The Shattered Bull (Drexel Pierce Book 1)

by Patrick Kanouse

  Drexel took off his coat and draped it across the back of the chair. “Street or home?”

  “Street.”

  Kendall said, “Two teens, back of the head in a deserted house’s back yard.”

  “No witnesses of course.”

  Darrell laughed, his double-chin echoing the movement. “Fuck no. All we’ve got is a crapload of footprints, trash, and a couple of dead BGDs.” Black Gangster Disciples. The plague of Chicago’s murder spike the past few years centered around young black, white, and Latino gangs shooting each other and innocent bystanders.

  Kendall brushed some loose strands of light brown hair away from her eyes. “We’ll be lucky to clear this one.”

  Drexel nodded. The two detectives refocused on each other as Drexel set up his desk for the day. Looking at the Bull’s file, he pulled out a photo of the burned writing on the desk and taped it to the whiteboard. Using the calendar in the Bull’s tablet as a guide, Drexel wrote down the appointments the Bull had.

  8:00 Coffee with Stacy

  8:30 Read reports, petitions, etc.

  9:30 City Council chamber

  12:00 Lunch

  12:30 Stanley Donoghue

  1:30 Committee meeting

  3:00 City Council chamber

  5:00 Drinks with Karrie Velazquez

  Drexel crossed out the City Council chamber and drinks, for the Bull had returned to his penthouse by 3:05. Drexel tapped the marker in his palm. Footsteps across the floor coming from the direction of the elevator. He turned and saw Carl walking up to him. Out of the corner of his eye, Victor leaned against his office’s door jamb.

  Carl tugged at his tie. “Any leads?”

  Drexel waited long enough to be sure he was expected to reply, “None as yet. We’ve got alibis to track down and this timeline to confirm.”

  “Who do you think did it?”

  “It’s too early to speculate. We need a wide net for now. Anyways, there’s nothing that points to a perp yet.”

  “I’m not seeing the progress I wanted. I’d better see results by the end of today.”

  “Yes sir. I’ll do my best.”

  “I don’t want your best. I want fucking better than that.” Carl walked up to the whiteboard. “He was killed in the evening. Who gives a shit what he was doing for breakfast.”

  Drexel pursed his lips.

  “You and I know.” Carl jabbed his finger at the board. “We all know that murders are done by people close to them most of the time. And the Bull wasn’t a gang-banger, so I think it’s somebody close to him. That’s my guess here. Any takers?”

  Victor walked up. “Probably.”

  Drexel said, “This is basic—”

  Victor put a hand on the back of Drexel’s shoulder. “We’re being thorough. We don’t want to take a case to the prosecutor leaving holes a defense attorney or the press can walk through.”

  “I’m keeping the damn prosecutor’s office off your back. They want in and they want in now. But I told them you need time.” Carl looked back at the board. “Don’t dick around with this.” He glared at Victor and then walked past them both and to the elevator.

  When the elevator doors closed, Darrell let out the chuckle he had been holding for a while. Kendall smiled. Darrell said, “Didn’t know the commander had worked any investigations.”

  “Better watch what you say about these low-level brass with ambitions. Might bite you in the ass someday detective.” Victor retreated to his office, closing the door behind him.

  Drexel sat down. This case was going to be more about Carl than it was the Bull.

  * * *

  Drexel called Stacy Harmon’s cell phone. She was at the Bull’s City Council office and would be for a while. He told her he would be there within the hour. He looked up at the communal car board. One set of keys were left. He left it for other detectives should they need it and instead took the L, which he was fond of riding anyways.

  Drexel looked through the emails, apps, and documents on the tablet, but nothing leaped out at him. The Bull did have a taste for Miles Davis and John Coltrane with some of The Beatles and Led Zeppelin thrown in. It all seemed very normal. Good tastes even. Drexel returned to motive. Why kill the Bull? Broadly speaking it was about money, love, or politics. He looked at the contacts on the Bull’s tablet. He found a number for TG Enterprises’ publicist, Rachel Nevitz, and called her. She agreed to set up a meeting with the TG Enterprises leadership, who were the Bull’s most regular contacts, and would get back to him.

