by Jordan Dane
“He’s down. We got him.”
Seth felt the harsh slap of metal on his wrists, and for the first time, realized these men might be police. He forced his body to give up the fight, but that didn’t translate to those who hauled his ass off the floor and frisked him. They manhandled him, but he knew the drill.
He’d grown up knowing way too much about how cops operated.
“Let’s get light in here,” one man said.
An overhead light came on, blinding him again. When he recovered, he watched two uniformed cops holster their weapons and sweep by him to look in the other room. They stopped before they crossed the threshold into the bathroom.
“Damn.” One cop cursed under his breath and turned an angry glare on him. “You’re some kind of freak, boy.”
Another cop stepped closer and stared at his face, saying, “Yeah, and I suppose you got those scratches on your cheek from shaving.” The cop shook his head in disgust.
Scratches? With eyes wide, he sucked a rush of air into his lungs, unable to let it go. And when all eyes turned on him, he avoided their stares, probably looking guilty as hell.
“I know you’re not gonna believe me, but I didn’t do this.” He swallowed. His throat was parched. “I don’t know how I got here. And I don’t know that woman.”
“Well, you’re right about one thing, kid,” one of them said. “I ain’t gonna believe ya.”
A cop behind him chuckled, but the ones closest to the bathroom weren’t laughing.
While the cops worked at containing the scene and starting their investigation, Seth tried hard to think, connecting the dots through his doped-up brain. No doubt he’d been drugged, but he couldn’t remember how or when it had happened. His memory had been wiped clean. And by the looks on these men’s faces, another cold fact was undeniable.
In the next room, the body of a brutally slain woman lay sprawled in the tub. The shocking image was forged into his brain when he caught a better glimpse of the dark-haired woman steeped in gore, courtesy of the harsh light overhead. He looked away, but that only made things worse when he noticed his clothes covered in blood. Too much blood to be considered an accidental brush with the body. And the cuts on his cheek ached, another not so subtle reminder of how crazed he looked to the cops.
By the deranged splatter on the bathroom walls, he knew only a certifiable maniac with anger issues would have done such a thing. And Seth figured every cop in the room was convinced he was that maniac.
For them, the truth was as plain as the bloody scratches on his face.
Pullman Police Station
South Chicago
Friday, midmorning
“I’m Detective Cooper out of Harrison. I’m here to observe the questioning of a suspect, Seth Harper. Which interrogation room?” Detective Samantha Cooper showed her badge to the desk sergeant on duty, keeping the worry she felt for Seth under wraps.
“Yeah, I heard you was comin’.” The sergeant gave her quick directions. “Someone’s already up there. He’s expectin’ ya.”
Sam headed for the observation room knowing Detective Ray Garza would be waiting, a homicide detective out of Harrison.
Chicago was split into five detective districts. Sam worked Vice out of Harrison Station, but because of where they’d picked up Seth Harper, he’d been taken for questioning to Pullman. Off the Calumet Expressway on 111th Street—not far from where she worked—Pullman Station covered sections of South Chicago. And Sam believed Garza would grease the skids to get her an inside track on Harper’s case.
At least, she hoped the man would help her.
Detective Ray Garza had gotten wind of Harper’s situation and given Sam a reluctant heads-up phone call an hour ago. He knew she’d want to know about the kid’s troubles and had done the right thing. But he wasn’t happy with her and Harper’s close connection to Jessie Beckett, a local Fugitive Recovery Agent and her best friend since childhood.
Sam had heard the reluctance in Garza’s voice when he called her earlier at work, but he made his point clearer when he said, “That bounty hunter is gonna ruin your career, but you know how I feel about her. ’Nuff said.”
“Yeah, I do, Ray.” She sighed, making sure he heard it over the phone. “But I sure wish you’d quit worrying about my career.” She regretted saying it. Even though she’d spoken her mind, the last thing Sam wanted was to alienate the guy. “Thanks for letting me know. I’m going to Pullman. Will you meet me there?”
She had no right to ask, but she did anyway. Now it was Ray’s turn to sigh on the phone, but without much hesitation, he had said, “Yeah, I’ll meet you.”
