by Byrne, Wendy
Wearing a pair of boring, sensible flats, a too-tight and equally boring brownish-black suit with a white turned dingy beige blouse peeping from beneath the suit jacket, she shuffled through paperwork while she waited for the judge to enter the courtroom. Since Gabriella’s sister was a state’s attorney, she knew the woman was both overworked and underpaid, so she gave her bad fashion choices a pass, although she had a nearly irresistible urge to offer her a makeover.
Instead, she bit her tongue and glanced around the courtroom. She’d watched her sister during a trial and knew that, unlike on TV, trials were typically lackluster and boring. Today, however, the whole courtroom seemed charged with a kind of frenetic energy, although she couldn’t pinpoint the cause.
When the judge entered, the mood ratcheted up even more. A stern looking man of indeterminate age, he bristled as he sat down in his chair, as if he didn’t want to be there, either.
Vince Perry began to speak on the merits of his motion for dismissal while the judge listened. Next the state’s attorney argued her point. As she did, Gabriella noticed a group of men in the back. Wearing suits, they could have been anything from attorneys with time to kill to reporters looking for the next big story. Unlike her, they seemed supremely interested in what was going on. In fact, several times the judge gave them a stern look when their whispers got a little too loud.
Maybe they were some kind of court groupies. If so, Gabriella figured they needed to get a life.
Finally, the bailiff called Shane to the witness stand. After being sworn in, he gave his testimony. Looking as if he’d recited the story a million times, he was confident. Everyone in the courtroom seemed unnaturally focused on what Shane was saying, especially the men in back, who remained eerily quiet as if intent on his every word.
Gabriella still felt rattled by the gunshot incident and was trying to discharge her anxiety by playing one of her favorite games: She was giving males and females alike a makeover. Ninety percent of the people in the room sorely needed it.
For instance, the guy with the bad glasses and the poorly fitting suit, she re-outfitted in a nice Armani suit, got him a good haircut, and exchanged his out-of-style glasses frames for a pair of small, squarish wire-rimmed ones. He looked downright presentable when she mentally finished with him.
She was just about to give the state’s attorney a head-to-toe makeover when the judge stood. “I’ll review the testimony and the motions submitted and give you a decision within twenty-four hours.”
Shane talked to Vince Perry for a few minutes while guards escorted Tony away. When they moved towards her, one of the court groupies walked up to Shane and shoved him in the chest.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing, O’Neil? You trying to get a cop killer off?” The guy’s voice echoed in the small courtroom.
Cop killer? She should have paid much more attention during the testimony. She couldn’t help wondering if Shane’s car being used for target practice had anything to do with this court appearance.
She glanced around to see if the bailiffs were going to do anything, but it didn’t look like they were. They might interfere if it came to blows, but for right now they seemed content to watch.
Shane folded his arms across his chest. “I’m not doing anything except offering testimony. It’s not my fault your whole case stinks. The kid’s getting railroaded. You and everybody else in this courtroom knows it. There’s nothing but circumstantial evidence to tie him to the crime.”
The man bounced on the balls of his feet. He looked as if he might be contemplating taking Shane on in a fist fight, which no doubt would be a really bad idea on his part.
“No.” The man pointed a shaky finger at both Shane and Vince. “You two want to get a cop killer off.”
Vince spoke up at that point, grabbing Shane by the bicep. “We want justice served.” Without another word, he steered Shane toward her, and the three of them headed toward the elevator.
“What was that all about? And do you think those guys had anything to do with the window of your car getting blown out?” Her earlier bout of nerves resurfaced as they rode down in the elevator and she made all sorts of villainous and paranoid connections in her head.
Vince stopped Shane with a grab to his forearm. “What’s this about your car getting shot at?”
Shane shook his head. “It’s nothing. Wrong place, wrong time. Random gunfire on the South Side. That kind of stuff happens all the time there.” Shane seemed agitated, but for once it didn’t seem directed at her. They’d somehow had a special moment in the car when he held onto her hand. “Besides, O’Brien’s a prick, a big talker in front of his friends. He wouldn’t have the balls to shoot out my window.”
“He seemed pretty angry.” Though she was stating the obvious again, Gabriella couldn’t help it.
Vince glanced at Shane, then back at her. “Emotions run high when a cop dies. There’s a rush to judgment. They want to believe they’ve caught the bad guy. But in this case they haven’t.”
“It’s not our fault they don’t want to do their job.” Shane leaned against the wall of the elevator and folded his arms across his chest.
“What happened?” They both were talking in riddles. Then again, maybe it would have made more sense if she’d been paying attention earlier in court.
“A cop interrupted a liquor store robbery and was killed. My client is accused of committing the crime, but he wasn’t even in town at the time.”
She nodded as a level of understanding sank in. Shane had been there to testify that he’d uncovered evidence that the defendant was incapable of committing the crime. No wonder everyone was so on edge.
* * *
Shane couldn’t explain why, but he had a really bad feeling about the Marcos case. Maybe it was the confrontation with O’Brien afterward. Maybe it was residual from the window being blown out in his car. Maybe it was a good old-fashioned case of a gut-twitch that wouldn’t go away.
