“But you bought an unusual amount of ice that week.”
“How would you know that?” He sat upright, shocked.
“Everything is recorded, Rhys. Everything.”
“My… freezer was broken.” He stumbled for an answer. “I was using the ice to keep stuff cold. I sold it two weeks later.”
“You sold a broken freezer?”
“Got to make money somehow.” He shrugged. “But I can tell you something.” He raised his finger in the air, leaned towards Hunter, then checked the door. It was closed, as it often was. “If I were you, I wouldn’t be looking at Chow. He’s dangerous, but I don’t think he killed Sid. From the first day Sid went missing, I thought it was the cops.”
“Go on.”
For Rhys McCann, his whole life had been wheeling and dealing, always turning on someone. The only person who ever trusted him, the only person who ever thought he had an ounce of good in him, was his stepmother, Li.
And even she had started to doubt him.
“It was the cops. It had to be. I’ve thought that all along. Like you said, Sid was going to turn on them and expose all their dirty little secrets. My stepmom, Li, came to me and said I had to talk Sid out of it. She was so scared. You think that’s a coincidence? It’s not. If Sid did what he was trying to do, it would’ve sent the department into a meltdown, even the whole city. Imagine if it came out that a career cop was dirty and got away with it for thirty years. Every arrest he ever made would’ve been up for review before a court. They weren’t going to let that happen.”
“Anyone in mind?”
“A few.”
“Names.”
“Yates and Carson. That’s all I really know. That’s all my father talked about over the years. They’re both former partners of his, and I’d say they’re both as dirty as my father.”
“Did you know them?”
“I’d met them. Sid wanted me to be a cop, like him, and in my mid-teens, he took me around a few places. Yates and Carson were always there. I even saw Yates take money off a guy on the street, and when we went back to the car, Sid told me never to mention it again. I didn’t, of course, because what could I say? I knew they were all dirty.”
“And you think they killed him?”
“All I know is that Sid was scared the week before he went missing. We’d been talking more, he kept apologizing for my upbringing, and he kept going on about how he was going to clear our family name. And he told me that if Yates or Carson comes around asking for him, to walk away.”
“And did they?”
Rhys chugged the rest of his beer, his fourth for the afternoon, and then grabbed his keys off the bar.
“I’ve got to go and get some rest. Got to work at midnight.” He stood and walked towards the door. “Have fun looking into those cops.”
Chapter 27
In some instances, hectic is an understatement.
The office of Alicia Carson, a Director within the Bureau of Organizational Development in the Chicago PD, was just that—ridiculously hectic. Spotted by ornaments, souvenirs, and small antiques, the room wasn’t messy—everything had its place, but every place had a thing. The long office, which spread along the side of the building, had a couch filled with too many pillows, an overflowing bookshelf that could pass as a small library, and then, at the head of the room, a large wooden desk covered in files sitting in different, non-aligned stacks. Carson’s numerous degrees were displayed on the walls, with her Master of Business Administration taking pride of place behind her desk. Under the degrees were various photos of movie stars, politicians, and even a former president, shaking hands with Carson. If there was one thing that was clear, it was Carson liked the look of her own pearly whites.
“It’s a long trek from the entrance to your office to your desk.” Hunter stated as he walked towards Carson.
“Ah, yes.” Carson looked up from her computer. She was neatly dressed in a dark power-suit, black hair tightly pulled back, and her face was affected by a frown. “Your brother’s a criminal psychiatrist, yes?”
“He is.”
“Then I’m sure he would have told you a lot about human behavior. The long walk is intimidation. It’s an opportunity for my staff to walk towards the towering desk, building their nerves. I was taught that trick by my father, he was a very good lawyer, but more than that, he was a very intimidating man.”
“It must be especially effective for junior staff.” Hunter walked close to the desk, placed his briefcase down, and when offered by Carson, sat in the leather chair opposite the desk. “It must be quite daunting for new staff.”
“The things we do for the illusion of power.” Carson scoffed.
“The illusion, yes.” Hunter flattened his tie and nodded back to the door. “It’s busy out there. It’s almost like the floor of the stock exchange. The stress on the faces of your staff would be enough to make a Buddhist monk faint.”
“I push my staff hard, but not as hard as I push myself.” Carson closed a file on her desk, and offered half a smile. “I was reluctant to meet with you, Tex, but I hoped that bringing you here, making you walk through the halls where McCann spent some of his days serving his community, seeing the effect this office has on the city, would be enough to see that you’re making a mistake.”
“Mistake?”
“Defending Nina Aisha is a mistake. Stop defending her, and stop pushing to take this to court. Get her to take the deal. Don’t string this case out any longer than it has to go.”
“I wouldn’t call justice a mistake.”
“Justice. What would you know about that? You let killers back out on the streets. That’s not justice. Letting McCann’s killer go is a mistake. If all you’re going to do is argue about how bad cops are, then you can leave the office now.”
