THE PROSECUTOR

by Adrienne Giordano

  She turned to leave, her body stiff and distant, and something pulled Zac out of his chair. Damned if he’d let her leave like this. Why he cared, he didn’t know, but he did—massively. He hustled around the desk. “Emma, look, I don’t know what’s going on with the case files, but I’ll figure it out. One way or another, I’ll figure it out.”

  “Yeah, because your job is to keep my brother in prison. You want to win.”

  “If he’s guilty, you bet I do. But if he’s innocent, if his rights were violated and you can prove that, he’ll get a new trial. That’s the way our system works. Nothing I can do to change that. Nor do I want to.”

  She eyed him. “What do you think?”

  “About?”

  She waved at the files on his desk. “Looking at that box, do you think my brother’s rights were violated?”

  Not a chance I’m answering that one, sweetheart. “I think we’re missing the rest of the files. I think we’ll find them and then I’ll get a clearer picture of this case. Until then, I believe his rights were not violated and he was convicted based on solid evidence.”

  She smiled. “Right. That’s what you have to believe. Something tells me that, down deep—” she placed her index finger in the center of his chest and pushed “—right here, you don’t necessarily agree with what you have to believe.”

  At her touch, heat radiated through his gut. He was no saint and willing women weren’t all that hard to come by when he put some effort into it, but he could honestly say he hadn’t felt that kind of fire in a long time. Whether it was wishful thinking or simply wanting action, he didn’t know, but he liked it. Given his current status as the prosecutor on her brother’s case, thinking like that would lead him nowhere good.

  Emma snatched her finger back. He smiled and her cheeks immediately flushed. Too damn cute. Even if he should be running like hell.

  “I need to go,” she said.

  For safety, Zac stepped far enough out of reach so he didn’t do something stupid and touch her. “Yes, you do.”

  He watched her leave the office while his pulse triple-timed. A career-making case and he was having carnal thoughts about the convicted man’s sister. Talk about a brilliant way to screw up.

  Time to refocus and get organized. Zac dialed Alex Belson to find out where all the evidence for this case was. In a matter of one business day, Zac had fallen way behind on a case that should have been a slam dunk. A damn murder conviction and he had no files.

  “Alex, hey, it’s Zac Hennings.”

  “Hang on.” Alex said something to someone on the other end then came back to him. “Sorry. Madhouse. What’s up?”

  “The Sinclair case. What the heck happened here? I’ve got one box—half full. I should have a truckload.”

  Alex groaned. “I feel for ya, man. I inherited exactly what you got.”

  “And?”

  “And what? I was the fourth PD to handle this guy. I backtracked, though. The first guy died—as in keeled over out of the blue. And the other two guys aren’t with the PD’s Office anymore. I’m guessing when the first guy crapped out, some of his files were never recovered. Then the other two guys left and all I could salvage was what was in that box.”

  A murder case with no evidence. Zac dug his fingertips into his forehead. He’d have to track down the two remaining PDs, wherever they might be. If he had a knife, he’d gut himself. “You’re telling me that one box is all there is?”

  “As far as I know. I don’t have investigators just sitting around here. Plus, we’re dealing with a cop’s daughter as the victim. Dude, I knew going in I was going to lose. The blue wall wasn’t coming down on this one.”

  Cops in Chicago were legendary for their ability to keep quiet about crimes involving other cops. Chicago’s blue wall wasn’t cement—that sucker was solid steel—and the detectives didn’t bend over to help the defense. For the most part, Chicago detectives were honest investigators who worked until they reached logical conclusions. In some cases, hunches, whether right or wrong, guided them, made them feel someone’s guilt deep in their bones. Magicians that they were, they found a way to organize the evidence so it helped get a conviction.

  In the case of Chelsea Moore, detectives chipped away until the evidence fit. They would have made it fit for Dave. In a way, Zac understood.

  And that scared the hell out of him.

