Hot Trick (A Detective Shelley Caldwell Novel) Page 9

  “Well, yeah, you called and told me to come here.”

  “Of course I did. As I said, since you’re new, I thought we should go over a few things.”

  Silke grimaced. “I didn’t live up to your expectations last night.”

  “Not at all. You more than lived up to them. You’re in, so relax. Everything was so rushed that you never got proper time to get familiar with the tools of my trade. Get some pointers on how to work the crowd.”

  “Oh, sure. Like I told you before, though, I’ve had plenty of practice improvising. And I’m a quick study.”

  “Good. Then we won’t be at it long.”

  Sebastian knew firsthand that siblings could be at opposite poles, but Shelley and Silke were identical twins and he’d mistakenly thought they might be more alike. While Silke was sweet, somewhat innocent and definitely malleable, Shelley was a wildcard.

  Which made his plan more difficult to execute.

  And more interesting.

  “Where’s Oriel?” Silke asked as she wandered over to his collection of handcuffs and shackles.

  “Oriel has been part of the team for several months, so she’s quite familiar with all the props and escapes. The ones I’ve already planned out, that is.”

  “So it’s just you and me…” She grinned. “Where do we start?”

  Sebastian got the distinct feeling that Silke was interested in more than props and escapes. There was something about her…but he had to focus.

  “Keep doing what you’re doing. Familiarize yourself with everything.”

  Silke shrugged and continued on to one of the cabinets with multiple doors. Sebastian let her open and close them and step inside the cabinet herself before broaching his true reason for calling her here.

  “So what does your sister think about your work?”

  “Shelley? She’s mostly supportive.”

  “Mostly?”

  “It’s not that she doesn’t want me to have a career in show biz. She’s just security conscious.”

  “You mean in a financial way.”

  “In every way. She is a cop, you know.”

  “I got that.”

  Silke stepped out of the cabinet and eyed him closely. “You’re interested in her.”

  “Curious,” he corrected, “about you both, how you came to be so different.”

  Silke laughed. “Sometimes I think we’re two halves of a single person. But then I think that’s probably true of all siblings, right?”

  “Maybe some.”

  Talk about your sister. Reveal something personal.

  Silke twitched and said, “As different as we are, I know that Shelley will always be there for me.”

  Deeper. Her hopes…and fears.

  Seeming uncomfortable, Silke asked, “Did you say something?”

  “Me? No. I was just listening.”

  Had she sensed the suggestion? Suggestion hadn’t worked on Shelley, either.

  “Shelley would do anything for me,” Silke went on, “and I would do anything for her. That’s just the way it is with siblings.”

  “Not with all siblings. Not all relationships are as rosy as you’re painting them to be.”

  Tell me a fact that no one else knows about your sister.

  “Hey, are you trying to get into my head?”

  “What?”

  Silke gave him an intense stare. “You are interested in Shelley, aren’t you? That suggestion stuff won’t work with her.”

  “Suggestion?”

  “We have built-in mind radar—the twin thing, you know. We can keep each other out. Or anyone else.”

  Whether Silke realized it or not, she’d just given him a bit of personal information about her sister, a reason why he hadn’t been able to suggest Shelley in the crowd after the attempted theft. It was a start.

  Sebastian knew he would have to handle Silke carefully if he wanted to know more about Shelley. How to get to her.

  How to make her dreams—of him—come true.

  Taking Shelley away from Jake DeAtley was the first step in his plan to destroy the bastard. Sebastian hoped losing the woman he loved would devastate Jake, but he wouldn’t be satisfied until Jake knew what it felt like to have everything he cared about stripped away.

  Until he, too, was left with no one and nothing.

  Chapter Twenty

  “Maybe Larson will get a bead on whoever sent that email,” Norelli said after checking in the laptop as evidence and turning it over to the department computer geek.

  “We can hope.”

  The addy on the email didn’t exist. If anyone could track down the email through layers of fake addresses, Marcia Larson could. And then we would get a judge to sign an order forcing the ISP to give over the name of their client. Bobby Rafferty would no doubt insist on doing it himself.

