The Green Line (25 page)

“Oh shit!”

“What?”

“I left the food. I bumped into him and just left it on the table! He’s got to know I was scared. He’s—”

“Abby. Stop. At this point, I’m not going to leave you alone. This will be over soon. I can feel it. Callahan had a file on his desk for Reggie’s Bar. He’s involved with the police in these forfeitures. I’m sure of it.”

· · ·

TRIP
stood at the window and watched Abby get in a car and drive off. He couldn’t see who was driving. He turned back and noticed her bagged food on the table. He knew that look. He knew fear. What did she know? He needed to finish this.

Trip sat at the table and opened Abby’s bags. Two turkey and cream cheeses on multigrain. “Thanks Abby,” he muttered as he ate one of the sandwiches. He pulled a pen from his inside breast pocket and began making a list of what needed to be done.

Call Patrick—go Monday. Right before work.

Call Dominick.

Get Tanor’s key.

And it was just that simple.

TWENTY-ONE

ABBY,
come here!” Marcus called to her from the guest room. He’d been on the computer for hours. Abby stopped working on her memo, though she’d barely begun, and took the steps two at a time.

“Look at this.”

The screen was filled with the photo of a boy who looked no more than fifteen.

“Who’s that?”

“Patrick Ellis. That’s who was arrested at Quick Mart for alleged drug trafficking. So that’s the guy who was here too.”

“Where’d this picture come from? He looks so young.”

“It’s from his juvenile file. I’ve been going through Callahan’s record from his time on the force more closely. We’ve seen him with the kid outside your place, and we know he didn’t arrest him, so he’s got to know him. I’ve done a little digging. Looks like Callahan is one of two kids. Parents live up in Lake Forest. His father owns Callahan Construction.”

“Well, that’s huge.”

“Yeah. Obviously comes from money. Mother has an architectural design firm—Weber Designs, LLC.”

“Weber Designs. Like Weber Properties.”

“Right. Mother’s maiden name is Weber. He’s got one sister. She’s thirty-six, lives in Glencoe. Two small kids.”

“So, he’s obviously not related to this kid I’ve seen.”

“Right. And I’m just trying to figure out the connection. See if it pulls this all together. It turns out Callahan arrested Patrick Ellis on three separate occasions back in 1999. Theft, a car-jacking, drug-dealing. The kid spent some time at the juvenile detention center. He was supposed to be held until he turned eighteen.”

“So he would have gotten out, when? Last year?”

“Turns out he got out earlier, actually. I pulled up the boy’s records from his time at juve.”

“I thought minors’ records are sealed?”

“They are. But I’m not on the Internet here. I’m in the internal Intranet of the Chicago Correctional Facility. All the top brass at the department have access to the correctional systems. Duvane told me the code.”

He turned back to the screen. “Anyway, this kid never had any visitors the first year he was there. Then, in 2000, he had three visits. The visitor signed in as T.W.C. TWC Industries owns that Mercedes I saw him driving yesterday.” Marcus looked at Abby. “Like maybe Thomas Weber Callahan.”

Abby went back to the big chair to process the information.

Marcus continued. “And here’s the kicker. The kid got out a year early. Released in 2001, thanks to…,” he began reading from the document, “the testimony of the arresting officer who believes that he has been rehabilitated.”

“So Callahan got the kid out three years ago. And now the kid owes him? Works for him?”

“I’m going to find that kid in the morning. I’ve got the address of the halfway house he was sent to. I’ll start there. If I can find him, I think we have it. We get him to turn on Callahan and maybe he can even name other cops.”

Abby didn’t let him finish. “But you’ll stay here again tonight?”

He’d been at her place since Friday night and it was a lot more comforting than her alarm system.

Marcus smiled. “Yes. And tomorrow, Abby, you go to work. You stay there and if you haven’t heard from me by the end of the day, you call me. I hope that I can talk to the kid, get enough information that I can have Callahan arrested by the end of the day. But I don’t want you going home alone. And if anything happens and you can’t reach me, call Duvane. You still have his card?”

“Yes.”

“He knows all about you, Abby. We’re both watching out for you.”

ABBY
and Marcus were both up by seven. Marcus came into the kitchen with his jacket on and put down the coffee he’d finished. Abby was getting some cereal and bowls for both of them.

“No thanks,” he said, looking at the cereal and then his watch. It was almost eight. “Probably best if your neighbor doesn’t see me coming out of your place at this time in the morning.”

Abby had to laugh. She could imagine the assumptions Mrs. Tanor would make if she saw Marcus leaving her place. “Oh yes, go.”

Marcus went to the coffee table, grabbed his gun, and put it in his ankle holster. “Now, you get to work too. I don’t want you here alone.”

“I know, I know. I just need to finish getting ready. I’ll be out of here in about ten minutes.”

“Okay, I’ll call you later.”

“Bye.” She poured some milk on her cereal and heard him barrel down the stairs and let himself out.

Ten minutes later, Abby had eaten and dressed and was gathering up her paperwork. She had made some progress on the partnership memo, but it wasn’t ready. She thought of bumping into Jerry, having him ask for it before it was done. She couldn’t face that possibility. She might as well not turn it in. It would be proof that she’d slipped. She looked at her watch. Just finish, she thought. Nothing bad happens at eight o’clock in the morning. There was too much activity in the street, too many neighbors at home. She turned on her security alarm, sat down, and pulled out her draft.

Thirty minutes later, she put the papers in her briefcase and grabbed her coat. Things were turning around.

Buzz
.
Buzz
. The noise startled her. Cautiously, Abby pressed the intercom button. “Yes?”

