Fractured (21 page)

“You're lying. There's no way Lou would do something like that.” If he thought for one second she'd accept his integrity over her cousin's, he wasn't very bright.

“I know this kind of information is tough to hear about somebody you know and care about, but I assure you it's the truth. If you'd like I can call Monica in right now and have her tell you directly.”

“You pay her salary, right?”

“Yes.” The word came out as if it consisted of several syllables instead of one. Apparently he wasn't as dumb as she'd suspected.

“So she'd pretty much say whatever you wanted her to say.” She held out her hand. “Save it.”

She muscled her way past him without too much trouble. When he tried to grab her arm, she shoved him away. He stumbled. Either he didn't expect she'd actually have the nerve to do it or he underestimated her strength. A part of her regretted it. But a much larger part didn't, not even for a second.

Isabella stormed into the warehouse part of the building and ripped open a box. More than anything she wanted an ‘ah-ha' moment. Instead, she got a box filled with a bunch of broken-down boxes. Oh, God, it felt like Ramirez all over again. Another failure was the last thing she needed in her life right now.

She moved on to the next box and did the same with the same result. This couldn't be happening again. “What did you do with it?”

“Do with what Detective?”

“The drugs? They've got to be here somewhere. You're slime, and I know it.”

His voice was quiet. “You seem upset, Detective. Why don't you sit down?” The smug look on his face made her want to slug him. Once again, the Ramirez fiasco flashed before her eyes. He had the same smug look.

“Don't patronize me.” She whirled away from him a little too quickly as a bout of dizziness followed. It was then she remembered she hadn't eaten at all today. That, combined with the weird smell in back, made her feel woozy.

Her arm throbbed. Her head ached. Her stomach rumbled. And her insides felt like they might explode from the pressure.

But before she got a chance to say anything else, a couple of goons walked through the door. One of them grasped her arm. She tried to twist away, but he wasn't having any of it.

Jonathan Schmidt crossed his arms in front of his chest. “I'm afraid I've indulged your little hissy fit long enough, Detective Sanchez. My employees will escort you to the door before things get any further out of hand and you lose your job instead of just getting a demotion.”

Did they want her to leave because she was causing a scene, or did they want her to leave because she was getting close to figuring it all out? In her muddled brain, she couldn't be too sure either way.

In the end, she didn't have any options. No doubt Ms. Sourpuss at the front desk had her trigger finger ready to dial 9-1-1 if given the nod. Instead she shrugged out of their grasp and headed toward the door, trying not to feel like a complete failure.

Coming here hadn't helped her cause. No doubt the lieutenant would hear about it within the next hour or two. She'd be lucky if she didn't get busted back to patrol.

But somehow a part of her figured it was worth it.

Frustrated, she gave Schmidt one last caustic glance and muttered “later' before walking out the door with her head held high. Next she hopped into her car and headed toward her next destination. Her phone started to ring not ten minutes later. The calls came every few minutes or so, and they alternated between the lieutenant and Landry. She didn't answer either. When she wouldn't answer the phone, Landry sent her a text: ‘What going on?'

She didn't respond. Instead, she kept going.

* * *

“Where's she at?” Landry tamped down the frustration. He knew Lou being shot had pushed her off that precarious cliff she'd been perched on.

“She just left Schmidt.” Malone blew out a breath. “Everything we're trying to do there is probably down the toilet after her tirade. The guy already called his lawyer about police harassment. No doubt it's going to be on the news.”

“And whatever they were doing there will probably go underground for the time being,” Landry said. He should have known better than to leave her alone.

“If they're doing anything. We still can't prove a thing.”

“Ramirez wouldn't have come out of hiding for nothing. They wouldn't have gone after Lou. Sergio turning up dead has to somehow play into this as well.”

“Except we've got to somehow tie the pieces together. I hope Isabella's antics haven't caused irreparable harm,” Malone said.

Landry knew she couldn't handle another failure. From the looks of things, that is exactly where this was all headed. “Do you know where she is?”

“Right now stuck in traffic where she can't do any more damage. What's your best guess where she's headed?”

“I hope she's not going to try to find Ramirez.” Landry finally managed to give voice to his worst fear. The guy would kill Isabella in a heartbeat, especially if he thought he could get away with it.

“In that case, the guys tailing her are going to need back-up.”

“I hope I'm wrong.” Landry's gut clenched as he hung up.

Jonas gave him a quizzical glance. “Are you on speed dial with some Fed?”

“I'm trying to help Isabella.” Landry blew out a breath. “What do you think about Matthews? Do you think he's dirty?”

“He's a prick, but let's face it, the kid isn't too bright. He'd have been caught long ago if he'd been on the take.”

Landry nodded. “Do you know what kind of car he drives?”

Jonas shook his head. “Why you ask?”

