The Green Line
Page 19
Abby looked at the boy’s face. He had no reaction, as if he didn’t even care what was happening.
“This is a mistake!”
“You have the right to remain silent.” He handcuffed her, continuing with her Miranda rights, and pushed her into the back of the car.
Abby sat in silence as the officers drove them to the station. She looked at the boy. He was looking out the window.
“What were you going to tell me?”
He ignored her.
ABBY sat in the interrogation room with the arresting officers. One of them sat across from her at the table. The other paced the room.
“Officers, I don’t know what you think you saw, but you didn’t.”
The man pacing the room cut her off. “We know who you are, Ms. Donovan. We know that you were just arrested with four thousand dollars in cash and your little dealer was arrested, standing beside you with approximately four thousand worth of prescription drugs. Looks like clear-cut trafficking.”
Abby opened her mouth to speak, but the officer put out his hand to cut her off.
“We know that you were recently at Dalcon Pharmaceuticals with unfettered access to their storage.”
“What is going on here? How do you even know that? And why does that matter?”
“It matters because Dalcon Pharmaceuticals makes Medicone, an oxycodone formulation. And I’d bet money that the drugs we just found on the boy was Medicone.”
“This is insanity. I’m an attorney. I’m representing Dalcon Pharmaceuticals in a product liability case.”
The officer continued. “We know. We also know that the boy, your dealer, has been spotted outside your building on numerous occasions, upsetting your neighbors.” He read from his notes. “A Mrs. Tanor, I believe?”
“Hold on a minute. I’m a senior associate at Simon & Dunn. I don’t know who that boy is. I—”
The man in front of her chuckled. He spoke in a cool, even tone. “Ms. Donovan. You’re obviously trafficking prescription drugs. Now, if you’re just honest about the mess you’re in, things will go a lot better for you.”
She slapped her hand on the table. “This is insane. I don’t do drugs or sell drugs or know anything about drugs.”
The man by the door continued. “Well, what we know is that that kid has been seen loitering around your building on several occasions. You were also seen at a reputed drug location—one Reggie’s Bar and Grill on January twenty-sixth.”
Abby couldn’t hide her rage. “You know that because I told the police I was there. I found that bar because I was trying to get home.”
The man at the table cut her off again. He was still looking at her file. “Yes. And if you were at Reggie’s for help, we’re wondering how it is that you came across a dead body in the bathroom, never called anyone for help, and ran from the scene.”
“I had to pee, okay. I found the woman in the bathroom. I couldn’t find anyone who worked there. Some boys came in and attacked me. They stole my purse.”
“Well, that’s your story. Or maybe you’re a strung-out lawyer trying to support a habit. We hear a lot of stories of professionals getting addicted to prescription drugs—trafficking to support their habit. You’re in a high-stress job. Probably don’t get much sleep.”
The second officer broke in. “And I wonder what your fellow attorneys might say about your job performance? What your neighbors might say about you?”
Her head was spinning. She could just picture Jerry, her long time advocate, shaking his head in disbelief as he heard the news. Believing it because she had been slipping. Working less, more erratic. And her secretary, who’d been asking her why she was getting so many calls from police officers. Questions Abby had evaded. And Mrs. Tanor—she could just imagine. She’d think of that night when Abby forgot her keys, she’d think of Abby and David’s break up that Abby would never explain, she’d think of this boy who kept showing up, calling out to Abby. It sounded possible. Hell, if Abby didn’t know better, she might believe the story.
The officer continued. “Maybe you went to Reggie’s to make a buy, something went down, a woman was killed, and you ran.”
She looked into their faces. She didn’t know what to say. Tell them everything? Hope they believed her? Tell them about Marcus and Duvane? What if these guys were working with Callahan? “I want my lawyer.”
TWENTY-TWO
MARCUS made a quick stop at home, changed into his own clothes so he no longer looked like anyone to fear, and drove to Rogers Park. The halfway house stood out between the three-flats on each of its sides. It was a wide, two-story brick structure with a big front porch and a black iron gate. The director, a squat, gray-haired woman, waddled to the front door to answer the bell.
“Hello, ma’am. I’m Detective Marcus Henton.” He offered his badge, but the woman never looked at it. “I’m hoping you can help me find this boy.” Marcus gave her the picture he’d printed from the police records. “I believe he was here in 2001?”
The woman nodded matter-of-factly upon review of the photograph. “Yes, Patrick. He was here for a time.” She walked toward the office and Marcus followed. At the door to her office, she turned back. “Why are you looking for Patrick? What’s he done?”
“I’ve spotted this kid at a couple of different locations that are under investigation right now.”
“For what?”
“I’m not able to say. I’m not going to arrest him, I just need to speak to him. He might be able to help with my investigation.”
The woman seemed satisfied and continued into the office. It was a mess. Her filing system involved lots of stacks. She walked along the small cleared path from the door to the desk and investigated several mounds of papers. Hundreds of photographs of teens filled the wall behind her desk. Marcus stared at the faces looking for Patrick’s.
