Random Victim (25 page)

“I figured it was Walker’s.”

“So did I, but I decided to check on it anyway. The beeper was leased from Chi-Metro Communications to Richard J. Connors.”

Leal’s brow wrinkled. “But how did it end up with Walker? And why would a guy have his own, privately listed number on it?
Unless…”

“He loaned it out to somebody,” Hart said, completing the thought. “Somebody like Nuke, maybe?”

Leal gave a low whistle.

“Ollie, you’ve done a helluva job. If I wasn’t afraid of a sexual harassment suit, I’d kiss you.”

“Well, don’t let that stop you,” she said, blushing slightly.

He leaned over and kissed her gently on the forehead.

“Thanks,” she said. “So where do we go from here?”

Leal considered this for a moment.

“Right now, let’s just document what we’ve got so far,” he said. “And let’s just keep it between you and me.”

“We don’t tell the LT?”

Leal shook his head. “Brice is too ham-handed and single-minded. He’s got it in his head to get this Nuke guy before anything,
which isn’t really a bad way to go. Plus, this white-collar angle is a little too complex to throw at him until we’ve got
all the answers.” He thought for a moment. “I’ve got a couple of buddies in Financial Crimes. I’ll touch bases with them and
put them on to our Mr. Connors. Plus I want to check him out a little myself.”

“Okay by me,” Hart said.

“And one more thing,” he said. “I’ll take the responsibility for pursuing this angle. For now, anyway. If Brice finds out
about it and gets pissed, I don’t want him going after you.”

“Hey, we’re partners,” she said.

“I know that. You’re the best partner I’ve ever had,” he said, reaching out and squeezing her hand. “But after what happened
to Ryan today, I don’t want it to appear that you’ve done anything that Brice could interpret as insubordination.”

“Like not following his orders and going straight to the beauty shop?”

“Yeah, but when the time comes,” he said. “I’ll make sure you get the credit you deserve. And Joe, too.”

She squeezed his hand back.

“Frank, I
want
to be in on the rest of it. Plus, I’d like a chance at this Nuke guy when we get him.”

“Sure,” Leal said, realizing that he and Ryan had monopolized every interview so far. “I’ll make sure you get in on the arrest,
too, if you want. I promise.” He held up three fingers in a mock Boy Scout salute.

Hart smiled, then suddenly looked downward.

“Frank, I’ve got to tell you how much getting this assignment, and working with you, has meant to me.” She paused, and he
was reasonably certain that he saw her eyes starting to mist over. “It was the kind of case I’ve always dreamed about. And
when I started, I had so many doubts. But having you as a partner…it’s been…” She shook her head slightly and wiped
at her cheek. “I can’t seem to find the right words. It’s just that I’ve learned so much. I’ve come so far…” Her arms
encircled his neck.

He reached out to hug her.

“We both have, kid,” he said. “We both have.”

CHAPTER
THIRTY-THREE

Comrades and Adversaries

The long row of white TV vans with emblazoned logos and extended antennae lined the circular curb in front of headquarters
as Leal and Hart pulled into adjacent spaces near the outer edge of the parking lot. She’d called him earlier and told him
she was driving down in her own car since she had the doctor’s appointment. They’d coincidentally tagged up on the expressway
and driven the rest of the way almost side by side. Hart stepped out of her car first and stood there waiting for him.

Man, Leal thought as he looked at her freshly pressed tan uniform and patent-leather shoes. She looks sharp. She’d let her
blond hair fall gently over her shoulders in a profusion of curls instead of wearing it back, and had more clothes covered
in plastic slung over her shoulder.

“You look great,” he said. “You going to change into soft clothes afterward?”

“Yeah, I had to shift the doctor’s appointment to this afternoon, so I’m taking off right afterward.” They began walking toward
the front of the building where groups of reporters were filming backdrops for their upcoming newscasts. “As soon as they
get all the pictures they need, that is.”

