Justice in Slow Motion (Drexel Pierce Book 3)

by Patrick Kanouse

  Drexel said, “I’m not vice. I don’t give a shit if you gave her drugs back a few years ago. Don’t care if you gave them to her last week. But I do want to try to find out who her provider was.”

  “I don’t know where she got hers. Why aren’t you looking at her husband. I assumed he killed her.”

  “Hank?”

  “Yeah. Talk about an asshole.”

  “How long have you known him?” asked Drexel.

  “I wouldn’t say I know him. Vickie started dating him when we were at the Eatery. He was an asshole then. You could tell. He was jealous of every guy in the place.”

  “Did he have reason to be jealous besides what you saw between her and Hussain?”

  Ricardo shrugged and shook his head, rubbing his index finger’s knuckle on his chin.

  “You sleep with her?”

  “No.”

  “So let’s get back to your recipes. When did she steal them?”

  Ricardo rolled his tongue across the inside of his cheeks. “I thought you didn’t want me going on about it.”

  Daniela smiled. “That’s right—except maybe you killed her over it?”

  He shook his head. “Let this go. I’ve already said it, I didn’t kill her. Wouldn’t have over recipes.”

  “So when did she steal them?”

  Ricardo sighed. “I don’t know exactly. I—look—I—when you’re cooking sometimes shit hits you in the head. Boom. That sounds great. So I kept paper in my pockets and a pen. And I’d write it down when the inspiration would come. At the Eatery, we had these lockers—small things—in the office area. Hussain hated people having their phones with them. So he put these there so when people were working, they’d put their phones in there. After a shift, I’d stuff my recipes in my box. I didn’t lock the damn thing. None of us did except one guy. But anyway, she could have stolen them at any time. She saw me writing recipes down all the time. When she had a tasting to see about investors in her restaurant, I was invited. That’s when I saw what she’d done.”

  “Kind of brazen to invite the person she stole from to a critical event, right?” asked Drexel.

  Ricardo shrugged.

  “So what was the reception at this tasting?”

  “I didn’t think it went all that well. The food was delicious. But investors are nervous. Lots of restaurants opening in Chicago, so it’s super competitive. Prices are going up. Fling had a high price point going for it, but still.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “All the costs are going up.” He counted by tapping each finger on his left hand in sequence with the index finger of his right. “Labor. Product. Rent. Utilities. Advertising. Unless you can do your own effectively with social media. But I can’t raise my costs dollar for dollar, because I’d be selling $20 empanadas, and no one is buying that from me—no matter how good they are. The margins are thin and getting thinner. The high-price restaurants like Fling have a higher margin, usually. So they don’t feel the pinch as much. And often they can more easily raise prices. If you’re paying $50 for a steak, are you going to blink at $60? But like the movies, investors want blockbusters, and they want it quick. I thought for sure Vickie would get it because of her TV stuff. But I heard a few investors saying things like, ‘That was a couple of years ago, right?’ So I don’t know what she got in terms of response. I know it wasn’t as I expected.”

  “So you’re not recommending folks go into the restaurant business, eh?” asked Daniela.

  “Not unless you love it with all the fiber of your being. Not unless you’d be okay working for free because it’s that important to you.”

  “Was it that important to Vickie?”

  “Oh yes. She burned with the fire of a chef in her heart. She only cared about the money that would let her keep cooking.”

  Chapter 17

  As Daniela and Drexel watched a patrol officer escort Ricardo into the elevator, Drexel considered the interview. What had he learned? Was he able to check Ricardo off the suspect list? Were there new suspects?

  He turned to Daniela. “Thoughts?”

  She spun around in the chair and said, “What’s that about the husband having a reason to be jealous? Like it’s her job to make sure he doesn’t get jealous? Like if he was angry, he’s justified in beating her?”

  “No. Not at all. We’re trying to solve her murder. If Hank thought she was cheating on him—if he had a reason to be jealous—that might be motive.”

