DEAD BY WEDNESDAY

by Beverly Long

  All those things had been available last night. But after he’d drunk too much and lost thirty bucks in poker, he’d gone home alone. Not for lack of trying on Tara’s part. He’d dated her once or twice before. Nice girl. Wasn’t exactly sure how she’d ended up at the party last night but thought he remembered that she was friends with one of the new female recruits who had gotten hired last year.

  Tara had been playing dirty last night, rubbing up against him, making sure he knew she was interested in more than the cards in his hand.

  It just wouldn’t work. He couldn’t go home with Tara. Not when all he could think about was Carmen Jimenez. About how her lips tasted, sweeter than any ice cream. About how her skin smelled. About how her eyes looked, shimmering with tears.

  So he’d kept drinking until Tara had gotten tired of waiting and moved on.

  Now, as he sat up straighter as Lieutenant Fischer walked to the lectern, he’d pay a price for that. He tried to keep his eyes from glazing over as the lieutenant went through the events of the previous twenty-four hours. Two rapes. One murder. Five domestic calls, two to the same residence. Burglary. Assault and battery. Vandalism.

  He almost missed it. Speedy’s Used Cars. He knew the place. Not much and not in a great neighborhood. He wouldn’t normally think twice about it. However, the firsthand witness accounts of a young, thin, dark-haired boy with a slight limp running from the scene had his head clear in about three seconds.

  There had to be a lot of kids who matched that description. Robert didn’t care. He only knew one. Raoul Jimenez.

  And the way Sawyer was looking at him, he was thinking the same thing. Robert shrugged. Sawyer knew him well enough to know that he’d check it out.

  Kids make mistakes. Robert kept reminding himself of that, all the way out of the department, to his car and on the way to Raoul’s school.

  He parked in the teacher’s lot. He went to the office, showed them his ID and asked for Raoul. They gave him a room to wait in and within five minutes, Raoul stood before him, looking confused and scared.

  “Sit down.” Robert motioned to the chair next to him.

  “I don’t want to sit down. I want to know what’s going on. Has something happened to Carmen?”

  It made it more difficult to kick the kid’s butt when he so clearly cared about his sister. “This is not about your sister. It’s about you. I’m here as a police officer,” Robert said.

  Raoul dropped down onto the chair. “Okay.”

  Robert gave him his best hard-ass cop look. “Do you want to tell me what you were doing last night?”

  Raoul stood up and started pacing around the small room. “Sleeping.”

  “No, you weren’t.”

  “Who says?”

  “A couple eyewitnesses who live across from Speedy’s Used Cars.”

  “I don’t even know where that is.”

  The kid had evidently rehearsed his lines. “Really?”

  Raoul nodded.

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “I don’t care.”

  He was keeping up the tough-guy act pretty well. It reminded Robert of many of the conversations he’d had with the boarders in his mother’s house. “Okay. That’s good enough for now. But if I find out differently, you’re going to regret ever having lied to me.”

  “The only thing I regret is that my sister and I had dinner with you.”

  “Trust me on this. It won’t be the last time.”

  “Are you going to be freakin’ spying on me?”

  “No. I lo...like your sister.” Whoa, had he almost said love? Maybe he had really enjoyed kissing her and holding her and he’d been able to think of little else than how she’d looked in her pajama pants and little shirt. Or how she’d tasted when he’d taken her in his mouth.

  But love?

  Raoul stared at him, like he’d suddenly grown a third eye. It seemed appropriate since he felt as if his head was going to explode.

  “Don’t you have to read me my rights or something?” Raoul asked.

  Robert shook his head and took a deep breath. “You’ve watched too many episodes of Law & Order.” He leaned toward the boy. “Look, Raoul. I’m worried about you.”

  Now Raoul studied the ceiling. “I’ve got to get back to class. We’re having a social studies test.”

  Robert nodded. “Okay. But watch yourself, Raoul. ’Cause I’m kind of like a bad penny. You just never know where I’m going to turn up.”

  He left the building and dialed his cell phone on the way to his car. His mom answered on the third ring.

  “Hi. How was the bingo?” he asked.

  “Pretty good,” she said. “Even distribution of men and women. At my age, you don’t see that all that often. You know, men are the weaker species and they die off sooner.”

  “You doing okay?” he asked.

  “Oh, sure, honey. Don’t worry about me.”

  “I’ll try to stop by later this week,” he said.

  “I’m free on Thursday,” she said.

  There might be another dead kid by then. Robert sucked in a breath of cold air. “See you then.”

  He was halfway back to meet Sawyer when his cell phone rang. It was Sawyer. “Ten minutes,” Robert said.

  “That’s not why I’m calling. I just talked to Liz. She said that Carmen called in, said she’d be late, that somebody had vandalized her car. I made sure a squad went out to get the report but I thought you’d want to know.”

  Damn straight. Robert did a fast U-turn in the middle of the street, ignoring the horns that blared in response. He was at Carmen’s apartment in less than ten minutes. She was standing outside, wrapped in her blue cape. A beat cop he didn’t recognize, with his coat collar pulled tight to protect against the cold, stood next to her. He’d parked his squad car in front of her damaged car.

