The Wrong Side of Dead Page 8

  Sam leaned forward after a peek over her shoulder, keeping her voice low.

  “As it stands, Harper’s got an uphill battle for bail. With his sketchy background and lack of cooperation on where he’s living, the judge will probably hold him over, given the nature of the crime. But if we can show someone else had motive and that Harper was a convenient scapegoat, the charges might be dropped.”

  “Then you may want to find out why Nadir Beladi and his muscle-for-brains sidekick Sal Pinzolo pulled a knife on me outside Dirty Monty’s. Apparently, me asking questions about Desiree got Beladi’s tidy-whites in a bunch. And the guy seemed to know about the murder before it hit the paper.” Jess pulled two driver’s licenses from her pocket and tossed them on the table. “Pinzolo let his blade do the talkin’ for Beladi. And he wasn’t above using it on a defenseless woman.”

  “You, defenseless? You’re friggin’ Rambo with ovaries.” Sam fought a smile as she got a closer look at the licenses. “And I’m not gonna ask how you got these. Tell me what happened.”

  Jess started talking, leaving out the minor detail of the stun grenade and finishing with her car chase in the boonies.

  “You’ve been busy.” Sam leaned forward, elbows on the table. “Any idea who was in the sedan?”

  “No, it was too dark, but the guy flew solo, and he definitely had a gun. Plus he’s now got a pretty big scrape on the driver’s side of his vehicle. Kissing an embankment tends to do that.”

  “I’ll look into these two boneheads and let you know what I find out.” While the waitress refilled their coffee, Sam palmed the licenses in her hand until the woman left. Once they had their privacy, Jessie had something more on her mind.

  “Okay, I gotta ask. What’s this about Ray Garza getting involved? Isn’t he the detective who tried to pin Baker’s murder on me a few months back? He works out of Harrison Station like you, not Pullman. What’s his interest?”

  Sam smiled, a familiar expression Jess had come to recognize lately.

  “Oh yeah, there it is.” Jess pointed a finger and chuckled. “That goofy grin you get whenever you talk about Mr. Macho.”

  “Let’s just say that I’ve got a bet going with Ray on who’ll figure this out first. Harper can use the extra help, and if I play my cards right, I may get noticed by the brass. Homicide is where I’d like to be.”

  “I know you’ve been wanting out of Vice, but it probably doesn’t hurt that a gorgeous Hispanic hunk works Homicide.” Jess sipped her coffee. “But just remember, when your best friend makes a believable murder suspect, lesser men might hold it against you.” She smirked. “So what about this bet? Spill it.”

  “Oh no, that’s between him and me. Let’s just say he’s a good resource I can use.”

  “Yeah, I’ll bet. Real good.” Jess winked over the rim of her cup. “Does he know you’re stacking the deck against him? Hell, you’ve got him and me both workin’ the case with you having the inside track and poised to make the collar. Has he figured that out yet?”

  “Nope.”

  “Oh Sammie, you make me proud, girl.” Jess crooked a lip. “Hey, one more thing. Harper told me about Mandy having a boyfriend. Some guy named Jason. Did he mention that little detail to the cops?”

  “Yeah, he did. We found out the guy’s name is Jason Burke. And Burke’s got a record of using his fists on a woman.”

  “That’s great.” Her quick grin shifted to a grimace. “I mean, not great like…great great.”

  “I know what you mean, but don’t get your hopes up. Burke’s got an alibi. He was out in Lombard at a bar. And his I-PASS confirms he wasn’t anywhere near downtown when the medical examiner fixed time of death.”

  Sam gave her the rundown on Jason Burke. The guy was the same age as Mandy and worked hourly as a journeyman subcontractor doing on-site construction and repair wherever he was assigned. He’d been arrested once, two years ago, on charges of domestic abuse against his live-in girlfriend at the time. There had been more beatings, but the girlfriend never pressed charges.

  “Are there any witnesses to corroborate his alibi? ’Cause I-PASS is only an electronic toll system. It proves his car was in the burbs, not that he was in it.”