  “Doesn’t seem like he needed a motive to beat her.”

  “Not one that makes sense to you and me—you’re right. But when this goes to trial, the jury is going to want to know why he killed her.”

  Her eyes darted around the squad room before returning to Drexel. “So what’s Doggett’s ‘motive don’t count for shit’ stuff?”

  “Because most of the time it doesn’t help the investigation. But in trial, prosecutors need it. Want it. Juries want to know why someone was killed. And also, I wanted to know if there might be other lovers beyond the sous chef who might have wanted our vic all to himself.” He shook his head. “Look, it’s bullshit. Let’s leave it at that. What did you think of Ricardo?”

  She slumped back in her chair, filled her cheeks with air, and blew it out in one sigh. “I think he burns hot. Probably has a temper. Seems all hung up on this plagiarism thing. But my gut tells me he didn’t do this.” She pinched her lips. “Yeah, I don’t think he did this.”

  “I tend to agree. We can’t cross him off the list because he doesn’t have an alibi, but he went pretty far down. We also didn’t get any new suspects. Hank keeps looking like the shithead he is.”

  Daniela nodded. “So what next?”

  “You’ve got an address for Chicago Investment Capitalization, right?”

  “Yeah, I do. You aren’t going to believe who’s listed as the owner, though.”

  Drexel scratched his chin. “Who?”

  “Michael Tunney.”

  “I’m presuming he’s related to a certain Gordon Tunney?”

  She smiled.

  Gordon Tunney was a mobster who ran illegal fights and loan sharking among other criminal activities. Drexel had investigated him for the murder of an alderman a couple of years prior. One of Tunney’s henchmen had kidnapped Ryan. Drexel had turned over the information he had about Tunney to the organized crime unit, who had arrested Tunney last year. He was in Cook County Jail awaiting trial.

  “What’ve we got on Michael? Is this investment thing legit?”

  “Legit as it is a real entity. Registered with the state and paid taxes. I talked to Owen McSheen down in Organized Crime. Do you know him?”

  Drexel shook his head. “I do not.”

  “Anyway, I talked to Owen. Chicago Investment has been on the Organized Crime unit’s radar for a while. They’re confident it’s a money laundering operation for its primary loan sharking business. It does some legitimate work investing in companies and stuff—that’s where it hides the dirty money.”

  “The young these days, thinking they have it right. That they won’t get caught where their daddies did.” Drexel turned to the computer and entered Michael Tunney’s name into the database. The son was as criminal as the father. Arrests for car theft, assault and battery, and dealing. Few convictions. He did some time in a state prison near Kentucky. Drexel recognized Gordon in the photo of Michael. The nose and chin were identical. “So this company, it has an address and regular business hours?”

  “It does.”

  He smiled, stood up, and said, “Let’s see what we can find out.”

  ***

  In a strip mall parking lot in Archer Heights, Drexel and Daniela sat in the car beneath a large maple tree that provided shade against the searing July heat. All four windows were rolled down, and the car faced the strip mall store entrance for Chicago Investment Ca
pitalization. The only signage indicating the business was the white lettering on the glass door. A T-Mobile, Subway, bar, clothing boutique, and Hallmark store filled a few of the other store fronts, but “For Lease” signs hung in the other four.

  Daniela drained the last of her Monster drink on the pavement as she tapped the steering wheel. “So, boss, do you think Michael Tunney had something to do with our vic’s murder?”

  Drexel’s phone buzzed. He pulled it out of his pocket, did not recognize the number, and put it back. “Probably not. The old adage holds true: the dead can’t pay back their debts. Of course, maybe they thought they couldn’t get payment and wanted to make an example—but then the killing itself wasn’t really obvious. They don’t try to make this stuff look like suicide unless they want to knock off one of their own covertly. No, but if Fling shows a record of getting an investment from this place and Hank used a loan shark for some cash—maybe the money Fling got was such a loan. Vickie records the sum in the financials because that’s where Hank says he got the money. She doesn’t know any better. Until she does. She learns about it. Confronts Hank. I mean, this is jeopardizing her business, right. And then the rest happens.”

