Chicago Broken: Detective Shannon Rourke Book 2

by Stewart Matthews

  “It’s a great day for driving.” Shannon breathed in through her nose and filled her lungs with the crisp September air. “There’s barely any smog at this time in the morning.”

  They were parked out front of the Cook County Jail, waiting for a pair of guards to escort Leigh Corvath from behind the chain-link fences and the barbed wire. They’d waited for nearly twenty minutes.

  “How hard is it to walk somebody out of his jail cell?” Shannon put on her sunglasses, got up and knelt on her seat, peering over Marcie and the roll bars of her Jeep. “What’d it take us? Three minutes?”

  “They have protocols, I’m sure,” Marcie said. “By the way, did you name your dog after Frank Beard?”

  “The guy from ZZ Top?” Shannon looked down at the crown of Marcie’s head. “I didn’t expect to hear his name as a guess.”

  “Did I get it right?”

  “Afraid not, but keep guessing. I’m sure you’ll get it.”

  Shannon shielded her eyes from the sun. According to an article she’d read online once, the dollar store sunglass she wore were supposed to be just as good as anything she’d find at the mall, but it appeared she’d been lied to.

  “That’s Leigh.” Two guards flanked him—the one who’d stood outside the door to the interrogation room, and another guy who apparently ripped cars in half on the weekends.

  “What do you think that one eats?” Marcie asked.

  “Small children, probably.” Shannon hopped down from the Jeep. She walked over to the end of the tunnel of chain-link fencing that led from the jail to the outside world and waited for Leigh and his escorts to come to her.

  When they were a few steps from her, Shannon noticed something was off.

  “Why is he in restraints?”

  “Because he’s an inmate at the Cook County Jail, Detective,” the bigger guard said. He was a supervisor. Shannon knew this because that word was sewn into the breast of his gray shirt. “I’m not in the habit of letting them go into the outside world without proper attire.”

  He swiped a keycard through a reader, and the fence swung open an inch in front of Shannon’s nose.

  “When I called Commander Loagie,” she said, “I explained to him that Mr. Corvath would have to be let out of his restraints. He assured me I was granted clearance for that.”

  “Oh yeah?” The big guard walked Corvath forward, squeezing his arm like a father with his misbehaving son. “Well, District 12’s commander doesn’t really have a lot of sway with me.”

  “That’s too bad, because you’re going to have to let him out anyway—” Shannon peered at the name sewn into his shirt “—Supervisor Nolan.”

  “Is that right—” Nolan peered at Shannon’s chest as if he were reading her name “—Detective Rourke?”

  He stuck a giant hand in his pants pocket. It came out balled up in a fist, which he then held out and opened. A key glinted in the sunlight as it fell onto the concrete sidewalk between them.

  “If you want to let a murderer go free, you’re doing it yourself,” Nolan said. “I’m not responsible for any of this.”

  Shannon looked at him, then looked down at the key. Was dropping it to the ground supposed to stop her?

  “Fine.” She pulled her own keys out of her pocket, selected her handcuff key, then shoved it into each lock on Leigh Corvath’s ankle and wrist restraints, unlocking them in turn.

  “You’re about as crazy as I expected,” Nolan said.

  “I was a Marine, so I’m probably crazier than that.” Shannon kicked the chains toward Nolan. “Go ahead and put those back where you found them. You won’t need them for Corvath again.”

  “I’m sure the two of you can handle a grown man on your own,” Nolan said. “If not, I’m sure a concerned citizen will step in.”

  “If Mr. Corvath gets out of hand, I’ve got something to take care of him.” A crack of electricity came from Marcie’s direction. Her stun gun.

  “I want you to shoot him if he gets out of hand,” Nolan said. “Murderers don’t deserve the kindness of anything less than a bullet.”

  “It’s innocent until proven guilty, right?” Shannon said.

  Nolan glared at her. “We both know he did it.”

  Leigh Corvath stood stock still, just to Shannon’s left, staring at her like his brains had dripped out of his ears.

  Shannon patted her leg, calling him over. “Stay with me, Mr. Corvath.” Shannon took him by the arm and led him to the car. “Let’s go show Detective Talbot why you’re innocent.”