  “I know, Jess. We’re checking his story, but his toll pass trumps Harper’s ‘I forgot’ defense.”

  She sighed, knowing Sam was right.

  “You said Burke has an arrest record. Can you send it to me via e-mail?” Jess’s e-mail was set to forward to her cell phone. Normally, that service allowed her to keep moving and not be tied to an office, but reading an arrest record would require a download to print. Once she got the word Sam had sent the document, she’d retrieve it from home.

  “Yeah, I can. What are you thinking?”

  “Jealousy. Harper said the guy got bent about him seeing his girl. Seth tried to clean her up, maybe that didn’t sit well with Romeo. He could be the guy who drugged our boy and took him off the premises. If the bartender at Dirty Monty’s can ID Burke from his booking photo and place him at the bar that night, we’ll know he lied about Lombard, and his alibi is for shit.”

  “Yeah, that’d be worth a shot. I’m jammed with my caseload, but I’ll send his booking record as soon as I get back to the station.”

  “And if that report had his work and home address listed, that would be great. I might need to talk to him, too,” she added, looking a little sheepish. “…to see if he’s got tattoos.”

  Sam cocked her head and stared at her for a moment before opening her mouth.

  “Talk to him? I know you, Jessie. You have no intention of just talking. And so you know? Checking him for tattoos doesn’t require a full body-cavity search.” Sam winced. “God, this better not come back to bite me in the ass. And if CPD gets wind of this, you wouldn’t be doing Harper any favors either.”

  Jess tried to act insulted. “Hey, I can be discreet.”

  “Yeah, you and Paris Hilton.” Sam shook her head. “Call me if you need anything. I’ll keep you in the loop from my end. You do the same.”

  Her friend left her with a lot to think about—and the tab.

  South Chicago

  Off Cicero Avenue

  True to her word, Sam sent the arrest record for Mandy’s boyfriend, Jason Burke, in short order. By the time Jess made it back to her apartment and pulled into a parking spot, her cell phone signaled that she’d received the e-mail.

  “Good girl.” She muttered under her breath, shoving the phone back into her pocket. “Now let’s see who you are, Burke.”

  Once inside her apartment, she booted up her computer to download and print the document. With the printer working, she made a few more calls to cab companies. On the third number, she got a hit.

  “Well, I’ll be damned.” She grinned and grabbed a pen and paper near her phone. “Can you give me the location where you picked him up?”

  Harper had been a responsible drinker and used a cab to cart his cute tush to Dirty Monty’s that night. Part of his evening had an explanation, but more importantly, Jess felt a step closer to knowing where Harper was living these days—and whom he might be protecting.

  “Yeah, I got it. Thanks.” She hung up the phone and gazed at the address she’d jotted on a notepad.

  She recognized it as being in downtown Chicago off Michigan Avenue. Posh real estate, but oddly enough, by now she’d come to expect that from Harper. She’d accepted his idiosyncrasies and the mysteries that surrounded the quirky kid, but that hadn’t always been the case.

  She’d first met him months ago after she hired him as a summer intern, her ploy to score cheap labor for computer research and skip tracing. Other than her immediate connection to him on a personal level, nothing about the guy raised a red flag. Her first impression had been that Harper was cute, smart, and in need of a job—not a bad combination. He’d been the only applicant for the position she advertised in a free ad and had been the original owner of the blue whale, the beat-up old van she now drove after he’d loan
ed it to her. The kid wore an unending assortment of Jerry Springer wear with worn jeans and sneaks. Yet in no time, the mysteries had begun to surface, compelling her to rethink her initial opinion of Seth Harper.

  Off the top, he looked like a normal guy, but she soon found him living in upscale digs as if he’d been born to it—forcing her to question how he could afford such accommodations. ID theft came to mind when she caught him with a bootlegged crimeware program designed to install keystroke loggers on someone’s computer to collect sensitive login and password data. Such information could later be utilized to perpetrate a financial crime.