“Following up on something.”

“For Isabella?” Jonas cursed. “You know I love that girl to death, but I swear, ever since that thing with her father, she's gone a little crazier than usual, don't you think?”

* * *

Driving through the city streets was brutal, but she did it because sitting around felt like a lesson in frustration. After the fiasco at Schmidt, she had an urgent need to shake the trees until she could figure out how everything tied together.

Canvassing the drug-infested Westside neighborhood, she finally spotted Tito and some of his gangbanging cronies and pulled to the curb.

Once they spotted her, they started making catcalls. “What you want, bitch cop?”

Normally that kind of thing rolled off her back, but today was different. She walked up to Tito and grabbed him by the front of his coat. “You send the word out to Ramirez I want to talk to him. Tell him to stop hiding like a scared-cat and come meet me one on one. Got it?” She pushed his chest and he stumbled back a few steps.

“What wrong with you? I could kill you for that,” he postured, glancing at his buddies for support.

She unholstered her gun. “Go ahead and try it.” Even in her own mind, she knew she was acting out of control, but couldn't reign herself in. Somehow she was responsible for all this and it needed to stop. The only way to do that was to get to Ramirez. She needed to cut off the head of the snake.

Car doors slammed. When she turned, two Feds flanked her. How could she have forgotten she had a tail? Because this had been one big, humungous, screwed-up day. Thankfully, they didn't say anything, just stood behind her.

“Listen we don't want no trouble. And we don't know where Ramirez is.” Instead of acting tough like he had before, Tito capitulated as he watched the Feds approach.

“Bull.” First her mother, then her father, now Lou was going to die, and it was all because of her. That thought tumbled around her head until she wanted to scream to make it stop.

“I think we're done here, Detective Sanchez.” The Fed touched her arm to drive home his point.

While she brushed him off, she knew there was nothing more she could do. She sent out the word; hopefully sooner or later Ramirez would take the bait.

As soon as she got into her car, she laid her head against the steering wheel and fingered the handkerchief in her pocket. That had been the second crazy thing she'd done in the last thirty minutes. Tears littered her eyes. “I need some help here,” she muttered under her breath. She was alone, like she'd always been. But this time she didn't feel very good about it.

Desperate for a sense of control, she called Malone. “Call off your watchdogs. Now.” Her hands still trembled with anger and adrenaline. She needed to find Cynthia and Junior before the bad guys did, and these idiots were attached to her hip instead of joining in the search. “Send them off to do something productive, like find my cousin's family. Oh, wait, your guys can't help with that. They've been following me for days, but still couldn't keep Lou safe. If you ask me, they're worthless.” Having a target for some of her frustration didn't make her feel much better.

“You have a death wish, and there's nothing I can do to stop it. You've made that pretty clear.” For the first time, Isabella recognized anger in his tone.

The uber-cool Malone finally broke. She felt a small sense of victory in that.

The dreary day turned quickly into dark as night moved in. Isabella felt sick to her stomach. Instead of trying to find Cynthia and Junior, she'd let her emotions run amok and had accomplished nothing during the last several hours.

When would she learn? And, more importantly, what could she do now?

Going back to the hospital would only make her more frustrated. Going home without Landry there would be even worse. She shook her head. When had she become so reliant on him? She'd learned long ago that people leave. Nothing good could come from that kind of attachment in her life.

Her phone buzzed, stopping her train of thought. “Hello.”

“Why haven't you been answering my calls, Sanchez?”

“I've been a little busy, Lieutenant.” At this point she was driving endlessly through the streets, uncertain where to go.

“So I've heard. We can talk about that later, but right now I had a call about a kidnapping.”

“You've got to get somebody else to take it. I'm busy.” She already had the phone away from her ear and was ready to close it when she heard the lieutenant's voice again.

“It's your cousin's wife and baby who were taken.”

“What?” An uncomfortable shiver wormed down to the base of her spine, sending shards down her legs and into her chest. The accompanying wooziness and anger shifted into pure and potent fear.

Thinking about Cynthia and Junior in the hands of the same people who'd shot and nearly killed Lou made her blood run cold.

“We've got a partial plate, but that's it.”

“How do you know it's them? Who called it in?”

“The ID matches. They were staying at some place on the far southeast side. One of the neighbors phoned it in, anonymously of course. So far we haven't come up with anything more than that.”

“Why kidnap a baby and a young mom?”

“Leverage. Entice your cousin not to talk.”

“Give me the address.” She hung up the phone and headed south on the Dan Ryan Expressway.

The whole ride there she contemplated her irrational behavior that afternoon. While she didn't regret confronting Schmidt, or sending the word out to Ramirez, it took precious time away from finding Cynthia and Junior. Now her impulsiveness could have cost them their lives.