“Want me to snap a few extra of you?”

“No, but thanks anyway.” He watched as her eyes surveyed the news vans. Her pace slowed. “Frank, I still don’t feel totally
right about this.”

“Ollie, we already talked about that, remember? You got to do this one for the Gipper.” He smiled. “Besides, I’m proud of
you. And as far as I’m concerned, you deserve it.”

“Thanks,” she said, and reached out and squeezed his arm as they got to the front steps. “You won’t forget about including
me in the wrap-up, will you?”

“I won’t forget. We’re partners, Pancho.”

“I thought you didn’t want me to call you that?”

“Call me what?” he asked, pulling open the door for her.

“You know. Cisco.”

“Well,” he said, smiling broadly. “It is permissible under certain circumstances.”

Laughing, they went to the office where Hart hung up her clothes, and they were dismayed to not find the cof-feemaker turned
on.

“Guess I’m actually starting to miss Ryan,” Leal said.

“Well, you’ve still got Murph,” she said.

Leal groaned and rolled his eyes.

They found Murphy in Brice’s office, sucking on his own cup of machine coffee from the cafeteria. Undersher-iff Lucas was
there with a script of the ceremony. He huddled with Hart, explaining exactly how they wanted her to stand, how they wanted
her to approach the sheriff, and, most importantly, what not to say. That included virtually anything about the ongoing investigation,
how she got injured, and so forth.

“If they push you,” Lucas said, “just say, ‘I’m unable to comment on that at this time,’ and I’ll step in. Got it?”

“Yes, sir,” she said.

“Good. Now after the sheriff presents you with the Medal of Valor, a short photo session will follow.” Lucas looked at his
watch. “You’re more than welcome to join us at the postconference luncheon.”

“Thanks, but I have to change clothes and go to my doctor’s appointment,” she said.

“Well, if you need any help changing,” Murphy said, “I’m available.”

He laughed, apparently thinking that would ingratiate him to the others, but all it did was bring a flush to Hart’s cheeks.

“I think I can manage, thanks,” she said.

Lucas emitted a short, forced laugh, but it, too, fell short, creating a feeling of distance rather than one of camaraderie.

“You’ve all done an excellent job on this,” Lucas said. “Lieutenant Brice will brief you on the next phase of the investigation.
You’ll have to excuse me while I check on the sheriff.”

He’s got his nose so far up O’Hara’s ass, it’s a wonder he’s still breathing, thought Leal.

“Okay, here’s the game plan,” Brice said. “The warrant for Nick Stevens, aka Nuke, is going to be placed in LEADS and NCIC
by the end of the day. So if he’s stopped or picked up, we’ll be notified. I’ve reached out to several friends in various
agencies, too. Joliet and Will County are both looking for him, and his picture’s also been put on the Chicago Daily Bulletin.
I’m confident we’ll bag him this weekend.”

Brice stopped to glance at his watch. He kneaded his forehead with big fingers, and smoothed back his hair. His face looked
creased and haggard, the strain evident in the heavy bags under each eye.

“So everybody keep either your beeper or cell phone on at all times.” He sighed. “In the event we don’t grab him in the next
forty-eight hours, the sheriff has scheduled a news conference for Monday evening. He’s going to cover some of the aspects
of the Walker investigation, including finding the body.”

“That’s going to make it worse for us,” Leal said.

“How so?” Brice said.

“Well, we still have some loose ends to tie up,” Leal said slowly. “I’d like to do a little more digging into Walker’s affairs.
Find out who the brains behind this really is. Nuke’s not running the show himself, and if we tip our hand, we’ll lose him.”

“We won’t know that till we bring Nuke in,” Brice said. “And we can’t sit on finding the body too long. The press will crucify
us. Anyway, the topic’s not open for discussion. If we get Nuke, we can grill him. If not, we let the truth about Walker being
a sex pervert and hiring them motorcycle assholes to do his old lady come out at the conference.”

