He lit a cigarette in cupped hands while waiting for the elevator, ignoring the NO SMOKING sign anchored prominently on the wall in front of him. Just as the elevator door opened, another man, younger and much less solidly built, stepped out, pausing to say something to the swarthy man in whispered tones. The bigger man nodded and said something in return, before glancing at Polanski and stepping onto the elevator. The younger man approached and stuck out his hand.
“Detective, I’m Peter Green.”
Green was every bit the casual CEO. His dirty-blond hair was spiked, and his ocean-blue floral print shirt would’ve been more appropriate for a bar in the Caribbean than a functioning business in the Windy City. Thin legs protruded from khaki shorts and sockless feet were adorned in sandals.
Polanski put the magazine down and rose to his feet. But as he shook Green’s hand, he could not help but notice the swarthy man watching him even as the elevator door was closing.
CHAPTER 13
Green’s office followed the same functional design as the lobby. A battered roll top desk stood against one wall under a framed dime-store poster of the Chicago skyline and opposite a worn sofa. A computer sat on the desk and a small television rested on a credenza.
Green sat at the desk with his chair facing Polanski, his hands folded in his lap and his legs protruding outward.
“What can I do for you, detective?”
Polanski had his notebook in hand. “What can you tell me about Rita Chavez?”
Green was no poker player. His countenance fell. “What do you mean?”
“She’s been beaten and, according to my partner, she says you did it.”
He slowly shook his head. “No, I’ve never laid a hand on her. Not once. Not ever. Your partner is mistaken.”
Polanski shrugged. “Maybe. But she seems pretty adamant.”
“Then she’s mistaken.”
“About who beat her?” He emphasized his incredulity.
Green spread his hands and shrugged. “She says toMAYto, I say toMAAHto.” He grinned.
“How does Trina Martinez say it?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know Trina Martinez.”
“Rita does.”
“Good for her.”
Polanski looked around the room. “You work here full time?”
“Yep.”
“What do you do here, Mr. Green?”
“We warehouse and ship for businesses too small to do it for themselves.”
“Do you ship across the country?”
Green smiled. “We ship across the world.”
Polanski smiled. “I always wanted a career in business.”
Green grinned.
“Your father started this, didn’t he?”
“Yep.”
“And you went to business school?”
“I went to Harvard.”
Polanski feigned that he was suitably impressed and made a note. “Has Rita ever worked here?”
“For a brief while.”
“Doing what?”
“She worked in the office.” He furrowed his brow. “Why the interest in Rita, detective? She’s my girlfriend, but I’m not her keeper.”
“Rita was attacked. She’s banged up pretty good. And as I’ve already mentioned, she says you did it. Of course, you deny it, but don’t seem all that concerned about the incident.” He paused for a reaction, but seeing none, he continued. “And then I have a murder victim who was also banged up pretty good and she was connected to the club, just like Rita. A club that you own. So when Rita says you’re the one who attacked her, I put two and two together and I get Green.”
“You think I killed this girl?”
“I don’t know. I ask questions, get answers, and then put it all together with the evidence. If you didn’t do it, I’d just as soon clear you off my list so I can get on with it.”
Green was silent again. His hands remained calmly folded in his lap.
“Did you, Mr. Green? Did you kill the girl?”
“No.”
“Where were you between midnight and eight in the morning last night?”
“I was here.”
“Here? Burning the midnight oil?”
“Running a business requires commitment, detective. There are no set hours.”
“Of course. I’m a cop. I understand irregular hours.”
Green turned in his chair and punched a number on his phone. A voice came over the speaker.
“Yes?”
“Tony, could you come in here for a moment?” He punched the button again and the line went silent.
Polanski positioned himself on the chair to allow rapid access to his weapon, just as the swarthy man came into the room.
“Tony, would you please tell the detective where I was between midnight last night and eight this morning?”
The man said, “He was here most of that time with me. He went home about six.”
“And who are you?”
“Tony Delgado. I’m head of shipping.”
Polanski made a note. “And what time did you leave, Mr. Delgado?”
“I left around seven.”
“That’s a long day. Have a big shipment coming in?”
Delgado’s eyes narrowed, but remained focused on him. Peter stood from his chair. “I think we’re through, detective. If you have any further questions you can direct them to my attorney.”
CHAPTER 14
Polanski returned to the district headquarters, and changed the tire. It was damaged beyond repair so he tossed it into the trunk for later disposal.
He arrived home at half past seven. Jenny was holding dinner for him and he kissed her as he entered the kitchen through the breezeway that led from the garage. He removed his coat and jacket and locked his department-issued Sig-Sauer in the lockbox he kept on the top shelf of the hall closet. Jenny waited until he filled his plate with meatloaf, whole-kernel corn and roasted potatoes before serving herself.
