“How’s your shoulder?” Battle asked.
Feels like a rusty hinge. “Fine,” Gold lied. His left arm was jammed against the shotgun bolted upright between them. The heat outside would subside in a few days. The pain in the shoulder he’d separated a month earlier would take longer. “I’m cleared for light duty.”
“Why the big rush to get back to work?”
Gold planted his tongue firmly in his cheek. “So many criminals, so little time.”
The corner of Battle’s mouth turned up. “I guess everything I’ve heard about you is true.”
“Depends what you’ve heard.”
“You’re relentless.”
“That’s fair.”
“You don’t take money.”
“That’s true.”
“And you have a chip on your shoulder the size of a four-by-four.”
Here we go. “Actually, it’s no bigger than a two-by-four.”
Battle shot a glance at his new partner. “For what it’s worth, my sources told me you never quit and you’ve got my back.”
“For what it’s worth, my sources said the same thing about you.”
* * *
The young man’s stomach churned as he strained to see over the buses on Michigan Avenue. He hadn’t eaten since the previous night. He hadn’t slept in two days. The stench of urine and his own sweat made him queasy. He checked the Camry again. He looked across the street at the Art Institute. The mayor adjusted his tie, the chief tested a microphone, and the idiot from Homeland Security chatted amiably with the strident woman from WGN. His heart beat faster as he looked down Michigan Avenue for an unmarked Crown Vic.
Where the hell is Detective David Gold?
* * *
“What does A.C. stand for?” Gold asked.
“Aloysius Charles,” Battle said. “I’m named after my great-great-grandfather. He was the first member of my family born free after the Civil War.”
They were heading north on Michigan Avenue. To their left were shiny condos, hotels, and office buildings in an area that had been the South Loop’s skid row. On their right was the serene greenery of Grant Park, and, in the distance, the shimmering water of Lake Michigan.
Battle pulled a toothpick from the ashtray and inserted it into his mouth “Mind if I ask you something?”
“Sure.” It was better to play it straight on their first day together.
“Why do you still live in South Chicago?”
“It’s home.” Gold was fiercely proud of his lineage as a third-generation native of the hardscrabble neighborhood of smokestacks and steeples wedged between 79th Street, the Skyway, the Indiana state line, and Lake Michigan. “Why do you ask?”
“Just curious.”
You’re more than just curious. “Are you asking me why I still live in a neighborhood where all the white people left thirty years ago?”
Battle kept his eyes on the road. “I realize it isn’t politically correct.”
“We were there first.”
“What do you mean?”
“My great-grandfather moved from Russia to South Chicago in 1894. I realize it isn’t politically correct, but there weren’t any black people in the neighborhood back then.”
“I didn’t know there were any people in South Chicago back then.”
“Oh yes there were.”
Battle waited a beat. “You don’t have to stay.”
“Yes, I do.” Gold looked at his new partner. “A couple of years ago, I moved in with my father after my mother died. It was supposed to be temporary, but then he had a stroke, and now somebody has to stay with him. For the foreseeable future, that’s going to be me. My brother lives in Lake Forest. He’s a hotshot mergers and acquisitions lawyer. He’s good about paying for caregivers, but he won’t come down to South Chicago unless it’s an emergency.”
“Why didn’t you and your parents move when everybody else did?”
“My dad taught science at Bowen. My mom was the librarian at the South Chicago library. They had this crazy idea that it was our neighborhood, and we weren’t going to leave.” Gold decided it was his turn to ask a few questions. “Why’d you transfer down to Area 2?”
“I live over by South Chicago Hospital. I wanted to work closer to home.”
Sure. “The powers-that-be didn’t send you to babysit me after I got my partner killed?”
“Of course not.” Battle removed the toothpick from his mouth. “Stop beating yourself up, Dave. You and Paulie stopped a terrorist attack. You sure as hell didn’t get him killed.”
“Tell that to Katie and her kids.”
