Random Victim (19 page)

“Now what?” Smith asked as they stood in the confines of the bathroom.

Leal looked around, popping open the medicine cabinet. “We’ll let the dog do his stuff, and the ETs. Maybe we’ll find something,
but I think this dude felt the heat and booked up days ago.”

Smith nodded. “If only we’d moved quicker.”

“No false moves,” Leal said, placing a hand on the other man’s shoulder. “Remember?”

Brice surprised everybody by finding four folded packets of cocaine in the top dresser drawer in the master bedroom and spotting
a counterfeit soft drink can with a hinged top with more drugs in the kitchen. One of the ETs did a quick field test before
bagging and tagging it. They watched as he broke the sequential glass cylinders and the resulting liquid turned a bright blue.

“Looks pretty pure,” Leal said.

“Great,” Brice said. “We got that fucker by the balls, now. All we gotta do is wait till he’s picked up.”

Leal went to the living room and wanted to look around, trying to remember how the room looked the night he and Hart were
there. Something was different, but he couldn’t place it. But in the dim lighting and with the drapes drawn, he couldn’t see
much.

“Hey, Sarge,” one the ETs called from the center of the room. Look at this.” He swung a black light in an arc over the rug
and two spots glowed. “Know what this looks like?”

Leal grunted. He knew all right. It looked like blood.

CHAPTER
TWENTY-SEVEN

Heart-to-Heart Conversations

Leal had tried to call Sharon again after he’d gotten home. It was after seven, and the weight of the exceptionally long day
was starting to wear on him. He’d popped a beer, ate some chicken, and settled down in front of the TV. He looked at his clock.
Nine thirty-five. That meant ten thirty-five in New York. No sense calling her this late, especially when she had to get up
early. Maybe she’d shut off her phone. Maybe that’s why there had been no answer on either of his previous calls.

He decided to drink another beer to celebrate the successful completion of the search warrants. Man, they were really close
to cracking this one. The biggest case of his career.

Too bad I don’t have anyone to share it with right now, he thought.

He leaned back as the ten o’clock news came on. No word about the Walker case, he noted, suddenly wondering when he was going
to see the new commercial he was in. He closed his eyes just for a minute as the weatherman talked about some storms possibly
moving this way. The next thing he knew when he opened them it was two in the morning and the television was playing some
old movie. Getting up, he felt incredibly stiff and sore, especially his neck. After shuffling to the bathroom to urinate,
he tossed his clothes off and went straight to bed.

The sound of the alarm at six thirty brought the dull pain in his head bubbling to the surface. It felt like someone had used
his temples for an anvil. Even the steady stream of hot water from the shower did little to alleviate it. Black coffee and
aspirin for breakfast helped a little, but on the drive in he regretted not eating something more substantial. When he walked
in the office he found a bright-eyed Smith pinning up all the search warrant photos from each respective location on the bulletin
board.

“Ryan called,” Smith said. “He’s running late.”

At least somebody feels worse than I do, Leal thought. He sat at his desk.

“Man, Sarge, you look terrible. Want some coffee?” As Smith poured the coffee he gestured toward the board.

“Those were developed last night,” he said. “They put a rush on them.”

Leal looked at each one of the pictures, sipping his coffee and suddenly recalling the uneasy feeling he’d had the day before
in Walker’s living room. They’d found tapes and DVDs in the television cabinet, but no tape player on the shelf. Only twin
wires hanging down behind it. It could have meant that Walker had taken it in for repairs. After all, he had another VHS player
in the bedroom. But there was something else that still bothered him, something else missing, but he couldn’t put his finger
on it. He searched his memory for the sight of the room the night he and Hart had visited Walker.

He sipped the coffee that Smith had prepared and together they looked at the rest of the photos.

Leal tapped the photo of the bedroom.

“Here’s something else that bugs me,” he said. “No pillowcase.”

Smith rubbed his forehead.

“Maybe he put it in the wash?”

Leal frowned. “That’s something we should’ve checked. Too late now.” He studied the photo some more. “But look at this, Joe.
Nothing else is out of place. Even the tapes here are evenly stacked.”

“Yeah, his drawers were lined up inside, too. No wonder he fired his housekeeper.”

Leal grinned. The second cup of coffee was starting to do the trick.

“So what do you make of it?” Smith asked.

Leal shook his head. “Don’t know yet.”

The door opened and Ryan walked in holding his head. He virtually collapsed in his chair and said, “Oooh, fuck me.”

Smith got up and poured a cup of coffee for Ryan, putting in extra cream and sugar. He handed it to him and said, “Here, Sarge.”

“Thanks, Joe,” Ryan said, still holding his head. “Brice wants to see us. He wants us to bring Murphy up to speed today.”