Either way, as he waited for Gabriella while she changed, a niggling sensation in the back of his head warned him to send her back to Florida on a one-way ticket. But a bigger part of him knew if he did that he’d never see her again. And for the first time in a very long time, maybe forever, he didn’t want that to happen.
“I’ll be in later.” He pulled to the curb in front of the Blues Stop and came around to help her out of the car. She gave him a weird expression when he grasped her arm. He had a nearly irresistible urge to kiss her goodbye, but fought it.
What the hell? A few hours around her and he was going soft.
She turned to look at him as she walked to the door looking smoking hot, as always. “Okay…hmm…I guess I’ll see you later.”
After he watched her saunter inside and meet up with Mack, he went back to his car. He drove to his office and examined everything he had on the Tony Marcos case, hoping maybe he’d missed something.
Cops had a tendency to go a little crazy when one of their own was killed. He could understand that. But there seemed to be more. He just hadn’t figured it out yet.
He was scanning through file after file when his phone rang. “O’Neil.”
“Tony Marcos was stabbed this afternoon in lock-up,” Vince said softly on the other end of the line.
Was this another case of cops ensuring that justice was served?
* * *
When Shane arrived at the club some time later, Gabriella noticed he didn’t look very happy. Though that wasn’t all that unusual, his unhappiness this time seemed to run deeper. Sadness evidenced itself in his slouched posture and the defeated expression on his face.
“What’s going on?” Call her crazy, but she needed to know what had him so preoccupied.
“Tony Marcos was stabbed in prison. They’re not sure if he’s going to make it.”
A shiver raced up and down her arms and an eerie sensation rattled her bones. “Oh, my God.”
Shane nodded in a distracted kind of way, as if he were trying to think t
hrough a solution in his head. “Tony didn’t want me to testify on his behalf. I’d stake my life on the fact he was being threatened. He was afraid of what might happen.” He blew out a breath. “Now it has.”
She gulped, knowing the answer before she even asked the question. “Do you think that’s why he was attacked?”
He nodded. “I have to figure out a way to prove it.”
Okay, that sounded pretty darn dangerous, even for Shane. But she wanted him to keep talking. She wanted to know what he was thinking. “Are you sure getting shot at earlier isn’t also connected? Those cops seemed awfully angry.”
He gave her a slight smile. “You think those who are supposed to serve and protect might have taken matters into their own hands? I thought I was the one who didn’t trust cops.”
“I’m just saying…well…I don’t know what I’m saying. I guess that it seems awfully coincidental.”
“We’ll never know. It’s not like any of the boys in blue are going to admit it.”
“But maybe if you filed a report—”
“That’ll only give them satisfaction. The way I see it, no harm no foul.” He shrugged. “Besides, I already had the window fixed—A1 Glass Company. Good as new.”
“But—” Why couldn’t he see that not every cop on the force was bad, or that going through channels might be a good option?
“Forget it, princess. Not going to happen.”
Considering that for once he was in the mood to talk, she thought she’d try another tactic instead of arguing with him. “Do you often work with a defense lawyer?”
It took him a couple of beats to respond. “Sometimes. Garrett and I did investigative work for Vince when we got out of the army and were working on getting our degrees. He works with the Innocence Project out of Northwestern Law School, so he takes in a few pro bono cases. Most of the time, he’ll ask us to track down some potential witnesses, that kind of thing.”
She nodded as she tried to think of something else to say. He looked as if he wanted to keep talking, but she was way out of her league. She didn’t know where to go with her questions. As it turned out, she didn’t need to go anywhere with the conversation. For once, he was the blabby one.
“Something’s been off about the evidence from the beginning. Everything is too neat and tidy, like it was planted. Crime scenes never work that way. And the deeper I dug, the more confusing the whole thing got. The person supplying the ironclad alibi for the defendant suddenly turned up missing. Then Tony gets attacked in prison.” Lost in thought, Shane stared into space.
“Maybe I could help you.” All right, she was stretching her luck, but it seemed like a noble gesture. She was caught up in the moment and wanted to help out. But then he laughed. And suddenly, she wanted to choke him.
“I don’t think that’s such a good idea.” Shane struggled to keep his laughter contained. The guy barely knew how to crack a smile, but found the idea of her playing the part of a detective oh-so-amusing.
“Why?” Though she could think of a hundred different reasons why she’d be the last person anyone would want help from, she didn’t need him to agree with her assessment.
“This isn’t like singing or flirting or shopping.”
“Duh.” She rolled her eyes. “I’m not an idiot.”
“I never said you were. But sometimes these things can get dangerous.” He was talking to her in that patronizing tone her brother Enrique used, and since she felt some kind of lecture coming on, she decided the sliver of peace between them must have come and gone.
“Singing at a blues club can get dangerous, but you don’t see me running away.” Except for now. She grabbed her usual water with lemon from behind the bar, along with one for Donna, and went in search of her. Right now she needed a friendly face to soothe her bruised ego.