“I did—at Paulie’s funeral.”
Detective Paul Liszewski was the eldest of eight brothers who had grown up on the East Side, a few blocks from the Indiana border. He and Gold had played basketball against each other in high school, and they’d become fast friends as rookie cops at South Chicago station. They spent their free time shooting hoops at the South Chicago Y, where they were usually the only white guys in the gym. The cerebral, lightning fast Jewish guard from Bowen, and the tenacious, lumbering Catholic forward from St. Francis de Sales complemented each other on the court and watched each other’s backs on the street.
Battle tried again. “You did everything by the book. That’s why you’re getting a medal.”
“Yeah.” Gold closed his eyes and replayed the events in his mind for the thousandth time. It had started a month earlier when the bullet-riddled body of a crystal meth addict named Udell Jones was dumped next to the rusty chain link fence enclosing the long-abandoned U.S. Steel South Works site. Jones was a forgotten man from a forgotten corner of town whose death didn’t even rate a line in the SouthtownStar. To Gold and Paulie, he was still a South Chicago guy entitled to an investigation.
A snitch told them that Jones had mentioned a potential new source of crystal meth in a boarded-up two-flat at 84th and Mackinaw. They pulled a warrant and kicked in the door. Paulie never knew what hit him when a fire bomb detonated, killing him instantly. Despite suffering a Type 3 shoulder separation, Gold tackled a young man fleeing the building. He was later identified as Hassan Al-Shahid, a grad student at the U. of C. whose family owned an investment firm in Riyadh. The Saturday Night Special used to kill Jones was found in Al-Shahid’s pocket. The two-flat housed a sophisticated bomb factory. A search of Al-Shahid’s elegant condo on Hyde Park Boulevard uncovered plans to set off a bomb at the Art Institute. That’s how the War on Terror had found its way to the unlikeliest of locations: South Chicago.
The FBI and Homeland Security had trumpeted Al-Shahid’s arrest as a great victory. Gold had a decidedly cooler take after he discovered that the Bureau had been monitoring Al-Shahid for months—a detail they hadn’t mentioned to Chicago PD. Gold blamed the feds for Paulie’s death—a contention they disputed. They couldn’t deny one plain truth: if Gold and Paulie hadn’t pursued the investigation into the death of Udell Jones, Chicago might have borne the brunt of the worst terrorist attack on American soil since Nine-Eleven.
* * *
The young man watched the Crown Vic pull up in front of the Art Institute. A uniform escorted Gold up the steps, where he accepted handshakes from the chief and the imbecile from Homeland Security. Gold recoiled when the mayor clapped him on his left shoulder.
He clutched the cell phone more tightly.
* * *
Gold looked across the street at the high rises lining the west side of Michigan Avenue. The mayor was speaking, but Gold wasn’t listening. He was thinking about Katie Liszewski, who was now the single mother of boys aged nine, seven, five, and four. He had visited her almost every day since Paulie’s funeral. He felt a lump in his throat as he recalled the advice of his first partner as they’d driven the hard streets of South Chicago: a cop never cries.
Gold was watching a young mother walking hand-in-hand with her daughter across the street when he felt a nudge from Battle’s elbow. The small crowd was applauding. He adjusted his collar and walk
ed toward the mayor, who smiled broadly and handed him a medal.
“The people of Chicago are very grateful for your heroism,” he said. “Because of your bravery, we are able to enjoy the cultural treasures of this great museum.”
“Thank you.” Gold stepped to the microphone. “This is dedicated to the memory of Detective Paul Liszewski.” He swallowed and added, “I’m glad it’s over.”
* * *
The young man ignored the pedestrians as he watched the ceremony across the street. As the applause reached a crescendo, he pressed Send.
* * *
Gold was still forcing a smile for the cameras when a Camry parked on Adams exploded. He recoiled as the ground shook and the vehicle was consumed by thick flames. The car lifted off the ground, then landed hard on its tires. A fireball roared down Adams, which filled with black smoke. The area was rocked again when the gas tank exploded. The impact blew out the windows of the high rise on the corner, showering the ducking pedestrians with shattered glass.
