The Shattered Bull (Drexel Pierce Book 1)

by Patrick Kanouse

  Ton nodded.

  Drexel walked back down the stairs, the Browning in both hands pointed to the floor. He stepped into the kitchen and found a light switch. The lights must have burnt out, so he pulled out his iPhone. The battery was getting low, but he needed light, so he turned on the flashlight. At the exit from the kitchen to the front of the house, a closed door. A basement. He restrained himself from going down there, taking care to clear the dining room and living room of the house. A single sofa with an LED TV on a stand were the only pieces of furniture. He returned to the closed door and opened it, shining his light down a wooden, unfinished stairwell. Each step creaked under his weight. At the bottom, he pulled on a chain from a bare bulb in the ceiling, which, to his surprise, came on. Ryan was in a corner, duct-taped to a chair, head hanging down, duct tape over his mouth.

  “Ryan.”

  Drexel darted over to him and kneeled beside him. On the floor near Ryan was a heroin kit. The bastards had drugged him. He lifted his brother’s head, but he was unresponsive. A pulse. Drexel lifted up Ryan’s right eyelid and shined the phone’s light there. The pupil was constricted. He rolled up the sleeve on Ryan’s left arm. Nothing. Rolled up the right sleeve. Injection marks. Drexel grabbed the roll of duct tape and went back to the master bedroom.

  The three of them had remained where they were. Drexel ordered Jerry to turn around and punched him across the chin before the man could even move.

  Tammy screamed. “What are you doing? Leave him alone.”

  Ton pointed the pistol at her. “Shut up.”

  Drexel slid the Browning into the back of his pants, took the duct tape, and wrapped Jerry’s wrists and ankles. He then sat Jerry up against the wall.

  Tammy said, “Don’t hurt him. He didn’t mean it.”

  “Go to hell,” said Drexel. “Hands.”

  Tammy shook her head.

  “I don’t give a shit about your modesty. Hands. I’m taping them.”

  Ton emphasized the point by pushing the pistol in the air closer to her.

  Tammy let go of the comforter, which clung at the top of her breasts but fell away when Drexel pulled on her hands and put them in front of her. Her breasts were small and the nipples hard. She had a cross decorated with roses tattooed on her right breast, near the collarbone. She spit at Drexel, but it fell short and into her cleavage, where it did nothing to add to her attractiveness. “You’ll get yours pig.”

  Drexel nodded. “I’m sure I will. But not today.”

  Ton lowered the pistol, relaxed now that they had restrained Tammy and Jerry.

  Drexel walked back over to Jerry and slapped his face. As Jerry stirred, he slapped him harder. Already, his chin was reddening from the punch.

  Jerry opened his eyes.

  Drexel took out the Glock and held it up to Jerry’s cheeks. “You piece of shit. You drugged my brother. The man is an addict.”

  Jerry scowled at him as Drexel pushed the end of the gun into his cheek.

  “I should blow your fucking brains out. That’s a lot better than what my brother got.”

  The room went silent. Drexel with the gun shoved against Jerry’s cheek, Tammy naked, seething in anger, Ton standing nearby. The wind blew and pushed on the glass. Jerry crushed his eyes closed. Drexel pulled the gun away. As he stood up, he shoved it into its holster. He looked at Ton. “Let’s leave.”

  Ton nodded. “Let’s bind her ankles.”

  With Tammy bound, Ton tossed the comforter over Tammy and a blanket over Jerry. Then Ton and Drexel carried Ryan between them out of the house and to the Infiniti. Mercy Hospital was the closest. Ton drove and it took twice as long as normal and was quiet the entire way except for the wind and the tires over the snow.

  Chapter 27

  Lily was asleep in a chair next to Ryan’s bed when he woke up. Drexel was at the foot of the bed, having just come in with coffee for him and Lily. She hated Starbucks, so he got Dunkin’ Donuts. Morning had revealed eight inches of snow, and it was still falling, still windy. Most of the city was shut down, the absence of traffic unsettling.

