Chicago Broken: Detective Shannon Rourke Book 2

by Stewart Matthews

  “No, Mr. Corvath.”

  All the air went rushing out of Leigh Corvath’s body. He’d pinned his entire alibi on not having the car, it seemed.

  “So that’s it for me, isn’t it? You guys have all the evidence, and you think I killed Jennica. And now, since I can’t afford a lawyer, I’m done.”

  Shannon opened her work bag. “Actually, there was something else we found.” She pulled out the baggie with the Rolex watch inside and passed it over to him. “This was in the glovebox of your car.”

  Shannon paid close attention to his first reaction—that split-second of truth before a person could mask their inner thoughts.

  He didn’t seem to recognize it. Good. “Okay. What does that have to do with me being stuck in jail?”

  “I want you to try it on.” Shannon took the bag back, removed the watch, and held it out for him to take.

  Leigh looked at her, then back at Marcie, trying to glean intent from either one of them. “How do I know you don’t just want to get my fingerprints on it or something? I know how you cops are—you want a conviction because it looks good for you, right?”

  “Mr. Corvath,” Marcie said. “It shouldn’t be necessary to remind you that the Chicago Police Department already has you in-hand. Detective Rourke has very little cause to be here if she’s simply looking for a conviction.”

  That appeared to soften him up a little, but he still held back from Shannon and the watch.

  “What do you have to lose?” Shannon asked. “You’re already in jail.”

  Leigh grimaced at her, but he took the watch. He balanced it on his wrist, unfastened. “How do I stick it together?” he asked while he fiddled with the clasp.

  Marcie reached over him and lent a hand, connecting the watch band for him.

  “Show me your wrist,” Shannon said.

  The watch rattled against his handcuff when Leigh raised his arm above the table for Shannon.

  It fit his gangly arm like a hula hoop thrown over a cornstalk—not a match.

  “Hold your wrist there, please.” She took her phone out and snapped a couple photos of the watch on Leigh’s arm.

  “It’s too big.” His eyes lit up. “If it’s not mine, that’s good, right? And I can go?”

  “Mr. Corvath, that this watch doesn’t fit you doesn’t prove or disprove anything,” Marcie said. “It’s another piece of evidence. For all Detective Rourke and I know, it has no bearing on this case.”

  Leigh sunk back in his chair. This time, he deflated like an old blow-up clown Michael used to beat up on when they were kids. “It has to mean something,” he said.

  “Maybe,” Shannon said. “Okay, Marcie, go ahead and take it off him.”

  She did and put it back in the bag.

  “Let’s talk about Jennica for a minute,” Shannon said.

  “Check back with Norwaldo.” Leigh ignored Shannon. “I swear to you he had the car. I don’t know why he killed Jennica, but it had to be him—well maybe not him, but somebody he knew.”

  “Mr. Norwaldo has been uncooperative,” Marcie said. “I’m afraid there’s simply no reason for us to pursue him more than we already have.”

  “So what? You can’t quit. You guys get paid to solve cases and check out leads, right? Well, go check him out.”

  “That’s a bit reductive of our work, isn’t it?” Marcie said.

  “You’re the ones playing games with Norwaldo when you should be arresting him.”

  “Who’s playing?” Shannon said.

  “Don’t lie to me,” Leigh said. “You two don’t care about finding the truth about him because it’s easier to stick me in a box somewhere.”

  “That’s not true,” Marcie said.

  “Yeah, there’s no fun in that,” Shannon said. “We have to toy with you a little bit first.”

  Marcie gave her a reproachful look.

  “Get Norwaldo to say something,” Leigh said. “He knows what happened.”

  “What do you want us to do?” Shannon asked. “Kick his door down and beat him with sticks until he confesses to kidnapping the Lindbergh baby?”

  He looked at her from the side of his eyes. “Search his house. Arrest him, shoot him. I don’t care what it is—do something.”

  “We have done something,” she said. “We’ve done all we can right now, so shut up and tell us about Jennica.”

