by Terri Reid
The Blackwood Files
File One: Family Secrets
by
Terri Reid
THE BLACKWOOD FILES – FILE ONE: FAMILY SECRETS
by
Terri Reid
Copyright © 2015 by Terri Reid
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/ use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author’s work.
The author would like to thank all those who have contributed to the creation of this book: Richard Reid, Sarah Powers, Virginia Onines, and the always amazing, Hillary Gadd.
She would also like to thank all of the wonderful readers who have walked with her through all of the O’Reilly family adventures so far and she hopes they like the newest edition to the family.
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
Chapter Twenty-two
Chapter Twenty-three
Chapter Twenty-four
Chapter Twenty-five
Chapter Twenty-six
Chapter Twenty-seven
Chapter Twenty-eight
Chapter Twenty-nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-one
Chapter Thirty-two
Chapter Thirty-three
Chapter Thirty-four
Chapter Thirty-five
Chapter Thirty-six
Chapter Thirty-seven
Chapter Thirty-eight
Chapter Thirty-nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-one
Chapter Forty-two
Chapter Forty-three
Chapter Forty-four
Chapter Forty-five
Chapter Forty-six
Chapter Forty-seven
Chapter Forty-eight
Chapter Forty-nine
Chapter Fifty
Chapter Fifty-one
Chapter Fifty-two
Chapter Fifty-three
Chapter Fifty-four
Chapter Fifty-five
Chapter Fifty-six
Chapter Fifty-seven
Chapter Fifty-eight
Chapter Fifty-nine
Chapter Sixty
Chapter Sixty-one
Chapter Sixty-two
Chapter Sixty-three
Chapter Sixty-four
Chapter Sixty-five
Chapter Sixty-six
Chapter Sixty-seven
Chapter Sixty-eight
Chapter Sixty-nine
Chapter Seventy
The End
Chapter One
Light, classical music flowed throughout the posh, upscale apartment as Brooke Callahan got ready for a day at court. From the black granite counters in the gourmet kitchen, to the thickly carpeted greatroom with floor to ceiling windows that overlooked both Lake Shore Drive and Lake Michigan, down to the highly polished wood floors in the hallway and the subdued carpet and wall-coverings in her bedroom. Everything was designed with clean lines, sophisticated styling, and efficiency in mind. Brooke especially desired efficiency.
She stood in front of her bathroom mirror slipping pearl earrings on and didn’t notice the shadow that slipped from one end of the adjacent bedroom to the other. It was so quick that it could have easily been mistaken for a cloud passing across the sun in the early morning sky, plunging the room in an overcast gray before moving on. But the sky was cloudless, and the gloom had only occurred in one room.
She slipped out of the bathroom and into her walk-in closet, picking out the appropriate footwear for the day. She would be on her feet all morning in court, she mused as she contemplated the benefits of heels versus flats. But she also needed to be sure she projected the right image of power and confidence.
Moments later, hopping on one foot, she pulled the back of her high-heeled, patent leather shoe up over her heel and then stopped for just a moment in front of her full-length mirror to scrutinize her image. Sophisticated and in charge, she thought as she glanced at herself in her herringbone wool suit, a nod to her Irish ancestry, and bronze silk blouse. She pushed her shoulder-length, dark auburn hair back behind her ears and smiled. This, she thought, this is the woman who would win her case today.
The shadow flitted across the room again, and this time Brooke caught it moving out of the corner of her eye. She turned away from the mirror and slowly studied the room. The bed was made; even the throw pillows were in place. Her nightstand still held her charger base for her phone, her Bluetooth speaker and an old case file she’d been studying from the archives of her law firm. The chaise lounge held a colorful cashmere throw, and the small table next to it held an empty coaster, waiting for her nighttime cup of herbal tea. Nothing was changed. Nothing was disturbed. Nothing was there.
Walking to the wall of windows on one side of her room, she looked out over the city she called home and tried to explain the strange phenomenon that had been occurring with regular frequency in her apartment. A reflection from one of the other buildings in the area? Was there some high-crane construction close by? Maybe it was as simple as a bird flying past the window.
She looked up, trying to see if a nest had been built in the slight protrusion above her floor. The city had imported a number of Peregrine falcons to help take care of the pigeon problems. Perhaps they had decided her high rise reminded them of the cliffs their forebears called home.
But try as she might, she couldn’t see any telltale signs of any ornithological structures above her. Shrugging her shoulders easily, she picked up the case file and left the room. She was sure she’d eventually find the logical explanation for the elusive shadow.
