Hot Trick (A Detective Shelley Caldwell Novel) Page 3

  When I got it.

  Which reminded me of the Rivera case.

  “So, how did Sebastian pick Benita Rivera to be the recipient of his good will?” I asked.

  “Uh-oh, you’re not going to be mad at me, are you?”

  “So you did suggest it?”

  “I knew how angry you were that Hernandez walked. I thought I was helping.”

  I couldn’t be mad at that, yet I wasn’t ready to let her off the hook so easily. “Did Sebastian ask for your advice or did you volunteer?”

  “I don’t know exactly. We had a meeting about who to pick. Sebastian was talking about another case, but he kept looking at me, like he wanted my opinion. It just sort of popped out. I-I couldn’t help it.”

  “I’m not angry, okay. Just curious.”

  Something made me wonder why Sebastian had wanted Silke to come up with the answer. He couldn’t have known about her connection to me and my connection to the Rivera case.

  Or could he?

  I was simply too tired to think about it now. Maybe after I’d had…oh, about twelve hours of sleep.

  The burgers arrived. My mouth salivated and my stomach growled like it was cheering.

  “Happiness is a juicy burger and crispy fries.” I took a big bite.

  “Speaking of burgers, Mom wants us to come to her place for a barbeque.”

  I choked a little as I wrangled the mouthful of food down my throat. “What? Mom only does take out. Besides, we already get together every month.”

  “She says we need to spend more time as a family.”

  A statement that immediately aroused my suspicions. Not that I didn’t believe Mom loved us and wanted us to be a family. Of sorts. We did have that get together at a restaurant once a month. But usually her extracurricular demands meant something was up. Mom had something on her mind. Something that wasn’t going to make me happy.

  “Did she say when?”

  “Sometime this week. She left which day open until she can talk to you. And she wants you to bring Jake.”

  Uh-oh.

  “But Jake isn’t family.”

  Silke gave me a look. “You know what she’s thinking.”

  “We’ve only known each other a few months.”

  “A few months more than you’ve dated anyone in…well, ever.”

  “That’s not true.”

  Of course it was. I was what men called difficult-to-date. A cop first, no matter the situation. Like that time during dinner when I saw a guy lift a wallet and made an arrest in the middle of a fancy restaurant. So much for that date. So much for them all. One guy took me to a popular club then parked at a fire hydrant. I only gave him a warning, but he took it the wrong way. Yes, I’d gotten past first dates a few times—probably because of the sex—but when a guy got to know me too well, he did a disappearing act.

  Jake was the only man I’d ever been with who didn’t let my job stop him from wanting to be with me. And to help me. He had an innate sense of justice very much like mine, one of the reasons we suited one another.

  As long as Mom didn’t ruin it for me.

  As long as I didn’t ruin it for myself, one of my biggest fears. I just figured it was my fate. Considering my romantic history, I’d somehow chase away the best thing that ever happened to me. Consequently, I didn’t want to get too attached.

  I chomped into my burger, determined not to let Silke spoil my appetite.

  She asked, “When’s the last time you had a boyfriend?”

  “I’m too old for boyfriends.”

  “Semantics. Lover, then.”

  “I don’t talk about my love life.”

  “Because you never have one.”

  I slammed my burger down onto the plate. The fries flew across the table and I didn’t try to stop them.

  Okay, so she got me there. Until Jake, I’d spent more time in bed with my vibrator than with a man.

  “Well, I have a man now.”

  “That’s the point, Shell. Mom wants to get to know him better. She thought a barbeque would be casual enough for you both to be comfortable.”

  Knowing Mom, she wanted to grill Jake rather than burgers or ribs.

  I shook my head. “You know this is a bad idea.”

  “Why?”

  I gave her a look, as if I had to remind her. “Because he’s sort of a…well, vampire.” Although a half-breed who didn’t need blood to survive.

  “She won’t know that.”

  “She’s a cop. A good one. She can find out anything about anyone. She already ran Jake through the computer banks, remember.”

  “That’s because Jake was involved in your homicide investigation. But he’s not part of a case now. He’s your boyfriend. Lover. Whatever.”

  “And that should make me feel more at ease…why?”

  “Because Mom respects you and your choices.”

  Could’ve fooled me. Somehow, when dealing with Mom, I always felt like less. Maybe that was my own problem, but I just couldn’t help it.

  “It’ll be okay,” Silke said. “You’ll see.”

  How could identical twins be so different? Not just in lifestyle choices but in personality. Silke was outgoing, confident about herself and her choices, ever the optimist.

  I was…well, none of those things except confident about my work.

  The thing we had in common, the thing that made us close despite the differences, was not that we were twins, but that our love for one another was absolute. We would support one another, go to the mat for one another, give anything to see the other sister was safe…no matter what.

  “Jake is in your life to stay, right, Shell?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “You want him to be, though, don’t you?”

  “I guess.”

  Silke sighed. Loudly. “How would you feel if you never saw him again?”

  A lump filled my throat and my stomach knotted. “Horrible. I, um, do care about him.”