Sam headed for the observation room now, walking down a corridor near the elevators.
She took a deep breath, contemplating Harper’s situation along with her looming face-to-face with Garza. Seth was up to his honey brown eyes in a brutal murder investigation. Ray had told her what he knew over the phone, but before she called Jessie, Sam had to size up the case for herself.
Whenever Jessie got involved, drama usually ensued. And her friend would do anything for Seth Harper, a kid she’d been looking for since she’d gotten back from her harrowing trip to Alaska three months ago. Harper was a young guy Jessie had called her summer intern and employed for a while before he disappeared from her life, taking his secrets with him. He’d played a major part in the rescue of a missing girl, but Jessie never got a chance to thank him. Harper had his own problems, Jess had told her. But she never said much more about him.
Now this. Seth Harper was definitely a puzzle.
Sam walked into the darkened observation room. And Ray Garza turned toward her, his handsome face and full head of dark hair silhouetted by the light coming from the interrogation room next door. Ray was dressed in khaki slacks and a navy sport coat with a white oxford shirt that looked good against his dark skin. His subtle cologne always triggered something feminine in her. It could have been his cologne, but she had a suspicion that his dark eyes had more to do with how she felt.
“They just started up again.” He kept his voice low so she could hear the questioning from the overhead speakers. “But I gotta warn you. The kid looks guilty as hell.”
Sam almost gasped when she saw Seth Harper under the stark fluorescent lights of the interrogation room. He was dressed in a faded red jumpsuit. And he had marks on one cheek that looked red and swollen. He’d been given a washcloth, but he’d missed more than a few spots, leaving streaks of red on his pale skin. And the dirty washrag, stained with blood, had been placed next to him on the table.
“What happened to his clothes?”
“Evidence. They were collected and bagged,” he said. “And they printed him and got photos. You should’ve seen him. The kid was a real mess when they brought him in.”
Seth’s dark wavy hair looked disheveled. A departure from his normally endearing boyish appearance. And stubble had grown over his chin and jawline. With his normally alert eyes lacking their usual luster, he looked worn down and lost. She didn’t know the kid like Jessie did, but she’d have bet money Harper would be the last guy to kill a woman.
“They ID the vic?” she asked, crossing her arms and watching Seth.
The detectives in the next room were repeating questions that Harper now refused to answer for the hundredth time, another ploy from a cop’s playbook to break him.
“No, nothing yet.” Ray glanced her way, enough for her to notice. “The crime scene was brutal, Sam. That woman was butchered with a knife. And she had small puncture wounds on her stomach and breasts like she was tortured. If you’d known her, I doubt you’d recognize her now. I’ll spare you the details, but if that kid had anything to do with her murder…” Ray didn’t finish, but she had a feeling he wasn’t an advocate for death-penalty reform, an impression he reinforced when he added, “For some crimes, a needle in the arm is just not enough.”
“You said they arrested him at a motel. How did the police hear about it?” she asked.
“They got an anonymous tip off a nearby pay phone. Techs are dusting for prints there, but you know how that goes. A real crapshoot.”
“An anonymous caller, meaning no real witness to question?” After Ray shook his head, she continued, “How convenient. A brutal murder, and no one hears anything?”
“She was gagged, but a killing like that?” He winced. “It took some noise.”
They’d both seen it before. A woman gets hacked to death, and no one had seen or heard a thing. A solid witness might have condemned Seth or helped him. Now, if no one came forward, circumstantial evidence would be all that remained. And Harper would make a convenient sacrificial lamb.
“Typical.” She sighed. “Did they recover the murder weapon?”
“Yeah, at the scene.” He grimaced. “And they think the bloody handprint they found on a doorjamb is his. They’re still processing the scene. We’ll know more soon.”
Sam saw the circumstantial evidence piling up. A regular slam dunk for the DA. Without a witness or a solid base for reasonable doubt, Seth could go down without the DA’s Office breaking a sweat.
“How long will they hold him?” she asked.