Strolling into her kitchen, she picked up the remote and aimed it at the television screen mounted near the ceiling over her countertop. She clicked a few controls on the remote and heard the familiar sounds of a Skype call being processed. While she waited for an answer, she pulled out a blender and some protein powder stored in the cabinets below the counter and started assembling her early morning shake.
“Brooke? What the hell?” her best
friend, Niki Jhang, groaned as she peered owlishly into the screen. “Okay, this is a purely rhetorical question, but do you know time it is?”
“Um, early?” Brooke suggested.
“Yeah, too damn early,” Niki said. “Like I just got to bed three hours ago early.”
“I’m sorry, but I really needed to talk to you,” Brooke apologized.
“And I was dreaming that Chris Hemsworth was leaving his wife and children for me,” Niki complained, pushing back her hair and putting her glasses on. “And he was bringing his Thor outfit.”
“See, I saved you from being a homewrecker,” Brooke placated. “So calling you was a good thing.”
“It was a dream, Brooke, a really, really good dream,” Niki answered with a sigh. “And legally I can’t be held liable for what happens in a dream.” She stretched and took a sip of water from a water bottle on her nightstand. “Okay, what do you need?”
“Do you know that, um, little job you did for me?” Brooke asked.
Niki ran her fingers through her thick, black hair and nodded. “Yeah, hacking into the Chicago Police Department records?”
“Niki,” Brooke whispered urgently. “Can we be a little more circumspect about this?”
Sighing heavily, Niki nodded. “Sorry, but if you want circumspect, you need to call me sometime after noon,” she said. “So, yeah, I’ve got what you need, and if you’d checked your email before you called, you would have found it there.”
“Sorry again,” Brooke said. “So, what did you find?”
“Looks like a clerical error,” Niki replied. “Some clerk dated the confession paperwork the day after it was taken.”
“Are you kidding me?” Brooke asked, her voice raising.
“Nope, you got your dismissal, all signed, sealed and delivered,” Niki replied. “Now, can I go back to bed?”
“Yes, sorry. And thank you. Thank you so much,” Brooke said, doing a little victory dance in her kitchen.
“Hey, girlfriend, don’t you feel the least bit guilty for putting a notorious drug dealer and probably a killer back on the street?” Niki asked softly.
Brooke paused, considering her friend for a moment. She and Niki had been undergrad roommates at Northwestern. Niki was the half-Korean, half-African American mathematics prodigy who didn’t fit into any social circles at the school, and Brooke was the poor, little, rich girl who had been raised by nannies, tutors and housekeepers while her parents maintained the high-society persona needed to succeed in politics in Cook County.
Thrown together by chance, their relationship flourished into a friendship that changed each other’s lives. Brooke taught Niki how to play poker and opened her eyes to a completely new world of making money. After fleecing every fraternity house at the school, they eventually took Niki’s amazing math ability to Vegas and earned enough spending money for a fabulous weekend shopping spree for both of them on Rodeo Drive.
However, after Brooke had to call her judge father to stop the gaming commission from pursuing Niki criminally, both girls decided Niki needed to turn her unusual ability into something even more profitable and legal. This eventually led to the establishment of Niki’s multi-million dollar computer security enterprise.
Since one good turn deserved another, Niki used her computer surveillance skills to get Brooke some of the evidence she needed to keep her burgeoning law career on top of its game. There was no place that Niki couldn’t sneak into and slide back out without leaving a trace.
But the bottom line was they were as close as sisters, and knew they would always be there for each other.
“I never considered it,” Brooke said slowly. “As Judge Callahan has always said, my job isn’t to judge my clients; the judge and the jury get to do that. My job is to win, however I need to do it.”
Niki shrugged. “Okay, if that’s how you feel about it. Or, should I say if that’s how your dad feels about it.”
“Am I wrong?” Brooke asked, a niggle of concern creeping in.
“You’re wrong if you’re doing it to try and prove something to your dad. We both know he’s impervious to any kind of human emotion,” Niki said. “But if you’re just doing what’s right, you’re good. I’m going back to bed now.”
Brooke smiled and nodded. “Yeah, go,” she said. “And thanks again.”
“Let me know what happens,” Niki said as she removed her glasses. “After noon.”
Brooke was still chuckling when the screen went dark. She stuffed the fresh kale into the blender on top of the protein powder and poured six ounces of almond milk in before she hit the blend button.
A few minutes later, she was taking the elevator down to the indoor garage, sipping on her shake and really looking forward to her victory in court.