  “I’m not talking to you about Jennica,” Leigh said. “If you aren’t on Norwaldo, you’re wasting time.”

  “Don’t you have plenty of time to waste right now, Mr. Corvath?”

  “Shannon…” Marcie sighed.

  “Hit him up for his gambling books—put a lien on his house, do something to put pressure on him and he’ll crack, I know he will,” Leigh said.

  Shannon bowed her head and rubbed her temples. “I understand why you want us to knock on his front door with a bulldozer,” she said. “I agree with you: Norwaldo probably knows something. I figured that from the minute I talked to him. But I can’t press on a man who, I admit, might not be innocent, but doesn’t seem to have any concrete connections to this crime. That isn’t the way things work. So, unless you’re holding back critical information about him, there’s nothing I can do.”

  Leigh looked despondent—like he finally understood how futile trying to get information from Norwaldo had been.

  “Can we talk about Jennica for a minute?” Shannon asked. “Did she get into any trouble with Norwaldo or anyone he knew? What else do you know about her personal life? We went to her house today, and it seemed like she held her family outside of hugging distance.”

  “It’s weird when a house doesn’t have any family pictures anywhere, isn’t it?” Leigh’s voice was flat. “Did you see all the frames she kept in the cupboard?”

  Shannon nodded. “I spoke to Cooper about it, too.”

  “Man.” Leigh shook his head and let out a hopeless chuckle. “That kid gave Jennica hell every chance he got.”

  “The way he told it, I heard you and Jennica made each other as miserable as anybody.”

  “I’m sure he told you about all the times he threatened to run off to Greg.”

  “His uncle?”

  Leigh nodded. “I felt bad for Cooper at first. The kid was a trophy for Greg and Jennica—who could buy him what he wanted, who was he staying with, who did he love more, who won? But then I realized Cooper was as much a willing participant in the game as anyone else.”

  “How so?”

  “He used Greg and Jennica against each other. Whatever he wanted—clothes, electronics, cars—didn’t matter what it was or how much it cost. If he played them, he’d get everything he asked for.”

  “What about Jennica making him play football?” Shannon said. “He made it sound like she practically pushed him into slavery.”

  “Yeah. Slavery.” He laughed. “How many teenage kids have said that about their parents making them take violin lessons or study for the SATs? Cooper was so used to being spoiled by Jennica and Greg that when either of them expected him to do something, it was like they had him breaking rocks out in the prison yard.”

  “He told me Jennica had him playing for a scholarship.”

  “Sure she did,” Leigh said. “What mom wouldn’t do everything she could to get her kid ahead? Look, Detective, I’ll admit that Jennica knew how to push people hard, but he was a star wide receiver at a rich-kid prep school. It wasn’t like she left him tied to a post in the yard or nothing. Near as I could tell, he’s a big man on campus over at Northern Cardinal.”

  The story made sense. Cooper looked every bit the star athlete. He had all those trophies and medals piled up in the corner of his room. And there were all those pictures he kept of his friends and his girlfriends.

  “Jennica loved him,” he said. “She wanted what was best for him. I think a part of her was afraid he’d end up too much like his father, so she tried to get him away from his Uncle Greg.”

  “What was she afraid of?”

&n
bsp; “I don’t know for sure,” Leigh said. “But I’d pick up a thing or two about Cooper’s father here or there, and I think he was into illegal gambling or money laundering or something. I think that’s what got him killed.”

  Marcie and Shannon looked at each other. Seemed like there might have been quite a few people who wanted Samuel Wendt dead.

  “Back to your relationship with Jennica,” Shannon said. “I heard you two had a knack for getting under each other’s skin.”

  He shrugged. “Probably true. She was crazy as they come.”

  “But you liked crazy?”

  “We were on and off,” he said. “We were off the night before last—the night before she was killed. I was late to work when you showed up to the shop because she had me up all night arguing with her until I finally walked back to my place for a couple hours of sleep.”

  “Some place you got,” Shannon said. “I thought your apartment was robbed when we stopped by.”