  I decided to check on the hunt for Casey Brogan. I looked for the uniformed officer who’d been doing the search for me and found him in the coffee room.

  “Yeah, there are a couple of Brogans on the south side, but no Caseys,” he said. “I even went out to a couple of the addresses to check in person. It’s like the guy doesn’t exist.”

  Which made me wonder where a banshee might live.

  I headed back to my desk, going over the events of the last twenty-four hours in my mind.

  A man who might or might not exist, and might or might not be a supernatural creature.

  Thieves who magically escaped from a paddy wagon.

  A magician who tried to get into my mind.

  I didn’t like the way things were adding up. We still hadn’t interviewed Sebastian’s staff—something yet to be arranged. How many people were in the know about what escape he planned to perform? His PR person and manager. And if Silke knew, then so did Oriel. Who else?

  When I’d called Silke earlier, she’d mentioned meeting Sebastian for rehearsal later, but she didn’t know the specifics. That would be a good time for Norelli and me to make our appearance.

  In the meantime, I needed something to do. I approached Norelli, saying, “I want to check that address in Bridgeport.”

  “I need a few hours of down time so when I get that info on Fox, I have the steam to go after him.”

  If he’d slept at all since I’d attached myself to him, I hadn’t seen it. “No problem. I probably won’t be gone long. I just thought I would check it out.”

  “Not alone.”

  His warning reminded me of Jake’s accusation that I was playing Lone Ranger again. I had been thinking of going on my own, but now I was double-warned.

  “Don’t worry. I’ll see who’s available to come with me.”

  But as it turned out, no one was. With all the comings and goings, it seemed like it was crime night in Chicago. Everyone was busy with some report or call. Everyone but me.

  I stewed for a while, but being an impatient creature, eventually I couldn’t stand it. In the end, I decided to go alone. I was only going to check out the address, see what the street looked like, maybe talk to the neighbors, ask if anyone saw a woman of Julie Martin’s description. If I was really lucky, I would get a real name for Snake Eyes.

  I would be fine. I’d have my radio and could call for backup if needed. Not wanting to drive my Camaro—it had taken enough abuse and was a recognizable target—I checked out a department car, a dark blue sedan.

  Twenty minutes later, as the sun was setting, I arrived in Bridgeport. I stood between a couple of brick two-flats, staring at the flower beds. Bridgeport was a south-side neighborhood very similar to Silke’s. Some of the streets had been raised decades ago, so high first floors were now at street level and the yards several feet below.

  That’s what I stared at now—a side yard, part of a double lot—and wondered why I was surprised. The address in the email to Julie Martin didn’t exist.

  I imagined her getting out of her car as I was doing and looking around, perplexed. What to do?

  An elderly woman carrying groceries gave me a cu
rious expression as she headed toward the two-flat to the south of the open lot.

  “Excuse me, ma’am.” I flipped her my star.

  She turned her back on me, muttering, “I didn’t do nothing wrong and I don’t want any problems.”

  I caught up to her. “I was just wondering if you saw a woman out here last night, looking like she was waiting for someone. Dark hair, well dressed. She drove a newer model Cadillac.”

  “I didn’t see nothing.” The woman hurried up the front steps.

  I was younger and faster and easily got between her and the door. “This is an official investigation, ma’am. The woman’s name was Julie Martin. Last night, she was murdered.”

  Dropping her groceries to the porch floor, the woman crossed herself. “Oh, I don’t need trouble. I didn’t see nothing.”

  So why didn’t I believe her?

  “Not even the woman?”

  She dipped her head and stooped to gather some spilled groceries. I beat her to it and as I held onto the grocery bag, looked her straight in her terrified eyes.

  “Anything you can tell me might help catch the Martin woman’s murderer. We’ll take him off the streets, ma’am, put him behind bars. You want your neighborhood to be safe, don’t you? You don’t want anyone else hurt?”