  Ryan opened his eyes, blinking a lot. Drexel tapped Lily’s toe, and she snapped up, startled, but he gestured toward Ryan with his head and she looked over. She stood up next to the bed, her hand resting on Ryan’s forearm. She said, “Ryan. Hey there.”

  He smiled. He had a black eye, a few lacerations on his face and hands. He had fought Jerry. “Hey,” said Ryan, his voice cracking, barely audible. “I feel like hell.”

  She gripped his hand and started to tear up. “You’re safe.” She smiled and grimaced at the same time. She bent down and kissed him on the forehead, brushing his hair back.

  Drexel looked at his brother and nodded. “What do you remember?”

  Lily said, “Stop being the cop Drex. Let the man rest.”

  He nodded, but Ryan said, “Honestly, I remember a van, a guy, I fought. Nothing much after that.” He started to glance at his elbow but stopped. He looked at Lily. “They drugged me, didn’t they?”

  She nodded. “I’m so sorry. So sorry sweetie.”

  “Heroin?”

  Drexel said, “Yeah. Couple of days. They kept you nearly comatose.”

  Their little brother squeezed his hands into fists, squinting hard, and biting the inside of his cheek.

  Lily said, “We’ve already got detox set up for you. We’ll get you better. We will.”

  Ryan nodded but turned his head away from them both. “I’m just so embarrassed.”

  She stroked his hair. “You have nothing to be embarrassed about. This was done to you.”

  “Did you get him?”

  “We got you. I sent my captain over to pick up where we left him. Blizzard is slowing that down.” Drexel took a drink of the coffee. “You were the first concern.”

  Ryan looked around the room. The tan shades were drawn. A closet, a restroom, and the Christmas vase with several white roses sat on a brown counter near the TV, which hung on the wall.

  “I thought I’d lost that,” said Ryan.

  Lily smiled. “No. No you didn’t.”

  “I felt so bad I had lost it, I never told you. Didn’t want to hurt your feelings.” His eyes teared up.

  Drexel tapped Lily on the elbow, handed her a coffee, and gestured he wanted to talk to her in the hall.

  She patted Ryan’s forearm. “We’ll be right back.”

  In the hallway, just two doors down from the nurses’ station, they stood beside a cart with a tray of pink hospital ice buckets full of water and small cubes of ice. Drexel said, “I need to go. The case that’s the center of all this needs wrapping up, and it’s close.”

  “Sure. I’ll stay here. I don’t have to be back in Seattle until Monday.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Yeah. Just promise me something, will you?”

  Drexel breathed in deep. “What?”

  “Promise?”

  “Maybe.”

  She rolled her eyes but knew that was the best she would get. “After Ryan leaves detox, he should stay with you. I think it would be good for him. Don’t you?”

  Drexel scratched the top of his head. “I don’t know. Not sure I’m the best thing for him to be around. I don’t have much room.”

  She grabbed his arm. “You need to let her go.”

  He looked down at the floor. Could he clear out the room? He had entered their former bedroom only a few times since Zora’s death. Each time it was painful—physically and mentally. “I’ll think about it.”

  “Thanks. I know it would mean so much to him.”

  Drexel nodded and walked away.

  “Be careful.”

  He turned back, smiled, and nodded.

  * * *

  Two feet of snow covered the streets and sidewalks, and it was still coming down. A few places
were cleared, and plows were at work, but the rate of snowfall and those insisting on driving would only hamper those efforts. Chicago was a city that found a strange pride in not shutting down. The city was obsessed with it. But they had been unable to keep up with this storm. Those out walking ignored sidewalks and crossings points and pioneered paths. Cars attempted to keep to a lane, but the concept of a lane had devolved to ruts in the snow of the previous vehicle.

  The snow slashed down, and the wind lifted and threw it into people’s faces. Drifts were building along walls and cars, leaving some areas free of snow. Drexel trudged around the drifts, hands stuck in his pockets, to the Twenty-Seventh Street Station of the Metra, the commuter rail serving Chicago and the suburbs. He rode it to Millennium Station and jumped to the L. Beneath the city, the only trace of a blizzard above was the larger than normal amount of people riding the trains and the hats, scarves, and heavy coats wet with melted snow.