Gold’s ears rang and his shoulder throbbed. The heavy air smelled of burning gasoline as smoke billowed toward the Art Institute. Car alarms screamed and traffic stopped. Pedestrians stood transfixed for an instant, then they ran across Michigan Avenue toward Grant Park. The cops in front of the Art Institute moved across the street, first at a jog and then at a sprint.
* * *
The young man watched the pandemonium he had created from the smoke-filled alley behind the T-shirt shop. He made sure nobody was looking. Then he tossed his overcoat and pants into a Dumpster. He pressed Send once more. He turned off the cell phone, set it on the ground, smashed it, and dropped the remains into a sewer. Now sporting a Cubs T-shirt and khaki cutoffs, he joined the crowds jogging west on Adams toward Wabash.
* * *
Gold and Battle were standing in front of one of the bronze lions when Gold’s BlackBerry vibrated. He had a text message. His stomach tightened as he opened it.
It read, “It isn’t over.”
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Photo by Sean Casey
Sheldon Siegel is the New York Times, USA Today and #1 Amazon Bestselling Author of the Mike Daley/Rosie Fernandez series of critically acclaimed courtroom dramas featuring San Francisco criminal defense attorneys Mike Daley and Rosie Fernandez. He is also the author of the thriller novel The Terrorist Next Door featuring Chicago homicide detectives David Gold and A.C. Battle. His books have sold millions of copies worldwide and been translated into a dozen languages. A native of Chicago, Sheldon earned his undergraduate degree from the University of Illinois in Champaign in 1980 and his law degree from Boalt Hall School of Law at UC-Berkeley in 1983. He has been an attorney for more than thirty years, and he specializes in corporate and securities law with the San Francisco office of the international law firm of Sheppard Mullin Richter & Hampton LLP.
Sheldon began writing his first novel, SPECIAL CIRCUMSTANCES, on a laptop computer during his daily commute on the ferry from Marin County to San Francisco. Sheldon is a San Francisco Library Laureate, a former president of the Northern California chapter and member of the national board of directors of the Mystery Writers of America, and an active member of the International Thriller Writers and Sisters in Crime. His work has been displayed at the Bancroft Library at UC-Berkeley and he has been recognized as a distinguished alumnus of the University of Illinois and a Northern California Super Lawyer.
Sheldon lives in the San Francisco area with his wife, Linda, and their twin sons, Alan and Stephen. He is currently working on his next novel.
BOOKS BY SHELDON SIEGEL
Mike Daley and Rosie Fernandez Mysteries:
Special Circumstances
Incriminating Evidence
Criminal Intent
Final Verdict
The Confession
Judgment Day
Perfect Alibi
Felony Murder Rule
David Gold/ A.C. Battle Mysteries:
The Terrorist Next Door
Connect with Sheldon Siegel
Email: [email protected]
Website: www.sheldonsiegel.com
Amazon: amazon.com/author/sheldonsiegel
Facebook: Facebook Fan Page
Twitter: @SheldonSiegel
Goodreads: Author Profile
ACCLAIM FOR
SHELDON SIEGEL’S NOVELS
Featuring Mike Daley & Rosie Fernandez
SPECIAL CIRCUMSTANCES
“An A+ first novel.” Philadelphia Inquirer.
“A poignant, feisty tale. Characters so finely drawn you can almost smell their fear and desperation.” USA Today.
“By the time the whole circus ends up in the courtroom, the hurtling plot threatens to rip paper cuts into the readers’ hands.” San Francisco Chronicle.
INCRIMINATING EVIDENCE
“Charm and strength. Mike Daley is an original and very appealing character in the overcrowded legal arena—a gentle soul who can fight hard when he has to, and a moral man who is repelled by the greed of many of his colleagues.” Publishers Weekly.