  Carl’s speculations meant some answers needed to be addressed, so Drexel gave some thought to initial theories—rather, wild conjectures. First, Kara was lying and she’s the killer. Jealousy? Lover? What have you. Second, some business aspect of the Bull’s life led to bad blood. A former employee or competitor decided he or she could not beat the Bull in the market, so took the time honored way of eliminating the competition. Third, something in regards to his political life. Corruption? Shunned petitioner? Finally, something from the Bull’s prison days had come full circle. The best way to proceed was to tackle each theory and knock it out. Kara’s alibis were being checked, but he wanted more information on her.

  For the political and business sides of the Bull, Drexel needed more context. What was not recorded in the financials or meetings or the evening news. If a business-related motive existed, most likely it would come from the lower echelons or related to partners and alliances, particularly ones that went sour. However, TG Enterprises employed only a couple dozen employees, so the list was limited.

  That left the prison record to follow up with, so Drexel wrote in his notebook to obtain the official records. He looked at his watch, got up, and made his way to City Hall.

  * * *

  Golden maple panelling from floor to ceiling gave the Bull’s reception area an upscale feel. The floor was a matching wood, strips each four inches wide, though numerous, well-worn carpets with red and beige fleur-de-lis covered much of it. The desk where the woman sat was solid wood as well, though a dark chestnut color. A coffee-colored leather couch and chair with worm curl armrests sat next to the windows. The Bull’s receptionist, according to the silver name plate on her desk, Tanya Richardson, looked up at Drexel as he walked in. She had several boxes on the desk. “May I help you?”

  Drexel pulled out his badge. “I’m here to see Ms. Harmon.”

  Tanya nodded and gestured to the open doors that led to the Bull’s office.

  “Thank you.” He walked into the office, which looked southwest toward the Loop, where he found Harmon with several boxes on an even grander wood desk than that out front. Along the top’s edge, innate carvings of leaves and vines glistened under a shiny varnish. Moldings and intricate relief carvings decorated the two pedestals and modesty panel. The carvings were of forest scenes with bears and birds appearing among the trees. The top of the desk had an inlaid green marble top.

  Harmon looked up and smiled. “Hello.”

  “This is a nice office.”

  “A perk of being a favorite of the mayor. This office is usually for one of the more senior aldermen.”

  “I bet that pissed some people off.”

  “I’m sure it did—any one with less experience.”

  “Hmmm.” Drexel walked over to the window and looked south down Clark Street. “I wanted to ask you a few questions.”

  “I figured.” She took a framed photo and set it into the box.

  “Mr. Nye’s calendar on the tablet you left us had a couple of appointments. Stanley Donoghue and Karrie Velazquez.”

  Harmon gave a sad smile and shook her head slightly. “Donoghue is a joke.”

  “Excuse me.”

  “Well, maybe more of an inside joke or code.” Harmon walked over to the window and stood beside Drexel. “Whenever he wanted alone time, time to do something, h
e had a meeting with Stanley Donoghue. A fake person.”

  “So what was Mr. Nye doing from twelve thirty to one thirty?”

  “Not a clue. I understood what Donoghue meant but not any specifics. He was very busy, so I thought he was just taking time for himself. Maybe he went to church. Maybe he sat on the roof garden and stared out at the city. Maybe he was reading the latest romance novel.”

  “Did Mr. Nye attend the committee meeting?”

  “Yes. He rarely missed a meeting of Budget and Government Operations.”

  “But he skipped the City Council meeting in the chamber.”

  Harmon tilted her head. “Um.”

  Drexel put his hand up on the edge of the window and looked at her. “We’ve got Mr. Nye entering Trump Tower a few minutes after the start of the City Council meeting.”

  “I see. Well, he left for it. I don’t monitor whether he attended or not. So he must not have gone.”

  “And Karrie Velazquez?”

  “A donor.”

  “And Mr. Nye skipped that meeting? Is that usual?”

  “No. No, not at all.”