  Robert parked and got out. He flashed his badge at the beat cop.

  “Officer David Smith,” the young man said in response, extending his hand.

  Carmen didn’t seem as happy to see him. She was frowning at him. “How did you know?” she asked. Then she waved her hand. “Never mind. I just figured it out.”

  Robert looked the car over. The driver’s side had a streak of white paint, starting at the front fender and running down the length of the car. The passenger-side window had a hole in it, as if someone had taken the end of a baseball bat and poked it through.

  It was damage that could have been done without anyone even getting out of their car. Which made it unlikely that there would be any physical evidence at the scene.

  “Any ideas?” he asked Carmen.

  She shook her head. “No. Not even sure when it happened. I parked the car about eight last night. I’d planned to start work later today since I’ve got evening appointments tonight. I came out around nine and saw this.”

  “Where’s Alexa?”

  “She and Raoul left for school around the same time. Raoul wanted me to take him to school but it was Mrs. Minelli’s turn to drive. Alexa took the bus. They must not have seen this or they would have come back inside and told me.” She paused. “You look tired,” she added.

  “I’m okay,” he said.

  She nibbled on her lower lip. “Late night?” she asked, her voice lower.

  Robert glanced at Officer Smith, who was looking down at his report but no doubt listening to every word. “Birthday party for one of my coworkers.”

  She waved a gloved hand. “It’s none of my business.”

  Maybe not, but they sure as hell had unfinished business between the two of them. If the old lady who lived down the hall hadn’t come along, who knows where that business might have taken them. “I went home alone,” he said very quietly.

  Her cheeks seemed to get a little p
inker. “Why?” she whispered, locking eyes with him.

  Because I can’t think about anybody but you. She wasn’t ready for that kind of admission. He decided to play it safe. “I’d worked all day. I was tired.”

  “Of course.”

  It was twenty degrees outside but the air suddenly seemed warm, maybe even a little oppressive.

  Smith stepped forward. “I’ll get you a copy of this report for your insurance company,” he said. “At least you can still drive it.”

  Neither Robert nor Carmen said anything. After several seconds, Carmen spoke up. “Thank you for coming so promptly,” she said.

  The young officer looked from Carmen to Robert and offered up just a little smile. “No problem.” If he’d wondered initially why a detective was showing up at the scene of a car vandalism call, he wasn’t wondering anymore.

  Robert waited until the man was back in his car. Then he shook his head to clear it. He needed to get back in the game. He took a step away from Carmen, trying to get away from her scent, something that evoked visions of good brandy and silk sheets. “Sage?” he asked.

  She shrugged. “I have no reason to think that.”

  “Who else is pissed off at you?”

  She rolled her pretty brown eyes. “Maybe it was just random violence. Maybe,” she said, evidently warming up to the topic, “it was somebody who was angry that I had a parking space. You know how nutty people in Chicago get when it snows.”

  She was right about that. Street parking was always limited in the city, but when piled-up snow took up several spots, it became somewhat of an Olympic sport to protect one’s parking place. People dragged furniture out of their homes to block their neighbors from taking an empty spot. Just last week, in one of the more affluent neighborhoods on the north side, there’d been a hell of a fight when a woman had used her Lexus to push a couch out of the way.

  It was possible that Carmen was right. Robert looked up and down the street. Many spaces were open because people were already at work. But for the cars that remained, there was no similar damage. He shook his head. “I don’t think so. No other cars were touched. Face it, Carmen. Somebody went after your vehicle. This is personal.”

  Robert knew where Frank Sage lived. He’d made it a point to look it up that very first day, after the coffee shop incident. Now he drove there, knowing that Carmen would probably be upset if she knew what he was doing.

  He didn’t expect Sage to be there but based on what Carmen had said, it was likely that Mrs. Sage would be home. And right now, he wanted the woman’s perspective on her husband’s state of mind.

  He knocked on the screen door of the modest home. The place had white siding and red shutters, and looked to be a two-bedroom or maybe a small three-bedroom. He saw the curtain move on the interior door.

  He held out his badge. “My name is Detective Robert Hanson with the Chicago Police. I’d like to talk to you about your daughter.”

  Well, sort of. Whatever it took to get the door opened.

  Mrs. Sage opened the door halfway. She looked briefly at his badge. “Is my daughter okay?”

  “Yes. As far as I know. May I come in?” he asked.

  She opened the door the whole way in response and turned her back. She walked over to the couch, picked up the remote, and turned off the television. Then she sat.

  It was a small room, maybe twelve by fourteen, and one end was open to the kitchen. The appliances were dated and there were ugly placemats on the table.

  The only chair in the living room was a worn recliner, and Robert figured that was where Frank Sage settled in every night. Not wanting to sit there and also not wanting to tower over Mrs. Sage, he walked over to the kitchen table and grabbed one of the wooden chairs. He brought it back into the living room and sat.

