Knowles aggressively high-fived one of her teammates, staring at the opposition while muttering something inaudible, and then turned to greet Hunter.
“What are you doing here?” She flapped her white T-shirt to try and catch some cooler air.
“You wouldn’t answer my calls.”
“Because I know what you’re calling about, and I shouldn’t be talking to you about it.”
“All I need is a few minutes, Jemma. That’s all I’m asking for.”
“We’re two points up; it’s the first to twenty. It’ll be five more minutes, and I’ll have finished with this lot.”
She bounced back onto the court, muscling one of the nineteen-year-olds out of her way.
With a sudden burst of speed, she found space on the crammed court. The ball bounced into her hands, and she sprung back into the air. Another layup, and then another one, followed by a block, a grunt, a pass and then another two-point layup for the win.
Hunter grimaced as he watched her land. One wrong step here, one wrong position, and no amount of beauty products would cover the damage that the hard concrete could inflict.
Not that Detective Jemma Knowles would mind. Beauty products weren’t her thing.
“Still like a soy latte?” He presented his peace offering as she stepped off the court, another win under her belt.
“You do know a way to a woman’s heart.” She felt comfortable next to his tall figure. As a strong woman, there weren’t many times she felt feminine, but next to Hunter, she felt rather girlish.
Knowles took a long sip of her coffee, adjusted her cap, and passed the coffee back to Hunter before stretching out her arms.
“I’m a busy woman, so hurry up and get those words out of your mouth.” Knowles puffed, flapping her shirt again.
“If you know what I’m going to ask, why don’t you just answer it?” He handed the coffee back to her after she wiped her brow with the back of her forearm.
“Because you haven’t asked it.” She smiled. Her black hair was pulled back tightly, almost like she wanted nothing to do with it. It had betrayed her many times; men saw her feminine locks and immediately thought that she was an easy target, that she was soft.
That would be their mistake.
Hunter knew that from the days when she was his girlfriend.
“Did you make the arrest on Robert Sulzberger?”
When Hunter dumped her a week before her twenty-first birthday, and only two days before Valentine’s Day, she slapped him so hard that his ears had felt like they’d been ringing for a week. Despite the decades that have passed, he still remembered the slap. Vividly.
“Come on, Tex. It’s my day away from the job. It’s not what I want to hear when I come here to play some pickup. I come out here to escape the job, not to be hounded about it. If you want to ask me something like that, send a request to my desk. We may be old friends, but there’s got to be a line between work and life.”
“This is important, Jemma. I wouldn’t be here otherwise.”
She drew a long breath, sighed, and stared at the man she respected.
“There was a 911 call from a woman, the cleaner for the house, screaming that there was a dead woman in the basement. The cleaner came once a week but only cleaned the basement once a month. She had no idea how long the woman had been there. Detective Rodman got there, searched the house, and found the woman in the basement. She’s a Jane Doe. They have no record of her. No fingerprints, no DNA, no match on the missing person’s file. She was obviously drugged, beaten, tied up, and then left to die. I got the call to go to Robert’s office and take him in for questioning. I asked him a few questions, then took him in, and they arrested him an hour later. I’m sure you know all this—it’s in the report.”
“I want to know what’s not in the report.”
“Possession is nine-tens of the law, right? Robert had the girl in his house. He admitted that he was the only one home for over a day. He denied ever knowing the girl, but it’s hard to argue against the evidence. We took him in for questioning as soon as the body was found, he talked very freely, and Rodman made the arrest within an hour after that.”
“But?”
“But as guilty as he is for possession, I wasn’t convinced that he knew anything about it. I was the first to talk to him when we arrived at his office. We were just around the corner when uniform got the call, and we went straight in. I was a little nervous because I was a big fan of Robert when he was on reality television, and we didn’t really know the extent of the crime yet. We found Robert at his desk, working on a file—not unusual, and in no way prepared for what was about to happen. When we were there, explaining what happened, he was in shock—no doubt about that. When I started questioning him, he looked utterly confused. He had no idea what was happening. He said that we must have the wrong person or house. I’ve seen a lot of people tell lies in this job, but that was real shock on his face. He said he hadn’t been in the basement for at least a week. It’s a place that he rarely went into, but his wife was out of town, and nobody else had keys to the house. Of course, we had no choice but to bring him in for further questioning. But, again…” She sighed. “Some things at the scene didn’t add up.”
“Like what?”
“Like why would he tie the woman to the chair and leave for work, knowing that his cleaner was coming that morning? He didn’t keep the basement locked or shut down. This guy’s not dumb, and he basically framed himself. Unless he wanted to get caught, it was a terrible move.”
“What are you thinking?”
“We went to talk to the wife, Kim Sulzberger. She had been out of town on a hike and had left their daughter at her mother’s house for a few days of babysitting. Kim runs a small soap making business but was taking a digital detox. She had no alibi, and no other evidence to prove where she was. She said she needed a mental health break, and didn’t touch her phone for two days. She had no photos, or anything like that, from the trip. The only person who verified that information was Robert, and all he knew was what she told him. Sounds like a fairly big coincidence to me.”
