan doesn’t think you saw him at Reggie’s.”

  “But then why—”

  Marcus cut her off. “Come on. Let’s stop the speculating. One step at a time.” They were exiting onto Wacker. “Let’s just get to Weber Properties.” He followed it west and took a right on Lake Street.

  The rattle and swoosh of the L train passing overhead brought Abby back to that night, just weeks ago when this all started. She looked over at Marcus, at his scar, at the face and those clothes that had once terrified her. What a nice surprise he had been. She turned back to the scenery and asked what they were looking for.

  Marcus checked his note. “The address is 452 Fulton. We need to take this west to Union. And then I think it’ll be down a couple of blocks on the right.”

  Abby pointed out the sign for Union and they took a right, just past Einstein Bagels.

  It was an old street with patches of hundred-year-old brick exposed beneath the asphalt road. There were a lot of industrial properties, some run-down buildings, and some new construction. They found the address: an old warehouse. The brick looked hundreds of years old, with that faded and slightly chipped look, but the windows were new and a giant black steel and glass door graced the front. Brittle, thick ivy vines clung to the south wall. Marcus pulled over to the curb, just south of the driveway that led to the back of the building. He jumped out and jogged up to the small marquee by the door and read through the office names inside.