“But just how did a guy like Walker connect with someone like Nuke?” Leal asked. “It doesn’t make sense. There’s a piece of
the puzzle missing.”

“Who gives a shit?” Brice said. His voice had risen to a high whine. “They probably were into drugs or something together.
Anyway, that ain’t what’s important.”

Leal gave a reluctant nod. He was missing Ryan’s interdiction skills already. Brice was just too stubborn and single-minded.

“So, you’ve all worked really hard on this, and I’m proud of you,” Brice said. “After the ceremony, you can all take the weekend
off. But like I said, stay close to your beepers and phones, and consider yourselves on call. That means no drinking. Well,
one or two beers is all right, but this thing could jump out at us at any time. If I need you, I’ll beep you to my cell with
a nine-one-one behind it. That means call me back immediately.”

Leal leaned back and tried to tune out Brice as he spoke. The weekend off. What a crock. But he already had some thing planned
for this afternoon, and tonight, hopefully, his dinner with Sharon wouldn’t be interrupted.

The awards ceremony was set up in the gym to accommodate the overabundance of people. An academy class was graduating, and
besides Hart’s medal, several other awards were being given out. Leal made the mistake of sitting next to Murphy near the
back, watching the heavyset cop surreptitiously pick at his nose. Finally, Murphy bowed his head and he started to snore.
The son of a bitch is dozing, he thought. Rather than rouse his partner with an errant elbow, Leal carefully slipped out of
his seat and left the row of chairs. He collared one of the photographers and told him to take an extra roll of Hart receiving
the Medal. He’d have it developed and printed himself. This is something she’ll want to look back on, he thought.

“And our recipient of the Cook County Medal of Valor,” the announcer’s voice said, echoing through the large auditorium, “is
Officer Olivia Hart…”

Leal listened while a brief summary of the incident, obviously tailored to sound dynamically succinct while saying very little
in the way of facts, was read. Hart stepped forward, stopped, and stood at attention. From the distance O’Hara looked short
and paunchy as he moved next to her and held out the Medal in his left hand, while extending his right. As they shook hands
and the flashes popped, Hart appeared infinitely more impressive, all blond curls, broad shoulders, and tapering waist. Like
Wonder Woman receiving an award from one of the Seven Dwarfs.

That asshole Lucas ain’t gonna like the rushes on this one, Leal thought. Maybe that’s why he scheduled another photo shoot
after the ceremony. Give them time to find a box for O’Hara to stand on for that one, and photograph him from the waist up.
Just like early Elvis.

Leal chuckled at the thought, then, out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of Brice standing about fifty feet away
staring at him.

Leal cruised by Richard Connors’ home twice before he called the unlisted number on his cell phone. He’d done that same thing
when he’d been in MEG—driven by to get a feel for the place. He pulled to the edge of the sweeping cul-de-sac and appreciated
the lush, green lawn. The front door was recessed behind a brick archway, and the white XJ6 sat in the driveway like a gleaming
trophy. Leal pressed the “send” button.

Connors answered on the second ring with a clipped hello. The voice became totally cordial and relaxed when Leal identified
himself as a police officer.

“I’m conducting a death investigation. This number was among the decedent’s possessions.”

“Oh, yeah. Who died?” He sounded mildly curious.

“I’d rather speak in person about this, Mr. Connors,” Leal said. “Would you mind if I stopped in? I’m in the neighborhood.”

“Well, I was on my way out,” Connors said, a trickle of doubt seemed to invade his tone for the first time. “But I certainly
want to do everything to cooperate. And since you’re in the neighborhood. You need my address?”

“No,” Leal said.

He waited down the block for about five minutes just to see if Connors was going to rabbit on him. Then he made the slow turn
and pulled up in front of the house. A forced space between two of the closed blinds in the picture window cracked shut.

Connors looked pretty much like Leal had imagined: midthirties, fit-looking, a wavy crop of brown hair, and with a fashionable
tan.