  “All right, all right.” She straightened and reached for the bag. “Maybe I did see her. There was a stranger out here, looking around like she was confused.”

  “Then what?”

  “Someone must’ve called her from across the street because she turned and then headed that way. That’s all I know. Honest. I live on the second floor and that tree kept me from seeing anything else.”

  She indicated a mature, leafy maple. Undoubtedly she was telling the truth.

  “Have you ever seen a Hispanic kid with tattoo sleeves? You know, both arms tattooed from the wrists to the shoulders. He hangs around with a guy in his twenties—caramel skin, flat eyes.”

  Now the woman appeared alarmed. “You think they did it?”

  “You know where they live?” I countered.

  “Across the street.”

  “Which building?”

  “Directly across from the side yard. There’s an apartment over the garage in back…I think a couple other guys live with them too. Can I go now?”

  I nodded and, while walking back to my car, got on my radio and called dispatch. I meant to wait for backup to arrive. Really I did. But I kept my eyes on the building and when I saw movement in the gangway, I went on immediate alert.

  A man emerged from between the buildings. Tattoo Boy. Not wearing his gangster clothes today, he headed for a familiar dark sedan parked at the curb.

  “C’mon, c’mon,” I muttered.

  I looked down the street but saw no boys in blue. I could either apprehend the guy now or let him get away.

  A no-brainer as far as I was concerned.

  Quickly crossing the street, I remained silent as I drew closer. Tattoo Boy didn’t even notice me until he had unlocked the car. Then his eyes widened and any doubt that I might have about who he was vanished.

  Stopping him from opening the door, I said, “Police…but you already know that. Hands up and assume the position.”

  Cursing under his breath, he raised his hands and turned as though acquiescing.

  And then he ran.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Oh, hell!

  Unwilling to let another offender get away, I found myself in yet another race. If I kept this up on a daily basis, I’d be in great shape for the next marathon. Not that I’d ever run one before. Or ever intended to.

  When he ducked down a sidewalk and into a gangway, I followed, yelling, “Stop!”

  “Make me!”

  His taunting made pulling my gun tempting. Instead, I did my best to narrow the distance between us. I wanted him cuffed, not dead. Dead wouldn’t give me the information I needed. Besides, he wasn’t threatening me with a weapon, and I didn’t know if he was guilty of anything but robbing the donation buckets, escaping from a police van and resisting arrest. Not exactly capital offenses.

  And while I might be able to blast a vital body part, I wasn’t trained to hit a leg to slow him down.

  So my gun stayed holstered as I flew after the thief into a backyard…and realized I didn’t see him. I couldn’t have lost him—not that fast. He hadn’t been that far ahead of me. I stood there, panting, my gaze sweeping under the porch, around the flower beds and over to the garage. I was about to continue on into the alley when the hair at the back of my neck gave me warning. I turned just as Tattoo Boy jumped off the open porch on top of me.

  When his weight flattened me, the air whooshed out of my lungs. He seemed to be having no such problem as he got back to his feet. Unwilling to let him get away, I grabbed a leg and hung on until I got my breath back. Then I jerked hard and he fell to his side. He used his free leg to kick me in the shoulder.

  Okay, that did it. I was tired of playing nice. I was just tired. At last I heard sirens coming down the street.

  “Backup,” I informed him. He groaned and dropped back. I let go of his foot and pulled my gun. “Try to run and you’re fucked.”

  I always appreciated offenders taking me seriously.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  “So how much did this Tony Raymer tell you?” Norelli asked when I caught him up on my collar.

  Tony Raymer being Tattoo Boy’s real name.

  “Not much,” I admitted. “Snake Eyes recruited him and they were taking orders from some unknown person that only Snake Eyes knew.”

  “Does Snake Eyes have a name?”

  “James Johnson.”

  “James? Really?”

  I shrugged. “The others call him Jimmy J.” Snake Eyes sounded so much more dangerous. Maybe the next time we met up I would suggest he change his street handle. “Tattoo Boy’s street name is Tats.”

