“So, where do we go first?” CJ turned to look at Jessie in the backseat. She'd offered the front, citing her shorter legs. He craned his head to read the addresses, but still so new to the city, he had no idea where the streets were.
“I still think the one you were taken to makes the most sense. This one here is way out south and west. Almost in Cicero. It would be hard for Hamilton or whoever, to claim all three of you had a reason to be there.”
“Why would Blanche even be at the garage?”
Mark cleared his throat. “I have an idea. What if they want it to look like a love triangle?”
Jessie and CJ both stared at Mark.
“I know, it sounds crazy, but hear me out. They can plant whatever evidence they want to point to it. You said Blanche and Wayan were both there at that save you did the other day, right? Where you got those pieces of rock in your neck?”
CJ touched the small wounds, so minor that they were almost healed. “Yeah. But Wayan practically had to be coerced into going. There's nothing going on between him and Blanche. They hardly know each other.”
“Of course, but it only needs to look like some kind of revenge, love triangle. It doesn't need to be reality.”
“Right, but still, what difference does it make?”
“Think about it. They couldn't get you to confess to killing Cruz, but if they find you holding the gun used to kill your girlfriend and your friend, a cop no less, they don't have to worry about you spilling the truth about Cruz. Nobody will believe you’re innocent of that murder, too.”
CJ sat back against the seat. Mark was right. He had to stop all of this from occurring.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Jim strode past his assistant, requesting that he get the two agents he'd assigned to look into the Chicago PD, up in his office. He sat at his desk and opened his computer, checking his email while he waited. One of the agents had already sent information and Jim opened the email. There wasn't a lot, most of it just scratching the surface, but he hadn't expected too much so soon. He'd had the agent focus on reports that were similar to the report initially filed by Mendez. He wasn't looking for police brutality accusations out in the field as a suspect was being arrested. That would take forever to sort the bogus from the legitimate, so instead, he'd had them search for any where the suspect, or victim, depending on point of view, claimed to have been held for hours or days in locations that didn't seem to be police lock-ups. Agent Campbell had already found five cases spread out over several years.
He looked up from his reading at the knock on the door. “Thank you for your prompt response, Agent Campbell. Have a seat.” He looked past her shoulder. “Where's Agent Monahan?”
“He's out today. Sick.”
Jim sighed.
“But we were working together and he briefed me on what he'd found before he left last evening.” The woman sat in the chair, a file folder in her hands. Jim knew she was thorough and meticulous. It was why he'd chosen to assign this case to her. She would dig into police corruption with the energy of a rat terrier. He was hoping she'd found a few rats.
“I’m looking over the information you sent me. It looks promising, but due to a situation that has come up, I need to ask you if you have suspicions on who is behind these unusual deviations from procedure in regarding questioning suspects.”
“I have, but it's all very preliminary. I don't have much to back it up yet.” Agent Campbell opened the folder. “Sir, I have a short list of people. These are all people who have the authority, connections, and motives for ordering something like this.”
“How did you come by your criteria? What’s the motive?” Jim took the file and looked at the list. His gut tightened. He knew Hamilton would be there, but his stomach clenched all the same when he saw the man listed second.
“Well, the first one has had several reprimands already, so he's at the top of the list, but I actually don't think he's guilty of these things. He's too sloppy in this work. The second one though, Hamilton, has had quite the record lately. Lots of collars of gang members, confiscation of weapons, drugs, etcetera.”
“So he's good at his job. Why is that suspicious?” Playing devil’s advocate helped Jim to be objective. In theory.
“Because it's almost like he's too good, you know? I have a feeling he has some kind of deal going on with a rival gang. Almost all of the gang members he arrests are from the same gang. Why is that? And while he confiscates a lot of weapons, for the number of arrests, it seems low. I ran a cross analysis with other arrests of a similar number of gang members across the city, and overall, his weapon count is thirty-eight percent below the norm. How can that be? I had a similar finding with drugs found. It’s true he’s had some noteworthy drug busts, but comparing apples to apples, his busts have an average of forty-two percent fewer drugs confiscated.”
