“I know the name, but if you’re talking about what I think you’re talking about, then you’d also know I can’t discuss any ongoing investigations with you,” Baron looked away. “And that’s well outside the boundaries of this case. Well, well outside the boundaries. It’s not even my department to comment on—you’re talking about federal laws, federal departments. Bigger than this office.”
“I’ll subpoena all the records if I have to.”
“That wouldn’t be very wise.”
“They’re the reason he was killed.”
“They are not!” The sudden snap in attitude caught Hunter by surprise.
Baron spent a few moments shaking his head, disappointed he snapped so easily. His usually calm demeanor was rocked by the potential truth.
“Pradesh.” Hunter leaned forward, his elbows on the edge of the table. “Are you protecting the corrupt?”
“I know what you’re doing, Tex. Everyone knows what you’re doing.” Baron stood, moving his anxious body, and pacing the floor behind his chair. “But you’re going to rip this city apart if you chase that line of enquiry.”
“Justice shouldn’t run from fear.”
“It’s more than fear. It’s reality!” Baron slammed his hand on the table. “The picture you will paint is of corrupt cops paying off people in Chinatown! Can you imagine what the national media is going to do with that? Can you imagine it? It’ll lead every national news bulletin, every paper headline, every online news source. You’ll destroy the reputation of the Chicago PD, and that’s not what this city needs right now.”
“I’m not sacrificing an innocent girl for a corrupt cop.”
“Look at the big picture!” Baron kept pacing the room. “The girl killed McCann. We know that. And now you’re going to risk Chicago’s reputation, the safety of all Chicago residents, just to try and get a better deal. No, I can’t let you do that.”
“You don’t have a choice.”
“I might not, but I’m not the only one at play here.” Baron stood by the window, leaning against the wall, arms folded across his chest.
Baron had great respect for the Cook County State’s Attorney Office. It was his life’s work, and he had sacrificed so much for the reputation of the office. Worst of all, more than the long hours, more than the late nights away from home, he’d sacrificed his morals. He’d convinced himself it was all for the greater good, all for the big picture, but there was always a feeling in the back of his mind that he was taking the wrong path.
He’d made deals with killers so they would expose crime gangs, he’d reduced prison sentences for drug dealers so they would expose their suppliers, and he’d let thieves walk free so they would expose the masterminds behind their crews. In the big picture, looking at all the options, the decisions made sense, it was all the right thing to do.
But on the individual scale, on the scale that mattered to Baron, he’d let criminals back out onto the streets, he’d let killers reduce their time behind bars.
“Tex, the Mayor and the Superintendent have taken a very keen interest in this case. They want this dealt with quickly, quietly, and without a fuss. They don’t want this case in the headlines, but they know they’re walking a fine line. McCann, even if he was corrupt, was still a police officer. They can’t let the girl off lightly, or the rank and file in the force will revolt. They have to protect their own.”
Hunter nodded. There was an understanding between them, a mutual respect built on similar morals. In a different life, in a different world, Hunter could see them as friends, men who could share a beer, a laugh, and stories of their misfortune.
“And it doesn’t matter what I want to do, Tex. It doesn’t matter what I try and say.” Baron shook his head. “The people that matter, the people in power, don’t want Chicago torn apart on the back of McCann’s corrupt legacy. They’re not going to let you take this to court.”
“What about your legacy, Pradesh?” Hunter said. “What are you going to leave behind? A legacy of sweeping things under the carpet to keep those in power happy? Is that what you want to be remembered for?”
Pradesh looked to his bookshelf, the one filled with law textbooks.
His morals had always been his guiding light, his sense of direction. Even in school, he was the Hall Monitor, the Librarian’s Assistant, and spent his weekends as a referee for junior sports. His sense of right and wrong were once so clear-cut, so black and white.
The higher he went in the State’s Attorney’s Office, the more he climbed the corporate and political ladders, the more he saw that right and wrong weren’t so clear, the more he learned that grey existed in all areas of life.
Sacrifice for the greater good became his mantra, his way of convincing himself he was doing the right thing.
“You’ve got to look at the big picture, Tex. You can’t do this. You can’t expose McCann’s past in court.”
“I didn’t make McCann corrupt and I’m not going to take the blame for a corrupt system. I’m not going to take the blame for a corrupt city.” Hunter stood, his presence towering over the desk. “But I will expose it.”
Chapter 23
Nina Aisha hated the showers the most.
That’s what she found the scariest. She thought the men on the outside were bad, she thought they were her worst nightmare, but the women inside were proving to be equally as bad. There were good souls there, people who had a bad run in life and ended up on the wrong side of the tracks, but they weren’t strong enough to defeat the tormenters.
Amongst the chaos, amongst the terrors and heartache, there were women in prison who gave her hope, that even in the worst situation life had to offer, there were still good people. Some women had found God, and turned to the good book to find their path. Others turned to learning, working hard to gain their high school certificates, and a few had turned to meditation. These were the decent people, working within a justice system that tried to rehabilitate them. That’s what the prison system was designed to do—punish the criminals for their crimes, and rehabilitate them before their release. Get them back on their feet. Get them ready to venture back out into the real world.