She rode the shoulder and attached her light on top. Screw the rules. Whoever was doing this wasn't playing by any rules, why should she?

The building she pulled in front of was made of weathered wood, the structure itself resembling a building inspector's wet dream. The steps leading up to the door were missing a few planks, and she had to step carefully in order to avoid falling through holes in the boards. While the bottom windows were boarded up, the front door was shiny and new.

Instead of using the old fashioned knocker attached to the door, Isabella pounded as hard as she could and waited. Seconds later, a man appeared. His disheveled hair stuck out in weird angles about his head as if she'd awoken him.

She yanked out her badge and showed it to him. “I'm here to ask a few questions.”

“I already talked to the police. I didn't see nuthin'.” When he tried to close the door, she stopped him with her hand.

“But you didn't talk to me.” She muscled her way inside past him. “I want to see where they were staying.” Somehow knowing where Lou and Cynthia had been living might bring some clarity to the situation.

The interior didn't fare much better. Yellowed wallpaper made the dreary interior even worse. Lack of light and housekeeping standards that would have made a crack house seem like a four-star hotel didn't help matters.

Rather than respond, he led her up the stairs and opened the first door on the left. Inside, a mattress lay on the floor along with a small, shadeless lamp. She poked through some boxes in the corner, spotting Junior's clothes and some diapers.

Her heart clenched. At this point she didn't know which was worse—knowing it was them, or not knowing it was them. She felt sick, frustrated and angry all at once.

“What were you charging them for this dump?” She tried not to think about Lou and Cynthia's fear as they hid in this hole.

He shifted his eyes away. “Nothing.”

“Liar.”

“Hey, I don't want no trouble.”

“Too bad, you've got it.” She glanced around the room and tamped down her frustration once again. “Tell me what you know.”

“I told the other officers.”

“But you didn't tell me.”

“They've been here for two days. A friend asked me to let them stay. That's all I know.”

“What's your friend's name?” She rummaged through the boxes hoping for a clue, but found nothing.

“Dom, but he left town. I gave the information to the other officers.”

“Okay, so who saw what happened? Who called it in?”

“I don't know.”

She blew out a breath. “Who else lives in this house?”

“Just my mother. She's downstairs watching TV. But she doesn't speak English, only Greek.”

“Great. Then you can do the interpreting for me.”

They walked down the stairs and through the kitchen, which, considering the front half of the house, was remarkably clean. Off the kitchen there was a small room that had a twin bed, a rocking chair and a TV. An elderly woman turned when she heard them walk through the door. She spoke to the man in Greek.

“Ask her if she saw anything.”

He acted as interpreter through a series of question that didn't give her much information other than what she already knew. But when she asked if the man had a gun, the woman said no, making her wonder why Cynthia didn't take off and run the other way. Of course she was no doubt carrying Junior at the time, but still…

“Are you sure he didn't have a gun?”

The woman shook her head in response.

“Then why do you think she was kidnapped? Maybe she went with the man willingly.” She had to put that question out there, even though it made no sense.

“She doesn't know but…” He twisted his mouth to the side. “My mother says she thinks he might have been one of those corrupt police officers.”

Isabella bristled. The lady watched way too much TV. “Why does she think that?”

A few seconds later, he shrugged. “She says he acted like a policeman, and it looked like he showed Cynthia a badge…”

“What?”

The woman pointed to the TV.
Law and Order
was on, and she made frantic gestures toward the male detective. Isabella had seen the show a couple of times, but seeing the drama with the actor's voices dubbed in Greek seemed oddly comic despite the circumstances.

“My mother watches a lot of TV. We have an international satellite, so all the American shows she can see in Greek. Sometimes I think she gets confused about what's real.”

Isabella drug in a breath. Even if it looks, smells and tastes like a dead end, sometimes it isn't. “Did she tell the other officers this? That she thought it was a cop?”

He shook his head. “Nope. She was afraid she might end up in the river swimming with the fishes.” He smiled when he spoke the last few words. Maybe the woman watched a few too many
Godfather
movies as well.

“Why is she telling me this?” She had to explore all the angles. People said and did things for weird reasons.

“She says she was hoping a woman police officer would show up to help, but none came except for you. She says you have an honest face. She wanted to help the woman and the baby if she could.” He argued with his mother for a few moments, a clipped conversation with a whole lot of hand gesturing. Finally, he turned his attention back to Isabella. “She says he looked like that guy.” He shrugged. “See what I mean? Sometimes she gets confused.”

Isabella glanced at the TV and studied the guy. He wore a leather jacket and his dark hair was sprinkled with gray at the temples. Call her crazy, but the guy resembled Malone.

* * *

By the time she got back to her house, she felt as if she'd been awake for a week. On the good news side, Malone must have listened to her this afternoon as she saw no sign of her bodyguard in or around the neighborhood. She supposed he could be hiding out in another car, but was way too exhausted to investigate.