“Your impression of the wife?”
“There was something off about her. I know that Robert said he was going through a midlife crisis, at least that’s the way all the gossip magazines reported it, but Kim was probably going through one as well. She looked lost like something was missing. Probably from all the drugs she’d been taking.”
“I’d imagine she’s on the normal middle-class housewife set?”
“All prescribed by doctors, but man, it was almost a pharmacy in her cabinet. Valium, Xanax, codeine; if it could be prescribed, she’s taking it. It doesn’t prove that she had anything to do with the murder, but she seemed off. If Robert had been murdering women in the basement, then she probably would’ve joined in.” Knowles ran her hand over her hair, keeping it flat. “These people—they try to live their perfect lives, keeping up with each other, checking on each other’s progress, but they don’t know what’s happening in their own home. They try to keep up with their next-door neighbor, but one day they find out there isn’t much love to be found in a new washing machine or a bigger kitchen, so they pump themselves full of prescribed drugs, trying to squash those feelings.”
“Instead, they should be pounding the pavement with people half their age?”
“Hey, I’m not saying I’ve got it all worked out, not even close, but I don’t need to take half a bottle of pills to get me through the day. I’ve always said that a little bit of danger, excitement, and adrenaline goes a long way. And what’s life without a little bit of danger?” She paused. “What’s your client saying?”
“He’s saying that he’s innocent, and someone set him up, someone that he only knows as ‘X’.”
“And your thoughts?”
“I’m not paid to think.”
“Just as well.” She laughed. “You wouldn’t earn much money if that was your only income.”
Hunter chuckled be
fore watching a young teen land a shot from halfway down the court, followed by a round of high-fives. “It’s possible he was set up. He’s got enough enemies out there who want him out of the picture.”
“Pretty big setup though. If it was a setup, a lot of effort was made to make it look perfect. There was no sign of forced entry, or anything else out of the ordinary in that basement. The only thing that wasn’t perfect in that whole picture-perfect life was the bloodied girl tied to a chair.”
“The picture-perfect life, eh? He was living the great American dream.” Hunter sipped his coffee as the ball bounced near them. Knowles picked up the ball and threw it back onto the court, followed by a few statements about how bad her opposition was playing. “Do you have any other suspects?” Hunter continued. “You haven’t named any on the report?”
“We’ve got ideas, but there was only ever one suspect.” She bit her lip. “Everyone in the veteran community hated Robert after he rezoned the community building. He threw his own people under the bus, and the media had a field day with it. Every veteran in the city would’ve felt wronged by him, and these are people that have been to war. I wouldn’t put it past some of these people.”
“You’re saying I should check out the veteran groups?”
“Maybe.” She stretched her arm across her chest. “Have a chat with them. See what they think. I’m not saying that Sulzberger isn’t guilty; all I’m saying is that I’m not one-hundred percent certain. Don’t base your case around my gut instincts though—they’ve been wrong before.”
“The file’s been handed over to the prosecution, and Michelle’s name is on top. She took over the case yesterday. Apparently, she requested to take over this case.”
“Michelle Law?” Knowles smiled. “Really? It’s just like old times—like one great big high school reunion.”
“I looked at our yearbook last month when I was moving some old boxes, and Michelle was on the front and back cover. An overachieving A-type if there ever was one.”
“Watch out for her; she’s always had a thing for you. She was the good girl cheerleader that always liked the bad boy type.” Knowles giggled. “But it’s funny that you mention her name because I think she’s starting to fall apart at the edges as well.”
“Seems like a common theme for our age group.”
“It sure does. I picked Michelle up a few weeks back—rotten drunk on a street bench in Burnham Park. Somebody called it in, saying a drunk woman was yelling at people, and I was going past in the car. We found her passed out on the bench, still dressed for work, using her empty vodka bottle as a pillow. No charges were laid, but she was a mess after we woke her up—swearing and throwing things. I never thought that I’d see that perfect girl in such a state. If you had told me twenty years ago that I would be dragging the lead cheerleader’s sorry drunk butt into lockup for the night, I would’ve laughed for a week.”
“Michelle Law in lockup? Now I’ve heard it all.” He stared at the woman that had been in and out of his life for the best part of two and a half decades. “You look good, Jemma. You look like you’re still in your twenties.”
“Don’t do that.” She shook her head. “Not now.”
“How’s your husband?”
“I kicked him out. He was too lazy. Drank too much beer. He’d become disillusioned with life as well. Like you said, a common theme for our age. I’m still married to him, and deep down, he’s a nice guy, but I couldn’t do it anymore. We’re living apart for a while to see if there’s anything left to save in the marriage. It would seem a waste to throw all those years away.” She looked up at him with wide eyes. “What about you? Any women on the scene?”
“You know me, Jemma; no woman deserves the pain that I would put them through. I’ve got too many issues to sort out first.”
“You’re a good-looking man, successful, charming—what’s not to like?”
“I’m the son of a serial killer. Any woman will run for the hills when they hear that.”
“Well, maybe you shouldn’t bring it up on the first date. That shouldn’t be the title of your online dating profile.”