  Daniela nodded and bobbed her head.

  They both heard a car pull into the parking lot. A dark blue Lincoln Navigator made its way to a spot in front of Chicago Investment Capitalization. One man exited the driver’s side. He reached in and pulled out a white bag and a cup with a straw sticking out of it. Drexel recognized him. He was skinny with reddish-brown, long hair. The man who had visited Adam when Drexel was interviewing Hank’s friend. The detective was correct in believing Adam knew how to secure funds from a loan shark.

  Another man stepped out of the passenger side: Michael Tunney. Drexel shook his head. One would be forgiven for assuming Michael was a younger version of Gordon—the only difference being the choice in clothing. Gordon had a penchant for turtlenecks; his son was more up-to-date, wearing dark, enzyme washed jeans, gray gym shoes, and a crisp, light-blue button up, short-sleeve shirt. A large gold chain flashed on his chest through the open buttons of the shirt. His full, black hair was combed back off his forehead. He reached into the car and pulled out a cup and white bag of his own. As he closed the door to the Navigator, he looked back toward Drexel and Daniela. Still holding the cup, he used an extended finger to lower the mirror sunglasses and then raise them back up. He said to the other man, “Here, take this.” He held out the cup and bag and the man jogged around and grabbed them from him. Michael then walked toward the detective.

  Drexel grunted.

  As Michael approached, he shifted to the driver’s side. Drexel stepped out of the car. Michael paused, frowned, and then took a few more steps so that he stood beneath the shade of the tree. “What can I do for you?”

  “What makes you think we’re here to talk to you?”

  “I know what cops look like. You guys harass me all the time.”

  “Probably for good reason then.” Drexel waited for a response, but when one did not come, he continued. “I’m Detective Drexel Pierce and this is Daniela Longfurd. We’d like to talk to you about an investment.”

  Michael’s eyelids dropped, and he did not say anything for a few seconds. “I know that name. My dad talked about you.”

  “I’m honored, I guess.”

  Michael smiled. “Which investment you want to know about?”

  Daniela asked, “Fling. The restaurant.”

  “Yeah. I invested in it. Seemed like a solid concept.” He crossed his arms across his chest. “I like to support Chicago businesses.”

  “I bet you do,” said Drexel.

  “So what about your investment now that the owner’s dead?” Daniela asked.

  Michael nodded. “Look, it’s her husband who came to me about the loan. I don’t remember his name off the top of my head—Hank or Harry or something. I don’t remember how much it was even for.”

  “A hundred gees.”

  Michael tilted his head and nodded in one motion.

  “So with Fling closing down, you’ll lose that money” said Drexel.

  “I’ll have to look up the contract. It may not be a total loss.”

  “Can we see that contract?”

  “Sure. But the computer’s are having issues today, and we store our hardcopies at a secure facility. Make sure they don’t burn up or anything, so I’ll have to get those to you when the computers are back up. Good for you?”

  “I’m pretty handy with computers,” said Daniela. “Maybe I could help you with those.”

  Michael winked at her. “I’m sure you could, but client confidentiality. You know, rules and stuff.” He took two steps back toward his car and office. “I will say, though, the husband seemed, well, troubled. The kind that had a lot of rage deep inside him. I do remember that about it. And I was looking forward to Fling. I heard she was an amazing chef.” He walked to the entrance to Chicago Investment Capitalization, paused at the door and looked back at them, and then entered.

  Drexel opened the passenger door. “That was a bust.” His phone started ringing—Lily’s ringtone. He pulled the phone out as he dropped into the seat and closed the door. “Hey there.”

  “Hi. So you going to be around tonight? We’d love to have dinner with you.”

  Drexel looked at his watch: 3:00 p.m. “I’ll be around.”

  “Good. We’ll pick you and Ryan up at six.”

  “See you then.” He hung up and slid the phone in his pocket.