“Abigail, please come out. I need to talk to you.”

“Who is this?”

“Uh. Patrick.” She ran from the intercom to the window and peered out to the front gate. It was the kid. She ran back to the intercom.

“What do you want?”

“I need to talk to you. It’s about Ali Rashid.”

She didn’t wait to hear more. She grabbed her briefcase from the table, put on her coat and ran down the stairs and out to the gate. But the boy had moved away from the gate. He was now by the curb about six feet away. Abby remained inside the gate.

“What can you tell me? Do you know who killed him?”

The boy looked confused. Scared. He kept looking down the street.

“Please. Not right here. I…,” he looked around and walked about ten feet further away from her, toward the alley. He looked paranoid.

“Wait!” She opened the gate and hurried up to him.

“If you know something, please tell me. Are you working for Thomas Callahan?”

He stared at her, obviously surprised by the question. “I…, I…, ” he looked down the block again, and then smiled at her. A smirk really.

The tires of a police car screeched to a stop right next to them. The lights were flashing though there were no siren sounds.

Abby, confused, but relieved to have a real officer, a man in uniform and a marked vehicle here to assist, turned to them for help. “Officer—”

Before she could finish her sentence, two officers jumped out of the car with guns drawn, telling them both to freeze.

Abby was dumbstruck. “Officer, this is a mistake!”

One of them grabbed Abby by the elbow and pulled her toward his car. The other officer did the same to the boy.

“Please wait! Listen!”

The officer pushed her hands down on the hood of the vehicle and began to pat her down.

“Wait! What is happening? I’m a lawyer!”

The officers laughed. “Good for you,” one of them said.

“And what do we have here?” His hand was in her coat pocket. He pulled out a big wad of bills.

“That’s not mine!”

“And I think we’ve got something here as well,” the other officer chimed in. He pulled a large bag of pills from the boy’s jacket.

Abby looked at the boy’s face. He had no reaction, as if he didn’t even care what was happening.

“This is a mistake!”

“You have the right to remain silent.” He handcuffed her, continuing with her Miranda rights, and pushed her into the back of the car.

Abby sat in silence as the officers drove them to the station. She looked at the boy. He was looking out the window.

“What were you going to tell me?”

He ignored her.

ABBY
sat in the interrogation room with the arresting officers. One of them sat across from her at the table. The other paced the room.

“Officers, I don’t know what you think you saw, but you didn’t.”

The man pacing the room cut her off. “We know who you are, Ms. Donovan. We know that you were just arrested with four thousand dollars in cash and your little dealer was arrested, standing beside you with approximately four thousand worth of prescription drugs. Looks like clear-cut trafficking.”

Abby opened her mouth to speak, but the officer put out his hand to cut her off.

“We know that you were recently at Dalcon Pharmaceuticals with unfettered access to their storage.”

“What is going on here? How do you even know that? And why does that matter?”

“It matters because Dalcon Pharmaceuticals makes Medicone, an oxycodone formulation. And I’d bet money that the drugs we just found on the boy was Medicone.”

“This is insanity. I’m an attorney. I’m representing Dalcon Pharmaceuticals in a product liability case.”

The officer continued. “We know. We also know that the boy, your dealer, has been spotted outside your building on numerous occasions, upsetting your neighbors.” He read from his notes. “A Mrs. Tanor, I believe?”

“Hold on a minute. I’m a senior associate at Simon & Dunn. I don’t know who that boy is. I—”

The man in front of her chuckled. He spoke in a cool, even tone. “Ms. Donovan. You’re obviously trafficking prescription drugs. Now, if you’re just honest about the mess you’re in, things will go a lot better for you.”

She slapped her hand on the table. “This is insane. I don’t do drugs or sell drugs or know anything about drugs.”

The man by the door continued. “Well, what we know is that that kid has been seen loitering around your building on several occasions. You were also seen at a reputed drug location—one Reggie’s Bar and Grill on January twenty-sixth.”

Abby couldn’t hide her rage. “You know that because I told the police I was there. I found that bar because I was trying to get home.”

The man at the table cut her off again. He was still looking at her file. “Yes. And if you were at Reggie’s for help, we’re wondering how it is that you came across a dead body in the bathroom, never called anyone for help, and ran from the scene.”

“I had to pee, okay. I found the woman in the bathroom. I couldn’t find anyone who worked there. Some boys came in and attacked me. They stole my purse.”

“Well, that’s your story. Or maybe you’re a strung-out lawyer trying to support a habit. We hear a lot of stories of professionals getting addicted to prescription drugs—trafficking to support their habit. You’re in a high-stress job. Probably don’t get much sleep.”

The second officer broke in. “And I wonder what your fellow attorneys might say about your job performance? What your neighbors might say about you?”

Her head was spinning. She could just picture Jerry, her long time advocate, shaking his head in disbelief as he heard the news. Believing it because she had been slipping. Working less, more erratic. And her secretary, who’d been asking her why she was getting so many calls from police officers. Questions Abby had evaded. And Mrs. Tanor—she could just imagine. She’d think of that night when Abby forgot her keys, she’d think of Abby and David’s break up that Abby would never explain, she’d think of this boy who kept showing up, calling out to Abby. It sounded possible. Hell, if Abby didn’t know better, she might believe the story.

The officer continued. “Maybe you went to Reggie’s to make a buy, something went down, a woman was killed, and you ran.”

She looked into their faces. She didn’t know what to say. Tell them everything? Hope they believed her? Tell them about Marcus and Duvane? What if these guys were working with Callahan? “I want my lawyer.”

TWENTY-TWO