“That’s impossible!”
Delgado spread his hands. “We have faith in you, Aaron. You’ve done excellent work over the years and we see no reason to doubt you now.” He finished the drink. “There is also the matter of Peter.”
“What about him?”
“He is becoming a liability, Aaron.”
“He’s my son.”
“We know. But he’s still a liability. He has arranged for Baranova to quash Campello’s hearing. We have no problem with that, of course, but he’s running on a track that is entirely separate from our own and he’s doing it without checking with us. Could you talk to him, please?”
Green gritted his teeth. Delgado’s tone carried an implied threat.
“I will.”
“Excellent.” Delgado rose from behind the desk and then marched briskly to the sofa where he slid into the leather coat. “I know that Mr. Vincent appreciates your efforts, Aaron. I certainly know I do.”
“That’s what it’s all about,” Green said, refusing to check his sarcasm.
CHAPTER 61
Campello arrived back at the Castle mid-afternoon. A voicemail message from Barbara confirmed their earlier phone conversation. The autopsy was complete and revealed that Longhorse’s death was indeed a homicide. In addition, it appeared he was drugged before he was hanged, although she would not have the tox screen results for a few more days. There was no longer any value in being covert. If he was going to unravel the tapestry of corruption that had enveloped his world and smoke out the perpetrators, he knew he might as well begin now.
Most of the detectives were out – not unusual, given their work and the time of day. Lopez was in his office, of course, and Tertwiller and Hughbanks were present.
Campello asked the others to meet him around his desk as he gathered Lopez from the office. Once they had clustered around him, he dropped himself into his seat.
“Longhorse didn’t commit suicide. The coroner’s office confirms he was murdered and I think he was murdered by one of our own.”
For a moment, the others stood in stunned and passive silence. Then Tertwiller spoke.
“That’s a pretty heavy allegation, Frank. Do you have some proof ?”
He leaned back in his chair and placed one foot on top of the desk while he crossed his arms over his chest. “Not yet. But I will. I think we have a snitch in the district and I think he’s working with Paulie Vincent.”
The group exchanged looks.
“Are you accusing one of us?” Lopez said.
“You all but accused me earlier, Julio.” He shook his head. “No, I’m not accusing anyone, yet. I’m informing you, because I think we need to be more discreet. Someone in this building is on Vincent’s payroll and it could be anyone.”
“In my office,” Lopez said.
“No.”
“No?”
“No. This is something that everyone needs to know, Julio. Someone killed Longhorse and it was to keep him quiet about the sudden change in his testimony.”
“And how do you know this?” Hughbanks asked.
“Why would the man kill himself? In fact, why would he change his testimony at all?” Campello asked.
“Changing his testimony doesn’t mean he was lying. Maybe he was lying before and he changed to the truth?” Tertwiller said.
“Maybe. But he changed nevertheless and that means someone got to him.”
“You’re making a leap here, Frank, and you have no basis for it,” Hughbanks said.
“You’re starting to sound a lot like Polanski,” Tertwiller said.
“Maybe he wasn’t all wrong.”
Tertwiller’s and Hughbanks’ expressions fell.
“Whose side are you on, Frank?” Hughbanks said.
Lopez interrupted before he could answer. “Let’s not accuse anyone of taking sides. Polanski has done enough damage to the department.”
“I’m not saying Andy did the right thing,” Campello said. “But I am saying he may not be all wrong.”
“About what, Frank?” Tertwiller asked, setting on the edge of Campello’s desk.
“That Peter Green murdered Trina and that he is in league with Paulie Vincent. After all, we know that a guy like Vincent doesn’t remain a player unless he’s greased the right wheels, and that means someone on our side of the fence is taking money to pervert the system. When you consider the fact that Vincent’s number-one thug, Tony Delgado, is spending an inordinate amount of time with Peter, it’s a cinch that Vincent has an interest. Delgado and Peter are together all the time, whether it’s at the club or the warehouse.”
“And you think all of that means that Longhorse was murdered and that one of us had a hand in it?” Tertwiller asked.
Campello shook his head. “I’m saying that I believe Longhorse was murdered to keep him quiet and that it could not have happened without support from the inside. Whether that’s one of us or the guys at county or the guys downstairs…” He shrugged. “It makes no difference. Vincent has got someone on the inside.”
She looked at the others and shook her head with pity. “And that’s it?”
He spun the monitor around so that everyone could watch as he booted up the machine. Within minutes, Rand’s case file came on the screen. “Rand had a dummy file. He kept it separate from the others and from me. I think he knew something and was killed for it.” He began scrolling down the list of case files.
“Rand was killed by a suspect in an ambush,” Tertwiller said. “You were there. You saw it go down.”
“Did I?” He scrolled to the bottom of the list. “When I returned after Rand’s death, I reviewed his cases. He had a dummy file number right here.” He pointed to the screen. “And now it’s gone.”
She leaned forward and examined the list. “This is just a list of his cases. Where’s the secret file?”