The kitchen was small, but yellow walls and white cabinetry reflected the light, giving the room a larger feel. They sat at a circular dining-table, crowded against the wall, positioned between a window and the patio door.
“How was your day?” she asked.
He shrugged. “It’s about what I expected. I’m glad to be home.” He could feel her eyes on him.
“Who’s your new partner?”
“A guy named Frank Campello.”
“Did you know him before?”
He stirred the corn around his plate. “No, but I know of him. He was involved in the shooting two weeks ago.”
She set her fork down. “Is that the one where the detective was killed?”
He didn’t like talking about the job with her. And especially didn’t like talking about the downside of it. She worried enough as it was and he didn’t want to raise the specter of the inherent risks of police work. She knew them, of course, and had accepted them when he pinned on the star. But it was an unwritten rule between them that she wouldn’t ask and he wouldn’t tell.
“Yes.”
He toyed with the food on his plate, aware that she had stopped eating. “How’re the kids?”
“They’ve already eaten. They’re doing their homework. Carrie got an A on her spelling test. She’s pretty proud of that.”
“That’s good.”
“We had another phone call today,” she said, bluntly.
He continued moving the food around on his plate.
“Do you want to know what they said?”
“Jenny, don’t.”
“This one wanted to know if I was interested in a real man. It was a different voice. I hung up, but he called back.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Then I got another call. I thought it was the same man so I laid into him. But it was the deputy prosecutor and he said he wanted to go over your deposition again before the trial. He didn’t even ask why I tore into him. He knows we’re getting threats and he doesn’t even care enough to ask. All they care about
is that you testify against those two cops. That’s all, Andy. That’s all they care about.”
His throat was tightening. “It’ll be OK. Just a final go-over before the trial.”
“The trial doesn’t start for months.” Her hand trembled, resting on the table beside her plate.
“He’s just being thorough.”
“You don’t have to do this, Andy.”
He swallowed hard.
“Is it really worth it?”
He sighed and began massaging his temples. “Yes, Jenny. It’s worth it.”
“You don’t have anything to prove.”
He stood and took his plate to the sink, scraping the bulk of his dinner down the garbage disposal. He rinsed his dish and put it in the strainer.
“It’s putting added stress on you, me… the kids.”
“The kids? What happened to the kids?”
“Josh came home today and said the other kids were talking about the crooked cops. They said his dad was one of them.”
“I’m not one of them. That’s the point. I don’t want to be one of them. I’m trying to make a difference, Jenny.”
She stood and put her arms around him. “I know you are. But isn’t there another way?”
“How? Do I just stand up in court and say, ‘Oh, wait. It’s all one big mistake’?”
“Would that be so bad?”
He pulled away from her. “You too?”
“No, Andy. It’s not ‘me too’. But what’s it all for? What’s the point?”
“For right and wrong, Jenny. Crooked cops undermine the system. Who can we trust if we can’t trust the police?”
He could feel the anger rising and he did not want to fight with her. She had understood, was even supportive of his decision to expose Caine and Dorchester. But time and pressure had taken their toll.
“You can’t fight the system, Andy. It’s too much for anyone.”
He leaned against the counter. “It’s not the system I’m fighting. It’s two rogue police officers. The prosecutor is backing me. If they didn’t think there was merit to this they would have ignored the whole thing and left me to twist in the wind.”
“But the others, Andy. Where are they? Where is their support?”
He didn’t have an answer for her.
“This isn’t about your dad. You can’t make up for—”
“Leave my dad out of this.” He could feel heat rising in his face.
“I can’t leave him out of this.” She put her arms around his neck. “You aren’t him. You have to be you.” She kissed him.
“Then let me.”
Her eyes searched his. “You’re a good man, Andy. Don’t let them use you.”
“No one’s using me.” He pulled her arms from around his neck.
“Ever since that kid was shot there’s been unrest and the department is letting you take the fall for it.”
He leaned against the counter and crossed his arms. It was a defensive posture, a position he was getting used to taking.
“I know what I’m doing.”
“Andy,” she said, her eyes searching his, “they moved you to the 28th to make themselves look good. They’re politicians, Andy. They’re politicians first and police officers second.”
“But I’m not a politician, Jenny. I’m a cop. And a good one.”
A wistful look crossed her face. “I know you are,” she said in a subdued voice. “But the good ones either leave or get changed. They don’t last.”
CHAPTER 15
Tuesday
8:00 a.m.
Alderman Aaron Green maintained a rented office in the Chicago Board of Trade building, separate from the ones he kept at City Hall and at the warehouse and distribution complex. Those offices were for show. The real work was done in the Chicago Board of Trade building where he could meet with associates and conduct his political affairs away from the demands of his public profile.