  “Did Raymer give up anything else?” Norelli asked.

  “That’s it. Well, he admitted everyone but Snakes Eyes has been holed up in that apartment over the garage for the last couple of weeks. Apparently Snake Eyes—Jimmy J if you prefer—has been coming and going, so he must have his own address. As we speak, a team is going over the apartment for fingerprints and evidence. If we can match the fingerprints to the ones we took off the car…”

  “Nothing else?”

  “Before I could do the interrogation tango with him, Raymer asked for his lawyer. So probably we’re done.”

  “Yeah, when they lawyer up, you might as well spend your time productively.”

  “Unless we cut him a deal.”

  Norelli nodded. “After he’s had time to squirm in that cell for a while.”

  “At least he’s young and doesn’t seem so tough. Not like Snake Eyes,” I said. “We have a good chance that he’ll break.”

  “Now we just gotta hope he’s got information worth buying.”

  “Like the name of whoever hired them, which he claims not to know.”

  “Or where or when they were supposed to strike next.”

  Or why they’d chased me down that dead-end street. Had they been trying to kill me or just scare me off? I’d asked and that’s when Raymer had decided to lawyer up.

  “Hey, what’s with your shoulder?”

  Norelli calling attention to my shoulder made me realize I’d been rubbing it. Straightening, I winced when I caused myself double the pain.

  “Bastard kicked me good,” I muttered.

  “Did you have it looked at?”

  “Nah.”

  “Go do it.”

  “It’s fine,” I assured him.

  “Show me. Pull your shoulders back.”

  I did with a soft, “Oof.”

  “Now raise the arm.”

  Cautiously, I lifted, my expression restrained as I got the limb halfway up.

  “Get it taken care of, Caldwell. I mean it. Get over to an ER and make sure you don’t have a damn fracture. Then go get a
good night’s sleep. I don’t want to see you back here until morning.”

  “But the case—”

  “Will be worked on without you.” He gave me the look that told me his mind was set. “You’ve been on duty too long. Could be the reason you got yourself hurt. It’ll take a while to get results from that apartment. Consider the case covered for now and don’t come back until noon.”

  I wanted to argue, but my body wasn’t the only thing that had taken a beating. I was exhausted and my brain wasn’t fully in gear. A hot shower and a good sleep would do the trick, I told myself.

  But if I didn’t get it checked out, Norelli wouldn’t let me alone.

  So I headed for an ER. Not the nearest one filled with victims of home abuse, gang activity and other forms of violence, rather one closer to home. I didn’t want to spend all night waiting to see a doctor. So I chose a hospital that would get me in and out fast.

  As it happened, a heart attack victim preceded me and then a couple of car accident victims were rushed in on stretchers.

  Which convinced me there was simply no way to get through an emergency room without waiting.

  My eyes grew heavy, and I tried to blink away sleep. Exhaustion got the better part of me, though, and I felt myself drift. Sebastian’s face filled my mind.

  “If you want me, I’m available. Anytime. Just say the word…”

  I forced my eyes open.

  “No, you don’t,” I threatened. “You’re not welcome here.”

  “What do you mean, not here?” an elderly voice squawked. “This is a hospital, ain’t it? An emergency room. They can’t kick me out!”

  Blinking away my confusion, I realized I sat across from an old woman dressed in layers of tattered clothing, a black plastic garbage bag at her feet. No doubt homeless, she might have come inside for a safe place for the night.

  “They can’t kick me out!” she told me again.

  “No, of course not,” I soothed, knowing the security guard was staring. If she didn’t calm down, and if she wasn’t hurt or ill, he would put her out the door. “My mistake.”

  Thankfully, that seemed to pacify her.

  The encounter pumped enough adrenaline into my system to keep me awake until a doctor could see me. All the while I wondered how Sebastian—a stranger—could have such an effect on me. I couldn’t stop thinking about his possible involvement in the murder case. Wondering whether or not he was Snake Eyes’ contact. Whether he’d sent the thieves after me. To scare me off?