“It was deleted,” he said.
“All right, that’s it. In my office, Frank,” Lopez said. “And I mean right now.”
CHAPTER 62
The newsroom was alive with activity; reporters were answering phone calls and typing on keyboards, making last-minute edits before the rapidly approaching deadline. Christy sat in Demille’s office with the door closed. The man had a pained and skeptical look on his face, but was not as contrary to her suggestions as she had anticipated.
“So let me get this straight,” he said. “You think that the shooting involving this cop—”
“Rand Adams.”
“Rand Adams… was not what it appeared and that the killer’s girlfriend may have been involved with the cop as an informant.”
“That’s correct.”
“And where are you getting this?”
She laid it out for him and when she was done, it was clear he was impressed.
“It sounds like you’re on to something.”
“You think?” She smiled.
“How do you want to play this?”
“An exposé. Like we have something the police don’t. Embarrass them a little. If she’s in town, it’ll drive them to find her and give her a reason to surface.”
“It could put her in danger if half of what you’ve told me is true.”
“It’s a calculated risk, Clarence,” she said, echoing Polanski’s statement of earlier that morning.
Demille paused in thought, stroking his chin. “When do you want the story to run?”
“Tomorrow morning. Lead on page one.”
He snorted. “There are riots, Christy. A strike.”
“I know. But if I’m right, they’re linked.”
He went to the window that looked onto the Chicago River six stories below and stood with his hands clasped behind his back. Lowlying clouds seemed close enough that he could touch them. “If this girl gets killed we could be in trouble. Especially if you’re wrong.”
“I’m not wrong, Clarence.”
He continued gazing out the window, across the cityscape. “You could be, you know. You just said it’s a
calculated risk.”
“It’s calculated in our favor. Besides, we’ve made them before.”
“Not with an individual whose life was in the balance.”
“You said yourself the rioting is continuing. Even though it’s slowed, there is still risk for innocent civilians.”
He nodded, continuing to look across the city.
“I’ll do my research, Clarence. I’ll be fair, but I think we need to find this woman. If she can corroborate half of what we think she knows, she will expose the corruption in this town like no one since Eliot Ness.”
He chuckled. “What about you?”
“Me?”
He turned from the window and stood with his arms folded behind his desk chair. “You’ve been my protégé. I’ve cared about you and your career since I discovered you. I don’t want anything to happen. No story is worth that.”
She was taken aback. He had never been so open, so tender with her before. “Nothing is going to happen to me, Clarence. I’m a big girl. I can take care of myself.”
“The girl at the pier couldn’t. These people you’re trying to expose are unknown to you. And they’re rough customers. It’s difficult enough to protect yourself when you know who you’re up against. It’s downright impossible when you don’t know who they are. You’ll never see them coming.”
“Clarence, it’s a risk I’ll have to take. I knew what this business entailed when I signed up. It’s never stopped me before.”
“You’ve never done anything like this before.”
“Have you forgotten already? I did a story on Polanski and the cover-up at the CPD just a few weeks ago. And last year I covered the embezzlement at City Hall, and then there was—”
“I know what you’ve done, Christy,” he said. “I’m not questioning your ability or your tenacity. And I’m certainly not questioning your judgment.” He grinned. “What I’m saying is that the people you’re going after will make the politicians at City Hall seem like boy scouts. And the story on Polanski did no harm to anyone in particular. Remember, you won’t be writing about an amorphous thing – a corporate or government entity. You’ll be writing about a person who has information on people powerful enough to stop her. You’ll be writing about the shadow people. And if your story rings true, they won’t be in the shadows for long.”
“That’s what I’m hoping, Clarence.”
CHAPTER 63
Campello met Christy for dinner at an out-of-the-way location to avoid any chance of being seen by members of the department. It was likely that their developing relationship would soon be discovered, but given the tenor of the times and the task at hand, it was important to keep it under wraps for as long as possible.
They met at an Italian restaurant ten miles outside the loop on the city’s South Side just as the sun descended against the western sky. Christy ordered linguini with clam sauce; Campello decided on lasagna. They were learning that in addition to their taste in literature, they both enjoyed Italian food.
“So he was OK with it?” Campello asked.
She set her wine glass down. “It was sweet, actually. It was the first time he hasn’t been patrician with me in months. Like he was more colleague than mentor.”
Campello smiled. “I don’t think the department is going to be so kind to me. Lopez laid me out pretty well in his office this afternoon. Told me point blank that I was looking at a suspension if I kept pursuing my theory on Longhorse.”
“Did anyone back you? Give you a hint of who might be on the up and up?”
He shook his head. “I don’t think I need to find who’s on the up and up. I need to find who isn’t. There’ll be fewer to find that way.”
She rotated her fork in the linguini. “You know my stance on that.”
“I do.”
She ate slowly, taking time to think. “I heard that the state’s attorney’s office is dropping charges against Caine and Dorchester. Their case was resting on Andy’s testimony, and now that charges against him have tainted their star witness, the whole thing is unraveling.”