Hunter shook his head. It was a line he heard often from the police—that they were the law, and defense lawyers were the ones bringing the system down. The professionals in the force, of which there were many, understood that defense attorneys were also professionals doing their job, but the less professional in the ranks, the self-obsessed, viewed those in his profession as evil reincarnated.
What Hunter wished people would understand was that he was there to defend the constitution. The sixth amendment stated that the defendants had the right to a speedy and public trial by an impartial jury—everyone deserved a fair hearing, a chance to defend themselves in front of an unbiased panel. His role in the process may not be the front line, it may not put him in the line of fire, but his role in the system was essential to the notion of fairness.
“We can either have this discussion informally or we can wait until you’re deposed as a witness and have it then.” Hunter went to grab his briefcase. “That choice is yours.”
“Wait.” Carson held out her hand. “We all know what you’re doing, Tex, we can all see it a mile away, but let me warn you, it’s not worth it. It’s not worth bringing the whole police department down for this case of a homeless girl.” She shook her head, leaning back in her large armchair, bouncing a little on the springs. “We know that you want to expose McCann’s past as a dirty cop, and throw doubt over every one of his arrests. And we all know what that means—if you can prove McCann was corrupt in an open court, then it means you get to have a chance at re-opening your father’s case.”
“I’m defending an innocent girl. If I uncover the past of a dirty cop, then that’s a bonus. Weeding out the dirty cops should be seen as a positive for your department. You should be supportive of that approach.”
She tapped her finger on the table, looking towards the door, and then stood, and walked to make sure it was closed. Once she had locked the door, she turned her attention back to Hunter.
“From what I hear, your father is struggling in prison. He’s a frail man, and it would be very sad if he ran into the wrong people.”
“What are you saying?” Hunter raised his eyebrows.
“Like I said,” She shrugged her sh
oulders. “There are people out there that are determined this case won’t expose McCann’s past. If that means a few people get hurt along the way, then I’m sure these people will do it, but the case won’t make it to trial. There are too many people invested in making sure it doesn’t happen.”
“Justice doesn’t run from the truth.”
Carson took a breath. She wasn’t used to being challenged. She wasn’t used to being on the defensive. She wasn’t used to being spoken to like that in her own office.
Intimidation was very important to what she did. She loved the feeling of people parting ways whenever she walked through the office. She had two hundred staff indirectly reporting to her, and they all knew she had the power to fire any of them, at any time. When the department took on the yearly group of new recruits, Carson would stand at the front of the boardroom while they searched through files for a spelling error. The last to find an error was told to leave for the remainder of the day, with no pay. The practice had no rhyme or reason, but it was effective in showing new staff she had the power, and the anger, to sack them all.
“You and Sidney,” Hunter stood and walked towards the window, his hands crossed behind his back. He gazed out at the view, five levels up, watching the police cars come and go. “You were close, weren’t you?”
He was digging, pushing, prying into Carson’s life, looking for a clue. He needed a hint, an idea, that could grow into a fully-fledged defense, and he knew Carson could hold that key.
“We worked side by side for many years. You get to know a person when you spend that much time with them.”
“Did you know his son well?”
“Rhys?” She expressed surprise, her bottom lip making a frown. “I knew Rhys was a disappointment to his father. Sid thought Rhys was a lazy slob in a dead-end job as a security contractor, and they didn’t talk much for years and years, not until after the heart attack, and then Sid tried to patch things up with him.”
“Did you talk to Rhys often?”
“Not often, but we talked sometimes. I felt sorry for the kid, for everything he had to put up with.”
“Did you see him the night you claim to have seen McCann and Nina together?”
“Tex.” She smiled. “This isn’t the first time I’ve been a witness in a case. I haven’t been on the beat for more than a decade, but I still remember how this works. You’re not going to trap me into saying something I shouldn’t. What I saw that night is clear, and it’s all in the witness statement. I saw the girl punch Sid when he was on the ground.”
“That’s not what you told me last time we talked.” Hunter turned back to her. “After you saw them fight, how did you get home?”
“Uh-uh. Nope.” She shook her finger at Hunter. “You’re not blaming me or pulling me into this.”
“You’re already involved in the search for the truth.”
“I’ll give you the truth. The girl killed a cop! Our colleague in the pursuit of justice.” She slammed her hand on the large table. The pen jumped a little, and the monitor on the side of her desk shook. “And now you’re trying to defend her by blaming someone else? Sidney McCann was a cop and you walk into this office, into his workplace, and dispute his murder? You’re a cold man, Tex.”
Hunter stared at her. “Is it true McCann wanted to come after you?”
“Don’t you dare.”
“He struck a deal with the DOJ for immunity to uncover corruption in your ranks. Things that had happened under your watch. Things that may come back to bite you personally. You saw him that night—that’s more than a coincidence.”
“It looks like you’ve managed to get your hands on some sensitive information. I don’t know how, or who told you that, but that’s not relevant to this case. Whatever you’ve heard isn’t applicable here.”
