He reached for the coffee mug and his hand trembled noticeably. Silvio took the cup from him.
“Here, Frank. Let me get that for you.” He left to go fill the cup.
“I’m OK, Shelly.”
She glanced at his hand.
“Second time in less than a month,” Hughbanks said. “You a glutton for punishment?”
A wry smile was the best he could do in response to Hughbanks’ attempts at humor. “Seems like it, Jerry.”
He was tense and he was aware of it; his breathing was erratic, he was sighing frequently, continually shifting positions in the chair.
Silvio returned with a full cup of coffee. He handed it to Campello.
“What was Polanski doing out there?” Tertwiller asked.
Campello crossed his legs and leaned back in his chair. “I don’t know. That didn’t come up during my questioning, but I’m sure it will.”
“You don’t think he had anything to do with the shooting, do you?” she asked. “I mean, being a turncoat is one thing, but…”
Campello shook his head, dismissing the idea as soon as Tertwiller raised it.
“How long after the shooting started did Polanski show up?” Tertwiller asked.
Campello paused to think. His mind was clearing, but he still seemed unable to focus on the details. He had a similar experience after the incident in which Rand was killed.
“I don’t know, Shelly. It’s all a blur. I was following a lead and had a bad feeling as soon as I pulled into the lot. I was beginning to pull out when I came under fire.” He shrugged. “I remember Polanski pulling alongside me and—”
“So the question remains,” she said. “What was he doing there?”
“I don’t know.” He raised the mug.
Hughbanks said, “The shooter is a guy named Longhorse. You know him, Frank?”
“Yeah, I know him. He’s a DJ at a place called Silk ’n Boots. It’s a lead in the case I’m working.”
“Did you talk to this guy?” Silvio asked. “Ruffle his feathers or something?”
He shook his head. “No. I asked him a couple of routine questions about one of the dancers there, but nothing accusatory. Nothing penetrating.”
“Is that the dancer who’s dead?” Tertwiller said.
“Yeah. The kid’s name was Rita.”
“Is this about the case that came in yesterday? The girl at navy Pier?” Silvio asked.
“Yeah,” he said. He was aware that his eyes were fixated on a distant point and that his mind was clearing, allowing him to begin a replay of the case and the shooting.
“You’ve got hold of something here,” Silvio said, glancing at the others. “You must be pushing some buttons pretty hard to have someone take a shot at you like this.”
His mind shifted from neutral to full drive. It replayed the call from Juanita; replayed the ID of the shooter and the vandalized tire on the Taurus. Replayed the confused look on Longhorse’s face. “Someone’s pushing some buttons, Angie, but it isn’t me.”
CHAPTER 25
It was the first shooting in which Polanski had been involved, and it could not have come at a worse time. The shooting team’s interview had been grueling and most of their questions centered on the last few seconds of his encounter with the shooter. Although he had briefly interviewed Longhorse, he could not explain why the man would want to kill him. Other questions, of course, focused on his conflict with Campello, including the confrontation that occurred less than an hour before the shooting. The questioning then turned to the allegations involving Caine and Dorchester, but his FOP attorney objected and the interviewers dropped the line of questioning. He was told the shooting would go before the IPRA, but should be a formality in the face of the evidence. They offered him the option of taking administrative leave, but he decided to go home for the day, declining any additional time off. He suspected that Campello would do the same thing.
He left the room determined to drive home, but given the potential for immediate post-traumatic stress, the team charged a uniformed officer with driving him in a marked squad car. The officer recognized him immediately, but said nothing in protest. The ride was quiet all the way to Polanski’s house, and the officer deposited him as quickly as he could, clearly relieved to have rid himself of the traitor.
Polanski passed through the rear door and went directly to the refrigerator. He found a can of Coke and opened it. His hand did not shake nor was his grip weak, but his throat was dry. Jenny came downstairs, curious why he was home so early. He had not called her as the team recommended because he wanted to deliver the news in person. She had experienced enough bad phone calls and he didn’t want her to hear the story over the phone.
“I was involved in a shooting.”
Her eyes searched him in innocence, and then she furrowed her brow as she stepped back from him. “Shooting?”
He nodded and sipped the Coke. “I was following Campello and I lost him. I heard gunfire and responded to the sound. By the time I arrived, he was pinned down behind the squad and…” It sounded like the narrative he had given the interviewers and he paused to tone down the rhetoric. “Someone was shooting at him and I helped him out.”
“Are you OK?”
“Yes.”
She embraced him immediately. “Oh, Andy.”
He hugged her, still holding the soft drink in one hand while he nuzzled his face into her neck. Her scent was as comforting. “I’m on leave for the day.”
She looked into his eyes, holding his face in both hands. “Just for the day?”
“I didn’t kill anyone, Jenny. I’ve trained for it all my life. Trained to do it under cold fire and from a distance. But this…” he shook his head, “this was different. It happened so fast. And up close.” He set the can down on the counter and loosened his tie. “I was prepared to kill him, but he just set the rifle down so I cuffed him and… it was over. Just like that.”