  At the time, he’d used the software at her request for a good cause in hacking the laptop of Lucas Baker, a suspected child pornographer. But Harper never explained how he’d gotten his hands on the program. And when she confronted him with her suspicions, he acted insulted and demanded she trust him, yet never once did he offer an explanation for why he had the illegal software. And she’d been too focused on stopping Baker to press Harper for answers.

  Now she wished she had…for his sake.

  Downtown Chicago

  In perverse fashion, life had a nasty habit of carrying on for everyone else. But since Harper’s life had been tilted off base, hers had followed like the tip of a domino reacting to gravity.

  Jess pondered her domino theory as she waited for a traffic light to change, catching a glimpse of a sightseeing tour boat cruising along the Chicago River under the Michigan Avenue Bridge—the heart of Chicago’s prime shopping. She made her turn and parked her van in an underground garage beneath the building she believed Harper called home, replaying the steps in the research that had brought her here.

  She hoped that by doing so, she’d get a better handle on how to proceed once she got inside to talk to someone in security or the property manager. And given the prestige of the locale, she knew that it wouldn’t be easy to pick a lock or trick her way inside, her normal mode of operation these days.

  American Taxi had confirmed a call had been placed from the concierge desk on the premises the evening prior to Harper’s arrest. A cab had been ordered to pick up a fare from the downtown address and dropped someone off at Dirty Monty’s on Chicago’s South Side with no return booked. Since Harper hadn’t made the arrangements himself, that sent a clear message to her that his residence was upscale. She’d have to sweet-talk someone into giving her information on a resident who probably maintained a very low profile.

  An elevator delivered her to a street-level lobby, the only option, for security reasons. And once the doors had opened, she knew she’d been right about Harper being accustomed to money. The lobby décor was stunning—only the best—furnishings gilded in gold and chic fabrics, huge displays of fresh flowers, real paintings in oil, with overhead speakers subtly playing classical music in the background. The minute she stepped into the atrium, all eyes were on her—a doorman, a maid in uniform wiping down windows to the revolving front door, and an older man in a fancy suit retrieving a newspaper.

  Jess cleared her throat, feeling completely out of place. She hadn’t given much thought to where she’d end up today after she’d dressed that morning. Her faded jeans and black Gold’s Gym tee were second nature to her. And the lightweight jacket she wore covered her Colt Python. But one thing Jess had learned long ago. No one made her feel second-rate unless she let it happen. She dragged fingers through her dark hair in a nearby mirror, pretending to care what the Chicago wind had done to her locks, but in actuality she was scanning the lobby for the layout and the location of the elevators used by the residents.

  After a respectable time, she held her chin high and walked toward the Concierge desk, forcing a smile. A short pudgy man with red cheeks, a tan-and-gold uniform, and thinning dark hair greeted her.

  “May I help you, miss?” He grinned and cocked his head, an almost robotic move. Way too perky to suit her.

  “Actually, you can.” She tapped her fingernails on the counter between them, trying flirty on for size. “I’m pretty sure my younger brother lives here, but he doesn’t know I’ve come to the city. I’d love to surprise him by knocking on his door. Could you please tell me his suite number?”

  “I’m sorry, but I can’t give out his room number. We protect the privacy of our guests. I’m sure you understand.”

  “Oh…sure. Then maybe someone could accompany me to his room? When he opens the door, you’ll see it’ll be okay with him, I promise.”

  Jess knew hotel personnel might resist giving her the suite number outright, but all she needed was the room number to come back after hours. Seeing the inside of Harper’s suite might give her another lead about him and the person he might be protecting.

  “And what’s your brother’s name?” the concierge asked, poised over a computer on his desk.

  “Seth Harper. Like I said, he’s not expecting me.” She smiled and shrugged. “It’s a surprise.”

  Yeah, a real surprise. Her plan had been to get confirmation that Harper lived here. And it looked as if the man behind the desk might just do that, but in an unexpected move, he narrowed his eyes, and said, “Excuse me. What did you say your name was?”

  Harper’s name had triggered a defense mechanism in the man, and Jess had no idea why. For a second, she contemplated lying about her name, but chose not to.