  “Then don’t you think it’s time Mom gets to know him better?”

  Praying that a barbeque didn’t spell disaster, I caved. “Okay. If Jake agrees to be the main course, then I guess we’ll make Mom happy.”

  “You won’t regret it.”

  I had my reservations on that score, but the family gathering was inevitable. I would have to warn Jake, though. Make sure he had a plausible story about his past.

  Although he’d been born with certain preternatural powers like speed, strength and amazing healing among other enhanced capabilities, Jake was equally human. He ate and drank regular food. Though he’d admitted to craving blood, he’d never indulged—he considered the craving to be like any other addiction and had fought it all his life. And, while sensitive to light—especially his eyes—he was no night creature. If he chose to go out during the day, he wore sunblock and dark glasses and went about his business. Like any other human, he aged normally and could die from disease or accident, the thing that made me fear for him. He operated like he was invincible, but he certainly wasn’t.

  His mother had protected Jake from being turned into a full-fledged vampire the way she had been, and Jake had protected her in return, making sure she was safe during the day while she slept. I envied that kind of child-parent devotion, which I’d never experienced with my own mother. He’d stayed with her until the day she’d pushed him out of the nest by walking into the sun to commit vampire suicide.

  Silke and I finished eating in sisterly silence. As usual, I tried to get the check, but for once Silke beat me to it.

  “My treat.”

  “Thanks.”

  Considering she’d been out of regular work for a while, I was surprised but didn’t object. I didn’t want to undermine Silke’s generosity of spirit, another thing I loved about her.

  Outside the bar, I said, “I’ll give you a ride home.”

  “Nah, I’m meeting someone at a club in half an hour. I’ll take a taxi.”

  “A boyfriend? You were drilling me and you w
ere hiding your honey?”

  “Not a boyfriend. Oriel Leger.”

  “So you’re manhunting with Sebastian’s other assistant?” Who I didn’t particularly like. Then again, I didn’t really know her the way Silke must. I shouldn’t jump to judgment.

  “We kind of hit it off, and we’re both dateless at the moment,” Silke said, quickly looking away. “You go home and get some sleep.”

  I did have a long-awaited appointment with my shower and bed, not to mention two cats waiting to be fed.

  Hugging Silke, I said, “We’ll talk tomorrow.”

  Exhausted, I made my way back to my car but couldn’t keep from letting my mind wander back to Sebastian Cole. About the way he’d looked at me. There was a familiar air about him, but I couldn’t figure out what connection my tired brain was trying to make, so I told myself to give it up.

  Falling into my Camaro, I decided I would think about it tomorrow.

  I went on autopilot until I turned on my police scanner. Even when off-duty, I liked to keep abreast of the crime in the city.

  “Drowning victim…the Chicago River north of Cermak,” dispatch said. “The woman was tied up and stuffed into the trunk of a car…”

  I see a trunk…bound hands…water…deep water…

  I did a U-turn and headed back in the opposite direction.

  And wondered how the hell I could track down a supposed banshee.

  Chapter Five

  My yearning for the comfort of my bed fled as I arrived on the murder scene already crowded with official vehicles circling a newer model Cadillac.

  A model with a very big trunk.

  I displayed my star to the uniformed officer trying to hold me back from entering what looked like a parking lot on the Chicago River’s South Branch. He waved me on and I pulled in, tucking the Camaro between a blue-and-white and an ambulance whose light bars flashed—one a luminous blue, the other blood red—against the night sky.

  Its engine still running, a city tow truck sat a few yards from the car it had yanked out of the water. This stretch of the Chicago River was lined with trees, some old growth, more new. The vehicle had gone through several saplings. What was left of the young trees lay scattered across the ground like so many broken pick-up sticks.

  Not many places where one could actually get right up against the river like this.

  I took a better look around.

  The intersection was sort of a no-man’s land. Bridges across the curves of the river served as shortcuts between Bridgeport and Pilsen and Chinatown. Amtrak and Orange Line rapid transit tracks ran parallel to the river, and warehouses in various stages of disrepair dotted the banks. The crumbling brick wall of one old building was painted with a mural, white letters advertising some product or other in Chinese. Across Canal, a marina was locked up against intruders.

  The area was deserted except for whoever was inside a 24/7 restaurant to the north.

  No one but cops around on foot.

  Not even a damn banshee.

  I wondered what the chances were of getting a witness to admit seeing the car take a dunk. Someone must have reported the accident.

  Surveying the scene, I knew I would get my answer from the self-important detective in charge—my nemesis, Detective Mike Norelli.

  Silently groaning, I put on my happy face and joined him. Wearing his usual ill-fitting suit—his tie no doubt holding vestiges of his last meal—Norelli was on his cell and didn’t seem to notice me. He stood next to the open car trunk, in the way of a crime scene investigator trying to work around him.