“Then I’m lying to them. I can’t hide it for long.”
“Your parents’ actions don’t define you. Your parents’ slit the throats of those girls, not you. You do amazing things in this world. You make a difference in people’s lives. You’re better than being your father’s son.” She brushed a strand of loose hair behind her ears. “You can’t keep waiting, Tex. There has to be a day when you let someone into that cold heart of yours.”
“No one deserves this.”
“I hope one day you realize that someone does.” She touched his arm. “And when you do, give me a call.”
“That call will be a long time coming. I don’t suggest that you wait by the phone.”
“The time will come.” She started to smile. “Just look after yourself until you’re ready. I don’t want to hear that they’ve found your body at the bottom of the Chicago River. These politicians have a lot of powerful enemies, and they’ll kill to get what they want. I’ve seen it before. You’re stepping into a dangerous world by defending Robert Sulzberger. Lots of people want him dead. I don’t even know why you’re doing it. The further you go in this case, the more dangerous it’s going to become.”
Hunter sipped his coffee again, nodded to Jemma, and began to walk off the basketball court.
“But you said it yourself, Jemma—what’s life without a little bit of danger?”
Chapter 7
“Thank you, Tex. You’re a lifesaver.”
The handshake between Tex Hunter and Robert Sulzberger was solid, manly; the type of grip that would make any bodybuilder proud. They stood in the courthouse foyer, floods of people hustling past them, life frantic under the dim lighting. Cleanliness filled the air, barely a spot could be found on the marble walls, and the floors were smooth enough to perform the ‘moonwalk’ on—if one were so inclined. Guards stood at the courthouse entrance, the security checkpoint behind them, both ensuring that order was maintained under the low roof.
“Don’t thank me yet.” Hunter grabbed Sulzberger’s elbow, leading them away from the courthouse’s hectic crowd, down a steep set of stairs marked ‘Security Only’, and to a thick metal door with more alarms than needed.
Hunter rapped on the door twice, and it opened from the other side, leading them into the fresh Chicago air. The massive Samoan guard, squeezed into a suit one size too small, nodded to them, and they exited the courthouse without a fuss. The benefit of knowing the right people in the right places only showed itself when required.
The waiting throng of media were out the front, panting for their next story. Today, they would have to wait before they got the snapshot of a disheveled Robert.
“We’ve got a long way to go, and this ride is only getting started,” Hunter told his client.
“Honestly, I mean it when I say thank you.” Sulzberger stopped on the sidewalk, the engine of a waiting black Chevy Suburban rumbling across the street.
The cool air was filled with steam from the waiting vehicles, and the smell of urine was overriding. In contrast to the situation in front of the courthouse, there were no reporters here. Here, everyone continued their daily hustle, pushing to make it out of the rat race. While reporting happened on the front steps, city life happened out the side entrance.
“I don’t know what would’ve happened if I didn’t make bail. I don’t think I would’ve lasted long in there. One guard told me last night that there was no way I was going to make bail, and if I didn’t, he would leave me with the other prisoners. There was already talk of a target on my head. These people want me dead. I don’t know if they would’ve even let me live long enough to see my trial. I would’ve died in there.”
“It was my job to get you bail, but we need to get moving right now.” Hunter rested his hand on Sulzberger’s shoulder as a man on a bike, carrying a backpack too large to be comfortable, zipped past them. “The
reason we snuck out the side exit was so the media didn’t see you. If they get a photo of this, of you, right now, this story will be front-page news. Without a photo of you, without something visual, this story will be resigned to page four or five in the Tribune, just a little write-up. That’s why we need to move now before anybody can take a picture of you.”
He stepped towards the edge of the busy street, towards the Chevy waiting on the other side. No media yet.
Behind him, Sulzberger didn’t move, his eyes focused on the ground. Cars were zipping past them, going about their daily business.
“A girl died, Tex.”
“I understand this is tough for you, but we need to move. When the prosecution comes out of the front of that building, the media will realize that we’ve gone through the side exit. They won’t like that. They’re desperate for a photo, and they’ll come rushing over here, searching for us. We can’t afford to have you on the front page. We can’t have that now.”
“Do you understand what I just said? Someone died. A girl. Someone I didn’t even know. Who would do that? Who would try to set me up like that?”
“Robert…” Hunter lowered his tone and slowed his voice, trying to calm his client. Behind them, city workers pushed past each other, not stopping to notice the two men that were about to be the center of a media storm. “This isn’t the time for a meltdown. You can do that later when you’re alone. Right now, we need to move off the street and into that car.”
He looked over his shoulder. There was a silhouette moving quickly at the end of the street.
“I can’t go to the apartment you organized. I can’t stay holed up in there. I have to go home. I have to see my daughter.”
“You can’t go home. Kim doesn’t want you there. And the more people that see you out in public, the bigger the story. The bigger the story, the less chance we have to influence the jury.” Hunter looked again. More people. “Settle down, get back to the apartment, and shut the door. That’s our focus now. No media. No talking. No phone calls. We need to keep this story off the front page.”
Power and Justice Page 4