The Wrong Side of Dead (10 page)

Now she knew why Anthony Salvatore’s Pinnacle Real Estate Corporation had rung a bell when she first saw the reference at Harper’s posh new hangout. The influential man owned half the prime real estate in Chicago, a major player on the local money scene. Chicago’s version of Donald Trump—only with good hair.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” she said under her breath.

As Anthony Salvatore came forward, an officer of the court accompanied him. The uniformed man escorted him from the public seating area behind a wooden railing to the defense table.

“It’s my understanding this young man has not been very forthcoming with his background, no doubt to his own detriment. But I believe he was mistakenly trying to hide his ties to me, to protect what he perceives to be a stellar reputation.” With a charming smile, the man put his arm around Seth. Harper’s head drooped as Salvatore continued, “And despite what the DA’s Office has presented, Seth has very deep ties to this community. He was born and raised here and is the son of a very good friend of mine. A police detective by the name of Max Jenkins. After an unfortunate divorce, Seth’s mother had the boy’s name changed.”

“I know Detective Jenkins.” The judge nodded. “He testified in this court many times. He’s a fine man and a good cop. Did he retire? Where is he these days?”

That name rushed from Jess’s past like a sudden and icy wind that stifled the breath deep in her throat. She was suddenly bombarded by ugly memories. Jess wanted to stand again—to stare into the face of Seth Harper, who’d kept so many secrets from her—but she didn’t think her legs would hold her. Salvatore kept talking, with Jess barely listening.

“Max is indeed a fine man, sir. And he would have been here today if he could.” Salvatore cleared his throat and glanced at Harper. “He’s not in the best of health. I believe the Danny Ray Millstone case took its toll on him. Seth is caring for his father at the Golden Palms Villa, a nursing home facility. So as you can see, this young man has deep connections and obligations to this community.”

The courtroom quieted as the judge’s face turned more somber. “I remember the Millstone case…all too clearly.”

The name Danny Ray Millstone hit Jess like a punch to the gut. She’d blocked that name out of her memory even though it lingered in the dark fringes of her mind.
The man who had stolen her life!
She shut her eyes, and Millstone’s old house on High Street leached into her brain like a chilling night terror, blocking out the courtroom and everyone in it.

With eyes still closed, she sat back and gripped her hands together, struggling to regain her composure. But as her heart pounded out of control, and a trickle of sweat crawled down her spine, she tried to breathe and found the air stifling and hot. In a rush, the images pummeled her psyche.

She was back there again. In short bursts of memory—like the stark flicker of a strobe light—she was back at the house on High Street. When she recognized the symptoms of a panic attack, she took deep breaths and forced herself to calm down and listen.

Finally, the resonating voice of Salvatore served as a lifeline to bring her back. And she was grateful.
Very grateful.

“Quite frankly, if this young man didn’t already have an outstanding father, I’d proudly claim him as my son…if he’d lower his standards for parental material.” Salvatore had deftly changed the subject. And his remark drew a soft chuckle through the courtroom. Even the judge smirked.

“Seth is one of the most trustworthy people I know,” the man continued. “And he is no killer.”

“A nice guy who happened to brutally stab a young woman to death. Let’s not forget the victim here,” the assistant district attorney objected.

“And what about the bloodwork you did on Seth?” Harper’s wealthy advocate glared at Stacy Nichols and hit her with a roadblock she hadn’t seen coming, given the look on her face.

Before the woman had a chance to regain her composure, he added, “I believe you’re withholding the results of that tox screen to keep Seth in jail until you bolster your case.” The man directed his attention to the judge. “This boy was drugged, Your Honor. And Ms. Nichols knows that the bloodwork will cast the shadow of reasonable doubt on her case.”

“Is that true, Ms. Nichols?”

Surprises hit wave after wave. Salvatore had bluffed his way into making the ADA look bad on her own turf. And Jess had no doubt that Humphries had fed him the information he’d gotten from her. The bulletproof Ms. Nichols suddenly looked off her game.

“We ran an extensive tox screen, Your Honor, not the standard analysis. That takes time, and I don’t have the results. And I’m not required to share the findings until the preliminary hearing.”

