The Green Line (28 page)

“I had the Reggie’s forfeiture case checked.”

“And?”

“The prosecutor filed for default judgment this morning. The owner’s dead. Drive-by shooting in Garfield Park over the weekend. Both driver and passenger killed.”

“Who was in the car with him?”

“His son.”

“Shit. This is Callahan. He wanted that property. I saw a file on his desk. Abby and I went through this. He’s getting rid of anyone who dares to challenge a forfeiture case he’s interested in. And now Leon can’t finger him either.”

“Where’s the girl?”

“At work.”

“You need to watch her. We better pick up Callahan.”

Thank God. Marcus hung up and noticed the flashing voice mail message on his phone.

He listened to the message from some attorney who said he was representing Abby on her drug-trafficking charge.
What!
Marcus made an abrupt U-turn, ignoring the horns and screeching breaks, and gunned the car up Wells Street toward Abby. He tossed the phone, cursing. He couldn’t believe he’d let this happen. It took about fifteen more minutes before he was on Halsted, just east of Abby’s place. He turned west on Roscoe and flew up the small street, looking for parking. Gottlieb’s message had said they had a two o’clock hearing. She should be home by now. He slowed when he got close, looking for a parking spot, a nearly impossible feat in this neighborhood. He continued to the corner of Roscoe and Clark and scanned the lot next to her building where parking was prohibited. He’d risk the ticket. A tan Cadillac was pulling out of a spot. Wait. The kid had a tan Cadillac. The car was coming right toward him. He watched as it pulled out onto Roscoe. And then he could see the driver. It was Callahan—taking a right on Clark and heading north. Marcus followed.

· · ·

ABBY
stared at the computer screen. She’d finished the damn thing this morning, but as she re-read it one last time, it sounded stupid—it sounded as transparent and phony as it felt. In the last section, she was to describe why she thought she was ready for partnership, what she felt most confident about as an attorney, and what she would bring to the partnership. What a joke. She’d bring what, a criminal record? An ability to fuck everything up?

It seemed so stupid to worry about work right now. She didn’t deserve partnership anyway. She didn’t even want it. But she did. She had to. And she needed to stay focused on it, to assume that this ridiculous mess would get straightened out, that no one at work would ever find out. That Callahan would be put away. Maybe he was already in jail. But why hadn’t she heard from Marcus? Didn’t he know what had happened? She closed the document and drafted an e-mail to David. She couldn’t bear having him think she was on drugs. But she didn’t want to talk to him and hardly knew what to write. It was brief. Laughably so.

David—Saw you today. Sorry for the scene. I got arrested. Didn’t do anything. I’m being framed for trafficking! Sounds crazy, I know. But I’m trying to get to the bottom of it. Please don’t think the worst. Love, Abby

She hit
send
and wondered if he ever thought of her anymore.

The doorbell rang. She breathed a little easier, thinking that Marcus was here. Hoping for good news, she ran down the stairs. “Who is it?”

“Mrs. Tanor.” Abby’s body went limp with disappointment. She opened the door.

“Hello, dear.”

“Hi.”

“May I come in for a moment? It’s freezing out here.”

“Yes, of course.” Abby could feel the wind going through her leggings and sweatshirt.

“Abby, I saw you get arrested this morning. Dear, is it true? What they’re saying? That you’ve been dealing drugs?”

“No! Come on, Mrs. Tanor. You know me.”

“Well, I thought I did. But that boy’s been coming around, your boyfriend moved out, you haven’t seemed yourself in months.” And then she whispered, “And I saw some scary
black
man with big gold chains come over very late Friday and the two of you left together on Saturday.”

Abby shook her head. Mrs. Tanor had obviously jumped to all sorts of conclusions. Everyone would. Because, of course, none of them knew her well enough not to. She’d kept most everyone at arm’s length and eventually pushed David away, too. And now even he probably wondered about her.

