Storm's Cage

by Mary Stone

  “That’s good to know.” Joseph propped his elbows on the conference room table. “Then we’ve got the other CO we couldn’t locate, Russel Ulmer. Ulmer’s only been working at MCC Chicago for three years, but he’s already racked up a nice pile of complaints. Most of the inmates wound up retracting them, but still. It sounds like Mr. Ulmer has a tendency to use force when he shouldn’t.”

  Amelia’s expression turned glacial. “Well, we can’t really rule either of these two out based on what we’ve got so far. Not unless you found something groundbreaking during your lunch break.”

  Leaning back, Joseph stretched both arms above his head. “Nope.”

  Amelia reached into the pocket of her black slacks to grab her phone. “That’s fair. I didn’t do anything on my lunch break, either.” Her eyes flicked down to the glowing screen and then back to Joseph. “Howison’s ready for us now, it looks like. Her meeting went faster than she’d expected.”

  “All right.” Joseph closed the laptop, stood, and grabbed his coffee. “If she wants us down there in person, then it must be good.”

  Amelia led the way out into the hall, and Joseph held back just long enough to ensure he’d have the perfect view of her body as he followed. He let his gaze rove along the curves of her ass, following the gentle sway of her hips as she power walked toward the elevator. Thanks to the hidden camera in her shower, he’d seen her naked every day for the past three weeks, but the novelty of that video feed was fading.

  Soon, the imagery wouldn’t be enough, and he’d need the real thing.

  He tightened his free hand into a fist to keep himself grounded in reality.

  They didn’t run into anyone on their trip to the elevator, but as they arrived at the stainless-steel doors, Joseph caught the fiery red hair and slender figure of another woman approaching. His curiosity piqued, Joseph turned to get a better look.

  Even in the harsh office lighting, the red hue of the woman’s auburn hair was as vivid as her contrasting blue eyes. Her ivory blouse was tucked into a charcoal gray pencil skirt that accentuated the hourglass curve of her body, and with her black pumps, she stood a little taller than Amelia.

  He hadn’t seen the redhead in the building before today. There wasn’t a chance in hell he’d forget a woman like her.

  Before he could pull his stare away from the alluring woman, he felt Amelia’s scrutiny on the side of his face. But when he went to meet her gaze, she’d already looked away.

  As desire prickled at the back of his neck, Joseph fought to maintain his nonchalance and sipped his still-hot coffee. Amelia must have suspected he wouldn’t be able to resist the pretty redhead. She was sharp. Maybe too sharp.

  And perhaps more than a little bit jealous?

  The thought made his dick pulse in his pants.

  Amelia’s expression was unreadable as she greeted the other woman. “Hello, Counselor. What brings you in here today?”

  The lawyer returned Amelia’s greeting, but her expression looked strained. “I’m sure you already heard about Carlo Enrico. The U.S. Attorney sent me in here to wrap everything up with your office now that there’s no one to prosecute.”

  Amelia gestured to Joseph. “Well, while Agent Larson and I find what we’re looking for, you might have a different perp to prosecute.”

  Joseph saw his opening, a chance to return some semblance of normalcy to the air between him and Amelia. “You’ll get to prosecute the guy who killed Carlo Enrico instead.”

  As the elevator doors slid open with a ding, the lawyer plucked her messenger bag off the carpeted floor. “That’s true. He was technically a Federal informant, so whoever killed him falls under our jurisdiction.”

  A silence descended over them as they made their way into the empty car, and Joseph had no desire to break the spell of quiet.

  Until Amelia and Joseph arrived at their stop on the second floor, no one spoke. With a polite goodbye to the lawyer, they made their way down a couple halls to one of the Bureau’s many forensics labs. A pane of floor-to-ceiling glass framed the door, and as soon as he and Amelia crossed into view, Bailey Howison greeted them with a wave.

  Joseph swiped his work identification over a badge reader and pulled the door open.

  “Afternoon, Agents.” Bailey rose from her chair. “Sorry about the delay. I’d have met with you first thing this morning, but I had a court appointment. Trial didn’t last as long as I expected, though, so that’s a plus.”