“They’re guilty,” he said. “And you know, six weeks ago I would’ve probably covered for them. I would’ve talked to them about it, maybe been upset by what I saw, but I would’ve interceded for them.”
“My, how you’ve grown.” She smiled at him over the rim of her glass.
“Yeah, well, don’t push your luck, lady. I’m still a cop.”
“I think I can iron that wrinkle out of you.”
He laughed.
“So what, exactly, did Lopez say?”
He cut into the lasagna. “Just that he was disappointed that an officer of my stature would allow himself to make wild accusations against other members of the department.”
“Did you?”
He shook his head. “No. I didn’t. That’s just it. I wanted to rattle some cages. Try to gauge their reactions. But I took pains to not point fingers at anyone specifically.”
“But he says you did.”
He nodded. “He certainly implied it.”
“Do you think he’s in the tank with Vincent?”
He set his fork down. “I certainly hope not. I’ve known Julio since I went on the department.” He opened his mouth and started to say something, but closed it and picked up his fork.
“What?” she asked. “What is it?”
He set his fork down again and rested his elbows on the table with his hands folded in front of him over the still nearly full plate. “He’s been pushing me to work the murder and not Peter Green. Every time I discuss the case with him, he steers it back to Trina.”
“It sounds like he wants you off Green’s back.”
“And at the same time, he’s willing to go along with me if I have enough to raise his suspicions. Like when Rita was killed and I told him I wanted to interview Juanita. I told him point blank that I thought Peter killed Rita and that Juanita could be a lead, and he agreed to my request. Even took some heat for it, but stood by me.”
“Listen,” she said, “there’s something you need to know.”
His eyes narrowed.
“Before that day at the pier, when you found Trina, I called my source at the department. That’s how I found out you and Andy were working together. My source said that he didn’t know for sure that Andy would be transferring to the 28th, but that the scuttlebutt said he would. When I asked who the commander of the district was, my source said it was Lopez and that he’s as straight as they come.”
“Who’s your source?”
She rested her elbows on the table and her chin on her folded hands.
“Come on, Christy. If your source is placed, he would know if Lopez is legit or not. My life is on the line.”
She hesitated, with her chin still resting on her hands. “It’s Silvio.”
CHAPTER 64
Campello drove home in the Vette, gliding through loop traffic with unusual grace. He replayed the conversation with Christy. Her revelation that her source was Silvio had not been a total surprise. Angelo had always been a bit aloof, rarely associating with his fellow officers, unless it was a trip to Jeep’s.
But nearly everyone liked and respected Silvio, including his new partner, Shelly Tertwiller. As soon as her transfer to the 28th had been initiated, Silvio volunteered to work with her and she accepted.
Campello had never taken issue with Silvio, but would have as recently as two days ago if he had known the man was a snitch for the press. But now, with all that had happened, Campello wasn’t sure about anything anymore.
He turned into the condo’s parking garage and deftly guided the classic car to his reserved spot near the elevator. As usual, the sodium-vapor lamps that were suspended throughout the facility cast the garage in a mix of light and shadow, and the Vette’s headlamps did little to discharge the uncomfortable feeling of parking in an isolated garage.
He pulled nose-forward into the stall and killed the engine. When he climbed out of the car, he saw two figures standi
ng in the shadows.
His hand slipped under his jacket and rested on the butt of his pistol.
“We trusted you, Frank.” It was Shelly Tertwiller. She stepped into the light. The other figure remained in the darkness.
“I was wondering how long it would take before you’d come forward,” he said, keeping an eye on her hands.
“How could you do this, Frank? How could you turn on your own?”
“I haven’t turned on anyone, Shelly.” Campello stepped away from the car, out of the overhead light and into the shadow opposite her. He peered into the darkness, but could not identify the other figure.
“Polanski’s career is over,” Shelly said. “He’s stuck his nose where it doesn’t belong.”
“In Vincent’s business?” Campello asked. “How much is he paying you? How much does a detective go for these days?”
“Save it, Frank,” Shelly said. “You know the score. You have to give a little to get a little. It’s how the world works.”
“It’s not how I work.”
She laughed. “Isn’t it? Are you telling me you’ve never accepted a freebie? Never taken something from someone who gave it to you just because you’re a cop?”
There had, in fact, been times when he had accepted items from citizens and others. A free dinner here, a bottle of wine there… tickets to a sporting event.
“What’s the matter, Frank? Cat got your tongue?” she asked, while the other figure remained silent. “It’s so much easier to point fingers at others, but a whole lot more challenging to measure up to the same standard. Tell me, do you think Polanski accepts freebies?”
“I’m not Polanski’s keeper, Shelly.”
“And you’re not ours either, Frank,” she said, her voice rising, echoing in the concrete canyon. “We don’t need more oversight, we need more support. We’re engaged in a war out there.” She motioned to the skyline visible through the open areas of the garage.
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