“Well, of course he doesn’t live here anymore.” She was searching the filing cabinet toward the back of the room. “The state only required that he stay here for a year and exactly one year to the day he moved out. He and another kid he met here got a place together. They’ve not kept in touch with me like I asked. But I keep my fingers crossed that they’re staying out of trouble.”
“Do you have their new address?”
“That’s what I’m looking for.”
Marcus waited.
“Here we go.” She pulled a file and opened it on her desk. “Now this was in the spring of 2002. I can’t say for sure that they’d still be there. You know how kids are. But this is it.”
“That’s great. I really appreciate the help.”
She wrote the address on a Post-it.
“What did you think of Patrick while he was here?”
“Oh, you know. At the core, he was probably a good kid. But he hardly had a chance. Lost his parents young, shuffled around. Got into drugs. And you know what that leads to.”
“Sure. Did he get a job when he lived here?”
“Oh yes. They have to. That’s part of the program. If anyone had a chance at a new life, I think it was Patrick.”
“Why’s that?”
“He had a guardian angel in that Mr. Callahan.”
“Really? And who’s Mr. Callahan?”
“Well, he was a police officer. I guess he took a special interest in Patrick. He helped him get out of the juvenile detention center early, and then once he got settled here, he offered Patrick a job. He was leaving the force and starting a real estate development company.”
“And what was Patrick to do?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Odd jobs, I guess. Make copies, maybe? Get coffee?”
Marcus took some notes.
“But Mr. Callahan paid him well. He even helped him get a car.”
“Wow, that is nice. What kind of car was it?”
“Oh, just an older Cadillac. Tan, I think. Patrick loved it. If all my kids could have such people in their lives, we’d really have some hope.”
“Yeah.” Marcus put his pen and p
aper into his jacket. “I really appreciate your help, ma’am. Oh, and can you tell me the name of the boy he got a place with?”
“That would be Sam Williams.” She went to her desk and sat. “Good luck, Detective.”
MARCUS jumped in his car and headed toward Patrick Ellis’s apartment. It was a few blocks from the lake. A three-flat. One of many lining the small residential street. Marcus got to the door and saw the labels for each unit. And there it was: Williams/Ellis. 2B.
He rang the buzzer. No answer. He rang it a few more times. It was now nine fifteen. A voice came over the speaker. Groggy. Annoyed. “Yeah?”
“Patrick Ellis?”
“No.”
“Is he available?”
“No.”
“I’m sorry to bother you so early. I’m Detective Marcus Henton. I really need to find Mr. Ellis. Could you tell me where he is?”
“No.”
“Son, he’s not in trouble. But I really need to speak to him. Could you let me up?”
“No. You could be some psycho killer, dude.”
“I’m not. I’d show you my badge if you’d just let me in. I just need to find Mr. Ellis.”
“He left for work like a half hour ago.”
“And where does he work?”
“He has a couple of jobs. Starbucks, up on the corner there.” Marcus looked up the street and could see the sign. “Other shit. I don’t know where he is.” He let out an audible yawn. “Listen, dude. That’s all I can say.”
MARCUS stood on the corner in front of the Starbucks, talking to Duvane on his cell.
“Hey. I found the kid’s apartment and his roommate said he left for work a while ago, though I just came out of the Starbucks where he works, and he’s not due here until noon. So I’m guessing he’s working for Callahan right now.”
“So what’s next?”
“Well, I think it’s a wild goose chase to try and spot him at a property. I could be running around all day and never see him. I think I should get back here when he’s due at this job. I’m going to pay the medical examiner a visit. The same one signed off on both the prostitute’s examination and Rashid and his friend. Maybe there’s some way we can connect these two to Callahan. Or Reilly. And I’m going to see a property on Madison that Callahan had marked. See what I can find out.”
“Good. Call me later.”
“Duvane?”
“Yeah?”
“I think we should arrest Callahan today even if I don’t find the kid.”
“We don’t have enough, Marcus. You’re to nail dirty cops to the wall. This guy could lead us to them.”
“Abby’s in danger. I told her that I’d get this wrapped up today. We can arrest him for impersonating an officer. He’s been at her place. And I’d bet Leon could place him at Reggie’s, too.”
“Marcus, we need more.”
“But maybe if we arrest him, and then go after Reilly, Reilly will implicate him. I don’t want him on the street. Maybe even if we just put a scare in him—”
“I’ll think about it. Just let me know what happens today and we’ll take it from there.”
· · ·
TRIP was in his office, waiting for the call. He didn’t have to wait long. Within fifteen minutes of arriving, his cell rang.
“Yes?” Trip didn’t bother identifying himself.
“She’s in custody.”
“Good. Thanks, Dom.”
“No, thank you.”
“Just trying to do my part. So what’s next?”
“Just waiting for the judge to sign off and we’ll search her place.”
“Perfect.”
“How’d you find out about this?”
“You won’t believe this, but I was dating her!”
“No shit. Well, she is hot.”
