by E. C. Diskin
Nate and Marcus were chatting in the front hall at the foot of the stairs. “Hey guys.”
“Hey there, Abby, you ready?”
“Yeah.” She gave Nate a big hug. “Thank you for everything,” she whispered.
Nate pulled out of the embrace and held her arms in a firm grip. “Hey, we’re family, right?” She nodded in agreement. “Good. Don’t forget it. I’ll call you later.”
Marcus opened the passenger door for her and started up the car.
“Well, what have I missed?” Abby inquired.
“It’s been quite a twenty-four hours, my friend.”
“Yeah?”
Marcus pulled out onto Sheridan Road and headed south for the city. “Where to start? Okay, first, Isabel Ramirez came into the station yesterday afternoon. She identified Callahan in a line-up. We called in another guy who I knew was at Reggie’s the first time Callahan and his cronies came in; the brother of one of my contacts on the street. He identified the three officers and Callahan as well. They’re all in custody. They’re now the primary suspects in Leon’s drive-by shooting and the plan is to charge Callahan with the murders of that prostitute, Ali Rashid, and his friend as soon as you come in to give your statement.”
“All good stuff.”
“And we got a search warrant yesterday afternoon for Callahan’s business. Several officers have already spent hours gathering paperwork and computers and everything that might help. They’ll be going through the arrest records and evidence connected with every property he’s acquired through auction. His phone records and e-mails are being scoured. Any contacts with Chicago police will be investigated.”
“Good.”
“And Reilly is anxious to do whatever he can to lessen the charges against him, so you can bet he’ll be testifying against Callahan.”
“And of course I will too.”
“Yes, I think Callahan will go away for a long time.”
“What about bail? If he gets bail, you have to tell me because I’ll leave town. I wouldn’t feel safe.”
“I wouldn’t worry about that, Abby. With all of the charges and evidence they’re piecing together, a judge will know what a flight risk he’d be. And besides, his father came into the station yesterday.”
“Yeah?”
“One would guess that a powerful family would be protecting their own, lawyering up. But it turns out Trip Callahan is not exactly the golden child. The father came in to see him and said good-bye. Told the officers he was washing his hands of him.”
“Wow. And what about the charges against me?”
“Duvane personally saw to it that the entire case was tossed. It’s really over, Abby.” He put his hand on hers. “And I couldn’t have done this without you, you know. Really, I give you all the credit here. And I wish I had protected you better.”
Abby put her other hand on his. “You did fine.”
He looked over at her. “You saved my life yesterday, Abby.”
It didn’t feel that way. It felt like being with Marcus, working this case, had somehow saved her life. She smiled. “You like my toilet-lid move, eh? Gonna use that one sometime?”
“I might!”
They continued down Sheridan and cut over to Lake Shore Drive. Within minutes they had a perfect view of the skyline and the Drake Hotel, perched right there at the curve, straight ahead.
“And what about the prosecutor you saw with Callahan?”
“We’re just starting to build the case against him. Not sure yet how much he knew, but Duvane’s getting a warrant for his personal financials and the state’s attorney has put him on leave pending the investigation. It’s going to take a while, but we’ll get them all.”
“Wow. Are you still undercover? Will you stay with Internal Affairs?”
“For now. Amazingly enough, my cover’s still intact. And according to Duvane, there’s still a lot of work to be done.”
“I’m glad you’ll be staying in Chicago. I’ve gotten used to having you around.”
He smiled. “Me too.”
They drove in silence past Navy Pier and took a right on Monroe toward her building.
“And now you can get back to work too. Must be a relief.”
She gave a half-hearted “yeah.”
He pulled over under the L tracks on Wabash in front of her office.
“Thanks for the ride, Marcus.”
“Hey, it’s the least I could do. I’ll be in touch,” he said in his most professional tone.
She leaned over then and gave him a big hug. “Friends?”
He smiled and hugged back. “Friends.”
“So that means we actually start hanging out sometimes? Go get a beer or something?”
“I’d love it.”
“And if you ever need someone to bounce ideas off of, or do a little covert research, I’m your girl!”
He laughed then. “Yeah, yeah. Get out of the car already.”
IT was about ten o’clock by the time Abby got to the lobby. She hadn’t shown up to work now since last Friday—three days without a word, other than Sarah trying to cover for her. She never even got that partnership memo turned in. She might even get fired, but she felt at peace. She really didn’t care what happened at this point but thought the partners deserved—no she deserved—for them to know the truth.
She had called ahead and asked Dorothy, Jerry’s secretary, when he’d be free, so she knew she could get a few minutes right now. She headed straight to his office and knocked on his open door.
“Abby, please come in. I was going to call you in here today. I never got a partnership memo from you.”
She entered and shut the door behind her. “Yeah, about that. I need to tell you something.”
