The Enemy Inside (37 page)

Her cell rang and she picked it up eagerly, hoping it would be Hamilton with some kind of reasonable explanation for his absence and lies. Looking at the caller ID, she sighed in disappointment.
 

“Hey, Cheney,” she said, defeated.

“Berg,” he said. “We’re at Grant Park near the fountain. You better get down here.”

Berg walked toward her colleagues as they gathered around a lone, shrouded figure lying in the south end of the park. “Another one?” she asked Cheney as she joined him, Rodriguez, and Nick Halwood at the scene.
 

The body lay in a grassy area just fifty feet north of Buckingham Fountain, which was switched off for winter.

“Yes, another murder, but there’s no way it’s related to the truckers. Halwood?” Cheney asked the forensics head. Taking his cue, Halwood bent down and lifted the white cloth off the face of the victim.
 

Berg reeled in shock. “Stella! No!”
 

The reporter’s pale, vacant face stared blankly back at Berg, her feistiness gone.
 

“I just saw her on the news last night. What happened?” Berg choked, aghast, remembering how vital and alive the pretty woman looked as she gave Consiglio hell, the complete opposite of the bloody, empty shell lying on the ground now.

Halwood covered the body back over with the sheet. A crowd of media and spectators was gathering, despite the police tape and patrol efforts to keep them at bay. Not even Stella’s position in the local news stable would spare her the indignity of a media frenzy.
 

“I got here first. I only live a few minutes away. Stabbed multiple times,” Halwood said. “The attack was furious, centered on the neck and upper torso. One of the blows severed the jugular. She would’ve bled out in seconds. Judging by the blood in the grass and the body temperature, I’d say she was killed here early this morning and left where she died.”

Cheney touched Berg’s shoulder lightly as she struggled with her feelings. “Looks like a robbery. Thought you might want in? Jay mentioned a while back you both kind of knew her.”
 

Halwood stood back up.

Berg nodded bleakly, feeling guilty. “Yeah. We didn’t know her well. Fuck . . . she asked to meet me yesterday, and I ignored her. What if she wanted to meet me because she was in trouble? Did you tell Jay?”

“I left a voice mail,” Cheney said as all three detectives’ phones beeped with incoming text messages. “Did you see her ass-fuck Consiglio on national TV last night? Best thing I’ve watched on the box for a while.” He picked his cell out of his coat pocket and read the screen. “ ‘All detectives have been recalled to the station ASAP for an immediate debrief,’ ” he read, as the others did the same. “Wonder what’s going on?”

Berg suspected she knew the cause. It was impossible to put out an APB on a fellow officer and not have it attract attention from all the wrong people.
 

“I think I know.” She sighed.
 

Walking back to their cars, Berg explained the situation with Hamilton, the decision to let him go, and his subsequent lies and disappearance.
 

Pissed off at being kept out of the loop, Cheney and Rodriguez said little as they climbed into the police car and slammed the doors.
 

Opening the window, Cheney stuck his head out. “You know, Berg, we’ve backed you guys against Consiglio time and time again, to the detriment of our own careers. But he’s right; you think you can do whatever the fuck you want, and damn the rest of us!”
 

Revving the engine, they peeled away from the park. Resigned, Berg walked back to her own car.

At the station, Berg sat next to a still pissed off Cheney and Rodriguez, who must have filled in the rest of the detectives on her and Jay’s actions, judging by the hostile stares she was getting.
 

As more of her colleagues heard the news, Berg sunk lower in her chair in an effort to disappear from their glares. It was clear no one thought Hamilton was involved. Wilting under their anger, she felt vulnerable and exposed without Jay’s reassuring presence.
 

She waited in dread alone, expecting Consiglio to stalk in at any moment and joyfully fire her for the media leaks in front of the entire level, his ultimate victory.
What was I thinking, becoming a cop? How could someone like me ever make a difference?

At that moment, a low murmur worked its way through the room, and the detectives snapped to attention in their chairs as a familiar figure of medium height with a thin build and graying hair strode into the gathering.

“Thank you for all being here so early,” Deputy Superintendent Patrick McClymont said.
 

McClymont, one of the two officers second in command of Chicago’s entire police force, and the man who had broken to Jay that his wife was dead, was well-known and respected by all who had worked with him.
 

He gazed at Berg for a moment then moved around the room, obviously searching for Jay. He frowned at the detective’s absence. “I’m sure you’re all wondering where your captain and Chief Consiglio are, and if you’ll bear with me, I’ll explain.”
 

The detectives all turned and looked at Captain Leigh’s office, not realizing until he mentioned it that it was empty.
 

Berg noticed the usual undercurrent of disrespect was absent as the solemn deputy continued.
 

“Chief of Detectives Antonio Consiglio is a fine officer and an asset to the CPD—” Snickers were quickly stifled as McClymont silenced the room with a single, piercing glare. “However, the mayor feels that the recent murders could benefit from a . . . fresh pair of eyes. Being a team player, Consiglio therefore volunteered late last night to step down from his position and take some much needed personal time.”
 

The detectives were too shocked to comment.
 

“But I am pleased to announce that Captain Leigh will be taking his place as chief of detectives, effective in two weeks,” McClymont said.
 