“No fucking way,” Leal said. “He’s trying to close Hart out of this investigation, and I’m not standing for it.”

“Right. She deserves to be in to the end,” Smith said.

“All right, all right,” Ryan said, rubbing his temples. “Let me talk to him. As soon as I have this coffee.”

As Ryan, the master of compromise, sat in Brice’s office he felt as if the pounding in his head would never stop, but he knew
neither would Leal’s bitching if Hart got dropped. Maybe he
was
jocking her. Regardless, on the way up the stairs, Ryan had decided on a tactic that he felt would work. First, he brought
up that Smith’s wife was ready to drop any day now, and Murphy would be needed to replace him more than Hart, who was expected
back soon.

“Smith’s been holding his vacation so he can stay home with her and the kid,” Ryan said.

“You look like shit,” Brice said. “What’s the matter? Somebody piss in your beer last night?”

Ryan smirked. “Wouldn’t surprise me. And don’t forget there’s also the publicity mileage that the sheriff will get when he
presents our esteemed female detective with the Medal of Valor.”

“Yeah, but the only problem is, she looks so much like a guy,” Brice said, snickering. He took out a cigar and bit off the
end. “I’ll tell Murph to sit tight for another day or two. In the meantime, start checking around. Maybe Walker flew out of
O’Hare or Midway. We got a subpoena for his credit card records, right?”

“Yeah, boss. And he’s got a safety deposit box, too. We gotta go through his papers more and take the list of stuff recovered
back to the judge.”

“Okay, get to work on that, then.” Brice took out his lighter and held the flame to the end of the cigar. “You still sitting
here?”

Ryan slowly got to his feet.

At the United counter at O’Hare Airport, Leal and Ryan managed to pull the clerk off to the side, much to the chagrin of her
coworkers, who struggled to address the constant flow of people in front of them.

“Now this is very important, miss,” Ryan said. “Would you recognize this man if you saw him again?”

The airline clerk’s eyes widened as she shook her head.

“You know, we get so many people through here…”

Leal showed her the passenger list that the Chicago PD detective from the O’Hare detail had found on last Tuesday’s departures
for San Juan.

Ryan held the picture of Martin Walker.

“Ring any bells?” he asked.

Her eyes narrowed again as she scanned the photograph.

“I’m sorry,” she said, drawing back her lower lip nervously, “but I really can’t be sure.”

“That’s okay, honey,” Ryan said, giving her shoulder a reassuring pat. “What did you say your first name was?”

“Elena.”

“Okay, what’s your home phone number?” Ryan asked, his pen poised above his notebook. “You know, this might be on
Most Wanted
. I know John Walsh real good. You done any modeling, or anything?”

As they walked away, Leal shook his head. “You know, Ryan, if you spent half as much time working as you do trying to get
laid…”

“Yeah, I know, I’d be a captain by now,” Ryan said, grinning. “But you can’t blame me for trying. After all, I don’t have
Sharon Divine waiting to tuck me in at night, now, do I?”

Neither do I, thought Leal. “How’d you like a size twelve up your ass?”

“Not me. I’m a lover, not a fighter.” Ryan smiled. “Come on, let’s go fill the boss in. Who knows, maybe he’ll send us to
Puerto Rico.”

“Yeah, right,” Leal said.

“The clerk remembers the guy. He tried to cancel the ticket on his MasterCard and pay for it with cash,” Ryan said. “But she
wasn’t sure about the picture, though.”

Brice nodded. “Anything else?”

“No recent transactions beyond the ticket,” Ryan said. “Looks like he’s switched to cash to avoid a trail.”

“There is something the lab boys came up with, Lieu,” Smith said. “That section of carpet where they found the bloodstains
was inconclusive. Definitely blood, but someone tried to wash it.”

“Yeah, I figured it would just be trace amounts,” Brice said. “No way to know how old it was, either, but it would’ve been
nice to be able to match it up to Miriam Walker.”

“They also found a small shred of chewing tobacco with the vacuuming,” Smith said.

“Was Walker a dipper?” asked Ryan.

“I doubt it,” Leal said. “He was too much of a city rat for a habit like that. Are they sure it didn’t come from a cigarette?”

“I asked the same thing,” Smith said. “They said they’re positive it came from a wad.”

“Maybe they’ll be able to get some DNA traces,” Leal said.

“You got the subpoenas for the credit card records and the warrant for the safe-deposit box, right?” Brice asked. He rubbed
the bridge of his nose.

“Right, Lieu,” Smith said, setting the stack of papers on Brice’s desk. “You want to look them over?”

Brice nodded.

“What about his phone records?” Leal asked.