She popped dinner in the microwave not because she was hungry but because she had to have sustenance to continue. She needed to find out who was behind this, and she needed to find out soon. She couldn't face the idea of anything happening to Cynthia and Junior. She couldn't even consider the possibility that something already had.

Just as she sat down to eat, her phone rang. Landry. After his earlier text, he'd stopped communicating.

“How's Lou?”

“Not good. Something about his liver not regenerating at the rate they expected.” She sucked in a deep breath. “But the worst news is that Cynthia and Junior have been taken as well.” She put the fork down suddenly losing her appetite. “I don't know what's going on here, but whatever it is I've got to get to the bottom of it.” While part of her wanted to throw out the idea that Malone was involved in the kidnapping, it still seemed a little too farfetched.

“What happened at Schmidt earlier today? Lieutenant said something about you tearing the place apart and then going on to threaten some gangbangers.”

“I wouldn't go that far.” She was still bothered by not finding anything. Despite evidence to the contrary, she'd bet her life Schmidt was dirty. “I went through boxes, but all I found was more boxes. Then I put the word out I was looking for Ramirez.”

“What were you thinking, goading him like that?”

“Don't you get it, Lou's going to die and it will be all my fault.”

“How? Did you shoot him?”

“But he wouldn't have gotten mixed up in this if it weren't for me.” She stopped the surge in emotion with a deep breath. “There's something's going on at Schmidt. I can feel it in my gut and…Ramirez hangs out there and…”

“What else?”

“There's a weird odor inside that place. I'm not sure what it is, but it's strong as hell.” She'd noticed it before when she'd been there, but blew it off. Today that same odor was present, and seemed much more pungent.

“That's not enough.”

“I know, and it's ticking me off.” Understatement of the century. Dead ends. Dead ends. Dead ends. Would they never stop?

“I'm taking off early. I'll be by shortly.”

“You don't have to do that, Landry. I'm not good company right now.”

“Since when has that stopped me?” Without another word, he hung up.

Frustrated, she called the station to see if they'd heard anything more about Cynthia and Junior. But the lieutenant had left, and nobody else had heard anything. What if Malone was involved? Or, giving him the benefit of the doubt, what if the old woman was right and the police were somehow in on it? Is that what Carmen Samuels meant by not trusting anyone? And did Matthews have anything to do with this whole thing?

Her father, Lou, Ramirez and Schmidt all tied together. But she couldn't figure out how.

Landry knocked on the back door a few moments later. She walked the length of the apartment to let him in. He had a strange expression on his face.

“What's the matter? Did you find something out about Cynthia or Junior?” Her voice hitched as the possibility sunk low in her belly. She grasped his arms and forced him to look at her. “What's going on? How did you get off shift so early?”

“Beckett came in for me.”

“But why?” Her fingers trembled while a leaden weight settled in her stomach.

“Because I didn't want you to be alone. You're going through a lot right now.” He couldn't look her in the eye.

Tears sprung to her eyes. “They're dead, aren't they? You're here to break the news.”

“No.” He shook his head and grasped her arms forcing her to look at him. “They're fine. They're in protective custody.”

She let out a shaky breath. “Thank God. But—”

“I knew you wouldn't go into protective custody and was afraid you'd be next.”

She bristled. “I can take care of myself.”

“Nobody's immune to a bullet. If I were in danger, wouldn't you come to my place and help out?”

“You're a big boy. I'd figure you were capable of making your own decisions.” The nagging feeling that he was hiding something wouldn't go away.

“Bull. You'd need to be in the middle of things.” He nuzzled her neck. “Come on, I'm only here as your back-up. Even you have to admit there's a time a cop needs back-up.”

No, what she needed was the time and space to think. He was giving her neither, and there was a whole lot of something he wasn't saying.

She pushed away from him and held out her hand. “Let me see your phone.”

“What?”

“If you have nothing to hide, you shouldn't care.” When he reluctantly plopped the phone into her hand, she scrolled through his recent calls. Recognition hit her like a fist to the gut while anger and betrayal fought for control inside. “You bastard.” She slammed her palm against his shoulder. “I trusted you.”

“I can explain.”

“You can explain how you've betrayed me at every turn? You can explain how Malone is your new BFF?” She'd trusted him, and he'd conspired with the enemy. When he reached for the phone, she pushed away his hand. Each time she scrolled through and saw Malone's number pop up, her stomach got a little queasier.

Landry had talked to Malone more than seven times today. From what she could tell, they'd been talking pretty regularly for the last several weeks. Realization stung like a bee pricking along her spine.

“I did it because I was afraid for you.” He tried unsuccessfully to touch her arm. “You were walking into the middle of something that could—”