  She marched him to the driver’s side of the Jeep, then Shannon slid the seat forward, and hopped in the back. Leigh put his foot on the running board like he was going to join her in the cramped back seat of her Jeep.

  “Oh, no.” She pulled the driver’s seat upright again. “You’re behind the wheel.”

  “I can’t take jokes right now.” Leigh grabbed the lever to pull the driver’s seat forward again.

  Shannon stopped him. “It’s not a joke,” she said. “You can drive, right?”

  “Well, yeah, but—”

  “And you can drive stick.”

  He looked at Shannon like she’d asked him to drive them off a cliff.

  “Hop in the driver’s seat, Mr. Corvath. You’re our chauffeur for the morning.”

  “Are we going to a charity ball?” He acted like this was an inconvenience for him, but he climbed into the driver’s seat anyhow.

  “I’m a simple kind of girl. All I want is for you to take Marcie and I to get coffee.”

  He squirmed in the seat. He was sweating enough that she was afraid she’d have to get the seats cleaned when this was all over. “I told you I can’t handle any jokes,” he said. “I’m thankful you got me out of jail for a few minutes, but if you only did it to mess with my head, I’d rather go back in.”

  “I’m not messing with your head,” Shannon said. She reached forward and buckled the seatbelt around him. He wasn’t going to do it himself. “Maybe the most serious person you’ll ever meet.”

  He and Marcie glanced at each other.

  “I feel it may be in your best interest to trust Detective Rourke right now.”

  “Are you screwing with me, too?”

  Marcie shrugged.

  “She’s too sweet to scramble your brains,” Shannon said. “Be thankful I’m the only one who’d do it—but I’m not. Scout’s honor.”

  Leigh exhaled. It didn’t appear he was convinced this was all for his own good. “You put me in that cell, you take me out of it, you put me back in there, you rip me out again and ask me questions, you take me out here like you’re going to let me go—I can’t handle it.”

  He was justified in his anger—at least Shannon thought so—but he had bigger things to worry about right now. She wasn’t going to let him blow this chance to prove his innocence to Marcie, no matter how he tried to screw it up.

  “Start the car, Mr. Corvath.”

  That was all it took. He pushed the clutch in, twisted the key in the ignition, threw it in gear, and the car sputtered and died. He let off the clutch too quickly. Not a good sign for Shannon’s pet theory or for Leigh himself, but it was only once, so maybe it didn’t mean anything.

  “The clutch is a little funny,” she said. “You’ll have to baby it some.”

  Leigh turned the key again. Shannon quickly looked over his left shoulder, and watched his knee slowly let the clutch up, feeling it hitch and catch with his foot until, as she figured he would, he found the sweet spot. The Jeep wound into gear and they rolled away from the county jail.

  She turned and waved goodbye to Supervisor Nolan.

  He gave her the finger. It was a little hard to spot with his hands full of Leigh Corvath’s old restraints.

  The Jeep shuddered for a moment when Leigh shifted into second, but he had it humming along before the engine quit.

  “Good job.” Shannon had to raise her voice over the road noise—a small inconvenience to taking the Jeep’s top off
and letting in all that fresh air and sunlight. “The clutch on this thing has gotten so finicky over the years, most people can’t keep my baby rolling when it’s time to change gears.”

  “Got the same problem with my Corvette,” Leigh said. “Where are we going, anyway? You wanting to go to a Starbucks nearby or something? Isn’t that what you girls like?”

  “I’m more of a Peet’s girl.”

  “I believe there’s a Peet’s on Halsted,” Marcie said. “It’s not too far from here.”

  “No, I like my Peet’s.” Shannon pulled up the GPS on her phone and plugged in Peet’s Coffee. “It’s a couple blocks away from Wrigley.”

  She handed her phone up to Marcie.

  “Make sure you stick to the route I’ve got pulled up.”

  Marcie looked at the screen. “Oh, no, I’m afraid this is all wrong.” She turned back to Shannon. “There’s no need for us to take Lake Shore. Mr. Corvath should take us through the city.”

  “Nah,” Shannon said. “I want to do a little sight-seeing. I bet Navy Pier looks great right now.”