“Obviously you suspected more than alcohol was at play here, Ms. Nichols, or else you wouldn’t have gotten a warrant to do the blood test in the first place. And the fact you didn’t settle for a standard screening speaks volumes.” The judge took a moment to consider his ruling before he said, “Bail is set for one million dollars.”

The judge assigned a date for Harper’s preliminary hearing and moved on to his next case. Harper was ushered from the courtroom, soon to be released if Salvatore had anything to do with raising bail.

But when Seth turned, he found Jess staring back, a look of shock still on her face. The secret he’d kept from her was now in the open—between the two of them. Harper’s father was the cop who had saved her life. And in the process, Detective Max Jenkins had killed the man who took her from her mother. A good thing in her mind, but in killing the man, Seth’s father had severed the only lifeline to her mother. She’d never found her. And in the wake of her rescue, nightmarish images remained to taint her childhood with dark memories of abuse and torture that no child should have had to endure.

Her skin prickled with Seth’s betrayal. Trust had never come easy for her, but his deception hurt far more than it should. He’d been a friend, or so she thought. Why had he kept his father’s identity from her? And why seek her out in the first place? She had far too many questions and needed time to think.

Jess wasn’t sure she could handle anything Seth had to say—not the way she felt now.

Near the courthouse

A bar had a way of stopping time, luring patrons with the promise of oblivion and dark anonymity. Danny’s Bar and Grill fit the bill and was conveniently located down the street from the courthouse. Utterly numb, Jess stared into a glass of single malt scotch, watching an ice cube melt and give way to gravity. She’d ordered the drink but only nursed it as she sat at the bar alone, losing track of time. Not even the jukebox music or the sounds of laughter from across the dark room had proved to be a distraction from her misery.

Her cell phone vibrated again, but she didn’t have to look to see who was calling. Seth Harper had collided with her life. Or perhaps in hindsight, she realized her life had derailed his—the chicken and the egg argument.

“Something wrong with the drink?” the young bartender asked as he wiped down the counter in front of her. “I can freshen it up for you.”

She smiled. If only life were that easy.
Hate your life, freshen it up.

“No, I’m good. What do I owe you?” she asked. After he told her, she pulled cash from her pocket and tossed it onto the bar, leaving enough for a tip. “Thanks.”

She walked out the door into the dying light of day, squinting until she put on her shades. The bar had been a convenient place to take a break from her world and stop for a while, but her mind didn’t get the message. She pulled out her car keys and headed for the lot where she’d parked the van. She had good reason to wallow in pity like a pig in a mud bath, but she had better things to do.

Harper’s behavior had been highly influenced by his sphincter—no doubt—but the guy still needed her help.

Cook County Jail

The bail hearing for Seth Harper had ended and apparently not gone as planned for one man. Private investigator Luís Dante had been retained to report the outcome to an anonymous man he’d never even seen. Everything had been arranged by phone. He’d been hired with cash delivered by a courier service—an impressive retainer—and he only had the number of a disposable phone to contact his new client. He’d checked into the number when he first got the business, not wanting to be played for a chump. But in Luís’s world, money was money. And as long as he wasn’t breaking the law much, he figured his dealings were business opportunities.

When his client heard about the kid getting bail set, he was pissed. But the bail amount of a million smackers calmed him down until he told the man about the involvement of Anthony Salvatore. Then the shit hit the fan again, as if his client had never seen it coming.

“I figured you’d want me to stick with the kid. I’m outside county lockup now. He’s probably made bail already. But I gotta tell ya, it’s real ugly here.” He took a last drag off his cigarette and flicked the butt to the ground.

“What are you talking about?” the man asked.

“Media vultures are everywhere. They got crews with cameras staked out, waiting for Money Bags to show up for a photo op.”

A simple maneuver of following the kid turned complicated with news crews at the jailhouse. The added foot traffic made it hard to keep track of one scrawny kid.

“Just find me that kid, where he’s staying. I need an address, then you’re done.” He cleared his throat. “And like before, I’ll courier a bonus to you if you make it quick, like we talked about.”