  “I’ll tell you one thing, though,” Alex said. “Emma Sinclair made for a great investigator. She hammered me about the victim’s boyfriend. Ex-boyfriend. Ben Leeks Jr.”

  Zac wrote down the name. “What about him?”

  “His father—Ben Leeks—is an Area 1 detective.”

  Zac’s stomach pitched. He shot a glance at the box of evidence. There had to be something in there about the boyfriend. “Was he questioned?”

  “According to the detectives, he was cleared early on. The PD before me talked to the kid. Nothing there.”

  “I’m guessing Emma wasn’t happy.”

  “She thought it was too convenient. Can’t say I blamed her. I went with what I had.”

  After three other PDs had already gone with it. Total snake pit. Zac made another note to look into the boyfriend. “What happened with the boyfriend?”

  “Chelsea’s friend said the kid was abusive. Smacked her around some.”

  “And he was cleared?”

  “The blue wall, my friend, the blue wall.”

  Zac wrote blue wall on his notepad and then slashed a giant X through it. If it took a blow torch, he’d burn through that steel wall.

  Chapter Three

  After blowing off class on Friday morning and visiting Brian, Emma flew down the expressway toward home. Lately it seemed she was always in a hurry to get somewhere while never really reaching the place she wanted to be. Today however, her optimism had hit a two-year high. During their visit, Brian had made adjustments to her time line. How those adjustments would differ from the video and trial transcripts, she wasn’t sure, but she’d find out soon enough by comparing them.

  Emma sang along with the radio. She felt as if things were looking up. Even if the gray sky, in complete contrast to her mood, hung dull and lifeless, it wouldn’t dampen her sunny mood. Brian had stayed subdued about their new lawyer. Defense mechanism. Her younger brother lived in a six-by-six cell. Hope ran thin for him.

  Emma’s cell phone rang and she punched the Bluetooth.

  “Helloooo?” she sang.

  “Penny Hennings here. Where are you?”

  Hello to you, too, Penny. Then again, Emma didn’t need her pro bono lawyer to be her friend. She needed her to give Brian his life back.

  “I’m coming from seeing Brian. Thirty minutes from downtown. Why?”

  “I’m heading to court. I need my intern’s help. Can you get to the parking garage next to Magic?”

  Emma stuck out her bottom lip. “The nightclub?”

  “The one and only. I had one of our investigators call the garage owner about the missing receipt. He has an office across the street from the garage above the sub shop. He also has five years of security backups and can pull the date we need. I love technology.”

  Now this could be good. “He’s willing to let me look through them?”

  “Yes. And if you find anything, he’ll give us a copy. I’ll call Zac. I want someone from the State’s Attorney’s Office to be with you so they can’t accuse us of tampering. The chain of custody on this will be rock solid. Ha! My brother will have a cow. I cannot wait. Seriously, I love my job sometimes.”

  Maybe Zac was right about his sister being nuts. Sanity issues aside, this might be another lead. “I’ll take care of it.”

  Emma arrived at the garage, parked and made her way across the street. A lunch rush descended on the sub shop and, with her met
abolism reminding her that she’d only had a banana for breakfast, she contemplated grabbing a sandwich on the way out. Next to the sub shop was a door marked ENGLAND MANAGEMENT. She swung through the door and walked up the stairwell.

  At the top of the stairs she found a second glass door. The receptionist glanced up and waved Emma in.

  “Hi. I’m Emma Sinclair.”

  The receptionist smiled. “He’s expecting you. Come in.”

  Emma was ushered down the short, carpeted hallway to an office where a man sat at a metal-framed desk. The receptionist waved her in and the man stood up. He wore khaki pants and a long-sleeved golf shirt that stretched across his protruding belly. She guessed his age at about fifty, but she never was any good at figuring out a person’s age. His lips curved into a welcoming grin and the wrinkles around his eyes bunched. Nice smile. Emma returned the gesture. She’d come to appreciate someone smiling at the sister of a man convicted of murder. Even if that man were innocent, most people didn’t take the time to think of her feelings in that regard.