Jim's hopes soared. He could nab Hamilton on something that was unrelated to CJ—something that showed a pattern of abuse and corruption. “So, you don't believe that his criminals are carrying fewer drugs and weapons than the average bad guy?”
Campbell smiled. “Not for a minute. He's been able to slide by because of the sheer number of arrests. Probably nobody ever compared them. For what it's worth, the other two on the list are also suspects for various reasons. One went through a nasty divorce and his finances are in the toilet. I thought he could be shaking down criminals. His district is in the heart of the area where the most complaints originate.”
“Good work, Agent Campbell. Now, I have another question. Do any of the reports give a location for where the victims were taken? Addresses? Neighborhoods?”
Campbell frowned. “I'm sorry. Of the ten reports I found that fit your criteria, all but one of the victims was blindfolded, according to their claims. When they were released, they were driven away with the blindfolds once again in place.”
“Damn it.” Jim looked from page to page on the report, drumming his fingers on the desk.
“Sir? There is one thing though. There was a death under unusual circumstances. An officer claimed he went to get his patrol car looked at for engine issues at one of the facilities contracted with the CPD, and found the beaten, cuffed body of a man listed as a transient. The man was blindfolded.”
“Where was this?”
She gave him the address of the garage. It wasn't the one near where CJ had been taken, but not far from it. “I think this is what I needed for now. Keep working on this, focusing on Hamilton.”
* * *
“Got it. We're on our way.” Jessie leaned forward. “Give this to Mark. It's the address of a different garage. One of Jim's agents thinks it's a likely spot due to proximity.”
“But I thought we were going to check out the one near where I was held?”
“We will if this one doesn't pan out, but it's closer and you didn't think your dream showed the same place you were held.”
“Not the same room, no, but it could have been the garage.”
Mark plucked the paper from his hand and read the address. “Don't worry. We'll go by this one, and if it's clear, we'll make a beeline to the other. It won't take but a few minutes. It's practically on the way.”
“What about my dad?”
“He said he was on his way, but we're closer. If it's all clear, I'll let him know to change direction to the other garage,” Jessie said.
The car pulled up at the garage and CJ jumped out of the car before it had even stopped rolling. The garage had four bays, but the doors were down on the two on the right as CJ faced them. One open bay had a squad on a lift, the other bay and an unmarked vehicle sitting in it. It could have been a police vehicle or a private. He couldn't see the plates from here. He started walking towards it.
“Wait, CJ. We need to check things out.” Jessie grabbed his elbow, pulling him back.
He tugged his arm free. “Don't worry. I'm not rushing in. I don't want to screw this one up, too.”
Mark gave him a hard glance as he rounded t
he front of the car, meeting CJ at the front bumper. “Too? Listen, you haven't done anything wrong in all of this.” He didn't wait for CJ to reply, and pointed to the open bays. “I think we should check those out and see if we can find Wayan.”
CJ looked at the closed bays, taking a step towards them.
“We should stick together. Come on, CJ.”
He looked at the closed bays on his right again. If Wayan and Blanche were here, that's where they were being held. It was a gut feeling. They wouldn't take them to an open bay for everyone to see. He moved in that direction. Nothing about the bay screamed that anything out of the ordinary was happening there, but he couldn't shake the feeling. A white box truck was parked on the far end of the lot, just west of the last closed bay. A sense of foreboding almost smothered CJ. He stopped.
Mark and Jessie continued on for several yards, before turning. “CJ? What is it?” Mark took a few steps back towards him.
“I think they're over there.” He pointed.
“Why?”
He shrugged. “A feeling, but it makes sense. Why would they do something in an open bay?” CJ gestured to the squad on the lift. “People would see something, but I bet there's an entrance to the garage from that end wall. If I were taking someone somewhere, I wouldn't want anyone to see me. Or any cameras to record anything.” CJ pointed to a couple of security cameras aimed along the front of the garages and towards the main parking area.