  “Thank you for seeing me,” he said. “Did you happen to tell your husband that Alexa is staying with Carmen Jimenez?”

  She nodded. “When she didn’t come home on Saturday night, he wanted to know where she was.”

  “It was my understanding that he threatened to kick her out. That there was quite a scene here before she left.”

  She nodded again. “You have to understand. My husband, well, he says things that he’s sorry for later on.” She pushed her short brown hair behind one ear, then did it again when the strand wouldn’t stay back. “He’s a good man. He just works too hard.”

  Why did she feel that she needed to defend the bully? “Alexa said that he hit you after you dented your car.”

  Her face lost its color. “She shouldn’t have said anything. That’s our business.”

  “You know,” Robert said, softening his voice. “There are places that can help you. Places you can go.”

  The woman said nothing.

  Robert felt sick. While Mrs. Sage didn’t resemble his mother physically, they were very much the same person. Afraid to be alone. Ready to settle. Too quick to forgive or forget.

  Too willing to accept that they had no value without a man.

  He wasn’t going to be able to convince her, any more than he’d been able to convince his mother. “You’re going to have a grandchild,” he said, giving it one last try. “Your daughter needs your help.”

  Again the woman said nothing.

  Robert stood up. “Carmen Jimenez’s car was vandalized last night or early this morning. I’m going to go see your husband at his work. If I have any reason to believe he’s involved, I’m going to arrest him. If I have any reason to believe that he’s going to hurt Alexa or Carmen, I’m going to make sure he doesn’t have the chance.”

  Mrs. Sage walked over to the door and opened it. Robert put the chair back where it belonged and walked out. He was halfway down the sidewalk when Mrs. Sage spoke.

  “Tell Alexa that I love her,” she said. Then she closed the door.

  Chapter Twelve

  Frank Sage worked at a factory that was fifteen minutes from his house. On the way there, Robert passed the coffee shop where Carmen had met Alexa that morning. Sage had been nearly out of control that day. Robert had hoped he might settle down, but if he wasn’t going to, then Robert was just going to settle his ass down for him.

  When he got to the factory, they refused to let him see Sage until he showed them his badge. Then they got significantly more cooperative and stuffed him in a small conference room with a round table and four chairs.

  Robert didn’t sit.

  When Sage came in, he didn’t, either.

  “What the hell are you doing here?” Sage asked, taking the offensive.

  Robert rubbed his chin. “I told you I’d be watching you.”

  Sage didn’t answer. He just crossed his arms over his broad chest.

  Robert decided to get to it because he was fast losing the battle with his inner self, who wanted to beat the crap out of Sage’s smug face. “I want to know where you were between the hours of eight last night and nine this morning.”

  “I was home the whole night. Watched the nine o’clock news and then I went to bed. My wife can verify that.”

  Great.

  “I got up this morning, stopped for coffee on my way to work at my usual place, and got here at twenty minutes before seven. I punched in and I’ve been working ever since. My supervisor could verify that. He’s a jerk who watches his employees like a hawk. He’d know if I was gone.”

  Supervisor was probably hoping the guy would make a break for it. “That should be easy enough to verify and trust me, I will.”

  Sage shrugged. “Why the questions?”

  “Carmen Jimenez’s car was vandalized either late last night or early this morning.”

  Sage’s face showed no reaction. “I don’t care. About her, her car, her anything. She’s nothing.”

  Robert forced himself to breathe deep
. “I want you to know that if I find out that you had anything to do with it, I will arrest you so fast that your head will be spinning. Stay away from her and stay away from your daughter.”

  “I don’t have a daughter,” Sage said. He opened up the door and left the room.

  Before Robert left, he did exactly what he’d promised Sage. He asked the receptionist to get the supervisor.

  He was a young guy, maybe thirty. He had a pencil stuck behind one ear and he was carrying his phone in his hand. His name was Hank Riser.

  “What can I do for you, Detective?” he asked.

  “Mr. Riser, I’m investigating some vandalism that occurred either late last night or early this morning. I’m trying to verify what time Frank Sage arrived at work this morning and whether he’s been at work the entire time.”

  The man pushed a button on his phone. “Frank is usually in before me but I can check his time-card punch.” He used his index finger to scroll through a couple screens. “Yes, he was here when his shift began at seven and I saw him probably a half hour later. He’s been here all morning.” The man looked up from his phone. “What’s this about, Detective?”

  “Just trying to put some pieces together,” Robert said. “What your general impression of Frank Sage?”

  “Stays mostly to himself at work. Gets here on time. Leaves the minute he can.”

  “You ever have any trouble with him getting along with others?”

  The man took a deep breath. “Not that’s documented. But I’ve had a couple of the women in the shop tell me that they aren’t comfortable working next to him. It’s nothing he says or does, it’s just a feeling they get. So I move them to another area and we get past it.”

  It’s just a feeling they get. He understood that. Maybe they wanted to push Sage’s face into a brick wall, too.

  Robert shook the man’s hand. “Thank you for your time.”

  He walked back to his car and kicked his tire for the hell of it. He didn’t have enough evidence to bring Sage in.