Before she made it to the back, two men came inside. At five forty-five, the place wasn’t technically open for business even though the door was unlocked.
She suspected Shane was about to tell them that when he stopped short, a scowl on his face. “What can I do for you, officers?” He gave her a quick glance that said, ‘Didn’t I tell you this would happen?’
She felt guilty, especially when she remembered she had left a message for Patrick a few hours earlier. Suspecting it might be the reason for their visit and wishing to circumvent even more trouble, she walked back up to the front. “Good evening. May I help you?”
The rounder of the two men studied her for a second or two with the patented I-don’t-need-to-be-bothered-with-you cop look. He chewed on a piece of gum for emphasis. “Doubt it.”
The other didn’t even acknowledge her presence, instead zoning in on Shane.
Rather than leave, she hung around to see what they wanted. It couldn’t hurt. And maybe she might be able to diffuse some of the testosterone floating around.
They plunked their substantial behinds on two stools along the bar and unfolded a piece of paper. Their faces impassive, they slid it in front of Shane. Curious, she slipped around the back of the bar to stand next to him.
“Know her?” The men didn’t bother to put up a pretext of being nice.
Even more curious, she peeked at the photo. A woman was lying spread-eagled, her clothes ripped and torn, her face a battered mass of bruises, with what must have once been blonde hair caked in blood. “Oh, my God.” Her breath hitched. “That woman must be dead.” Stating the obvious once again.
Shane’s jaw locked and his eyes went half-mast. “That’s Annie Taylor. She used to sing here.”
Her stomach churned while her mind raced. This was the drug addict/singer, the one who went missing. And now she was dead. Holy crapola.
One of the cops took out a pad of paper and started to jot down notes. “When did you last see her?”
Shane crossed his arms and leaned against the counter in back of the bar. From his relaxed posture, you would have thought this kind of thing happened to him every day. It was his ever-so-tight jaw that gave him away. “The last night she worked was towards the end of July. I’d have to get a calendar and her last pay stub to tell you the exact date.”
“That’s a long time. You didn’t report her missing?”
Shane put a bar straw in his mouth and chewed on it. No doubt it kept his jaw from popping out of the socket. “I’m not her family. She didn’t show up for work. I moved on.”
“Did you have an argument with her?”
Shane placed his hands onto the bar top and leaned over toward the cops. To her way of thinking, his body language, even without his general attitude, was going to get him brought down to the station. “You know damn well I did. The woman was higher than a kite. She couldn’t perform to save her soul most of the time.”
“Probably made you angry,” one said.
“Angry enough to kill her,” the other followed with.
They weren’t even playing good cop/bad cop. They were just playing bad cop/bad cop.
“Sure. That makes a lot of sense. Because the woman had marginal talent, was a drug addict, and couldn’t stand upright, let alone remember the words to a song, I killed her because that would…hmmm…what exactly would that do for me, officers?” Shane’s voice actually got quieter, but somehow managed to become even more forceful.
“You were in Special Forces in the army. You know how to kill people.”
“It doesn’t take Special Forces training to know how to kill. Any idiot with a gun or a knife can do that.” His smirk made his inference clear. “Where did you find her?”
While she didn’t know Shane well, she knew he wasn’t going to back down, and from the look of things, neither were they.
“The Westside.”
“Shocking. A drug addict turns up dead in the middle of drug central. Gee, I wonder what happened.”
“Maybe you killed her and dumped the body there so we’d come to the obvious conclusion.”
“Look, even in this picture I can see the fresh needle marks. It doesn’t take
a genius to figure this one out. So back off or arrest me.”
The cops glanced at each other as if calculating their next move. Finally, one of them looked at her. Gabriella wasn’t sure if it was for a specific reason or simply gave him time to think.
“Did you know the deceased?”
She was so relieved they’d shifted their attention from Shane she didn’t even mind they were focused on her. “Never met her. I’m her replacement.”
“How bad did you want this job?”
She rubbed her fingertips along the side of the glass filled with water. “Let me put it this way. They’re paying me five hundred bucks a week plus expenses. I’ve made twice that before. I’ve made half that before. I’m a singer. It’s what I do. I don’t have a whole lot of trouble finding jobs.” That part was kind of a fib, but she didn’t want them to think she was desperate.
“What’s your name?”
She gave him the information. After he took it down, they went in search of Mack and Donna.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Gabriella was beginning to believe Shane’s prediction of trouble, especially when Patrick strolled in later, surrounded by a posse of friends. It was pretty obvious they’d all had a couple rounds of beer and were spoiling for a fight.
Shane seemed more withdrawn than usual as he manned his station behind the bar. She could tell Annie’s death was bothering him more than he’d let on earlier. Either that or he was still plagued by thoughts of Tony.
Mack was being Mack, but a little more anxious than normal. Donna was upset, having known Annie personally.
On the other hand, Gabriella was trying to maintain the status quo and hope all hell didn’t break loose even though it felt as if it might at any second. While she sat at the bar trying to worm more than simple one-word answers from Shane, Patrick came up and grabbed her hand.
“Come on, Gabriella. Let’s dance. We can talk about why you need me.”