“Mrs. Tanor, please believe me. I’m not doing drugs. I don’t sell drugs. I know you think you saw some gangster here, but you’re mistaken. I just can’t tell you what’s going on. It’s not what you think.” She wanted to say more but she was scared of Callahan and dirty cops and didn’t want to put Mrs. Tanor in any danger.

“Abby, I don’t know what to think. I always liked you. But I need to feel safe in my home. Lately, a lot of strange things have happened around here. I think someone was in my house yesterday. I’m an old woman. I need to feel safe!”

“What do you mean someone was in your house? Did you call the police?”

“Well, no, because there was really no evidence. My doors weren’t broken and I couldn’t find anything missing but it seemed cold, like a window or a door had been open for a while, and the drawer in my kitchen was open. I didn’t open it.”

It didn’t sound like much. “Mrs. Tanor. I’m in trouble. I don’t know why, but someone is trying to frame me. Please, don’t believe what you hear. I’m going to get this all sorted out.”

“Okay, dear.” She offered Abby a hug¸ and though Abby would normally resist, she couldn’t. They embraced and Abby held on. She closed her eyes, took a breath, and tried to pretend her mom was here, hugging her, making it all better. Mrs. Tanor pulled away and looked at her face.

“Dear, you look so tired. Get some rest.”

Abby let her out and climbed the steps slowly, like each leg weighed a hundred pounds. The phone rang and she sat at the kitchen table, took a breath, and answered.

“Hello?”

“Abby! Holy shit. What the fuck is happening?”

Just hearing Sarah’s voice, her concern, put her back into a state. She tried pushing down the knot in her throat, to explain it all. Sarah could obviously hear the struggle.

“Oh hon. What can I do?”

She spoke through tears. “I’m in a real mess. I need help.”

“Anything.”

But Sarah couldn’t help her with this. Abby pulled it together. “Just check my e-mails for me. Have my secretary go over my docket with you. I can’t even think right now. I just don’t want to miss any filing deadlines. If there’s anything urgent, please take care of it or get someone from the case involved. I’ll be in tomorrow. I really don’t want anyone to find out about this.”

“No problem.”

“Thanks.” Abby took a breath and tried to change topics. “So, how was Aruba? I’ve missed you.”

“Oh please, Abby. We can’t actually talk about Aruba now. I’ve missed you too. I’m just worried.”

“Don’t. I’m working with a detective. Remember I told you about that man that chased me the night I took the wrong train? Turns out he’s a good guy. He’s been like my best friend the last week.”

“Jesus. I can’t leave you alone at all, can I? Gone just two weeks and you go off and find a new best friend.”

They both laughed. It felt good.

Abby heard the faint sound of a buzzer through the wall, from Mrs. Tanor’s place. She walked toward the window in the living room to see who was outside. Four uniformed officers stood at the gate and Mrs. Tanor was heading toward them. To let them in, she guessed.

“Sarah, I gotta go.” Abby hung up the phone before Sarah could respond and stood, motionless, wondering what would be next.

The officers entered the courtyard and walked toward Abby’s front door. And then she heard the pounding. Her heart sank. What could make this worse?

She walked toward the stairs to go let them in. They began shouting. “Police. Open up. We have a search warrant.”

She stood there, momentarily indignant. She had nothing to hide. Perhaps they would finally realize this was all a set up. But then it struck her. If she was being set up, who could she trust? What if these were not good cops? She thought of Isabel Ramirez. She ran back to the kitchen drawer to grab her pepper spray.

They continued shouting through the door. “We will forcibly open this door if necessary!” She opened the kitchen drawer. There, in plain sight, was a quart-sized zip-lock bag full of pills.

She wanted to scream. The pounding on the door continued. This was getting worse and she didn’t know if Marcus could fix it. What if she went down for this crime? Was it possible? She grabbed the bag and ran up the stairs and into the bathroom. She looked at the toilet and thought of all the crime dramas on TV. That never worked. She heard them on the stairs. They were inside.