  “I’m Emma Sinclair. I believe Penny Hennings told you to expect me.”

  “Sure thing. I’m Glen. Glen Beckett. Have a seat.” He waved her over to one of the two chairs in front of the desk. “You know the date you’re looking for?”

  I sure do. “Yes. March 21st—two years ago. Not last March.”

  Glen swung to the computer and grabbed the mouse. Emma leaned forward. “On second thought, Glen, would you please wait one second? Someone is meeting me here and I don’t want to start without him. Let me make a quick call.”

  She dialed Penny, who picked up on the second ring. “He’s coming.”

  “Who?”

  “Zac.”

  “Really? Not an investigator?”

  “Zac’s court appearance was continued and my brother is no fool. If I’m requesting someone be with you, he knows I’m not playing games. My extremely smart brother wants to see for himself what evidence I’m going to hit him with.”

  The door behind Emma flew open and Zac Hennings, all wide shoulders and six-foot-plus of him, marched into the office. For reasons she didn’t understand herself, Emma stepped back. Zac certainly knew how to enter a room and command it.

  “He’s here.” Emma disconnected and shoved the phone in her jacket pocket. “Hi.”

  Zac nodded. “Emma.” He turned to Glen, held his hand out. “Zac Hennings. I’m an Assistant Cook County State’s Attorney.”

  “Holy...” Glen shot a look at Emma then went back to Zac.

  “I’m only here to authenticate the video if we find something.”

  “Oh,” Emma said. “We’ll find something. My brother said he walked Melody to her car and she drove him back to Magic.”

  Glen faced his computer again. “Then we should have it. The camera by the exit records all vehicles as they leave. Do you know what time?”

  “Somewhere around 12:30 a.m.”

  A few clicks later a video popped onto the screen. Emma jumped out of her seat and crashed into Zac, her shoulder nailing him right in the solar plexus as they both attempted to round the desk. He let out a whoosh of air and clasped both her arms to keep her from stumbling. Emma stared down at his hands—good strong hands that had to be capable of all sorts of things—and sucked in a breath.

  “Sorry!” she said. “So sorry. Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine.” He waved her through. “Go ahead. You’ll recognize him before I will.”

  She wedged herself between Zac and the desk and stood next to Glen, who scrolled through a video while checking the time stamp.

  “I can stop it around 12:25, if you want. Then you can watch it in slow motion.”

  “Thank you,” Emma said.

  Behind her, Zac inched up, his body not touching hers, but close enough that an awareness made it hard to focus. He had that way about him. Commanding, but reserved. Somehow she didn’t think Zac Hennings had to beat on his chest and holler in order to control a room. He had a sense of authority about him that completely unnerved her.

  She kind of liked that. Or maybe she was just lonely. Either way, she couldn’t think too much about it. Her loneliness depressed her and she had no interest in analyzing that fact. Or the fact that he was the prosecutor on her brother’s case. What a mess that would be. Allowing herself to want him darn near guaranteed another heartbreak.

  “Do we know what kind of car we’re looking for?” Glen asked.

  Emma stepped forward, adding space between her and hunky Zac Hennings. “It’s a Dodge Neon.”

  Zac nodded and three pairs of eyes focused on the screen. Three minutes later, Emma checked the time stamp again. 12:35. No Dodge Neon. No Melody. No Brian.

  Come on. Inside her shoe, she wiggled her toes. Her head pounded as the seconds ticked away. Please be there.

  “There it is!” Glen yelled.

  Emma brought her gaze to the car on the screen. The pounding in her head tripled and she squeezed her fingers into fists. This could be it.

  Zac leaned closer, his chest nudging Emma’s shoulder. “Can you slow this down?”

  Had they been anywhere else, she would have poked him with her elbow and given him the back-off-buddy look, but she refused to take her eyes off that screen.

  Glen tapped at the mouse and the car slowed to barely moving as it proceeded through the open gate.