  “So?”

  “Oh, just my sister.”

  Daniela smiled. “I meant about Mikey back there.”

  Drexel laughed. “I think we need to talk to Hank again. Tunney’s definitely loan sharking—kind of an old-school, small business loan shark. But if the chef’s dead, he isn’t making the money he wanted from it. If Hank borrowed it, Tunney would go after him.”

  “Yeah, that’s the way I see it too. Plus, Hank’s a jackhole. Even Mikey back there knows it.”

  “Let’s talk to Hank’s employer tomorrow. I’d like to see what they have to say about him. Then we talk to Hank in the afternoon.”

  Daniela started the car and put it into Drive. A man appeared around the corner from the strip mall. Daniela pulled forward, and Drexel touched her arm. “Don’t stop, but go slow.” A young man wearing blue jeans and a red T-shirt walked alongside the businesses toward Chicago Investment. Drexel recognized him as the man he had chased at the restaurant. “Stop the car.”

  Daniela pressed the brakes, and Drexel was out the door before the car came to a complete stop. He said, “I need to speak to you.”

  The young man was startled. He looked at Drexel for a split second and realizing who he was. Then he ran. Drexel sprinted, and he heard the car moving. The man was fast, but he paused at the door to Chicago Investment and pulled on the handle, but it did not open. The detective gained ground with that pause, but not enough before the man turned away from the door and shot down the sidewalk. As Drexel ran past the door, he thought he heard it unlock and then open, but he did not look back. The man fleeing did look back and failed to see Daniela slam the car’s brakes and it stop with a jerk in his path. The man looked up but too late. He ran into the side of the car, bounced back, and fell to the ground.

  Drexel pulled out his sidearm. “Stay down.” When he saw the man nod his head, the detective said, “Put your hands together behind your head.”

  Daniela closed the door. “Got him?”

  Drexel said while keeping his eyes on the man, “Yes. Good job.” Drexel dropped down, putting his right knee onto the man’s back. He pulled out his handcuffs and secured them around the man’s wrists. After frisking him, Drexel helped him stand up and then put him into the back seat. Drexel walked back to Chicago Investment’s front door and knocked until he heard it unlock and the driver of the Navigator opened it, h
olding one of the cups.

  “Yes?” asked the man Drexel had seen at Impulse.

  Drexel pointed at the back seat of the car. “That one of your men?”

  The driver made a show of looking in that direction. “Nope.”

  But Drexel could tell he was lying. The answer was mocking and the driver could not help letting a small grin cross his face.

  “Yeah, right.” As Drexel started back to the car, he said, “Tell your boss we’re taking him to Central.”

  Behind him, he heard the door close and lock.

  Chapter 18

  On the ride back, the man remained silent, staring out the window. Drexel had pulled the man’s wallet out before getting in the passenger front seat. He looked up Bryce Shawn Harper in the police database with the computer mounted on the center console. He read the results to Daniela. “A number of arrests for breaking and entering, burglary, and a couple of assaults.” Drexel turned to face Bryce. “How long you worked for Tunney?”

  Bryce kept staring out the window.

  At the station, Drexel escorted Bryce to the interview room. With Bryce seated facing the door, the detective took off one handcuff, slid it beneath the metal bar in the center of the table, and re-cuffed it to Bryce’s wrist. “Can I get you something to drink?”

  Bryce did not bother to look up at Drexel, who leaned against the desk.

  Drexel crossed his arms. “Look, I only want to talk to you. But I’ve seen you twice now and both times you’ve run. What I’m really interested in is why you ran from me at the restaurant. You know what happened there, right?”

  Bryce twisted his head away a bit.

  “You do. I can see that. So when you run like that, I think you must know something about what happened. I could even think you had something to do with it. Killing that woman.”

  Bryce bit his lip. He looked up at Drexel. “Lawyer.”

  “You work for Tunney. He’s invested in that restaurant. He wants to send a message. You’re too skinny for muscle—”