  “It’s September, Shannon. There won’t hardly be a soul there.”

  “Exactly. It’s always too crowded in the summer for my liking.”

  “You don’t want me to go to the Art Institute, right?” Leigh said. “I don’t have any money for a ticket.”

  “Just keep driving,” Shannon said. “It’s almost 11, and I haven’t had my third cup of coffee.”

  “You sure you don’t want to go to Starbucks?” Leigh said. “I think I see one up there.”

  Indeed, there was a Starbucks about three blocks ahead on the left, but it wasn’t the quick cup of coffee Shannon was after.

  “Keep doing whatever that GPS says.” Shannon sunk back into her seat. “Once I’ve got a delicious cup of light-roast coffee with three shots of vanilla and a pinch of cinnamon in my hand—from the Peet’s in Wrigleyville—we’ll talk some more.”

  CHAPTER 31

  “People are staring at me.” Leigh hunched down in his wood and steel deck chair on the patio of Peet’s Coffee.

  “Like they’ve never seen a man in a prison jumpsuit before.” Shannon wasn’t going to waste the last half hour or so of palatable weather. The sun already started to press down on them as the cool morning scattered before the coming midday heat.

  It was good for Leigh, anyway. He had to get over his hang-ups and enjoy the outdoors. If Marcie wasn’t convinced he hadn’t killed Jennica in the same way that Shannon was, this would be his last breath of air that wasn’t mixed with the stench of a thousand other guys in orange jumpsuits—at least until his trial.

  “Many of them likely haven’t,” Marcie said.

  “If anyone has a problem with the three of us enjoying our coffee, it isn’t our fault,” Shannon said. “Don’t worry about the stares, Mr. Corvath.”

  Shannon didn’t think many people would faint at the sight of Leigh Corvath moping over his half-eaten Morning Glory muffin in his county jail jumpsuit, anyway. Of course, a couple walking their Goldendoodle past Peet’s gawked at Leigh like he had a beak and hooves.

  “You’ve never seen a man on a date with two women before?” Shannon asked. “Don’t be jealous.”

  They averted their eyes and kept walking. Leigh deflated another six inches into his chair.

  “Slouching is a terrible habit,” Shannon said. “And don’t waste your muffin, it cost me six bucks.”

  Leigh pulled a walnut-laced crumb off and held it in his hand. It wouldn’t be fair to get too mad at him. The guy’s stomach was probably in knots.

  Shannon sipped her coffee and looked at Marcie, who had her eyes buried in today’s crossword puzzle. “You haven’t figured that out yet?” she asked.

  “There’s no rush to get it finished.” Using her pen cap, she traced a line from a clue to the word’s position on the puzzle.

  “What about the other puzzle?”

  Marcie jabbed the cap back on her pen and met Shannon with a tight smile. “I know you have a preference for obscure musicians,” she said. “So why not name your dog after a little-known British folk singer named Frank Turner?”

  “That’s not who I named Frank after,” Shannon said. “Also, I was talking about a different puzzle.” She pointed at Leigh, who had his attention fixed on a pretty girl in a sundress taking the crosswalk in his direction.

  He smiled at her and she practically dove around the corner.

  “Shannon.” Marcie said her name in the same I-take-pity-on-you way she probably used for her kids when one of them did something obviously stupid. “I’m not entirely sure why you think having Mr. Corvath take us out for coffee would’ve swayed my opinion on the case.”

  Leigh’s full attention panned from another too-short sundress to Marcie. “I swear, I didn’t do it. I couldn’t do it.” He was in a full-on panic.

  Shannon put a hand on his arm. “Keep cool for a minute. Detective Talbot and I need to sort some things out in a … truthful way.”

  Calling it “brutal” would’ve been more accurate.

  “You still think he killed Jennica because the boyfriend always does it?” Shannon said to Marcie.

  Marcie’s eyes flicked to Leigh then back to Shannon. “Since we’re going to have a candid conversation about Mr. Corvath while he’s sitting next to us—”

  “In our custody,” Shannon interjected.

  “—yes, I think he killed Jennica, because the vast majority of female murder victims are killed by their lovers.”

  “And you think my theory is flimsy?”