“Yeah. Met her at the Drake, downtown. We had a great time. But then I found out she was using. I was going to break it off and then I saw her stash. When I saw Patrick’s name and number at her place I was floored. I just knew I had to end it.”
“Once a cop, always a cop.”
“That’s right. Anyway, maybe this will get them cleaned up.”
“You dun good.”
“I just can’t believe Patrick is mixed up in this. How’s he doing?”
“He’s fine. He acts like he couldn’t give a shit about the whole thing.”
“I’ll talk to him. I’m going to get that kid on the straight and narrow if it kills me. I thought he’d been doing much better. When’s the bond going to be set?”
“Just get him out of here. We’ll let it go. We’re more interested in her.”
“Thanks man.” Trip clenched a fist in silent victory and grinned. So predictable. He hung up the phone. “You cannot fuck with me, Abby.” His pressure rose just thinking about it, but he surveyed the wall of pins and regained his composure. “Now, I just need to clean up a bit.”
Trip opened the drawer beside him and searched for the right keys. He then went to the back closet, opened the safe, and pulled out a large bag of red pills. He grabbed his coat and drove to Abby’s.
Forty-five minutes later, he and Patrick were in his car, parked in front of the twenty-third-district station house.
“Good work, Patrick. See, I told you I’d get you out. No problem.”
The boy put on his seat belt. “Yeah, yeah. What if I had been charged?”
“I told you that wouldn’t happen. And if it had, I could have dealt with it. Had the charges dropped. But why even talk about it? Here we sit. Just like I said.”
The boy looked out the window. “So when do I get my money?”
“Patience, my boy. What’d I say?”
“A thousand dollars.”
“That’s a lot of money. You sure I said that much?”
Patrick looked back at him, failing to see the humor. “Don’t fuck with me, Trip. I just did you a huge fuckin’ favor. Put my life on the line. I need that fucking money.”
He tried to calm the boy. “Patrick, I was kidding. I’ll take care of you.”
Patrick looked out the window again and muttered, “You better.” His knee bounced nervously and his foot twitched.
Now Trip was annoyed. “Or what?”
The kid raised his voice in response, but kept his gaze outside. “Or maybe this little operation of yours goes to hell.”
Little shit. Little fucking drug-addicted punk. Trip shook his head. His hand was being forced yet again.
The boy looked back at Trip. “You know that bitch asked me if I was working for you.”
Trip’s expression went flat. “What did you say?”
“Nothin’. Cops pulled up a second later.”
Trip sat there, gripping the steering wheel. He slammed a fist against it, causing the horn to honk.
“What the fuck, dude? I’m supposed to be at work in ten minutes. Can we get out of here?”
Trip took a slow, deep breath and slicked his hands over his hair. “Okay, sure. But I need to show you something. Where’s your car?”
“In that lot next to the chick’s place. Behind that bar.”
· · ·
ABBY sat at the metal table with legs crossed, back straight, hands clasped around her knees. She was trying to remain calm, but the constant tapping of her heel against the floor was a giveaway. She had watched the clock on the wall, watched the hands moving around in circles. They were messing with her. She had asked for her attorney three hours ago.
The door opened and she stopped tapping.
“Well, this is a surprise!” He put the case down.
Abby couldn’t help the embarrassed smile when Ted Gottlieb came into the room. She stood to greet him. “Hi Ted. Thanks for coming.”
“What’s going on here, Abby?”
“It’s crazy. But you’ve got to believe me and you’ve got to get me out of here.”
He pulled out his chair to sit and motioned her to do the same.
“Well, tell me all about it.”
Gottlieb sat and listened, taking notes. “This is kind of crazy.”
She watched his notes carefully to be sure he was getting everything down. “I know. But Marcus has heard from kids in the west side neighborhood he’s working that Callahan has roughed up some kids, acted like he was going to arrest them, taken drugs and money and then let them go.”
She paused, giving Gottlieb a chance to finish the note. “In fact, if Callahan is behind sending the kid to my place all these times and this arrest, and the money in my pocket, he’s the one who set me up.”
Gottlieb looked up from his legal pad. “And why would he be doing this?”
“I guess he wants to be sure I can’t place him at Reggie’s.”
“But you said you couldn’t.”
“I know.”
“So I just don’t know why he’d be after you.”
“I don’t know. But I’ve been investigating him. I mean, not really him at first, but just what happened that night. We were getting close. He must know it.”
Gottlieb didn’t respond and she wondered if he thought she was crazy. Or worse, if he thought she was some strung-out lawyer, doing all the things the cops alleged.
She continued to think it through out loud. “I went to the auction for Ali’s place. The buyer ended up being Callahan’s company. Maybe he found out I was there. And then I saw him yesterday and freaked. He must have known.”
“What?”
“That I know what he’s up to.”
“And what exactly do you think that is?”
She sat for a minute. She had so many pieces. She started talking it through again, while looking at Gottlieb’s notes. “What if Callahan was doing the same thing at Reggie’s and Quick Mart?”