She ran up the ladder steps and opened the hatch to the roof. It was freezing. The decking was slick with melted snow, now frozen. She carefully stepped onto the ice, closed the hatch behind her, slid to the knee wall connecting her roof to her neighbor’s, and climbed over. Their large barbeque grill was against the wall. Abby ducked behind it. But she still had the drugs. What if they came up, found her with these drugs in her hand? She thought of tossing them off the roof, but then feared they’d find them in the parking lot or worse yet, right outside her front gate. She popped open the grill and dropped them inside. The hatch opened.

TWENTY-FOUR

THE
Cadillac was four cars ahead of Marcus. They’d been driving north on Clark for about two miles. Maybe he was headed right back to the kid’s place in Rogers Park. He called Duvane. “I’m following Thomas Callahan. He’s in a tan Cadillac. It’s the kid’s car.”

“Where are you?”

“Clark Street. Now Clark and Montrose. Oh shit. Hold on.” The stoplight ahead turned yellow just as Callahan turned left and headed west down Montrose. The next two cars made it through the light, but the car in front of Marcus stopped at the line. Cars from Montrose were now driving through the intersection. “Duvane, I’ll call you right back.” Marcus tossed the phone aside and strained to see the Cadillac.

He couldn’t wait. He swerved into the southbound lane and, with cars barreling toward him, darted ahead into the intersection. Horns blared and cars screeched to a halt. Marcus made the turn and looked around for trouble. No accidents. No police.

He floored the accelerator but couldn’t see the Cadillac anywhere. It couldn’t be that far ahead, and it looked like there weren’t too many places Callahan could have gone. Within a block, there were only trees to the north—a thick forest preserve that seemed to go on for about a mile. The stoplight up ahead was red and there was no sign of him in the strip mall parking lots on the south side of the street. The preserve entrance was coming up on the right. After the light turned green, Marcus turned in to the entrance. It was worth a shot. The road was narrow and curved around through the dense, barren trees. Snow covered the ground all around him. Marcus took it slow. He saw the
Deer Crossing
and
No Dumping
signs just as the road began to straighten out and spill into a giant parking lot. A car was headed right at him: a black Mercedes. Tinted windows. Marcus could only see a shadow. But he knew. As it passed, he looked in his rearview mirror at the license plate. It continued past him back toward Montrose.

The Cadillac was right there, parked at the edge of the empty lot. Marcus pulled up beside it. There was no sign of the boy. He quickly hopped out and looked into the empty car. Needles, pills, a bag of powder, all in plain sight, all over the front seat.

· · ·

ABBY
froze behind the grill. She could feel the prickling pain of ice against her feet. Her socks were soaked. The hatch was open but she couldn’t peer around to see what was happening. She heard a voice. Muffled. He was obviously closing the hatch. “Nothing up there.” She took a breath and slowly looked around the corner of the grill toward her roof deck. It was empty. She cautiously moved toward the hatch so she could hear them. She was freezing. What if there were more drugs? How did someone get in her place? Callahan must have been in her home. The thought of him, of kissing him, of waking up naked, created a taste she couldn’t swallow.

She crouched above the hatch, listening for sounds. Nothing. Suddenly, there were voices in the courtyard. She moved over to the wall’s edge and looked down at the four uniformed officers who were walking toward the gate, chatting casually, like they just ended a coffee break. One of them was talking about the Bulls game.

ABBY
sat on her bed, removing the socks from her painfully cold feet, with the phone cradled in her neck, and waited. It was Gottlieb’s office. He was out. She asked for his voice mail and left him a message about the warrant and the drugs. She called Nate. His voice mail picked up. She couldn’t keep her voice from cracking. “Nate. I need your help. I’m in trouble. If you get this, call me. If you get a call from Ted Gottlieb, he’s my lawyer. I was arrested today.” It sounded so foreign, so unbelievable.

· · ·

TRIP
was driving west on Montrose when the cell rang. He’d been waiting for this call. It was all falling into place.