Every Breath You Take: A Novel (A Kristen Conner Mystery Book 2) (43 page)

She blocked me at every turn, but I finally got to Jack. I thought meeting him would change my life. I guess it did. I’m hiding in my condo with a bodyguard in my living room. I’ve got to get out of here, but I don’t see any way of escape.

My attorney says we can mount a credible defense. But he doesn’t understand the real threat to my life.

I still remember the day Jack introduced me to his brother and Derrick. He wanted to figure how to bring me into the family. Bobby went crazy on him. I thought they were going to throw punches. Bobby said awful things about Jack and me. Jack just rolled over. He was afraid of his brother.

I need Derrick to testify to what happened. But he’s afraid of Bobby Durham, too.

To say I’m disappointed in my father is an understatement. I thought if we connected I could help him find himself. I do disagree with Barbara on that. She was nothing but an enabler of the worst in Jack.

Bobby offered me a ton of money to go away and never step foot in Chicago again . . . never make contact with Jack again . . . never make contact with Barbara again.

How could I? My whole life, I knew I was different. Mom and Dad didn’t hide that I was adopted. I just wanted my real family to acknowledge me. I guess the mom and dad that adopted me were my real family.

If I’m honest, once I got to Chicago and saw how everyone lived, I wanted the money too.

If I had taken Bobby’s offer, I would be rich, And maybe Jack wouldn’t be dead. It had to be a fight about what to do with me. I think I’ve killed both my parents.

Okay, it’s time to go. I don’t have much I can access, but I bet I can get my attorney to meet me at his office tomorrow. I’ll have enough to get started somewhere. Starting over is my only option. After we see my attorney, I’ll get Gary to drive me somewhere.

• • •

“No question, he has a slush find that’s been real active the past month,” Tedford says. “But that alone doesn’t prove anything. A lot of rich people have slush funds.”

“Do you know where the money is going?”

“Some of it.”

“Anything interesting or are you going to make me play twenty questions?”

“Where’s the gratitude for a working stiff who hasn’t left the office at 7:00 on a Friday night?”

“Good point. I apologize. You know how much we appreciate this.”

Maybe Don should have called Tedford and I should have called Zaworski. He’s more diplomatic than me. Maybe he should have made both calls.

“By the way, who else knows I’m working on this?”

“Just Squires and me. Why?”

“Your department has someone on his payroll.”

“Randall?”

“Give the detective a prize. I thought I was going to shock and awe you.”

“Anything else interesting?”

“Two more things at the moment, with hopefully more to come.”

“Hit me, Byron.”

“Penny’s attorney . . . he’s getting paid a lot more by Durham than from her.”

“What else?”

“He’s got another month-long big-money stream going out that doesn’t look kosher. A lot of money is flowing to a company that doesn’t exist on the state records.”

“What’s it called?”

“Ajax Pest Control.”

“That sounds ominous.”

“It does if you’re a pest. Be careful, Conner.”

“You too, Byron.”

73

WE ARE THE champions of the world. From the cellar to the penthouse. From worst to first.

I’m trying to think of other trite sports cliches. The fact that this feels so good to me probably says something about my overall maturation in life.

I’m with the team at Pizza Palace to celebrate. I need to eat something besides pizza tomorrow.

The girls are still in uniform and each is wearing a gold medal that Tiffany’s dad and I passed out. Based on the price of gold—and I actually know from when we popped Bobbie’s safe open—as a superstar detective, I’m guessing they aren’t real.

I’ve just given my speech when my phone vibrates. I stick a finger in my ear and pick up.

“Conner.”

“Hi Detective, this is Byron Tedford.”

“Hi Byron. That was quick work. What’s up?”

“What’s all that noise?”

“I’m at Pizza Palace with my niece’s soccer team. We just won the championship and we’re celebrating.”

“Very nice. Listen, I’m calling from a phone booth. I’m an idiot to call you. But you need to know, I got called on the carpet this morning. I thought I’d do a little more digging when Czaka showed up with Frank Nelson from Security and Tom Gray from Internal Affairs. I’m suspended. You and Squires are next. I’d disappear and get off the radar if I was you.”

“I’m so sorry, Byron.”

“I’d be mad at you, but I think this sucks. I get so tired of Chicago politics. I’m on the side of the angels. You and Squires are doing right.”

“I’ll call him and give him a heads up,” I say.

“Don’t. I wouldn’t use your phone for anything that has to do with Durham. I’ll call him from here. They may know it’s me, but they won’t be able to prove it.”

“You’re my hero, Byron.”

“I’m honored to help the legend that reeled in the Cutter Shark. Just keep your head low, Conner.”

• • •

Gary loaded the last box from the attorney’s office in the back of the Cadillac Escalade Penny rented. Being a mover wasn’t what he signed on for with Penny, but with what she was paying him, he wasn’t about to complain. Conner did a good turn for him.

He felt a dull metal barrel pressed against his lower back, right above his kidneys.

“Okay soldier, good work. Time to stand down. Don’t try to be a hero and get wasted for no good reason. First of all, don’t look back. Nod if you understand that.”

Gary nodded.

“Second, hands on the back bumper. Legs spread wide. You know the routine. No sudden movements.”

A second man patted him down thoroughly, removing a gun from a holster on his lower back, and a smaller handgun strapped to the inside of his shin.

“Anything else? Don’t lie. If you say no and we find something, I’m going to shoot you in the knee.”

Gary shook his head no.

“Hands behind your back. Slow.”