  “Do you have Ms. Velazquez’s contact information?”

  “It’s not on the tablet?”

  “Not that I could find.”

  Harmon walked back to the desk and picked up her tablet. She swiped the screen a couple of times. “I don’t have any information for her either.”

  “So how do you know she’s a donor?”

  “The Bull told me.” Harmon tapped her finger in the air. “We got a call from Ms. Velazquez’s assistant. He asked for the meeting. And…”

  Drexel walked to the desk. “And what?”

  “I remember a strange look on Hal’s face. Surprise but, but concern.”

  “Have you met Ms. Velazquez?”

  Harmon shook her head.

  “So how do I get in touch with Ms. Velazquez or her assistant?”

  “I don’t know. I remember where they were supposed to meet.”

  “And?”

  “At O’Lawry’s. A bar over on Wabash near Millennium Park.”

  Drexel wrote it down. “Had Mr. Nye had any meetings with her before?”

  “Yeah. Usually once a week.”

  “Same place?”

  “Always.” Harmon picked up another framed photo and looked at it. “I just thought he was going to have a bad meeting. Perhaps she didn’t get something she wanted.”

  Drexel cracked his right-hand’s middle finger knuckle with his thumb. “I always thought people like you knew all the details of your boss’s life.”

  Harmon looked at him. Her eyes were moist, and she bit her bottom lip. “We do. For the most part. But Hal had a way of keeping me on the outside of things when he wanted too. I know a dozen other donors really well. But not this one.”

  “Remember, I’m here dealing with the Bull’s homicide. I’m not here in any other capacity.”

  Harmon stopped biting her lip and gave him a cold stare.

  “Just saying. Was Mr. Nye involved in anything an alderman shouldn’t be involved with?”

  “You mean, ‘Was he corrupt?’”

  Drexel nodded once.

  Harmon sighed. She put the frame into the box and stared absently out the office door.

  He let her have her silence.

  She picked up another frame. “I don’t know.” She put it in the box. “I don’t know. What I saw, no. But as you can tell, I didn’t know everything. It’s weird that he’d not keep me informed about a donor. That he kept a lot about himself boxed away. Politicians aren’t usually like that. But he wasn’t a normal politician. I’ve no reason to believe he was corrupt.”

  “Even with his ties to the mayor?”

  “If—if—she’s corrupt, it doesn’t mean the Bull was.”

  Drexel held out his hands, gesturing to the office space. “Come on?”

  Harmon bit her lip.

  Drexel moved on. “Affairs?”

  She turned toward the windows and then pulled off a certificate of some sort from the wall. “He was not married.”

  Drexel rubbed his chin. “Interesting response. He was in a committed relationship, though, right?”

  “Yes. He was.” She inserted the certificate into the box. “I really must be wrapping up here.”

  “Were you and Mr. Nye involved?”

  “No. Oh no.”

  “Then why this dancing around the affairs thing?”

  Harmon sat down in the leather desk chair, her face partially hidden by the box of frames. Drexel stepped to his left to have a clear view of her. She said, “There’s always rumors. You hear this and that. Part of being in public life. So I heard a couple of things.”

  “And with the Stanley Donoghue appointments?”

  “Exactly. Sometimes I did wonder if he. Well?” Stacy shrugged.

  Tanya knocked on the door and held it as she peered around its edge. “Stacy. We’ve got some folks from maintenance here.”

  She stood up. “Okay. Tell them,” she looked at Drexel and continued, “a couple of minutes.”

  Tanya nodded and disappeared.

  “Any names?”

  Stacy shook her head. “None. I heard a few donor jokes about him having girls on the side. That he’d never change. That sort of thing. And it didn’t seem, well, it didn’t seem unreasonable.”

  Drexel nodded. “Okay. Before I leave. Any threats come into this office? Anyone angry with Mr. Nye because he didn’t do something or he did do something?”

  “No. I mean, we got the angry emails and phone calls. The usual stuff any alderman gets. Landlord complaints. The traffic lights favor one direction for too long. But nothing we’ve ever regarded as serious.”