BACK at her desk, Abby organized a to-do list for getting through the work that had piled up since Monday. She couldn’t wipe the grin from her face. The shock on Jerry’s face was priceless. The firm was never going to fire her now. The media would be all over this story within hours and Abby’s role was sure to shine light on her firm. They would never want to be thought of as the big firm that fired her for solving some kind of crime ring and putting a murderer and several dirty cops behind bars. The firm would want to put her on posters as the face of justice. Jerry was probably already sharing the story with every other senior partner he could find.
It felt good to have the firm behind her again, but nothing felt quite as good as finally being ready to live her life. She couldn’t live for Denny anymore, and she finally realized that she didn’t have to. And when the dust settled from all of this, she was sure she’d cry again about letting David go. They were kindred spirits—more than she ever let him know.
But she would not cry today. Today was for new beginnings. For setting in motion a game plan and charting a new course. She was determined to find her own way and this desk would not hold her for much longer.
ABBY was finishing up for the day when a new e-mail popped up from Seth, the eternal cheerleader of the firm’s associates. The regarding line said only: HAPPY HOUR CELEBRATION. Abby opened the mail:
Hey everyone. Sarah’s back from her honeymoon and it’s not official yet, but the word at the water cooler is that one of our own may soon leave the lowly rank of associate to become a partner. We need beer. Clark Street Ale House. Five o’clock. Be There.
Abby shook her head and smiled. Jerry had already given her the heads up regarding the whole partnership issue. She looked down at her calendar. The afternoon was clear. And then she saw one more new e-mail. It was from David. She held her breath and opened the message: Hi Abby. Thanks for the note. I don’t think the worst of you. I know what happened. We should talk. Can you meet? He knows what happened? But how could he? And then, before the excitement of talking to David again took over, she reminded herself aloud, “He loves someone else now.” She wrote back, Thanks David. Looks like that matter’s all cleared up. Thank goodness. I’m happy to talk whenever you’ve got the time. Take care. Maybe she could
face him tomorrow.
And then she noticed them. The flowers from Ali. Still sitting in what was now brown water, surrounded by dried-out petals on her desk. She sat back and took a deep breath. So much had happened. So much had changed. And it all started because of Ali. He’d saved her life in every way. She looked back at the calendar. Just four weeks had passed since that fateful night.
ABBY, Sarah, and her husband, Rick, stood at the end of the bar with their drinks in hand. Abby suggested a toast to Sarah and Rick’s marriage, Sarah suggested a toast to Abby’s survival, and Rick suggested a toast to Neil’s rise to partnership, which gave them the biggest laugh. They all looked over at Neil, who was off in the corner, holding court among the younger eager beavers. “Let him have it,” Sarah said to Abby, as if she needed reassurance.
“Absolutely. I’m moving on,” Abby advised with confidence. She took a deep breath and welcomed the major change in direction she was now willing to make.
“Hi everyone.” The sound of his voice sent her pulse racing. Butterflies fluttered. How could she even look at him? Sarah and Rick looked up and got off their stools with enthusiastic greetings. Abby remained frozen. She couldn’t turn around. She heard him congratulate the newlyweds and order a beer.
“Hi Abby.”
She took a breath and turned to face the voice she knew so well. “Hi.”
“How are you?” He looked serious.
Sarah put her arm around Abby. “She’s great.”
Abby smiled. “Yeah. Everything’s good.”
“I’m so glad.”
She knew she had to say something. “David, I’m sorry about that crazy scene at the courthouse on Monday.”
“I just came from a meeting with Robert Duvane. Looks like I’ll be prosecuting those officers. Abby, I can’t believe what you’ve been through. I wish I’d known.”
She didn’t know what to say. Everyone was connected.
David turned to Sarah and Rick. “You said this is a celebration?”
“Yes,” Sarah raised her glass. “To Neil’s rise to partnership,” she offered with sarcasm.
Abby raised her glass. “Sarah and Rick’s return is the real cause for celebration.”
Sarah raised her glass even higher. “No, we’re really celebrating Abby’s bad-ass survival skills!”
“Hear, hear!” Everyone agreed and took a sip.
David turned to Abby again. “Neil’s a partner? How do you feel about that?”
“Great, actually.”
“Really?”
“We’ll be back,” Sarah blurted. She grabbed Rick by the arm and headed off to the other end of the bar.
David sat on the stool next to Abby. She nervously took another sip of her beer.
“Are you really okay with Neil becoming a partner?”
Abby put down the glass and finally met his eyes. “I know it’s a surprising answer. But a lot has happened. He can have it.” She felt lost in his eyes; she wanted to come clean but she couldn’t. “And you? I hear that congratulations are in order for you too?”
“For what?”
“For your pending marriage?”
He looked at his beer. “Oh that.” He opened his mouth to speak but didn’t.
Abby wondered if she should even ask.
David took another sip and then looked at Abby. “That’s not going to happen.”
Abby could feel the rush of red to her cheeks. “What?”
He relaxed back into his chair. “We broke up at Sarah’s wedding.”
“Really?”