Jessie glanced at them, then back at CJ. “You'd make a damn good detective. Ever think of joining up?”
CJ heard her, but his mind was on Blanche. He blinked and shook his head. “Come on.” He headed in that direction of the farthest bay.
“Hey! You can't go inthere!”
CJ didn't recognize the voice and he halted for only a second, surging past Mark and Jessie when they stopped. He glanced over his shoulder to find someone running towards them. He didn't wait, but took off for the bay, hoping the other two would run interference.
Tires crackled along the road behind them, coming fast. He threw a look over his shoulder to find Hamilton behind the wheel of an unmarked vehicle, bearing down fast. Mark and Jessie dove to the left, just escaping being hit. They rolled into a ditch. He hoped they were okay. CJ put on a burst of speed. How had Hamilton appeared so suddenly? Had he been waiting?
Shots rang out, pinging on the pavement in front of him. More shouting and shots came from farther back, near where Mark and Jessie had been. He slowed. Should he go back and help them? Before he could turn to look, something slammed into the back of his head and he went down, his vision turning black. Had he been hit with a bullet? He didn't recall hearing another shot. He stumbled to his feet, almost falling flat on his face a second time, but pushed off with his palms. Adrenaline fueled him. His vision wavered, the focus bouncing around like the horizontal hold had gone out on an old television set. He staggered into the corner of the building, ricocheting off like a pinball. Hamilton's car smashed into the corner where CJ had been an instant before. CJ swiped a hand across his eyes, trying desperately to wipe away the fuzziness in his sight. If only everything would hold still. He wanted to smack his head like he used to smack the TV when the picture would scroll.
Hamilton jumped out of the car, his gun drawn. “Stop where you are, Sheridan.”
CJ blinked. Everything wavered and he swallowed bile. “Where are they?”
“Who?”
“Blanche and Wayan. I know you have them.” He blinked, and for a split second, he could see clearly. Hamilton's eyes widened at CJ’s accusation. Then he lost focus again.
Hamilton chuckled. “I had a feeling about you, but I didn't expect you to be so accurate. Impressive, Sheridan. Officer Cooper just arrived minutes ago. I haven't even seen him. How did you know he was here?”
CJ ignored the question, looking to his right and spotting the door he'd predicted. The dark rectangle midway down the sandy colored wall had to be it.
“Just think, if you had told me about your abilities before we could have worked something out. Maybe join forces? Ah well. Too late now. I should have killed you when I had the chance, but now you're my bargaining chip. Your dad has been digging and it's your fault, you little shit. Get moving.”
“Moving?” CJ bent. His mouth flooded with saliva and he moaned, trying to control his stomach. Puking his guts out was not how he’d envisioned his last moments on Earth.
“To the door. You know where to go.”
CJ didn't object since it had been his goal all along. He moved towards it, bracing himself on the tan brick. Any second, he expected Hamilton to shoot him. His single thought was to find Blanche and Wayan. Distantly, he heard Mark's voice. It was strained, and he sounded like he was talking to CJ's dad; telling him to get here fast. Was his dad here now? Or was Mark shouting into his phone? Then he heard Jessie's voice. She was telling Hamilton to drop his weapon.
He took advantage of the distraction and reached for the door handle. He expected it to be locked and so when it opened, he fell to his knees just inside the entryway. The door flew open, banged against the wall behind it, and almost knocked him flat on his back when it hit his knees on the return trip. CJ rose and turned to his right, conscious of more gunfire sounding just yards away. A stray bullet shattered a window high on the garage door. He ducked out of instinct, but then straightened.
He made out Blanche pulled tight against the man he'd seen in his dream. They shimmered and he squinted. He knew someone was too his left; felt them there, but he vision tunneled. He held his hand out. “Don't hurt her. Please. I know you want me. I'm right here, okay?”