The officers all looked at each other in surprise. Leigh had looked to be all but fired in their minds. Captain to chief was an exceptional promotion and some of them, including Berg, applauded at the announcement.
 

“Captain Leigh is taking time off before she commences her new position and has brought me up to speed on the cases, but I will be reviewing the findings with the individual detectives involved later today to ensure we are on the right track. Hopefully, as we work together, we will bring the offender or offenders to justice. So unless anyone else has something new to offer, let’s keep up the good work.” McClymont clapped his hands once like a gunshot and smiled.

Berg, Arena, Smith, Cheney, and Rodriguez looked at each other guiltily as McClymont gathered his notes and made to leave the room.
 

“Actually, sir,” Cheney said, his voice so low it was almost inaudible. “About the murders . . .”

“Yes?” McClymont replied with an attentive expression, turning his full attention to the detective.

Berg thought Cheney looked close to pissing his pants as he licked his lips with a dry tongue. Seeing his indecision, Berg decided to jump into the fray, figuring she was as good as fired anyway. She may have escaped Consiglio’s wrath over the media leak, but thanks to Hamilton’s getaway, she was still as good as gone.
 

Standing and patting down the wrinkles in her jacket and pants with sweaty palms, Berg filled in McClymont on their belief the murders of the truckers, plus Winchester, Melissa and Dell, were related. She also mentioned their covert investigations, the strange links with various hitchhikers, the minimal physical evidence uncovered, and their theory that Shipper, with help from his old army buddy Hamilton, were serial killers who were set off by the need for vengeance after the rape of Shipper’s niece.
 

Berg spoke for close to thirty minutes, the rest of the detectives responsible for the covert investigations occasionally interjecting with details. McClymont listened without a word, nodding.
 

As Berg neared the end of her impromptu presentation by discussing the database anomalies, Jay’s lone, unofficial undercover operation and Hamilton’s subsequent disappearance, McClymont paled and pulled up a seat, sitting wearily and leaning forward, his elbows on his knees.
 

Eventually, Berg fell silent.
 

She wasn’t the only one. The usually bustling room was so quiet you could hear a pin drop as the detectives collectively held their breaths and awaited McClymont’s response.

“And Detective O’Loughlin’s been undercover without backup for how long?” he eventually asked.

“Ah, nearly a week, sir,” Cheney replied.

McClymont bowed his head before rubbing his hands through his hair, standing, and addressing his personal assistant briskly. “Officer, please make a note that Detective O’Loughlin’s operation is sanctioned and backdate it.” He stopped and looked at the group of detectives around Berg, folding his arms. “Anything else I should know? Have you kidnapped the president or shot the secretary of state?”
 

The detectives shook their heads, waiting for an explosion.
 

“And you didn’t tell your captain or your chief all this because . . .”
 

Arena, emboldened by McClymont’s calm demeanor so far, stood and spoke up. “Well, sir, with all due respect, we tried, but he didn’t want to hear it.”
 

The detectives all nodded in agreement.
 

“He was so scared of the bad publicity, he refused to even consider that all these murders might be linked . . .” Arena’s voice faded as a look of anger flashed across McClymont’s face. Arena sat down again with a thud.

“Do you all agree with this assessment?” McClymont asked the crowd of detectives, being sure to make eye contact with every person in the room.
 

Like a row of flesh dominos falling, one by one each detective nodded his or her assent, with a couple, including Smith and Cheney, adding that they agreed with most of it, but not with Hamilton’s possible involvement.
 

McClymont went on. “I’m going to allow you to keep going with your investigation until Captain Leigh returns to run the cases and appoints her successor.” The detectives looked relieved. “But when she returns, should she want to take the obvious insubordination here to the next level and give out some well-deserved suspensions, well, she has my full support.”
 

McClymont nodded at the detectives and strode out of the room quickly, as if afraid he’d hear something else unpleasant if he lingered.

The detectives milled around in silence for a few minutes in groups, shocked by the morning’s events.
 

Picking up the cell, Berg dialed Jay, partly to fill him in on the day’s events, but mostly because she just wanted to hear his voice.
 

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Jay stared numbly at the road rearing up ahead, bored. He had been driving the borrowed blue Mack for a week, following some intensive catch-up lessons from Colt. He had traveled up and down the same mind-numbing stretch of highway while playing the part of dedicated trucker and Colt’s dim-witted nephew.
 

At first, he had enjoyed the highway, the freedom, the trucker babble on the radio, and the feeling of such a powerful vehicle rumbling beneath him. He had laughed to himself at the inane radio chatter filled with drivers warning each other about radar traps and upcoming weigh stations and giving tips on how to stay awake to meet deadlines, unaware they had an undercover officer in their midst.
 

But now, it was just boring.
 

It hadn’t been a total waste of time. His position had given him unique insight into a different world. Despite its vast numbers, the local industry was very guarded with outsiders. Truckers spat vitriol at the local and interstate police, as if Jay and his colleagues were trying to stop them from earning a living.

But at the same time, his newfound friends also bore the brunt of some misunderstandings on the police end. They were not all cracked-out danger jockeys, as he had always believed. During his operation, Jay found out they were a fiercely loyal bunch who did a crucial job under pretty crap circumstances and ridiculous deadlines set by greedy companies. And now, thanks to the pressure to accept constant GPS tracking, they felt even more stressed.