  Samantha Feldman lived in Wrigleyville in an apartment off Byron. Drexel passed the quiet of Wrigley Field and got off at the Sheridan Station, during which he read the list of people who had bought the video jammer—Daniela had organized it by those stores closest to Trump Tower. At the DJ’s Security store on Ontario and Rush, six blocks north of Trump Tower, a purchase caught Drexel’s eye. Six days before the murder, a Eugenia Xenakis bought the JR080 jammer. Was it coincidence the name was the daughter of the Bull’s partner in crime, Carter Xenakis, who died in prison? He shook his head. No. Someone knew of Carter and the Bull. They had purchased the jammer. If Kara had murdered the Bull, what was the connection? He started doing the math. His heartbeat quickened.

  After getting off of the L, Drexel jogged the three blocks past red-brick buildings with turret-like structures to the apartment building he had aimed for. When he turned west onto Byron Street, he had to lean forward to keep walking into the howling, strong wind, snow whipping into his face. He never thought once about turning back, of waiting a day or two. He feared he already knew the truth, but he needed to confirm it. Something true about the case to hang onto—even if it meant he had been wrong all along, which he was realizing with every step was likely.

  Outside the apartment building’s entrance, Drexel paused. He could turn around, but it would only delay this meeting for a few days at most. It would be more time with his version of events, his original theory, which was what he wanted to be true. This interview, though, would seal it. He knew that. He was a man who had a hard time letting go. He knew that too.

  After Samantha buzzed Drexel in, he stamped his feet on the floor mat, though snow still clung to his pants. He trudged up the flight of stairs and rapped on her door twice.

  A woman in a University of Chicago hoodie, black jeans, and green bunny slippers cracked open the door. She looked beneath the chain. “Detective Pierce?”

  Drexel nodded and showed her his badge.

  She opened the door. “I’m Sam.” She tied her straight black hair in a ponytail and wore thick-rimmed brown glasses. She extended a small hand.

  He shook it. “Thank you for meeting with me today.”

  “Sure. Not like I’m going anywhere. Coffee? Tea?”

  “Coffee would be fantastic.”

  Sam gestured Drexel to follow her into the kitchen. A vase of purple and blue delphinium, yellow sunflowers, and other green and yellow flowers sat on the counter. Sam pulled two mugs down and poured coffee in them. “Sugar? cream?”

  “No cream. Sugar. Lots.”

  She handed him a mug with the Chicago Bears logo. She grabbed a carton of half-and-half from the refrigerator and poured a splash in her coffee. She sat down at the small table nestled in the corner of the kitchen.

  Drexel leaned back against the counter, holding the coffee mug in his hands.

  “How can I help you?”

  Drexel nodded. “Thank you for coming back. This is a conversation best in person.”

  Sam nodded. “Whatever I can do.”

  “Have you spoken to your friend, Kara, in the past few days?”

  She shook her head. “No. I’ve been out of touch. Skiing. And I just got back and haven’t called her yet.” She gestured in the air referencing the outside—a “not that there’s anything we could do because of the blizzard” gesture.

  “Are you aware of Hal Nye’s death?”

  “Not until the detective told me. I feel really bad I wasn’t here for her. She must be devastated.”

  “We’re trying to clear some things up. It’s an ongoing investigation, and we haven’t been able to cross our Ts yet.”

  “How can I help with that?”

  “Did you go to Virtuoso with Kara and someone else?”

  “Yeah. Trina. We all went.”

  “What time?”

  “We met up at the bar across the street at like five or so. Had a bite to eat. Then went to Virtuoso. I’d say we were there by eight or something like that.”

  “Isn’t that kind of early for a place like that?”

  Sam smiled. “Very. But Trina and I were leaving the next morning. So the plan was to end the party early.”