“We spoke on the phone,” Leal said, holding up his badge.

“Yeah, come on in,” Connors said, stepping back and extending his arm. “I hope you can at least tell me who it was that got
murdered.”

“How’d you know it was a murder?”

Connors looked almost startled, then relaxed into a smile.

“I didn’t,” he said. “I just assumed. That’s a dangerous thing to do with a guy like you, isn’t it?”

The house was dimly lit and the light pastel walls blended effortlessly into each other. The floor was lined with a thick,
bluish carpeting, and the hallway was bordered by a row of ceiling-to-floor burnished wooden posts. Through the gaps Leal
could see into a sunken dayroom where a large-screen television played some cable movie. A pair of well-formed female legs
and a bare arm protruded from the corner area of a curving sofa. The legs shifted suddenly and a young girl in a purple bikini
padded to the bottom of the stairs. Leal admired her curves for a moment and she smiled up at him.

“Candy, this is Sergeant Leal,” Connors said. “We’re going to be talking in the den for a bit.”

“Oh, okay,” the girl said. Her eyes swept over Leal for a moment, as if assessing him, and she returned to the sofa.

“Come on this way,” Connors said. “Want something to drink?”

Leal shook his head.

“Oh, that’s right, you’re on duty, aren’t you?” Connors smiled. He turned and spoke over his shoulder as they walked. “So
tell me, what’s it like being a cop?”

“Like anything else, I guess. It has its moments.” Leal followed him down an adjacent hallway. “What type of work do you do,
Mr. Connors?”

“I’m what you might call an entrepreneur. Made a killing with a dot-com company when they first started. Got out before they
went belly-up.” He opened a finely polished door, paused, and grinned. “I didn’t mean the killing part literally, now.”

The room was spacious, with a large teakwood desk at the rear wall. A computer sprawled across the desk, along with a set
of assembled chess pieces. Two comfortable-looking leather chairs sat on either side of the desk, and a gun cabinet with an
array of rifles was off to the right. The walls were decorated with the stuffed heads of several ani-mals: a ten-point buck,
an elk, a brown bear. On the opposite wall were three big snarling cat heads: a male lion, his female counterpart, and the
striped head of a tiger.

Leal studied the animals as he sat down.

“Trophies,” Connors said. “I like to hunt.”

“I thought tigers were an endangered species,” Leal said.

Connors smiled.

“Actually, those came from a game farm. One of those private zoos down in Texas. It was going out of business and my guide
bought them. We tried to set them free on his preserve so we could hunt them, but it turned out to be a bust. They were so
tame all they wanted to do was hide, even after we set the dogs loose.”

Leal nodded, continuing to size the other man up. If he was nervous, he sure wasn’t showing it.

“Not much of a challenge, really,” Connors said. “But they make a helluva conversation piece. I’m hoping to bag a bison next
year. It’s one of the big ten, you know.”

Leal shook his head. He’d learned a long time ago to listen more and talk less. It gave him a chance to observe the other
person. Size them up.

“So tell, me,” Connors said, “who is it that was killed? I’m dying to know.” He laughed.

“Do know Martin Walker?”

Connors wrinkled his brow. “Martin, yeah, sure. We went to high school together. Used to be in the chess club.” He stared
at Leal for a moment. “It’s him? Oh, wow, that’s a trip. After what happened to his wife, and now him.” He shook his head.
“How did it happen?”

Leal ignored the question. “When was the last time you spoke to him?”

Connors licked his lips, shaking his head slightly.

“You know, I couldn’t really tell you. We bumped into each other a few years ago at one of our high school reunions. Our fifteenth,
I think.” He smiled. “It was right after I’d started making some money with my company, and he offered to help me invest some
of it. But we weren’t particularly close.”

“Why would he have your home number?”

“Well, like I said, he was my investor,” Connors said. “But a lot of people have my number. Can you tell me what happened?”