“They get him for forty-eight hours unless they come up with other charges to hold him over.” Ray stared into the other room. “To question him, they Mirandized the kid, but no arrest yet. And he hasn’t lawyered up either.”
Ray was careful not to offer an opinion on Seth’s situation, playing the part of the cagey homicide detective even with her. To make an arrest, they needed probable cause, but she suspected that wouldn’t take long.
“He had alcohol on his breath when they brought him in. And he appeared intoxicated,” he said. “They’re getting a warrant to test him. Does he use drugs?”
Good question. She didn’t know Seth well enough to give a solid answer. And Sam wondered if Jessie would know either. But once they got their warrant, any drugs Seth might have in his system would have dissipated by the time they had tested him. She wasn’t sure if that would be good or bad. She glanced back at Garza, responding to the hint of compassion in his voice.
“I’ve only seen the kid a couple of times, but I’d wager he isn’t a user.”
“Gut instincts tell me that guy has more than alcohol in his system, that’s all.” Ray met her eyes. And in the tight and dark quarters of the observation room, being alone with him felt far too intimate. She forced herself to look away.
“Wish I could argue the point. Maybe Jessie knows more about him.”
As a detective, Garza was as rock solid as they came, and she respected him as a man, too. Despite his strong feelings against Jessie, Ray would help if he could. Sam knew Harper’s fate would be decided by the system, but if Ray could ease her burden, she knew he’d try.
He had never crossed a personal line with her, always remaining professional. Yet something in his eyes gave her the impression he wanted more. Woman’s intuition or wishful thinking, Sam had no idea. Maybe Ray kept his distance, fearing he’d catch sparks off the blazing meltdown of her career, a reasonable certainty under Jessie’s influence.
“Your call whether you bring your friend into this, but with someone like her on his side, that kid doesn’t stand much of a chance.”
Sam couldn’t hold back any longer. Her eyes flared at Garza, and anger stirred hot in her craw.
“As I recall, you were just as sure Jessie was good for the murder of Lucas Baker a few months ago. Maybe you should cut her some slack. And giving Harper the benefit of the doubt wouldn’t hurt either. Whatever happened to innocent before proven guilty?”
Ray rolled his eyes, a subtle show of insolence. Normally, she found the gesture appealing, but not when directed at her.
“I saw that.” She glared, but he didn’t give her the satisfaction of noticing.
Sam knew that Jessie had earned a name for herself with the local cops. For the most part, her friend did her job well and without incident, but on more than one occasion, she’d demonstrated her more-obsessive nature when it came to pedophiles or other abusers. Lucas Baker, case in point. Jessie had her personal reasons. And even though Ray would back off if he understood Jessie’s motivation, Sam would never betray her friend’s trust by sharing her secrets.
Jessie’s Achilles’ heel had gained her a reputation that kept her from garnering better money in her line of work. The more successful bail bondsmen wouldn’t work with her, so Jess hustled for money as a freelancer, catching odd jobs for lesser-paying recovery work. And the local cops resented her tenacity, especially if she targeted their paid snitches. Sam had learned to trust her friend’s instincts, but Jessie had few advocates within CPD ranks.
She only hoped that when Jessie got involved in Seth’s case, she wouldn’t make matters worse. But there’d be no holding back the floodgates of Jessie’s support after she found out what had happened to Harper.
Death, taxes, and Jessie’s loyalty were things to count on.
“Do they have anything else on him that I should know about?” she asked.
“Since they’re still working the scene, it’s too early to tell. But the kid has been close-mouthed about where he’s livin’, and his background is real sketchy. Apparently he’s been livin’ off the grid, and that ain’t helpin’ his case any.” Garza shook his head. “And he remembers goin’ to meet someone at a bar, but so far, he’s stickin’ to some lame story that he…get this…he doesn’t remember. Like forgettin’ is a legit alibi.”
“From what I know of the kid, he might be protecting someone,” Sam speculated, then turned to face him. “And if he’s telling the truth about not remembering, a smart detective might have to work hard to unravel what really happened.”