  “Because the evidence points to Mr. Corvath, and not to Gregory Wendt.”

  “I didn’t kill her,” Leigh said.

  “It isn’t your place to say,” Marcie snapped back.

  Leigh sprung out of his chair. It tumbled back and crashed against the wrought iron barrier around the patio, calling more cautious looks to him, but he didn’t seem to care all that much. He glared at Marcie like he’d stuff his Morning Glory muffin down her throat and make her choke to death on it.

  “Sit down,” Shannon hissed at him.

  “I’m not sitting down. She thinks I killed Jennica, and you’re not doing anything to change her mind. Why should I sit down? Why do I want to do anything you two say when she won’t give me a damn chance? Why shouldn’t I run away right now?”

  Marcie flashed the taser at him. “You may not think it by looking at me, but I am a good shot.”

  He leaned over the table toward Marcie until he was practically giving her an Eskimo kiss. “You better be.”

  “If she misses,” Shannon said, “you aren’t going to like what we’re shooting at you next.”

  She stood up, grabbed his chair, and turned it upright. A number of people waiting for the crosswalk at the intersection next to them watched the detectives and their guest with trembling eyes.

  “Oh, we’re fine,” Shannon said to them. “We’re trying to give you a more transparent government.”

  Leigh and Marcie continued their face-off.

  “Take a seat.” Shannon patted him on the shoulder. “Sit with me a minute—we’re not done here yet.”

  “Yeah, okay,” he said.

  Though he didn’t quite have the courage of his conviction. Because the next thing that happened was Leigh Corvath throwing their table aside and vaulting over the barricade separating Peet’s Coffee & Tea from the rest of Chicago.

  CHAPTER 32

  Marcie tried to draw her taser, but the strap of her purse ensnared it and the taser fell out of her hand. It was hard being fashionable and a detective.

  “I got him.” Shannon ran past the overturned table, hopped the barrier, and sprinted east across Halsted Street. Leigh was already two hundred feet ahead of her, in front of a place called Little Jim’s Tavern and moving like his freedom depended on it.

  “Shoot him!” Shannon heard Marcie call.

  Right. Shannon was going to pull her Glock out in the middle of Wrigleyville a
nd squeeze off a couple rounds at a guy she believed to be innocent, only to miss and have them chew through the plate-glass window of some bar.

  Even if there was a one hundred percent chance she’d hit him, she still wouldn’t fire. It wouldn’t be right. The only reason she bothered chasing after him now is so he wouldn’t run himself into a legit rap sheet.

  Corvath was fast. By the time Shannon passed Little Jim’s Tavern, he was already approaching the next crossing at the far side of the block. The guy had legs like a spider. Shannon’s legs weren’t all that short either, but Leigh Corvath was easily six feet tall, and she was barely tall enough to ride a roller coaster.

  “Mr. Corvath! Stop!”

  Yeah, yell after him, Shannon. That’ll work.

  He was gone. That was that. She could run back and hop in the Jeep, but what good was that going to do her? By the time she got out of the parking garage, he’d be running across the surface of Lake Michigan like a lizard in a nature documentary. She’d have to call the Kalamazoo PD to stop him.

  All the same, she kept running.

  Leigh shouldered his way through a couple walking their dachshund, then threw a newspaper vending machine behind him.

  It wasn’t like he needed to slow her down.

  “Someone stop that—”

  Before she could finish screaming, a guy came streaking across the sidewalk like a human cannonball. When he hit Leigh, it wasn’t with a half-hearted tackle, but the leaping sort of dive that made NFL wives faint in the stands.

  It hurt to watch.

  Making it worse, Leigh took the hit like he was made of corn silk. His lanky arms and legs flailed as he soared through the air, then jerked to a stop when his body went sidelong into a set of concrete steps in front of the brownstone on the corner.

  Shannon ran faster.

  He wasn’t moving. If he was dead, things were about to get a hell of a lot more complicated.

  “Chicago PD!” she yelled, and pushed the guy off Leigh. Then, as if on instinct, she had Leigh Corvath lying on his belly with cuffs around his wrists.

  Leigh let out a groan. “Weren’t you supposed to shoot me?” he asked.