He arrived at the office at precisely eight o’clock, after stopping at Starbuck’s to pick up his daily latte. He balanced the cup and his attaché case in one hand while he fished his keys from his pocket with the other. He inserted the key into the lock but quickly discovered it had already been opened. When he turned the knob, he saw Tony Delgado sitting behind the desk. The man had a look of urgency on his face.
Delgado’s comments about Peter rattled him, but were not wholly unexpected. The boy had never matured and was living an unsustainable life that periodically led to trouble.
“What was his name?” Green crossed his legs and thrust an arm across the back of the leather sofa. His conveyed posture of relaxed confidence was a charade.
“Polanski. He drives a burgundy-colored Crown Victoria. Know him?”
Aaron shook his head. “Not personally. He’s the cop that’s testifying against those two in the 31st. He was just transferred because a lot of the cops there don’t care for him. They blame him for the rioting.”
A flash of acknowledgment lightened Delgado’s face. “The media bills him as a super cop.”
“That’s him.” Green flicked a piece of imaginary lint from his leg. “Why did he want to talk with Peter?”
Delgado put his feet on the Alderman’s desk, crossing them at the ankle. “Polanski was questioning him about a murder victim who was found at Navy Pier.”
Green sighed. “My God.”
“He’s out of hand, Aaron,” Delgado said. “Rita called me this morning. He attacked her and she was interviewed by the police. She’s threatening to hand him over if he doesn’t back off.” He slid his feet to the floor and leaned forward, resting his folded hands on the desk. “He’s not focused and we have to run interference for him more often than we should.”
“Did he kill the girl?”
Delgado shrugged. “I don’t know. I covered for him. Told Polanski that he was with me at the warehouse during the time in question, but truth is, he was in the boat. So yeah, I can put him at Navy Pier. Whether he killed the girl or not…” He shrugged again.
Aaron unfurled his arm from the sofa and leaned forward. “What’s his damage?”
“If this cop ties him to the girl I’d say it’s going to be extensive.”
The Alderman scratched his head. “Can you fix it?”
“Yeah,” Delgado said with confidence that bordered on bravado. “I can fix it. But it won’t stop here, Aaron. Something’s got to be done about Peter.”
“He’s my son.”
“Understood. But the fact remains, we have a lot riding on you and we can’t let him destroy everything we’ve worked for. He’s a playboy, Aaron. He’s not taking care of business. He’s more focused on that club than the warehouse.”
The Alderman sighed deeply. “I’ve raised him on my own. I haven’t always done right by him.”
Delgado frowned wearily.
“I was able to get him in Harvard but he flunked out. And then Princeton, but the same result.” He worked his hands. “I had hopes he could run the warehouse. That maybe with you looking over his shoulder he could make a go of it. Do something constructive with his life.”
“He’s a big boy now, Aaron. You’re not responsible for him. Not anymore. And neither am I.”
“What about the girlfriend?”
“She’s already been dealt with. The main thing is to keep Peter on a tight leash. We can’t afford any more hits.”
Green said, “Does Paulie know?”
“Of course.”
Aaron shook his head and glanced nervously toward the window and the skyline beyond. “I can’t believe this.”
“I don’t have to remind you there is a lot at stake. Nothing must interfere with that.” He tapped the top of the desk with an index finger to emphasize his point. “Nothing.”
Green nodded slowly while kneading his hands. “I love my son.”
“Of course.”
“I thought he could handle the warehouse.”
“He can’t.”
Green nodded. “I know.” T
here was resignation in his voice. “Listen, Aaron, I’ll deal with it. I will clean this mess up and get Polanski off our backs. But you need to talk with Peter. We’ll do our part, but you’ve got to stay focused and do yours.” He stood.
Green said, “Polanski is a cop. How’re you going to keep him from this? If anything happens to him it’ll bring more scrutiny down on the department and that’s no good for anyone.”
“We’ll get him to back off.”
“And if he doesn’t? Then what? This guy isn’t going to cave that easily. He’s taking a lot of heat from other cops right now and from everything I’ve heard, he isn’t backing down.”
Delgado smiled. “You underestimate us, Aaron. Like I said, you just concentrate on business and talk to Peter. Leave everything else to me.”
CHAPTER 16
A small crowd had gathered at the foot of the staircase and was spilling onto the sidewalk. Campello muscled his way past them and up the stairs to the third-floor apartment. The door was open and the squawk of police radios emanated from the residence. He had been to many such scenes in his career and as a result, he knew all of the men and women who worked the 28th and nearly all the officers who worked adjacent districts. Nevertheless, protocol required him to pin his star on the collar of his jacket. The first officer he encountered grinned.
“Frank. How are you?” He stuck out a hand.
“I’m good, Stevie. What’ve we got?”
The officer was a tall kid with a solid muscular build. He pointed toward the rear of the apartment as his hand swallowed Campello’s. “The victim is Rita Chavez. She—”
“Yeah. I know her. Interviewed her yesterday about a case I’m working.”
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