Chapter Two
Detective Arthur O’Reilly growled at himself in the mirror. Well, not exactly at himself, but at the stupid, uncooperative tie he was currently trying to knot around his neck. He didn’t mind the navy blue suit or the white shirt, but he hated ties, had always hated ties. It was the only piece of clothing that carried with it a sense of decorum, a confinement of spirit, and a noose on creativity. And it had been one of Marilyn’s favorite things to buy him. Ties. Expensive silk ties. He picked up another, slipped it around his neck, sniffed it and tossed it across the room. It smelled like her. The sweet, light flower fragrance that he thought was innocence had turned out to be as deceitful as the woman who wore it.
He took a deep breath to calm the anger and the hurt just below the surface. It had only been a few weeks since he’d found out his fiancée had been sleeping with one of the officers from the day shift. He’d decided to take a night off and surprise her. He shook his head wryly as he remembered the scene. Yeah, she wasn’t the only one surprised.
But today, yeah, today he’d wear a tie. He picked up a blue and red striped one and slipped it around his neck. Hell, he’d wear a handful of ties if it would help bring Jacarius Robbins to justice.
Today he had the privilege of testifying against Jacarius Robbins, a drug dealer he’d been after for three years. He’d seen the effects of Robbins’ machinations on the Southside neighborhoods Robbins claimed as his territory. He’d seen the young men who had dared cross into his terrain shot execution style and left on the streets like roadkill. He’d seen the middle-grade children addicted to drugs, pushing for Robbins on the playground. He’d seen the fear and hopelessness in the eyes of the young women forced into prostitution, and he’d seen the brutal results on the faces of those who tried to emancipate themselves. And then, he’d held a dying child in his arms, the victim of a stray bullet during a drive-by shooting. She was only seven years old, playing house on her front porch.
But this time he had him, he thought as he decisively tightened his tie. This time when he arrested the creep, in a moment of weakness and, perhaps feeling remorse for the first time in his life, Robbins had confessed. He wouldn’t go away for as long as Art would have liked because it was only a manslaughter charge, but he would go away and, for now, that was enough.
He turned away from the mirror when his phone rang, and he reached over to his dresser to pick it up. “O’Reilly.”
“Aye you are and proud you should be.”
Art smiled widely. His da had been checking on him every day since he’d found out about Marilyn. “Good morning, Da,” he said, picturing his bear of a father sitting in the kitchen of their family home on the Northwest side of Chicago.
“So, it’s court for you today, is it?” Timothy O’Reilly asked.
Art nodded. “Yes, sir. This will be the last day of freedom for Jacarius Robbins if I have anything to say about it.”
“Well, it sounds like you have an open and shut case,” his father replied. “And the judge?”
“Judge Tomlinson,” Art said. “She’s tough, but fair.”
“Aye, I have a lot of respect for the lady,” his father answered. “Good. She’ll be fine. And the defense?”
“Bro
oke Callahan,” Art said with a sigh.
“Oh, the wee Callahan lass,” Timothy replied with a little surprise. “Has she grown up enough to be practicing law?”
“Da, she’s been practicing law for about five years now,” Art replied. “And she’s made quite a reputation for herself. Although I’ve never met her myself, I’m not looking forward to it.”
“Why not?”
“Well, the word is that she has a problem with police officers,” Art explained. “Some kind of ax to grind. She loves ripping them apart on the stand.”
“Well then, she’s just a good lawyer,” Timothy replied. “That’s all.”
Art considered his father’s words and thought about the stories he’d heard about the fledgling attorney. “No, it’s more than that,” he finally said. “It sounds like she gets a real kick out of making officers look like fools. You can be a good lawyer and not do that.”
“Well, that’s a bit odd, don’t you think,” Timothy replied. “Considering who her father was?”
“Her father is Judge Callahan,” Art said, picking his coat up off the back of a chair and slipping it over his wide shoulders and thinking about the well-connected power broker in city politics. “I don’t think her behavior is odd at all.”
“Oh, no, he’s her step-father,” Timothy explained. “Her real father was Bruce Blackwood, one of the finest detectives the Chicago Police Department ever had. He was killed in the line of duty.”
“You’re kidding.” Art replied. “I’d never heard that.”
“Ah, well, you were only a wee lad yourself when it happened,” his father explained. “And Brooke couldn’t have been much more than a toddler herself. She doted on her father; they were nearly inseparable when he wasn’t at work. So perhaps the fact that his murder remains unsolved causes her animosity.”
“Wow. That sheds a whole new light on the situation,” Art said. “But if she’s got a grudge against the police, she should recuse herself and go into another form of law.”
“Would you?” his father asked, and Art could hear the patience in his father’s voice.