  The body hadn’t been moved, and I could see the slight figure of a woman in what looked like an expensive business suit. Her body was still relaxed, the limbs not yet set by rigor mortis, which happened two to four hours after death. A fresh kill. Her wet hair appeared dark in the moonlight, and her face was turned away from me. Just as well. I’d looked into the face of death enough lately. I didn’t need to see hers. Didn’t need another one haunting me until I set things right.

  I closed my eyes, offered a prayer for the victim’s soul and asked that her killer be brought to justice.

  Preferably by me.

  If there was anything I hated more than paperwork, it was the thought of a murderer walking free, with the potential to kill again.

  My moment of contemplation ended when Norelli asked, “What the hell are you doing here, Caldwell?”

  “I was in the neighborhood. Thought I’d join the party.”

  “Party favors are all gone. You could be too. This is my case.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  I glanced back into the trunk for a better look at the ligatures around the woman’s hands and feet. My mind was already working.

  Rope. What kind? Where had it been bought?

  And the knots. Anything special about them?

  I glanced back across the street at the marina. Sailor’s knots, maybe?

  “No, no, no you don’t,” Norelli blustered. “I already told you this was my case.”

  “You need a partner. Walker is on vacation.”

  Detective Jamal Walker paired up with Norelli more often than not. CPD detectives weren’t assigned partners. Certain detectives just drifted toward each other because they worked well together. You work on my case and I work on yours. A time-honored tradition.

  “With Walker off, you need someone to hold your hand.”

  “You’re not my type.”

  “I’m not asking you to dance with me, Norelli. Just work with me.”

  “Like I said, it’s my case.”

  “Correction.” I took a big breath and swallowed my pride. “I would like to work with you.”

  Not really, but I needed to be on this case. There was some connection between the little Irishman who’d approached me and the dead woman.

  Maybe Sebastian too.

  I don’t know what made me think it, but I couldn’t shake the idea. And if Sebastian was involved, so was Silke, if only by association. Years on the job told me I was onto a lead. Following my instinct usually served me well.

  “Why now?” Norelli asked, suspicion ripe in his voice. “Why this case?”

  I shrugged and gave him my most heartfelt expression. “I finally realized I was missing out. Walker made me see that. He was right when he said you are the job, Norelli.” True. “You’re good, and you see that justice is served.” True, as well. “I want to learn at your feet.” Not so much.

  He barked a laugh. “Sounds like a load of bullshit to me.”

  “C’mon, give me a break already.” I kept my voice even and a smile frozen on my lips. “Haven’t I paid enough dues for you yet? Didn’t we work okay on the cult killer case?”

  “You did a credible job.”

  I had done a fantastic job, both of solving it and covering up the fact that real vampires had been involved, which he’d never even suspected.

  My job was mega-important to me and I’d almost lost it once. When I found the first body in the cult killer case and called it in, it disappeared by the time backup arrived. Case closed. But not for me. I hadn’t been able to let it go and made it my mission to find out what happened. And my reward? Ordered to get psych evaluation, I’d been taken out of Homicide, demoted to a rubber gun cop until the psychiatrist deemed me ready to make a comeback.

  So after getting back in the CPD’s good graces, I’d worked undercover, pretending to be Silke, at a Goth bar. That’s where I’d met Jake. And the vampire. Make that vampires, plural.

  I’d solved the case and recovered my standing in the department, but ever since I’d known that vampires existed right here in River City, I’d been trying to avoid anything that would make me look bad or even foolish. I’d been walking on eggs around the department, blaming the past. I couldn’t imagine talking about the supernatural, stuff no one else believed in—stuff I hadn’t believed in myself until I’d been forced to.

  “C’mon, Norelli,” I wheedled, “let me in.”

  He thought abo
ut it for a moment before relenting. “All right. But everything goes through me.”

  Everything he knew about. I wasn’t going to give him more than I had to, not if it meant protecting Silke. I’d become an expert at that.

  “Deal?” he asked.

  “Deal. So how did we get the tip on the victim?” I asked, wondering if he’d tell me about Casey Brogan.

  Had the supposed banshee caught Norelli and given him the story after I’d driven off?

  “Phone call. A man. He was driving past this intersection and saw the car head straight for those trees.”

  “A man. No name?”

  “He identified himself as Mr. Concerned Citizen.”

  Norelli said it like I should know better. And really I did. But it never hurt to ask anyway. I always asked. Part of my M.O. A detective was closer to being a researcher than a street cop. Asking questions was what we did. Sometimes, when we got lucky, we even got the answers we were looking for.

  “So what do we got?” Norelli asked the crime scene investigator.

  “Fiber. Hair. The usual.”

  “Any prints?”

  “All over the place. Looks like three sets.”

  “What are our chances of running them fast?” I asked.

  Norelli gave me one of his special looks. “Tell me she’s related to the mayor or an alderman.”

  I knew better about that too. If the case wasn’t what we called a heater—the victim being connected—it could take weeks, even months, to get results. It wasn’t like television. CSI gave viewers the wrong impression of the way a case was handled.

  I said, “We have to ID her first.”

  “Julie Martin, Wrigleyville address.”

  “It’s a start,” Norelli said. “She wearing a ring?”