Brice considered this for a moment, then said, “Yeah, Monday’s soon enough for them. You guys been working pretty hard on
this, so just take the rest of the weekend off. Keep your cell phones and beepers on in case he gets picked up.”

He seems to be falling back into his old, lazy habits, Leal thought. Now was the time to push. They were close.

After the meeting broke up Ryan went downstairs to check on his lady love, and Leal and Smith walked slowly back to their
office.

“You find out anything on that credit check, Joe?”

Smith grinned and shook his head.

“I was beginning to wonder if you were going to ask me about that.” He pulled a list of printed numbers from his inside pocket.
“No missed payments, the usual credit card stuff, mortgage on the house, leased car for business expenses. Nothing to indicate
he was hurting financially.”

Leal sighed. “Well, we never figured greed was the motive, did we?”

“I also called the credit card companies and asked them to monitor his numbers for any new transactions.”

“Good thinking,” Leal said. “They gonna do it?”

Smith smiled. “Some told me they’d do what they could, but a couple pretty much said they couldn’t do anything without a court
order.”

“Typical,” Leal said. “We’ll have to move and get an indictment against this guy sooner rather than later. Don’t know why
Brice is slowing up again. It’s like he loses focus.”

“Well, at least we got those type-three’s out,” Smith said.

“Yeah. Joe, you take care. You’ve done a lot of good work on this one. And good luck if this is the weekend for the baby.”

Smith smiled again. “If it ain’t, we gonna go in for a C-section. I’m tired of waiting. Something better happen soon.”

There was still no answer, but he let the phone continue to ring. Finally, the hotel operator came back on and asked if he’d
like to leave a voice-mail message. Leal muttered a few words about wondering how the interview went, and ended with, “Call
me if you have a chance. I should be home.”

Yeah, where else am I going to go at seven o’clock on Friday night? he wondered.

After he hung up, Leal’s mind continued to play twenty questions. It was eight in New York, right? So where the hell was she?
But was it any of his business? They weren’t, after all, anything more than casual lovers at this point. No strings…
Wasn’t that what he’d told her? When the phone rang it jarred him out of his reverie, and his heart leapt, hoping it was her.

“Frank? It’s Ollie,” the voice at the other end said. “I hope I’m not bothering you.”

“What? No, not at all. I was just deep in thought.”

“That sounds interesting,” she said. “About the case?”

“Ahh, yeah. Sort of. What’s up?”

“Well, I thought you were going to call me and give me a heads-up?”

It suddenly dawned on him that he had promised that.

“Sorry,” he said. “Actually, there isn’t much to report. Brice seems to have taken a slowdown.”

“Are you kidding me? I figured now would be the time to push.”

“Yeah, me, too.” His voice sounded listless, even to him.

“Are you going out or anything?”

“No, just sitting in the dark, contemplating a TV dinner.”

“Well, why don’t you come over?” she said. “I’m going stir crazy in here doing nothing and I’ve fixed way too much food as
a result.”

What if Sharon calls? he thought. But then again, why not? He couldn’t shake the sinking feeling that his days, and nights,
with Sharon had most probably come to an end. Especially after this New York deal.

“I’ll be right over,” he said. “Need me to bring anything?”

“Just yourself. And a hearty appetite, of course.”

It was the first time he’d actually been up to Hart’s apartment and he was struck both by its neatness and feminine simplicity.
Her living room had a large couch with a floral slipcover, two chairs and a coffee table. Several vases with bouquets of flowers
sat on each end of the table and on another smaller table by the window. Next to it was a framed eight-by-ten picture of Hart
in a black posing bikini, wearing a large gold medal. Her muscles in the photograph gleamed like polished marble.

“Everybody from the gym sent me flowers,” she said, smiling and directing him to the kitchen. “I hope Rocky leaves them alone.”
She indicated a large tiger-colored cat curled up in a corner of the sofa. The cat regarded Leal for a few moments then went
back to sleep.

Leal sat at a circular wooden table with a lazy Susan in the middle. Hart set a dish and silverware in front of him, along
with a glass.

“I hope you don’t mind cranberry juice to drink,” she said. “Otherwise, I can make you some coffee.”

“No,” Leal said, taking a sip. “This is fine.”

The meal consisted of steamed rice, vegetables, and a whole wheat muffin. Leal kept waiting for the main course, then suddenly
realized there wasn’t one.

“Is there any butter for this muffin?” he asked.

She shook her head, chewing and holding up her hand. He’d noticed before that she chewed everything forever and a day, mixing
it thoroughly with saliva, she’d told him.

“Sorry, I can’t have any dairy products until after the contest,” she said. “I don’t keep them here so I won’t be tempted.”
She smiled. “But what I wouldn’t give for an ice-cream sundae right about now.”