  “If you think of anything or if any names come up, call me. You have my information.”

  Stacy nodded.

  As Drexel walked out of City Hall, he noticed the temperature had dropped from earlier that morning. The Chicago winter was returning.

  Chapter 7

  Despite the colder temperature, the sun was bright in the late morning under a clear blue sky. An L train screeched and clacked as it passed through the Loop. Drexel walked the four blocks to O’Lawry’s. He texted Ryan he would be at the restaurant for lunch.

  O’Lawry’s was on the first floor of a limestone and brick building rising a couple dozen stories. The sign was in a gold script that Americans thought looked Irish whether it was or not with the requisite four-leaf clovers at the edges. Drexel walked through the reddish wood door. A large round bar in the middle of the restaurant was the center of focus. Booths and chairs occupied the rest, with the kitchen back and to the right. All the wood was dark, and the chair and booth cushions were burgundy. The lighting was low, but the sunlight from the large windows brightened the place up. A half-dozen flat-screen TVs perched in various corners of the restaurant. A woman in a light yellow sweater and blue slacks sat at the booth near the corner windows. She was reading the paper. One young man in a gray pea coat sat at the bar with a dark beer. Drexel gave him a quick look. He seemed too young to be in a bar, but Drexel was at the age where the late teens and early twenties were indistinguishable except for the fact of making him feel old. The man was watching the TV. The bartender sat on a bench behind the bar, close by, watching the TV as well. A sign next to the hostess station told him to seat himself.

  Drexel walked up to the bar. “Morning. I was hoping you could help me.”

  The bartender raised his chin and looked at Drexel. “How so?”

  Drexel opened up his notebook and pulled out a photo of the Bull, the standard alderman portrait. “Do you recognize him?”

  The bartender looked at it and shook his head. Drexel showed it to the man in the pea coat, who took a drink of his his beer and shook his head. Drexel
slid the photo back in the notebook. “Do you know a Karrie Velazquez?”

  The bartender shook his head.

  Drexel sighed and sat at the bar. “Thanks. I’ll take a menu and a coffee.”

  Drexel watched the TV in silence while the kitchen prepared his early lunch. A few other people started to enter and take up spaces at the booths and tables. A waitress, her badge read Liz, brought out Drexel’s shepherd’s pie and set it down. “Thanks. Do you know a Karrie Velazquez?” She shook her head, Drexel pulled out the photo of the Bull.

  “I know him.”

  “You do?”

  “Yeah, he comes in here regularly. Usually in the evening though.”

  Drexel looked at the bartender, who shrugged.

  Liz said, “He usually sits in a booth, not at the bar.”

  “Was he here two nights ago?”

  “No. But the guy he usually meets was.”

  “He meets a guy usually. Not a woman?”

  “Always a guy.”

  “What does this guy look like?”

  “He’s big. Not in a fat way. No. Like a football player or something. Always dressed in turtlenecks. Even in the summer. White. His hair is black. Slicked back like.”

  Drexel wrote this down. “Taller or shorter than the man he was meeting with?” The bartender moved off to help another customer who sat at the bar. The pea coat man finished off his beer, set down two one-dollar bills, and left.

  “I’d say a tad taller.”

  “So they’ve been meeting for a while?”

  “Yeah. A year. Maybe more.” Liz swiped away a strand of bright pink hair from her otherwise dark blond bangs. “But I think they were meeting before that. Seemed like long-time regulars, and I’ve only been here a year.”

  “Did you ever hear anything they said?”

  Liz frowned. “No. I don’t pay attention. Look, I got to get back to work.”

  “Sure. Sure. Thanks. Here’s my card if you think of anything else. Okay?”

  Liz grabbed the card and stuffed it into her back pocket and walked off.

  Drexel swung back to face the bar. He looked at his phone, but Ryan had not texted back. The lunch crowd was making its presence felt, and by the time Drexel finished his lunch, O’Lawry’s was packed. He left cash for the meal plus a couple dollars for a tip. As the door closed behind him, he wondered who the Bull worried about enough to hide him behind a false name and use a ruse to set up meetings?