  “Jessica Beckett. A married name.” She mirrored the man’s concern on her face. “Is there something wrong?”

  “Do you mind if I see some identification?” he said, but when she looked surprised, he added, “Like I said, we like to protect the privacy of our guests.”

  “I’ve come to the right address, haven’t I? I haven’t been downtown since he moved in here.” She handed him her driver’s license. “Seth lives here, right?”

  The man didn’t answer. Something in his eyes told her he knew Harper, yet there was more at play. He did imply Harper was a guest, but she couldn’t count on that as confirmation, not enough for breaking and entering.

  “Excuse me.” He took her license and stepped through a door to a suite of offices beyond the lobby.

  Damn it! She wasn’t sure why her visit had created such a stir. This could be a good thing or attention she didn’t need. While she waited, she checked out the security cameras behind her. A girl could never be too careful when breaking into a guy’s room.

  After a long few minutes, the man returned.

  “Would you please follow me? Mr. Humphries would like a word.”

  “Yeah, and what word would that be?” Her attitude was beginning to show. She wasn’t going to get any cooperation, not today. “’Cause if he doesn’t have one in mind, I can make a suggestion or two.”

  “Please…this way.”

  She followed the uniformed man through the door by his desk and into the suite of offices she had spied earlier. Beyond a small break room, a reception area and a rather large office were at the end of the hallway, no doubt their final destination. A petite woman in a dark business suit with short auburn hair sat outside the office at a desk, presumably an administrative assistant to the head honcho. With a blank stare, the woman watched her walk by but didn’t acknowledge her in any way.

  Corporate America meets the Stepford wives in sensible pumps!

  Jess figured Humphries to be the property manager or head of security; either way, she didn’t like being summoned. And she hadn’t gotten her driver’s license back. At the threshold to the office, the concierge allowed her to enter and shut the door behind her, leaving her alone with a distinguished-looking man. His dark hair was streaked with gray, and he wore a sharp navy suit.

  “My name is Jonathan Humphries. I manage this property and oversee security here. Please…have a seat.” With a refined quality to his soft-spoken voice, the man offered a chair in front of his desk with a sweep of his hand.

  “No thanks. I prefer to stand.” She walked over to a nearby window and checked out the view of the bustling street beyond the reflective glass. “It’s been
years since I’ve been in high school, but your summons feels like a call to the principal’s office.”

  “Ah, Ms. Beckett. Why does that not surprise me?” Humphries held her license in his hand, staring at it. When he looked up, he shook her by asking, “How is Seth?”

  The initial sternness in the man’s expression softened, and his voice reflected genuine concern. She narrowed her eyes.

  “So you know what happened to him?”

  “Yes, he contacted me a short while ago. And I know he considers you a friend. If that hadn’t been the case, I can assure you that we wouldn’t be having this conversation.” He handed back her license. “Why are you here, Ms. Beckett?”

  She thought she had known the answer to that question…until now.

  CHAPTER 10

  Jess pocketed her license and kept her eyes on Jonathan Humphries, sizing the man up. In the end she opted for a rare first step—honesty.

  “I wanted to see who Seth was protecting at the expense of his freedom. He’s cut himself off to fight this thing alone when he could use all the help he can get. Is he protecting you?”

  “No, but I’m not at liberty to say any more on the subject.”

  The man sat behind his desk, looking worried and bone weary. Jess shoved her hands into her jeans pockets and remained standing, still feeling the edge of a faltering defiance.

  “I’m arranging for legal counsel, and if bail money is required, I’ll cover it,” Humphries added.

  “That’s a start. Thanks.” With his cooperation, she slumped into one of his chairs. “You know, I thought if I came here, I’d get to know more about Harper. The guy’s a regular ghost. I definitely think of him as a friend, but I know nothing about him.”

  Humphries found humor in what she’d said. A sad smile came and went. If she hadn’t been watching him, she might have missed it.

  “Do you form such loyalties for people you hardly know, Ms. Beckett?”

  “Actually, no, but Harper is…special.”