  “I’ve been living with Jennica the last six months. Most of the stuff I had is either at her house or in storage. My lease on that apartment isn’t up for another month.”

  “What did you two fight about?”

  “Two nights ago?”

  Shannon nodded.

  He made a face like he didn’t want to talk about it. Like he knew it wasn’t going to make him look good, because he looked so great sitting in his orange jumpsuit right now.

  “Honestly?” Leigh’s fingers went back to that nervous habit of fiddling with his chains. “I wanted her to cover my losses.” He grimaced. “But that doesn’t mean I killed her.”

  “Your gambling losses, you mean?”

  He fidgeted in his chair, then nodded.

  “Had she bailed you out before?”

  Again, he nodded.

  “How much had she paid?”

  “Which time?”

  “Give me an average.”

  He sighed and smoothed out his jumpsuit. Leigh was sweating like a televangelist at the IRS. “A thousand dollars.”

  “And how much was this last bet with Norwaldo?”

  It was almost funny, watching the gears grind inside Leigh Corvath’s head—like he thought he had a chance in hell at constructing a believable lie for Marcie and Shannon. His pores opened up like spigots. “Fifteen thousand.”

  Shannon choked. “Dollars?”

  “Yeah,” he said sheepishly. “Looking back on it, it was pretty dumb on my part, but at the time I thought Jennica would help me out. I didn’t expect her to pay all of it.”

  “Well, wasn’t that considerate of you?”

  “You’re making it sound worse than it was. She had more than enough to cover it.” Leigh stooped his head down and his hands pushed his hair back from his face. He looked like he wanted to vanish into thin air. “I know it makes me look like a scumbag or whatever, but that doesn’t mean I killed Jennica. Yeah, we got into a bad argument about money and some things were said by her—and by me—that got us both pretty heated. But at the end of the night, I walked away, and that was it. I planned on calling her after work to apologize, which is what I usually did when we argued.”

  If Shannon were in Jennica’s shoes, it’d have to be one hell of an apology.

  “If you argued with Jennica the night before she was killed, when did you sell the Stingray to your bookie?”

  “Earlier that day,” he said. “I told her about it, and that’s what touched things off. I wanted her to loan me the money so I could buy the car back from him.”

  “So not only did you want the money—you wanted it right then?”

  Leigh sighed and nodded.

  “Well, I guess a bookie doesn’t really have repayment terms.”

  Shannon reached over to the voice recorder on the table and pressed the stop button.

  “What? That’s it?” Leigh said.

  “Did you have something more to say?” She picked the recorder up, then opened her work bag and put it back in. “Because for my money, I think you’ve said all I need to hear right now.”

  “You’re going to look into Norwaldo again, right?” Leigh’s chains jingled as he tried to move closer to Shannon. “I’m telling you, Detective, he’s the guy you want. He had the car the day Jennica was murdered.”

  “If something new comes up with him, I’ll let you know.” Shannon put her bag over her shoulder and stood up. “Until then, hang tight.”

  “Hang tight?” He tried to stand up, but the chains only let him get about halfway, then he fell back into his chair. “I’m in jail. Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”

  Shannon knocked on the interrogation room door. One of the guards opened it, and Marcie went out first.

  “This is my life you’re screwing with!”

  She tried not to turn around and look at Leigh before the guard shut the door.

  “They always say they’re innocent, don’t they?” the guard said as he closed the door behind them. There was a banging inside the room. Probably Leigh pounding on the table.

  “Not always,” Shannon said. And of all the cases she’d worked, no one had been able to produce another possible suspect that nibbled at Shannon like Robert Norwaldo did.

  She started down the hall toward the exit. Marcie followed.

  “What’d you think of him, Marcie? Think he’s telling the truth?”

  “It seems likely—at least what he told us appeared truthful.”

  “What about Norwaldo? You think he’s hiding something more?”

  “I couldn’t say.”

  Exactly what Shannon didn’t want to hear. She’d hoped Marcie could point her in one direction or another.