But unfortunately, in the majority of cases, it didn’t work out like that.
Most detainees worked in the interest of self-preservation, survival, and that meant turning to the gangs.
There was protection in the gangs, they were groups of people who were willing to die for each other, willing to risk it all for their new family. And once they were back out on the streets, once they were back out in society, those bonds stayed blended together. They entered prison as lone criminals, and exited with gang associations.
That’s not where Nina Aisha wanted to go. That’s not the life she wanted to lead. She wanted to learn, to make something of her life, make a difference in the world.
The only foster parent she had ever liked was a nurse—a loving, caring soul, whose life ended too early. She would hug Nina, hold her tight, make her feel safe. It took a long time for Nina to feel safe in a hug. Her life hadn’t been filled with human touch, it hadn’t been filled with hugs, and it had never felt safe. But in the arms of her foster mother, Claire, a small round woman with a broad smile, she felt comfortable. That smile, that warm touch, that loving heart, gave her hope.
Nurses had been her only sense of optimism—the only shining lights in an otherwise dull path.
The changing rooms next to the showers were so cold, so emotionless. The floor was cold on her feet, the walls were solid concrete blocks, and the metal bench felt like it had been taken out of the refrigerator. The showers were enclosed in cubicles, complete with a small swinging door for privacy, but that didn’t help her feel safe.
She avoided entering the showers, waiting fully dressed on the long bench in the changing room. As she waited for the others in her group to finish their showers, she tried to think about the night she saw Sidney McCann. Ten months had passed, and her memory of that night was fading, becoming confus
ed with other memories.
McCann knew who she was. He said he had been looking for her.
And he was so sorry.
He had tears in his eyes as he apologized to her.
At first, she thought he must’ve been mistaken, or crazy, at least.
But he was insistent.
He called her Antonina, a name she didn’t hear often. He said it was her birth name, but she had never been called that to her face. She asked him what he was sorry for, but he had too many tears in his eyes. He couldn’t get the words out.
She thought he must’ve been saying sorry for letting her stay at Mr. Bishop’s house. She reasoned that it was why he knew her full name—he must’ve seen her school records.
He must’ve been the one that arranged for her to go to his home. He must’ve been the one that arranged those bad experiences. If he had set it up, he would’ve known what Mr. Bishop did to her. McCann had probably set up other girls before.
So she hit him. He deserved it. He didn’t even fight back.
After the first punch, the anger came out like an explosion—all that hate, all that regret, all that madness, flooded out into a number of swings.
He didn’t resist at all. He fell to the ground, tears streaming down his face, and he kept saying sorry despite the mouth full of blood. That was all he could say, and he seemed determined to take all the pain. When his face was full of blood, tears, and regret, she took his wallet and walked away. She left him on the ground to suffer in pain.
She wished she’d asked him to explain it all—explain exactly why he was saying sorry, why he was looking for her, why he took the time to track her down.
The letter from Li McCann helped. It went further into explaining why he was eager to find her. She wrote back to Li McCann explaining she had met Sidney that night, and that she did punch him.
And she stated she didn’t kill Li McCann’s husband.
Once she started writing the letter to Li McCann, she couldn’t stop. She filled five pages about her life, almost a cathartic release of her anguish. She wrote about her childhood, how she never knew her parents, how she grew up in foster homes. She wrote about the future she hoped to have, how she hoped to be a mother one day, how she hoped to have a family of her own.
She wrote about how she dreamed of becoming a nurse, how she dreamed of helping others. Once the five pages were filled, they were drops of tears falling on the pages.
She wished Li McCann would write back, and let her know about her life, about how she has lived her path.
“You going to shower?” The female guard stepped over the top of Nina. The guard was tall and broad, dwarfing Nina with her presence.
“Already have.” Nina replied, keeping her eyes down. She had wet her hair when she first went into the changing rooms, in the sink, because she knew the guard would ask her.
The guard ran her hand along Nina’s wet hair, and then walked back to the door.
“I have to log this session in the book.” The guard turned to the door. “I’m going to lock this door, and I’ll be back in two minutes. Do not misbehave in that time.”
Fear flooded through Nina.
The room was full of eight women—all of whom had served more than a year on the inside, all of whom had been longing for new blood to touch.
Nina didn’t want to be left alone in the room full of hungry women. It was her nightmare. She wanted to say something to the guard, to ask her not to leave, but she knew she couldn’t. She couldn’t be seen as a snitch.
There was no Denise this time—she had been called away on laundry duty. Denise was known in the prison, with gang affiliations, as a protector. She was known to take people under her wing and guide them through the system. Whether or not that meant becoming a member of a gang, Nina wasn’t sure.
The door to the shower room shut.
The lock twisted.
And they instantly pounced on Nina.
She was pushed to the floor.
Her shirt was being ripped. Hungry hands grabbed at her.
She wanted to fight back, she wanted to struggle, but she knew she couldn’t.
That would only make it worse.