“And you thought you could silence him.”
She squinted. “What are you implying, Tex?”
“Sidney McCann was going to sign a deal with the DOJ that would expose the corruption in these halls. He was coming after you, and John Yates.”
She tried to disguise her increased heart rate, drawing in deep breaths, but the redness in her face was giving her nerves away. “If that’s what you think got him killed, then you’re a very brave man to be chasing that avenue.” She leaned further forward, pressing her finger into the table. “Because if Sid was killed for it, then it could happen again.”
Chapter 28
She hated it.
Every second of it.
Nina Aisha hated the restrictions, she hated the fear that drenched her, and she hated the itchiness the uniform caused to her skin. The dread of violent attacks covered her every step, the chaos within the yard filled her with anxiety, and the thought that this was her life now made her eyes water.
She’d read about happy children in the books she’d found, how they smiled and laughed with each other, with a freedom she could only fantasize about. She dreamed about smiling that much, running through a forest to make a tree house, or running home to the hugs of her family.
Those were luxuries she could never have.
It would’ve been easier to turn to drugs. It would’ve been easier to find an escape. It would’ve been easier to stop fighting.
But she never wanted that. She never wanted to be controlled by an exterior force.
For all life had thrown at her, for all the fear, terror, and chaos, she remained strong.
She imagined her mother was once the same. That she would’ve been a strong woman who stood up for others, a woman who tried to save the less fortunate. One day she hoped she would find information about her family—who they were, what they did, or even how they died. That was information never shared with her, information nobody knew.
All she knew was that they had died when she was three years old.
She imagined it was a car accident, something that killed her mother, father and brother at once, and left her alive. Why else would a three-year-old be without her family?
The older she became, the more she desired that knowledge. The further she went from the past, the more she needed to know. She’d asked the foster families to help find out about her past, people at the orphanages, but nobody would take the time to help, nobody had the time to give her.
Maybe her mother tried to save her? Maybe her mother died protecting her? That would’ve been a legacy to remember, a legacy to honor. She dreamed her parents were respected in their community, they were well-dressed people who attended church every Sunday, they were loving folks who readily gave out hugs.
For all the dreams, for all the hopes, the reality was she knew nothing. The state had passed on very few details—not the date they died, not the jobs they held, not even their former address. The files were empty. She had one photo of her mother, one photo that she held onto dearly, but she had nothing else.
Her young life was filled with misfortune, filled with painful experiences, however there were none more so than prison. Her only saving grace inside was Denise, the woman who could protect her, the woman who could save her from the attacks. Denise had connections inside, and she could make life easier for Nina, but the certainty was that she needed to help Denise in return.
As Nina sat in the mess hall, the cold metal chair numbing her behind, she stared at her mashed potatoes and processed ham. She pushed at the potatoes, side to side on her plate, moving it around with no purpose. Her plastic fork bent as she tried to move the pile of slop at once, the food only adding to her feeling of nausea.
The guards stood above them on the platform, staring down at the groups of women eating lunch in the hall, watching their every move. The guards were cautious, but they always were. Some were known to be violent, but clearly none of them loved their jobs. They weren’t there to help the inmates, they weren’t there to make their life easier, they were there to punish them. Make them pay for their mistakes.
There was one in particular that Nina was scared of, one guard that struck fear into her—t
he large female head of the department. The woman scared her more than any of the inmates. She had connections to the police, connections to the people that wanted her dead.
“I need to talk to you.” Denise sat next to Nina, leaning close enough for her breath to brush Nina’s skin. “But you have to be quiet.”
Nina looked up to the guards, none had their eyes on them. “What is it?”
“I can tell you if you promise never to talk about it, ok?”
“Ok.” She was apprehensive. She kept staring at her mashed potatoes, trying to avoid the gaze of the guards. “What is it?”
Denise moved her body weight to the side, and slid a small brown envelope from under her bottom. Nina slid it under her bottom in one small movement, unsure of what was inside.
“It’s five hundred in cash. You’ve got to protect that money.”
“What?” Nina jumped up.
“Settle down.” Grabbing her wrist, Denise pulled her back down to the table. “Someone gave it to me to give to you.” Denise paused and looked over her right shoulder, then the other one, before turning back to Nina. “But here’s the real twister—they want to deposit ten thousand in your account. You do have a bank account, don’t you?”
“What?”
“Do you say anything else other than ‘what’?”
“I don’t know what to say. Who did this?”
“I can’t tell you that. It’s someone that knows someone that I know.” Denise looked back over her shoulder. “But there’s a catch.”
Shaking, Nina couldn’t look at Denise. If found, the envelope under her bottom would cause weeks in solitary confinement.
“They’ll only deposit the ten grand if you take the deal.”
“What deal?” Her voice trembled.
“The murder deal, stupid. You’ve got to take the fall, do the ten years, but never, never, never tell anyone about it. You’ll be dead if you do.”
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