“Was he after you? Do you think he’s the one who’s been—”
“No.” He shook his head. “He couldn’t have been after me. He didn’t know I was going to be there.” He leaned against the counter with the heel of both hands. “He was out for Campello.”
“Why? What’s he doing that—” The phone rang. She glanced at it, then to him. He reached for the receiver but she grabbed it first and stepped out of his reach. He knew she was protecting him, but he didn’t want her to receive another harassing call. Not today. He watched as she answered and then paused to listen. She put a hand over the mouthpiece and handed the phone to him.
“It’s Frank Campello. He wants to know if he can come over.”
They sat at the circular breakfast table in the kitchen. Jenny had made a pot of coffee and set a package of cookies in front of them. Campello asked her to stay, telling her that he wanted her to hear everything, if it was OK with Andy.
“Bobby Longhorse wasn’t after me,” Campello said, sitting opposite Polanski and next to Jenny. “He was after you.”
Polanski glanced at his wife. “How? He didn’t know I would be there.”
Campello lifted the cup. “Yes, he did.” He drank the coffee. “It was a setup and you were the target.”
“How?” he asked again.
Campello cast a sheepish glance at Jenny. “After you left, you received a phone call from a lead of mine. Except she wasn’t asking for me, she was asking for you. I had just interviewed her, and when she left a message for you, offering to tell you everything she wouldn’t tell me, I was angry. She told dispatch that she would be waiting for you at the complex.”
“Who is it?” he asked.
“Juanita Delaney. She was the girlfriend of Hoppity T.”
“Hoppity T?” Jenny asked him.
“It’s a long story,” Campello said to her, “but he is the man who killed my partner. I killed him and she testified on my behalf.”
Jenny said, “Why would she do that? Isn’t that a bit unusual?”
Campello drained h
is cup and then lifted the pot from the table where she had set it. He helped himself to more and reached for a cookie. “Yes. Very unusual.”
Polanski was confused. “So why did she call me?”
“Who knows? All I know is that I came under fire almost as soon as I pulled into the lot.” He bit into the cookie. “I knew as soon as I arrived that it didn’t feel right. In fact, I think I probably knew this was a setup as soon as I got the message. But I let my anger get the better of me. I let my pride get in the way and I almost got killed because of it.”
“Where is she now?” Andy asked.
Campello finished the cookie and swept the crumbs off the table and into his lap. “I don’t know. I haven’t had time to check. After my interview with the shooting team, I began to think. I didn’t have time to talk to you because you were tied up with the team a lot longer than me. When I heard you’d left, I called.” He reached for another cookie. “You had the squad car the other night when you talked with Peter Green, correct?”
“Yes.”
“And you had it again when you went to Silk ’n Boots.”
“Right.”
“And I had it when I talked with Rita. I suspect that Green ordered a hit on you after you began asking questions at the club. Longhorse noted the car you were driving and he assumed you’d show when Juanita called to entice you to the location. The shooter had only to fire at whoever was in the car. They wanted you and were expecting you, but when I showed up in the Crown Vic, which was the car he was expecting you to be driving, it was a no-brainer for him.”
“And since the shooter couldn’t see who was driving, they assumed it was me.”
“Yep.” He drained the coffee. “When Longhorse was standing over me he had a confused look on his face. He had expected to see you, but when he saw me…”
Jenny’s face fell. “Does this mean they’ll try again?”
Campello shook his head. “I don’t think so. They tried and missed. And Peter Green’s not a player. He’s not street-wise. This whole thing was amateurish on the face of it. He didn’t plan it well. He’ll retract and that’ll give me time find out what’s going on.”
“Us. Time for us to find out what’s going on,” said Polanski.
“Take some time off, Andy,” Campello said. “Sort out some things.”
“I’ve wanted to go to my parents’ cabin,” Jenny said, looking hopefully at her husband. “This would be a good time to do it.”
Polanski shook his head. “Us.”
“Okay, us,” Campello agreed. “I know we haven’t gotten off on the right foot, Andy, and I don’t agree with your actions against Caine and Dorchester. At best I think it’s cowardly and traitorous and self-serving.” He turned to Jenny. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be so blunt but I don’t know any other way.” Then to Polanski, “But you came to my aid out there today and that says something.”
“I’m no different now than I was when I saw those guys in the 31st covering up a crime.”
Campello shook his head. “Sorry. I just don’t see it that way. Cops stick together. Besides,” he finished off the cookie, “I know those guys and I know their reputations.”
“I know them too,” Polanski said.
“We’re not going to see eye to eye on this, Andy. Not ever. But for now, let’s try to put our difference aside and go to work.”
“I’d like that.”
“How’d you get home today? I saw that your car was still in the lot when I left.”
“They had a uniform drive me home. Something about post-traumatic stress. I feel fine. A little shaken, but otherwise I’m none the worse for wear.”
“I’ll pick you up tomorrow morning. We need to find out what’s going on and who’s involved in this.”
Polanski agreed. “I’ll be here. I have a few questions of my own.”