“The story culminates with an outstanding courtroom sequence. Daley narrates with a kind of genial irony, the pace never slows, and every description of the city is as brightly burnished as the San Francisco sky when the fog lifts.” Newark Star-Ledger.
“For those who love San Francisco, this is a dream of a novel that capitalizes on the city’s festive and festering neighborhoods of old-line money and struggling immigrants. Siegel is an astute observer of the city and takes wry and witty jabs at lawyers and politicians.” USA Today.
CRIMINAL INTENT
“Ingenious. A surprise ending that will keep readers yearning for more.” Booklist.
“Siegel writes with style and humor. The people who populate his books are interesting. He’s a guy who needs to keep that laptop popping.” Houston Chronicle.
“Siegel does a nice job of blending humor and human interest. Daley and Fernandez are competent lawyers, not superhuman crime fighters featured in more commonplace legal thrillers. With great characters and realistic dialogue, this book provides enough intrigue and courtroom drama to please any fan of the genre.” Library Journal.
FINAL VERDICT
“Daley’s careful deliberations and ethical considerations are a refreshing contrast to the slapdash morality and breakneck speed of most legal thrillers. The detailed courtroom scenes are instructive and authentic, the resolution fair, dramatic and satisfying. Michael, Rosie, Grace and friends are characters worth rooting for. The verdict is clear: another win for Siegel.”Publishers Weekly.
“An outstanding entry in an always reliable series. An ending that’s full of surprises—both professional and personal—provides the perfect finale to a supremely-entertaining legal thriller.” Booklist.
“San Francisco law partners Mike Daley and Rosie Fernandez spar like Tracy and Hepburn. Final Verdict maintains a brisk pace, and there’s genuine satisfaction when the bad guy gets his comeuppance.” San Francisco Chronicle.
THE CONFESSION
“As Daley moves from the drug and prostitution-ridden underbelly of San Francisco, where auto parts and offers of legal aid are exchanged for cooperation, to the tension-filled courtroom and the hushed offices of the church, it gradually becomes apparent that Ramon isn’t the only character with a lot at stake in this intelligent, timely thriller.” Publishers Weekly.
“This enthralling novel keeps reader attention with one surprise after another. The relationship between Mike and Rosie adds an exotic dimension to this exciting courtroom drama in which the defense and the prosecutor interrogation of witnesses make for an authentic, terrific tale.” The Best Reviews.
“Sheldon Siegel is to legal thrillers as Robin Cook is to medical thrillers.”Midwest Book Review.
JUDGMENT DAY
“Drug dealers, wily lawyers, crooked businessmen, and conflicted cops populate the pages of this latest in a best-selling series from Siegel. A compelling cast and plenty of suspense put this one right up there with the best of Lescroart and Turow.” Booklist STARRED review.
“An exciting and suspenseful read—a thriller that succeeds both as a provocative courtroom drama and as a personal tale of courage and justice. With spine-chilling thrills and a mind-blowing finish, this novel is a must, must read.” New Mystery Reader.
“It’s a good year when Sheldon Siegel produces a novel. Siegel has written an adrenaline rush of a book. The usual fine mix from a top-notch author.” Shelf Awareness.
PERFECT ALIBI
“Siegel, an attorney-author who deserves to be much more well known than he is, has produced another tightly plotted, fluidly written legal thriller. Daley and Fernandez are as engaging as when we first met them (in Special Circumstances, 2000), and the story is typically intricate and suspenseful. Siegel is a very talented writer, stylistically closer to Turow than Grisham, and this novel should be eagerly snapped up by fans of those giants (and also by readers of the San Francisco-set legal thrillers of John Lescroart).” Booklist.
“Sheldon Siegel is a practicing attorney and the married father of twin sons. He knows the law and he knows the inner workings of a family. This knowledge has given him a great insight in the writing of Perfect Alibi, which for Siegel fans is his almost perfect book.” Huffington Post.
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