  “Here we go. This should be it,” Emma said as two figures—one male and one female—came into view. As the car rolled forward, the camera finally captured their faces and—bang—there was her brother’s smiling face. Energy roared into her, made her a little lightheaded, and moisture filled her mouth. She swallowed once, twice. He’s there.

  “Freeze it,” she yelled before the car drove off screen. She turned to Zac. “That’s him. That’s Brian. And Melody.”

  “12:37,” he said. “Okay.”

  “Okay? Okay what?”

  Zac shrugged. “We have him on tape. This gets admitted into evidence.” He turned to Glen. “I’ll need a copy of this video.”

  Clearly, the prosecutor didn’t want to say another thing in front of Glen. Fine. She’d wait. At least until they got outside. Then they’d chat.

  “Make it two,” Emma said.

  * * *

  ZAC STEPPED ONTO THE sidewalk and contemplated jumping in front of the bus pulling up to the curb. His sister would go crazy over this video. Not only would she smell the blood, she’d swim faster to get to it.

  Emma had stayed on his heels on the way down to the building exit and parked herself in front of him. Forget the impending self-inflicted death.

  “12:37,” she said. “That proves where he was.”

  “Yes. At 12:37. Doesn’t necessarily help, though. We have the time of the murder narrowed to an hour. He could have done it after Melody dropped him back at the club.”

  She flapped her arms. “Oh, please. This is a guy who worried enough about his friend to walk her back to her car and then ride out of the garage with her. You think he goes from there to killing someone? It makes no sense.”

  The bus pulled away with a whoosh and left a batch of engine fumes to poison Zac’s lungs. Once again he contemplated the bus. Should have jumped. He looked back at Emma. “Nothing ever makes sense in my job. I go with the evidence. Tell me about the victim’s ex-boyfriend and the abuse.”

  Emma jerked her head back and stared up at him with those big brown eyes that made him think of liquid chocolate and all the things he liked to do with it. Now he’d have to figure out a way to get that thought out of his mind.

  “Yeah,” he said. “I know about that. I talked to your brother’s public defender. He said you hammered him about the ex-boyfriend. So tell me because there’s nothing in that box of files about it and that doesn’t sit right with me.”<
br />
  Emma hesitated, twisting her lips for a second and—yeah—he’d have to get those lips, along with the liquid chocolate, out of his head, too.

  “I was upset that the police weren’t talking about the boyfriend. Brian knew Chelsea Moore casually. They were the same age and were regulars at Magic. Brian told me she’d texted him a few times after she’d broken up with her boyfriend. I don’t think Brian was interested in her in a—well—sexual way so he didn’t pursue her. When he was questioned, he asked the police about her ex-boyfriend. They did nothing with it.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I asked the public defender. The guy before Alex Belson. He didn’t have anything on it.”

  “Then how do you know the ex was abusive?”

  “Well, Zac,” Emma said, layering on the sarcasm. “I did something that was pure investigative genius. I did something the Chicago P.D. never thought of doing.”

  Here we go. “Ditch the drama, Emma. I get it.”

  She held up a finger. “I talked to the victim’s friends. Miraculous, isn’t it?”

  Zac rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t blame her for the attitude. If it had been one of his siblings on trial, he’d feel that same burning, festering anger. This whole thing stunk of cops trying to protect the ex-boyfriend, who also happened to be the son of a cop.

  The blue wall.

  He grabbed Emma’s elbow and ushered her to the corner. “Are you parked in the garage?”

  “Yes. I need a sandwich first. I haven’t eaten all day.”

  “Fine. I’ll wait for you and then walk you to your car. Then I have a couple of detectives to talk to.”

  * * *

  DETECTIVE JOHN CUTLER marched into Zac’s office wearing a wrinkled blue sport coat and a scowl. The man didn’t like being summoned to an ASA’s office in the middle of the day. Zac didn’t care.

  Not when one of Cutler’s investigations was about to be sliced and diced in court and Zac would be the one taking the hit.

  He tossed a pen on his stacked desk and leaned back in his chair. “Have a seat, detective.”