  Joseph smiled politely. “We appreciate you and your team for working on this. I know there were a hell of a lot of fingerprints to sift through behind that door.”

  The corners of Bailey’s blue eyes creased as she grinned. “There were, but I’ve got some good news for you. Come, take a look at this.”

  As they followed Bailey to a pair of glowing monitors in the corner of the room, Amelia’s eyebrows arched suspiciously. “Good news isn’t something I’m used to hearing. Not when I’m dealing with the Leónes, anyway.”

  Leaning against the edge of the computer desk, Joseph let out a laugh that sounded more like a snort. “Ain’t that the truth.”

  Bailey’s expression brightened as she took her seat. “Well, I’m glad to be the one to deliver some good news for you, then.”

  Amelia stood opposite Joseph. She’d crossed her arms over her white dress shirt, and the skeptical expression she wore seemed to have hardened. “All right. Let’s hear it.”

  Even as he turned his gaze to the closer of the two monitors, Joseph wondered if he’d irritated Amelia by checking out the lawyer they’d met by the elevator. Was she jealous?

  His pulse picked up at the thought, and he clenched his hand to keep the contemplation at bay. He’d have plenty of time to ruminate about his and Amelia’s relationship when he wasn’t in an FBI forensic lab.

  With a couple clicks of the mouse, Bailey pulled up a new window. “You were right, Agent Larson. There was a hell of a lot of fingerprints on the other side of that door, but we found something else too.” Overhead lighting reflected off her wedding band as Bailey pointed to the document she’d opened.

  Joseph squinted at the screen, leaning in closer for a better look. He needed a new prescription for his contact lenses, but he’d been too preoccupied to make an appointment with the optometrist. Nothing reminded him of his negligence quite like staring at a computer monitor.

  “Those are the results of a DNA analysis.” He blinked a few times as he straightened. “I remember you said that you found a couple blood smears when you sprayed the place with Luminol, but I thought there wasn’t any usable DNA in either of them.”

  Bailey shook her head and scrolled down to the text at the bottom of the document. “We didn’t think there was at first, but we collected samples just in case. One of them was from an AB negative blood type. Since the victim is O positive, we knew it wasn’t his blood. Could’ve been from a guard with a cut or bloody nose. Who knows? After we ruled that out, we took a closer look at the second smear, and we found some blood that had seeped into a seam in the metal shelf.”

  “That is good news.” Joseph rubbed the stubble on the side of his face. “And the analysis? Did it match Carlo Enrico’s DNA?”

  “It did,” Bailey said. “We put a rush on it, and I got the results back this morning. So, we know that someone with Carlo Enrico’s blood on their hands was in that supply room. Which brings me to the fingerprints.”

  As Joseph and Amelia exchanged knowing glances, Bailey opened a new window. A mugshot-style photo of a man with a bushy beard and an unruly mop of rust-colored hair filled the screen. The inmate’s gray eyes were open so wide, Joseph was surprised they hadn’t rolled out of his skull.

  Rather than squint at the text beside the image, Joseph stuffed a hand in his pocket as he waited for the forensic tech to read out the details. He’d have to remember to visit the damn eye doctor. The FBI preferred its agents to be able to read print from more than six inches away.

  “We dusted for prints along
that door, as well as in the supply room itself. Other than the door, we paid the most attention to the area near where we found the blood smear.” Bailey tapped a key to enlarge the image and accompanying text. “All the guards’ prints were on file with the Bureau of Prisons, so we ruled them out first. Then, we took the handful of prints we had left and ran them. All but one belonged to maintenance staff that worked at the prison to fix plumbing, electrical, that sort of thing.”

  Amelia brushed a piece of dark hair from her forehead. “Waylon Erbach. I can’t quite see it from here, but what’s he in for?”

  “A few things. I’ll send you his file when we’re done. Erbach is awaiting trial for the production and trafficking of methamphetamine, and he’s also suspected of murdering a rival drug dealer. His rap sheet is longer than half the lab reports I type up, and he’s got a history of getting in fights since he was in grade school.”