CHAPTER 26
After the fragile truce had been formed with Polanski, Campello drove straight to Juanita’s apartment. He had hopes that his visit with her would be more productive than the one he had earlier that morning, but he also held no illusions. If Juanita had indeed been the one who had called for Polanski, she would be long gone by now. On the other hand, if she had not been the one who telephoned in the message, she could be in serious trouble. Either way, he determined she would be the best link in building a case against Peter Green.
As he had before, he parked the car curbside. This car though, a tan unmarked squad, did not attract the admiring crowd that his personal car had. Instead, it attracted the penetrating stares that often came with driving a cop car, unmarked or otherwise, particularly when it was driven in this part of town. There was an almost inherent mistrust of the police among the residents who lived in the area, and that was especially true of the youths who seemed to have more time on their hands than they knew how to manage.
He left the car and went upstairs. After knocking on the door and receiving no answer, he loudly announced that he was a cop and declared his concern for the child. He knew that she had probably fled the area, but he wanted the neighbors in the adjoining apartments to hear his declaration if he was legally challenged on his forced entry.
He kicked in the door. Neither Juanita nor the baby was there, but that didn’t mean they had left of their own free will. He began a search of the apartment. It appeared the baby’s clothes had been taken and there was no baby food in the kitchen. Most likely, then, neither the baby nor Juanita had been harmed. But the missing clothing and food didn’t help in determining if she was on the run, or in partnership with whoever arranged the setup.
He left the apartment and telephoned Lopez. After telling the district commander his theories on Juanita and that he had entered the apartment, he proceeded to Green’s warehouse and distribution complex. Regardless of what Polanski had said to Longhorse, it was unlikely the DJ would have initiated the attack. Given that Polanski had pressed Peter, it made much more sense that it was Green who gave the order. Longhorse may have been the shooter, but he wasn’t the shot caller.
Campello arrived at Green’s warehouse and flashed his star to the receptionist. She asked him to have a seat and told him she would call up and have Peter come down.
“Actually, I’d prefer to go up. Where is he?”
She hesitated.
“Here or downtown, lady. I only need to talk to him, but I’d be happy to haul both of you in and do it there.”
The woman’s face hardened, but she relented, pointing to the bank of elevators behind her. “Second floor, third office on the left.”
He smiled as endearingly as he could and thanked her, aware that by the time he stepped off the lift she would have already called ahead and notified Peter that he was coming.
He went directly to the office, walking through the door without knocking. Green was on the phone, undoubtedly with the woman downstairs. He hung up as soon as Campello entered.
“What can I do for you?”
Campello took a seat across from Peter without waiting to be asked. “Someone shot at me today.”
“And what does that have to do with me?”
“Maybe everything. Maybe nothing.” He glanced around the room. It was the office of a juvenile, the office of someone who played; it was not the office of an administrator for a large distribution center. “Rita’s dead and you don’t seem all that shook up about it.”
“Rita was a friend. I am concerned, of course, but I have a business to run.” He cocked his head. “Are you here because someone shot at you or because Rita is dead?”
“Where were you this morning?”
“Here.”
The man was thin with wiry hair that was unkempt. He had a very slender build and sat with his legs crossed. His bouncing foot betrayed his nervousness.
“What time did you arrive?”
“To the office?”
“Yes.” Green was stalling, trying to develop an alibi.
“Around eight. I drove from my condo directly here. You can check
with my secretary if you’d like.”
“The lady downstairs? The one who warned you I was coming?”
“What do you want from me, detective? You asked where I was this morning and I answered, and I even gave you a corroborating witness to question.”
“And I will do that very thing. But first, I’d like to know if you’re familiar with Juanita Delaney?”
“Who?”
“Delaney. She’s the one who called this morning.”
“I don’t know her, detective. And if she called Polanski, I’m unaware of it.”
Campello stood. He reached behind his back and extracted a pair of handcuffs from his belt. “Stand up. You’re under arrest.”
Peter recoiled. “Under arrest? For what?”
Campello grabbed the man with one hand and jerked him to his feet, spinning him around and cuffing his hands behind his back.
“You’re under arrest for attempted murder.”
“Attempted murder? Are you crazy?”
“Maybe. But even crazy cops don’t like to be shot at.”
CHAPTER 27
After searching Green and reading him his rights, Campello drove to the 28th and delivered the man to the booking officers. He promised to return and complete his portion of the paperwork before bounding upstairs to the squad room. A good portion of the detectives were still in the room, along with approximately fifty uniforms in riot gear. Most of those were congregated around the wall map, presumably planning strategy for that evening’s riot control. Lopez was in his office and Campello marched back and sat in front of the commander’s desk.
“Look, I know who he is and all, but he did it, Julio.”
“You better be able to prove that, Frank.”
“He told me he didn’t know Juanita and that he had no knowledge of her having called Polanski.”
“So?”
“I didn’t tell him that she called Polanski. I took the lead, remember? How did he know she called Polanski if he didn’t set it up?”
Lopez rested his feet on top of his desk and folded his hands behind his head. “Peter thought he was getting Andy, but got you instead.”
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