“No problem. I’ll call you when I’ve got something.”

In the end, Salvatore never showed. And when the media lost interest, and the chaos died down, that left him with a slick black Lincoln Town Car to follow. He tailed the vehicle from the jail toward downtown. The car service hit a freeway entrance ramp, and he maintained his distance and followed the vehicle as planned.

It wasn’t until the Town Car drove into O’Hare Airport that he wondered what was going on. With the kid out on bail, he had no business leaving town, but maybe he was picking someone up. Finally, the car pulled over to the curb designated for arrivals and parked. Luís did the same, pretending to be waiting to pick up a passenger. But when the driver looked as if he would go inside the terminal, he got out of his car prepared with a lie.

“I could use your service. Are you free to drive me downtown, man?”

“No, sir. I’m here to pick up a fare.”

“Then can I have one of your cards. I’d like to hire your service the next time I’m in town.” While the man fished out his business card from his pocket, Luís smiled and opened the rear door to the Town Car. “You have drinks back here. Hey, real nice.”

The driver didn’t make a fuss for good reason. The backseat was empty. He barely heard the man reply to his question on alcohol. Back at county jail, he’d been duped. Seth Harper must have gotten out another way.

When the driver gave him a card, he forced a nod, and said, “Thanks, man. Appreciate it. I’ll let you get back to work.”

Lighting up another cigarette, he wondered what he would say to his client about his screwup until he realized the man had promised a bonus if he got an address. He wouldn’t have to admit that the kid gave him the slip. And he knew where to pick up his trail. With a little research, he’d have a way to cross Seth Harper’s path again.

And this time, he wouldn’t underestimate the kid.

Off Stevenson Expressway
I–55 at dusk

Jess had a healthy respect for the power of money even though her experience hadn’t been firsthand.

She knew by the calls to her cell phone that Harper had made bail, helped by his wealthy friend and benefactor, Anthony Salvatore. Since his release, Seth had left several messages. She’d let them all roll into voice mail, afraid her emotions would flip the switch on her mouth and set it to autopilot. She wasn’t mentally prepared to see him. Wiping the slate clean on their friendship wouldn’t be enough. She knew they’d have to rebuild and redefine their connection or his betrayal would never be far from the surface.

Yet despite being royally pissed at him for lying to her and keeping her at arm’s length, she grew antsy sitting around feeling sorry for herself. Moping wasn’t in her nature. And she couldn’t get into the distraction of a new bail-jumping case, not when things with Seth were dangling. She wasn’t wired that way either.

And she had the home address and work location for Mandy’s so-called boyfriend, Jason Burke, burning a hole in her pocket. The guy worked an hourly job as a subcontractor doing construction and repair jobs. But, given the fact his assignments varied, he could be anywhere. And this time of day, she figured her best shot was finding him at home.

It might be quitting time for Burke, but for her the day was just kicking into high gear.

Jess drove west on I–55, the Adlai E. Stevenson Expressway, not far from her apartment by Chicago standards. Burke lived off 79th Street and Roberts Road under the shadow of I–294, the Tri-State Tollway. His noisy piece of the urban jungle was a redbrick building faded by the sun and surrounded by a cracked, uneven sidewalk with a weed-choked patch of grass in front.

There was only one good thing about his place. It made her dump look upscale.

She parked the blue van around the corner on a side street and walked on the buckling sidewalk to the front entrance of the building. But when she got to a breezeway lined with mailboxes that led into an interior courtyard, she stopped cold. In the shadows, a woman wearing jeans and a stylish gray jacket leaned a shoulder against a brick wall with arms crossed, shaking her head with a half smirk.

“Do you consider meeting like this a good thing…or bad?” the blonde asked.

Jess stared into the face of Alexa Marlowe, a mysterious woman she never thought she’d see again. Not in this lifetime. To cross paths with a woman like her, once had been quite enough. Although Alexa had saved her life months earlier, she guarded her secrets and generally traveled with bad news on her heels—reminding Jess of a vulture. Sooner or later, picking bones clean would be the order of the day. And the woman had a habit of turning up with disaster not far behind.