  Joseph let out a slow breath. “Sounds like the type of guy you’d hire to kill someone you wanted dead.”

  As Amelia’s gaze shifted to him, she nodded. “It does. Even if evidence against Erbach was found, it’s pretty easy to make up a motive for someone with a history of violence. It makes it easy for the CO who hired him to hide.”

  Joseph rubbed his chin in thought. “Well, what do you say, Storm? We’ve got those two guards to look into, but do you think it’s time to pay a visit to Waylon?”

  “I think we ought to.” She dropped a hand to rest on her hip. “Not that a meth manufacturing repeat-offender is going to want to talk to a couple Feds, but we ought to give it the ole college try.”

  With a smirk, Joseph pushed away from the desk. “That’s the spirit. Thanks again, Mrs. Howison. We really appreciate all you and your team’s hard work.”

  Bailey smiled proudly. “It’s my pleasure, Agents. Like I said, I’m glad I could finally be the bearer of good news for a change.”

  Good news for the investigation, but Joseph wasn’t so sure the news was good for him, personally or otherwise. He didn’t want to tell the Leóne family that one of the corrections officers in their pocket was about to be exposed, but at the same time, Brian Kolthoff’s words still echoed in his head.

  Senator Stan Young was the conductor of this train, and the Leónes were his long-time ally. If Joseph wanted to stay on the Senator’s good side—and he knew damn well he never wanted to be on Stan’s shit list—then he had to swallow his distaste and look out for the Leónes when he was able.

  Unlike the previous investigation, reaching out to one of his Leóne contacts regarding the CO was low risk.

  If the guard disappeared, no one at the Bureau would have to stretch their imagination to deduce that he’d split town.

  Resting both hands atop a wooden table, Natasha leaned forward to peer through the one-way glass. Floyd had gone to grab coffee from a nearby gas station so they could prepare for their third interview with Gabriel Badoni.

  Since Natasha and Floyd had arrested Badoni on a Friday, the man had been stuffed in holding until his arraignment on yesterday morning. The prosecutor had sought remand, and his request had been granted. Gabriel would be locked up in Cook County Jail until his trial.

  On the other side of the glass, Badoni shifted in his rickety wooden chair as the woman to his side spoke in tones so hushed, Natasha couldn’t make out word one. As soon as she and Floyd had finished reading Gabriel his Miranda rights, his first and only comment had been to ask for a lawyer. Otherwise, any attempts at engaging the man in dialogue had been as fruitful as discussing politics with a block of granite.

  According to the lawyer—a woman from one of the most prestigious criminal defense firms in the city—Gabriel had been at home with his wife on the night of Ian Strausbaugh’s murder. Though his wife had backed up the statement, the alibi was shaky at best.

  Otherwise, their entire case hinged on the ballistics report from the bullet in Ian’s body, and the weapon they’d found near the scene.

  Natasha straightened to her full height. She should have been glad to see Badoni behind bars after he’d allegedly killed one of the Chicago PD’s own, but she couldn’t shake a nagging voice in the back of her head that told her she’d missed an important piece of information.

  With a metallic creak, the door to the small observation room swung inward. Holding it open with his shoulder, Floyd held up two paper cups. “Here, I got you decaf.”

  Midway through accepting the coffee, Natasha narrowed her eyes in feigned indignation. “If you did, I swear to god.”

  Floyd grinned stupidly as the door latched closed behind him. “You know I’d never do that to you, partner. Careful, though. Any coffee I get from that place is always the same temperature as the surface of the sun.”

  Chuckling, Natasha set her cup down on the worn table. “Thanks again. Badoni was remanded yesterday, so this’ll be the first interview post-arraignment.” She curled her hands around the hot container to warm them. “And of course, we’ll be talking exclusively to his lawyer.”

  As he moved to sit on a metal file cabinet facing the one-way glass, Floyd pursed his lips. “More than likely.” His pale eyes flicked to hers. “How do you think our ballistics is going to hold up in court?”

  Natasha flicked a miniature braid over her shoulder and shook her head. “I don’t know. Honestly, I’ve been wondering about this case.”