“She said she could tell it wasn’t over between you and me. She said I was staring at you all night.”
Abby couldn’t look away. She stared into his eyes and took a deep breath before she responded. “Wow.”
“Yeah, wow.” They both took a sip from their beers. David continued: “You want to know something else?”
Abby sat up taller. “What’s that?”
“I was at the Blue Note last Friday.”
“What?”
“When you sang?”
Abby covered her face. “I’m so embarrassed.”
“Abby, don’t be.” He pulled her hands from her face and held them. “I think I saw more of you that night then you let me see in years. You were amazing.”
Without knowing it, he gave her the courage. She looked into his eyes. “I’m so happy you’re not engaged.”
“And why’s that?”
She took another sip and continued. “Because I want you to spend the rest of your life with me.” She was shocked at her own bravado, but refused to turn away. “If you still want to.” She waited for a response.
David was obviously flustered and hardly knew how to react. “Either you’ve had a lot to drink or a lot has changed.”
She gestured to the full beer in front of her. “Well, this is my first beer, so I guess a lot has changed.” Abby looked into those light blue eyes and could see the love was still there.
Author’s Note
I began writing The Green Line in 2004 when my oldest child was just three years old. He’s now eleven. It’s been an arduous, exciting, invigorating, and exhausting adventure. I can still remember my elation after sharing the first few chapters with my writers group. Their encouragement and interest in the story, the way they spoke of my characters as if they were real people, fueled me to keep going. But there were many stops and starts, many days when I thought I should just toss the whole thing and give up. When I finally finished the story, it felt like the biggest accomplishment of my life, that is until I began the quest for publication and soon realized that I still faced a long and difficult road.
So many writers helped me along the way. My sincere thanks go to Karen Osborne, D.C. Brod, Julia Buckley, Cynthia Quam, Martha Whitehead, Kathi Baron, and John Pogue. Their feedback, insight, tips, and encouragement carried me though the ups and downs. I’d also like to thank Win Golden of The Julia Castiglia Agency. Her enthusiasm for the project gave me confidence that publication was not just a pipedream. She offered helpful criticism that only made my work better. Many thanks also go to Richard Klin for his editorial eye and Gwen Gades and Derek Murphy for their beautiful design work. Finally, I thank my family. My husband, parents, siblings, and even my kids gave me unwavering support and encouragement to keep writing, to never give up, and to do whatever necessary to get the book published.
The seeds of this story were planted more than a decade ago. Living in Chicago for much of my twenties, I was a constant traveler on public transportation. I once sat as a silent hostage and watched as three young men verbally terrorized a fellow passenger for no other reason than their own amusement. It was a crowded train, but every one of us, all witnesses to the rudeness, the insults, the unbelievable vulgarity, feared them and did nothing. Another time, an older, mentally unstable woman looked into my eyes and uttered the words I used on the first page of this story: “If I had me a gun, I’d just shoot all them white people.” Ninety-nine percent of the time, my rides were safe and uneventful, but I never forgot those moments, and after unintentionally boarding the Green Line once in the middle of the day, back when I didn’t know Chicago well and knew only that I was headed toward the most dangerous parts of the city, I wondered what might have happened if it had been late at night.
Though I don’t share much with Abby Donovan, there are a couple of parallels. I, too, was an associate at a large law firm in downtown Chicago and I researched and wrote a law review article about civil forfeiture that was published in the late 1990s. I read countless stories and cases of innocent owners who were stripped of personal property with no due process. It was shocking to me that we actually have laws on the books that disregard the guilt or innocence of property owners, laws that are fully enforceable and utilized by law enforcement all over the country. Though Congress passed a reform bill in 2000 that improved the situation in some cases, there are still countless disturbing elements of this widely-used procedure.
Finally,
Chicago’s numerous law enforcement scandals over the last several decades were great sources of inspiration while researching and writing this story. Of course the story is fictional, and my assumption is that the vast majority of police officers are, in fact, the good guys, but soon after finishing The Green Line, a Chicago Tribune article reported on the sentencing of a former officer in conjunction with one of the worst misconduct scandals in the department’s history. The officer, and nearly a dozen other officers, had assisted in stealing hundreds of thousands of dollars in cash from suspected drug dealers and others after making illegal traffic stops or illegal property searches. Though the officer faced up to thirteen years in prison, he and the majority of others involved received less than six month sentences.
About the Author
E.C. Diskin lives in Oak Park, Illinois,
with her husband and two kids.
This is her first novel.
For more information,
go to www.ecdiskin.com
Copyright
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2013 by E.C. Diskin
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission from the publisher. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions. For information, contact Wells Street Press: www.wellsstpress.com.
While the author has made every attempt to provide accurate Internet addresses at the time of publication, neither the publisher nor the author assumes any responsibility for errors, or for changes that occur after publication. Further, the publisher does not have control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.
Text design: Gwen Gades
Cover design: Derek Murphy