A voice he recognized shouted on his left, where he had felt someone. He had to turn his whole head to see. It was Wayan. He was speaking to CJ but his mouth moved out of sync with his voice. He said something about how sorry he was, and for CJ to put his hands behind his back. “No!”
He knew he couldn't be cuffed. If he could change that part of the photo, then maybe he could change the whole outcome. CJ shook his head, but that made the garage do a crazy loop-de-loop and he stumbled forward towards Blanche. A shot rang out.
CJ fell to a knee, close enough to see the stunned expression on Blanche’s face. Then she crumpled. He tried to catch her as she fell in a boneless heap in front of him. He looked from her to the man who had held her. “Why?” He gathered her in his arms. “What did you do? Oh, God. What did you do?”
“You attacked me!” The man looked beyond CJ and swore as he lifted his gun again, aiming for someone behind CJ. Shots rang out again, and CJ ducked over Blanche, protecting her from any more bullets. He hadn’t attacked the guy. He had lost his balance.
Hot liquid poured over his hand beneath her, and she shuddered, her breath hitching. “Blanche?”
In seconds, more people were in the garage, but CJ cradled Blanche as her eyes met his. She may have tried to speak, her lips moved, but he couldn’t hear her voice in all the commotion. He pulled her close, sobbing as her eyes glazed over. The hitching stopped along with her breathing.
“No!” He didn't know if he spoke aloud or even if he shouted it.
The next thing he knew, Jessie was there. She took Blanche from him and started CPR.
CJ couldn't look. He crawled away to the edge of the bay, collapsing face first against the concrete.
* * *
CJ sat near where he’d collapsed, his back against the wall. He brought his knees up, draping his arms over them. The blood—Blanche’s blood—still crusted his hand. The coroner had taken Blanche away. All that remained was the red stain on the floor. Paramedics had worked on her, but there had been no hope. The damage had been too great. CJ flexed his left hand. He had known it was futile even before the medical examiner had appeared and made it official. He’d felt her life shudder out of her. Felt it spilling over his hand. CJ stared at the stain. It was already drying into a deep maroon on the edges.
The guy who had killed Blanche had been shot as well, but he’d lived. Or, at
least he’d been alive when the paramedics carted him away. He hadn’t appeared in the photos, so CJ assumed that the injury was a new twist caused by something they had done. Why couldn’t he change the whole outcome for the better. Why?
It wasn’t fair. CJ clenched his blood-crusted hand and blinked hard.
His dad spoke to a group of his agents, including Jessie. He felt the weight of his father's gaze every time it landed on him, but CJ ignored him. He'd been too late to help, showing up only after Blanche was gone.
Jessie spoke to his dad, who nodded and she tried to catch CJ's eye, but he couldn't look at her. Not when she still wore Blanche's blood on her slacks. She must have washed her hands, but he imagined traces still lingered under her nails.
CJ rubbed the heel of his right hand against his eyes. His head pounded, but he welcomed every throbbing pulse of pain. It's what he deserved. He rested his hands against the bridge of his nose. What if he hadn’t bolted for the closed bay? What if he had stayed in the parking lot? Hamilton would have stopped there. Sure, he would have used CJ against his dad, but he would have gladly done whatever it took to trade places with Blanche right now. He should have been the one hauled away by the coroner.
This was going to kill Blanche’s family. He had never met them, but she spoke of fondly of them from time to time. What could he say to them? To her parents? That he'd killed their daughter?
Wayan stood just a few feet away, leaning against the wall, and CJ tilted his head. He was fine. Not a scratch on him.
He returned CJ's look, his face reflecting his shock. “I'm sorry, man. That guy, Tyson, was going to kill Blanche if I didn't cuff you. They took my gun.”
“Why were you even here, Wayan? Who the hell got you here? Were you part of it all along?” CJ tried to stand, his anger propelling him up, but his balance was gone and his head felt like it was going to explode. He plopped on his ass on the cement.
Capture: A Crime Thriller (CJ Sheridan Thrillers Book 2) Page 25