  One of Floyd’s dark brows quirked up. “You have? What about it?”

  Based on the relieved look on her partner’s face, Natasha wasn’t the only one who’d come to suspect that there was more to the investigation than met the eye.

  “It doesn’t make sense.” She waved a hand at Gabriel and his lawyer. “Other than three citations for driving under the influence, the most recent of which is two years old, his record is spotless. I looked through the Portelli file yesterday, and it seemed a pretty obvious case of self-defense.”

  Floyd tapped a finger against his cup. “I agree, but wasn’t it Ian’s partner who said that he didn’t think Badoni shot Portelli in self-defense? Why do you think he suspected a premeditated murder when the grand jury threw out the charges?”

  Pulling out a chair that matched the two in the interview room, Natasha dropped into the seat. “I’m not sure. Probably because Badoni and Portelli are both affiliated with the mob. Seems like an easy assumption to jump to, you know? You hear D’Amato or Leóne, and you immediately think that everything was calculated. That it was all part of some grand scheme.”

  Floyd nodded. “True. But there were security cameras that recorded the entire exchange and witnesses who said that Portelli was the only antagonist. Granted, Badoni flipped him off a couple times, but the guy was shopping at Target with his wife. Doesn’t seem like a stop you’d make for a premeditated murder.”

  “I agree, but you know how some detectives around here get tunnel vision when they hear that one of the families is involved. But, anyway, I digress.” Natasha swatted at an invisible bug.

  “Right. Back to the case. There’s plenty here that doesn’t make sense to me, but what about it were you going to mention?”

  As she returned her attention to the glass, she crossed her arms. “Gabriel’s been part of the D’Amato family since he was born, and from what I can tell, he’s pretty highly regarded. Why in the hell would he kill Ian Strausbaugh? On top of that, why do it with the same weapon he used to kill Gerard Portelli in self-defense?”

  Floyd slumped against the gray drywall. “And how’d he get the weapon in the first place? It should’ve been locked up in evidence.”

  “That was my next question.” Natasha stretched tall, reaching for the ceiling to relieve the tension in her back, and took a deep breath, releasing it as she brought her hands back down. “I’m not saying we aren’t looking at a D’Amato perp here. And I’m not saying Gabriel is innocent. He could be, though.”

  She hesitated as if the connection between her mind and mouth had been cut. Something was definitely wrong. Natasha chewed on her li
p as she searched for the right words. But tired as she was, they weren’t coming. She shook her head, settling for gut instinct. “Look, I can’t put a finger on it. I just get this feeling…that…he’s lying to us. But why lie if he is innocent?” She lifted an index finger and turned to Floyd. “But I do know that we don’t have the whole story.”

  “The more I think about it, you’re right.” He rubbed his chin. “And I don’t think that we’re likely to get it while he’s here with his expensive lawyer, either. We’ll have to keep looking. Otherwise, the ballistics might not stand on its own.”

  Natasha clenched her jaw.

  Her partner was right.

  One way or another, if they didn’t get to the bottom of this, a cop killer would go free.

  And who knew which one of them he’d target next.

  16

  As Amelia slid down in the passenger seat of Joseph Larson’s car, she squeezed her eyes closed and rubbed the bridge of her nose. They were within an inch of closing in on Carlo Enrico’s killer. She could feel it, could see the light at the end of the damn tunnel.

  They were so close, but Waylon Erbach had been as cooperative as a pissed-off badger. He hadn’t asked for a lawyer, but in a two-hour interview, he’d given them zero usable information. He’d gone on a rant about how the government was out to get him when they’d asked why his fingerprint was found in a room only accessible to prison staff.

  Amelia had left him with the promise that the U.S. Attorney’s office would seek the death penalty, and all she could do now was hope that the threat marinated into his brain over the next few days.

  A gust of temperate air rushed into the car as Joseph pulled open the driver’s side door and took his seat behind the wheel.

  When his pale eyes settled on her, his expression turned curious. “You okay?”

  Amelia straightened her back, not wanting to let her tension show. Not with Joseph.