  Now, Shannon’s only choice was to follow her gut and figure out a way to get Robert Norwaldo to tell them something he’d probably die to protect.

  CHAPTER 22

  “What makes you think I can get anything out of anybody?” Michael laid with his legs hanging off the end of his bed in the dark. Frank laid on top of his feet.

  “A hunch.” Through his cell phone, Shannon’s voice crouched an inch lower than a whisper. “I thought, you know … you’d have some kind of … colleague?”

  “You think I still know people?”

  “Or somebody who knows somebody. I’m not overly picky at the moment.”

  “That’s obvious.”

  Shannon sighed. “I’m at a dead end with a person of interest. I need your help—but I don’t want you to do anything you’re uncomfortable with.” She paused a moment, perhaps realizing she was dangerously close to crossing a line. “Could you make a couple phone calls?”

  “I’m not good on the phone.”

  “Well, then send out a couple emails. Someone has to have dirt on this bookie. Something I can use to get information out of him. Right now, all I have is the word of my prime suspect.”

  “That’s probably worth less than my resume.”

  There was no noise made, but in his mind’s eye, Michael saw his sister’s disappointment that he hadn’t gotten the job. Of all the things that had gone down today, letting her down was the lowest point. The well dug in the valley.

  “You’ll find something,” she said.

  He turned over in his bed and trapped the cell phone under his face. “Maybe.”

  “Look, if you dig something up for me, I might be able to throw you a couple bucks for informant work. It’s not a salary, but it’s probably enough to take your sister on a date if we go Dutch. Nowhere expensive, though.”

  Hanging out with her was what he wanted, right? Shannon wasn’t asking him to smash anyone’s fingers with a hammer—just see if he could dig up any information on this bookie. He wasn’t all that convinced he could—who was he going to talk to? He was persona non grata with all his former associates.

  Still, it wouldn’t be a bad way to pass the time. Maybe he’d get lucky and find something.

  “It’s a date,” he said.

  “Really? You’ll do it?”

  “For my sister.”


  There was a pause on the phone. Did the call drop?

  “Shannon?”

  “Yeah, I’m here.” She sounded emotional. Maybe she’d wanted them to reconnect as badly as he did.

  “Does this bookie have a name?”

  “Robert Norwaldo,” she said. “Call me back with whatever you have.” She ended the call.

  Michael laughed to himself. This was either going to be the easiest job he’d done, or the absolute worst. The only sure thing Michael knew was Robert Norwaldo would remember him.

  CHAPTER 23

  The detectives’ bull pen at District 12 was busy as ever. It appeared that Chicago’s less desirable element had put in their bones today, and every CPD detective with at least one working eye and enough fingers to submit a report was on the job.

  Dedrick included. From behind her computer monitor, Shannon watched him walk out of Boyd’s office with his jacket over his shoulder. There wasn’t so much as a glance in her direction.

  “What did your informant have to say?” Marcie walked past and tossed a wrapped sub sandwich on Shannon’s desk.

  “He’ll find something for me.”

  “And you’re certain he’ll deliver good information to us?”

  “He will if he knows what’s good for him.” She’d neglected to tell Marcie that the informant was her brother. She pulled the sticker holding the wax paper around the sandwich. “You sprang for Shapiro’s?”

  “I figured the two of us could use a little pick-me-up to brighten our spirits.” She leaned up against Shannon’s desk and took bite of her own sandwich, which was already partially unwrapped. It smelled of garlic and vinegar.

  Shannon opened her sandwich up and checked it over. Veggie. She took her first bite and turned back to her notepad.

  “I hadn’t the slightest clue you were vegetarian,” Marcie said. “How long has it been?”

  Shannon swallowed her food. “About a month.”

  “I didn’t know you had any kind of politics in you.”

  “I’m doing it so I don’t have to buy new jeans. Rourke genetics aren’t very kind later in life.” She took another bite.

  “What’s it like?” Marcie reached over to her desk and grabbed a copy of the Sun Times, folded to the crossword.