  Drexel took a drink of the coffee. A bit weak, but warm. “How’d that go?” He added a smile.

  “Trina was the strong one. She was out of there by ten. Had a five a.m. flight or something godawful. Me? Well. It was somewhere close to two. By the time I got back here, I didn’t even bother going to sleep. I just stayed awake and left for the airport around six.”

  “What did you know of the Bull?”

  Sam shrugged. “Seemed like a decent guy. I thought he was a bit old for Kara, and she had never seemed that interested in money.”

  “Where did you and Kara meet?”

  “Oh, we’ve been long-time friends. Back in high school.”

  Drexel scratched his chin and tried to retrieve from his memory where Sam went to high school, but it did not come and he asked her.

  “Where did you go to high school?”

  “Collins High School in Lawndale.”

  Drexel shook his head. “Excuse me?” The purchaser of the jammer. The strands of evidence were falling into place.

  “Collins High School in Lawndale.”

  Drexel flipped back pages in his notebook. “Kara grew up in Decatur.” He knew this was a lie, but he still said it.

  She chuckled, a high-pitched, tinny chuckle. “No she didn’t. The three of us have been besties for years.”

  He stopped on the page where he had noted Kara grew up in Decatur.

  “Kara Brandt? We’re talking about the same girl, right?”

  “Oh. She gave you that name.” Sam took a drink and smiled as she swallowed. “That’s right, she used it with Hal as well.”

  “That’s the name we have.”

  Sam shook her head. “She did that years ago. I guess when she said it was official, she meant it.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “She changed her name years ago. I always thought it was weird, but she wanted to. But I thought it was all show.”

  Drexel took a drink and set the mug back down on the counter. No. She had not changed her name officially. No records had turned up of such a name change. She had stolen an identity. That was the only way to explain it. The history was all there. It had checked out, and no reason for doubt, until now, existed. Drexel pursued the questions, knowing in advance the answers. “Why did she change her name?”

  “Ashamed of her family.”

  “What was her name?”

  “Hah, she always had a doozy of a name. Kara Xenakis. Kara was her middle name. She hated her first name. Eugenia. Geez.”

  Drexel mumbled “Once said no unsaying” before he thought about it.

  “I haven’t heard that in years.”

  Drexel was not sure if he reacted as if he had been hit or not.

  She co
ntinued. “That’s a phrase she always said. Her dad said it, I think.”

  “Was her dad’s name Carter?”

  Sam’s eyes widened. “Yes. That’s it. I felt so bad for her growing up. Her dad in prison. Gets killed there. Just awful.”

  He struggled to piece it all together. “But she was ashamed of her dad. So she changed her name.”

  “Well. That’s what she said.” She took a drink of the coffee. “But I never got that sense from her, frankly. I think it was easier. Perhaps she didn’t want to be reminded.”

  He walked up to the table and sat in the chair across from Sam. “Were you with her the entire time you were at Virtuoso or between the dinner and getting there?”

  “No. Not at all. We didn’t go to the bathroom together or anything. So we were separated a number of times.”

  “How crazy are the lines there?”

  “You boys have it easy, and there’re still lines for them. The girls restroom is terrible. I can’t imagine what the boys is like.”

  He drank the last of the coffee. He knew it now. At least, he knew what he needed to know, but he still could not accept fully what he was hearing. “Excuse me a moment.”

  Sam nodded, and Drexel stood up, pulled out his phone, and stepped into the hallway. He called Daniela.

  “Hello, this is Daniela.”

  “This is Drexel.”

  “Hey boss. Liking the snow?”

  “Have the epi pen results come back?”

  “Um. Hold on,” said Daniela.

  Drexel heard some clicking of the mouse. Typing on the keyboard.

  “Yes. Here it is.”

  “What does it say?”

  “Opening now. Let’s see. Um. Yeah, boss, someone tampered with this epi pen. The left over liquid is peanut oil. Unrefined. Looks like somebody drilled a tiny hole, sucked out the medicine, injected peanut oil, and sealed it with a dot of superglue. Shit.”