She ventured a faint smile. “Are you gonna be that smart detective, or will I have to step in?”
He raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms. “This isn’t my case. I was only doin’ you a favor, Coop.”
In the small, dark room, his low voice sent a gentle flurry of pinpricks over her skin.
“Does that mean you aren’t up for a side wager, Raymundo?” She inched closer to him, rolling her tongue with the Spanish pronunciation of his name. “I mean, if CPD has such a strong case, what are you afraid of? That my instincts are better than yours?”
“This isn’t about your instincts. It’s about your loyalty to a friend…” He touched her cheek with a finger. “…somethin’ I happen to respect.” Then he grinned, cocksure of himself. “Besides, I’m not sure you can handle the truth about this case if it goes south.”
“And I have serious doubts you can deal with a woman beating you to it, macho man.” She matched his stance. “So what’s it gonna be?”
Garza narrowed his eyes, and said, “What kind of bet do you have in mind?”
In a cramped room off her kitchen, Wilhelmina Smart sat at her worn Formica table, contriving ways to steal a baby.
She swapped a peek out her dingy miniblinds between swigs of lukewarm coffee and a suck of her cigarette. Dust from the blinds mixed with the smoke that stung her eyes as she stubbed out the cigarette in an ashtray that should have been dumped days ago. To ease the throbbing of her tailbone, Wilhelmina stood and lumbered to the kitchen for a refill on coffee, lighting up again as she did.
Michelle would be on her doorstep soon, pregnant with a grandbaby she might have a shot at keeping if she played her cards right. This girl, and plenty more like her, had spread their legs for her boy Eddie. She loved him, despite his ways, but he never had good taste when it came to women.
“That boy humps anythin’ breathin’,” she mumbled, pouring coffee and having second thoughts about the breathing part. “Never can keep it in his pants.”
If she couldn’t convince the girl to give her the baby outright, then she’d take it, legal or not. Knowing Eddie, that girl wouldn’t make a fit mother.
“Would serve her right, the whore.”
She unloaded her ample frame onto the chair again, sloshing coffee onto th
e stained tabletop. With a swipe of her hand, she made things right, tossing the spill to the floor. Her strapping boy Eddie carried sturdy seed, like his daddy, but a bitch like Michelle had no business raising his baby. Only family could do that.
Her boy didn’t know what was good for him, but she’d make him see.
Eddie would be asleep for another hour, but he’d want to eat before heading to work. He serviced big-rig engines for a friend, with money passing under the table. Since he’d come to stay a month ago, avoiding the problems in his life, her small subleased rental house smelled of motor oil and the body odor only a man could make. And he constantly left lights burning, but since she didn’t pay utilities separate, she didn’t make a big deal about it.
But sharing one bathroom was a royal pain. Every day she dealt with the toilet seat being up and the boy’s dribbles. Hell, sometimes he’d miss the bowl altogether. Men! She wouldn’t mind if he paid her something for her troubles, but the boy had a nasty habit of being a taker, even with his own momma. How the hell did he get that way?
When she peeked out the window this time, she saw a girl walking to her front door.
“Well, I’ll be.” A smile spread across her face. “You’re about ready to pop, ain’t ya?”
The girl’s round belly tented the oversized NASCAR sweatshirt she wore with swollen boobs bouncing underneath. She had on a faded ball cap, pulled down low. And a dark pair of sunglasses hid her plain-looking face. Getting knocked up was obviously an embarrassment.
Before her visitor rang the bell, she trudged for the door. When she opened it, the girl stood with one hand raised, ready to knock, with the other on her belly.
“You must be Michelle.” She forced a smile and opened the screen door. “I recognized you from your pictures on MySpace. You’re even prettier in person.”
The girl was taller than she expected. And her pregnant belly looked to be filled with more than one kid. After she stepped inside the door, she took off her sunglasses, revealing a noticeable scar over her eye. Intense dark eyes stared back at her, and she wondered, for the first time, why such a woman would have anything to do with her son. A momma’s gut reaction. Something didn’t sit right, but before she said anything, Michelle beat her to it.