Gary felt the plastic restraints tug tight around his wrists. Next came a blindfold. He was already helpless when he felt the prick of a hyperdermic needle slide in his left glute.

Sorry Kristen . . . sorry Penny . . . I didn’t get the job done.

A third man emerged from the door pushing Penny Martin who stumbled along in front of him. He roughly shoved her in the back seat of the SUV.

• • •

Nicole Brown Simpson was murdered on June 13, 1994. OJ was arrested on June 17, 1994. That’s how murder cases involving a family member are supposed to go. We are dragging along at a snail’s pace. Of course the jury acquitted OJ sixteen months later.

We took a glance in Bobby Durham’s direction early in the investigation—along with everyone else close to Jack. I expressed some suspicions, but not loud enough that anyone heard it. He never became a suspect, probably not even in my mind. A big reason is the brothers weren’t close—they were rarely together. That led to another good reason. He was the opposite of Jack and his cronies. Hard worker. By all appearances a family man. His father’s right-hand man in business. In other words, a solid citizen.

By the way, aren’t older sons supposed to get the Junior name? Maybe Durham, Sr. sensed weakness in Jack the day he was born and determined he wasn’t worthy to carry his name. He gives off that all-knowing vibe.

Robert Durham, Jr. The younger brother. Fratricidist? The first recorded murder was Cain killing Abel. We use phrases like “being close as brothers” and “blood being thicker than water.” But the stats tell us we kill the people we love and are closest to.

Tedford has me freaked out. I’ve stayed on the move all day so I can avoid suspension and keep working. A couple hours at Kaylen’s and a couple hours at Mom’s. I finally call Don from a pay phone—the same one outside Gas & Grub the punk was using when I arrested him. No answer. What’s he doing? What am I doing? Do I stop at my house?

I look at my phone again. Missed calls from Zaworski, Blackshear, and the CPD switchboard. Oh, man. I need to pick up and talk to somebody. But if I don’t listen to their messages I can honestly claim innocence.

I’ve got myself in a mess. Is it wrong to disobey orders in order to do the right thing? I guess I’ve made that decision in my heart already.

I’m getting worried. I’ve called my boxing buddy and Penny’s bodyguard, Gary, four times. He’s not answering.

What next?

• • •

“You’re telling me you didn’t know anything Conner was up to?

“Boss, I knew she and Squires were up to something. I called you immediately.”

“Where is she now?”

“The transmitter shows she is close to her house. In fact, she’s at a gas station near there.”

“Will she head home?”

“I assume.”

“I’ll make a call to be sure she gets a visit from her colleagues at CPD and gets shut down.”

“What about Squires?”

“Already handled.”

“What next, Boss?”

“You and I are going to wrap things up to this sordid affair—and save taxpayers a lot of money not having to put Penny Martin on trial.”

“What about the Barbara Ferguson investigation?”

“Who’s to say Penny Martin didn’t pay a hitman to finish off mommy dearest? Once you kill one parent, it’s no big deal doing it a second time. Don’t worry about that. It’s set up.”

“What about Conner?”

“Let’s hope she comes to her senses and goes home. I’d hate for her to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“I already told you I won’t hurt a fellow cop.”

“I would never ask you to do that.”

74

I STARTED THE weekend with a sense of euphoria—I’ve done it; I found the real killer—but it is slowly fading into the gloom of being frustrated at every turn.

I begin to feel self-doubt about everything I am doing—and my conclusion.

If I single-handedly arrest a prominent Chicago businessman, the heir to mulit-billion-dollar empire . . . and he’s innocent. Oh, boy. I may not even have a fallback plan with the FBI left.

I can imagine Klarissa on WCI’s late report saying
a beleaguered Chicago Police Department, led by my older sister Kristen, who, by the way, never listens to me, arrested billionaire Robert Durham, Jr. because he’s rich, while letting Penny Martin go . . . all because she had a gut feeling. This one won’t end well.

My phone buzzes. I don’t recognize the number. Would Czaka have someone call me from an unidentified number to make sure I pick up? Probably.

“Hello?” I answer, ready to hang up.

“I just got off the phone with my union rep,” Tedford plunges in. “I might not have had the right to look at Durham, Jr.’s numbers. Anything I found might be inadmissable in a court of law.”

“But he had no choice but to provide his information as part of the case. We issued injunctions.”

“Correct,” he said. “But apparently the injunctions expired November 15. Today is the 17th. With Martin behind bars, nothing was renewed. I’ve been looking through hard copies and online accounts illegally.”

“I’m so sorry I got you in this mess, Byron.”

“Don’t worry about it. I haven’t had this much fun in a long time. I was thinking about moving to the corporate world anyway. Plus, I want to help you nail this guy.”

“Are you calling from a payphone?”

“I am.”

“Have you heard from Squires?”

“Not since noon or so. He was at the office. He was planning to clear out of there pronto.”

Ruh roh.
I really am on my own.

• • •

“What is it Stanley?” Senior asked.

“Robert . . . things are happening fast . . . I don’t like the direction they are going . . . at all.”

“Is the DA going to let the girl off after all?”

“That’s beside the point, Robert. Remember the detective you offered employment to?”

“Conner.”

“Yes.”

“She’s taking the investigation of Jack’s murder down a whole new path.”

“I thought the case was closed. Has she found some new evidence?”

“It indeed looks like she has.”

“I knew she was good the moment I laid eyes on her. So what’s the problem?”

“I don’t know how to tell you this, Robert . . .”

• • •

Neither Squires nor Reynolds is answering. I need some help on this. My phone vibrates yet again. Zaworksi. He’s going to kill me.