Their faces were filled with rage, desperation in their eyes, like Nina had become their conquest, their mountain to climb. They were ravenous, frantic, to lay their hands on her body.
“Hey!” The guard stepped back into the room, and the women instantly dispersed.
Nina quickly pulled her top back down.
“What happened?” the guard asked.
Nina shook her head.
She knew she had to keep her mouth shut.
And she knew that if she was going to make it through prison, then Denise had to be her protection.
She had to trust that woman, whether she wanted to or not.
Chapter 24
The Steele’s home opposite the McKinley Park reserve was exactly as Tex Hunter expected—green lawn, freshly painted front door, and an old motorhome parked in the driveway. In the yard, the small hedge was perfectly clipped, the grass was weed free, and the flowers were aligned in seamless rows. The exterior of the two-story 1920s Chicago greystone house was clean, not a speck of dirt to see, with the American flag hanging over the porch. Built primarily with limestone from Bedford, Indiana, the greystone was Chicago’s answer to New York’s brownstone, with roughly 30,000 built from the 1890s to the 1930s, and they had stood proudly ever since.
The trees on the street outside the home were plentiful, providing shade and privacy, but the street was busy, both with cars and pedestrians walking to and from McKinley Park, which featured a baseball diamond, a lagoon, playground, sports grounds and plenty of natural space within its seventy-acre boundary.
Hunter walked from the boat-ramp parking lot where the burned car was found, tracing the quickest route back to the Steele’s residence, making the distance within ten minutes. Even taking the backstreets, he found it hard to believe a seventy-year-old woman walked the distance in the middle of the night, after burning a car, and nobody saw her.
“Mr. Hunter.” Nathan Steele was as formal as ever as he stood at the front door. His shirt was tucked in, his hair neatly combed, and his grip was firm. “Welcome to our home.”
“Mr. Steele. It’s a lovely home.” Hunter returned the handshake solidly before walking into the entrance, wiping his shoes, and then continuing into the living room at the front of the house. “Hello, Mary-Ann.”
“Tex, I have a hot pot of coffee and freshly baked cookies waiting just for you.” Mary-Ann undid the strings of her apron, and welcomed the lawyer into their home. “Please, sit down.”
The main living room was filled with furniture that looked like it had barely been used. The three-seat fabric sofa was clean, not an indent to indicate any use, and the matching armchair was the same. The bookshelf to the left was filled with never-read classics, the mantel above the fireplace was filled with smiling family photos, and the coffee table in the middle of the room was covered by five Reader’s Digest magazines. It was clear this was the formal living room, the one used to impress new visitors.
Hunter looked over his shoulder, past the kitchen, and spotted the secondary living room, the one with the television, the footstools, and the well-worn couch; the room the Steeles used on a regular basis.
Apart from the photos, there was barely a personal touch in the main living room, except for the contents on the furthest wall from the entrance. There, hanging proudly, was the unmistakable shrine to their lost son, Anthony Steele. His portrait was proudly displayed in the middle of the wall, and directly underneath was a fresh bouquet of daisies on a stand, with a leaflet from his funeral. A picture of his child sat on one side of the vase, and a picture of his widow on the other.
“I hope you’ve got good news today, Tex. I’m not sure I can take much more of this. This threat of going to prison for something I didn’t do is starting to wear me down.”
“Mary-Ann is a tough one—she’s se
en more than most—but I can tell this is starting to get to her.” Nathan added. “We need a solution. We need you to take the prospect of prison off the table.”
“It’s still a very real possibility.” Hunter was honest. Now was not the time to string them along. “You may be looking at time behind bars.”
“I’m not going to prison for a crime I didn’t do. I never stole his car, I didn’t set fire to it, and I certainly have never considered revenge on his property. It’s not something I would do. Why doesn’t anyone understand that?” Mary-Ann was pleading with him.
“You could sign the deal with the prosecution. That’s still on the table. You would avoid prison time.”
“And admit guilt when I’m innocent? I can’t even fathom doing that.” She wiped her eyes, shook her head numerous times, and then placed her coffee mug on the table. “I’m innocent. The system should protect me.”
“The system’s not perfect.”
She stood, walked into the kitchen, dabbed her eyes with a tissue, and then checked under a tea towel, before removing the freshly baked cookies. Carrying them back into the living room, the baked goods filled the air with a pleasant, homey smell. She placed them on the table and offered Hunter one, which he gladly accepted.
He tasted the cookie, and then provided her a nod of approval. “These are very, very good.”
“It’s what I do when I’m stressed—I bake.”
“And the nearby nursing home has never received so many baked goods as they have over the last nine months.” Nathan laughed. “Because there’s no way I could eat all the food she’s baked.”
“And all this stress, all these worries, are almost sending me into that nursing home. It’s driving me insane, and the only thing keeping me from going down that path is your ability in the courtroom. I won’t let my legacy, my history, go down as a criminal. I won’t let my family bury me with this over my head.” She stared into her coffee. “People are already turning away from me. People are already doubting what I say. They won’t say it to my face, but I can see it in their eyes. I can tell the longer this goes on, the more they’re judging me. People are starting to think I actually did it.”
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