the fiasco in the study. “Maybe that’s what all the commotion was about. Some security guards rushed in to talk to Preston. He escorted them out to the hallway. Did you find what you were looking for?”
“Yes.” Sam smiled. “And my client is thrilled.”
Jackie Delaney was perhaps the closest friend Sam had, next to her mother. Sam had to pull her share of street duty in her novice days. It was Jackie who showed her how to apply the makeup, how to dress and look the part. Jackie wasn’t just a hooker. Back then she was a classy, high-priced call girl. There were oil sheiks who had paid five thousand dollars just to have Jackie on their arm for the night.
“How was the night for you?” Sam asked.
“Oooooweee, baby,” Jackie squealed. “I made a little over twelve thousand dollars. Those puppies couldn’t even pee straight let alone count their cards. You sure you don’t want part of it?”
“No, thanks. You were helping me out tonight. I’m not going to cut in on your action. What about Preston?”
“The old fart wanted me to spend the night. His wife is out of town and he was going to make it worth my while. I just took twelve thousand dollars off of his buddies. How is he going to make it worth my while?”
They said their goodnights promising to meet soon for lunch. Sam was glad Jackie was into a different line of work, even if it was a shade illegal. But Jackie and her connections came in handy. A friend of Jackie’s had given them both a crash course on dealing blackjack a couple years ago. Sam was able to infiltrate an illegal gambling ring that had netted over a million a week. The cops got the money and the men. Somehow the blackjack equipment was missing one table and a rack of chips.
Talking to Jackie felt good, better than the wine. But then Sam remembered the security guard and that queasy feeling crept into her stomach again. She poured herself another glass of wine and sank back against the cushions.
Chapter 6
Mondays were press day for Chief Don Connelley. Reporters had been coming and going most of the day. Connelley was a walking Old Spice commercial from his tanned skin to his full head of well-sculpted gray hair which was slightly whiter at the temples. Sam sipped her tea as she watched the sideshow through the plate glass partition. The reporters jockeyed for position, trailing behind Connelley and dragging their camera crews and equipment down the carpeted hallways lined with potted ficus trees and pink-leafed caladiums.
Connelley didn’t mind. Some people believe he plans it that way. Because on the six and ten o’clock news the citizens of Chasen Heights could see their tax dollars at work in the form of solid oak paneling and chair rails, textured wallpaper, and thick wall-to-wall carpeting. No one would dare tell him that the taxpayers were more interested in additional police and updated weapons to keep up with the gangbangers.
Chasen Heights was mainly a blue-collar town. It hugged the southern border of Lake Michigan just fifteen miles south of Chicago. On a clear night you could see the Chicago skyline from the lake shore. Chasen Heights, whose population was just under fifteen hundred in 1922, had grown close to one hundred thousand. It boasted two golf courses, three high schools, and the second largest shopping center in the state.
Sam’s reflection glared back at her through the glass. She had her father to thank for her natural curly hair, which she kept tamed only by pulling it back in a banana clip, and her mother to thank for her high cheekbones.
Connelley’s head swiveled toward Sam’s office. She attempted to make a quick departure for the day, pulling out her tote bag from the bottom desk drawer. A police scanner, sitting on the oak credenza behind her desk, emitted a weathergirl-type voice belonging to Lydia, the night dispatcher.
Sam tuned out the mundane traffic accident/suspicious character/false burglar alarm calls. One day seemed to be a repeat of the previous day’s calls. But the most interesting call was from Saturday night. Fire Department crews were still chiseling the body out of the concrete pillar. It was a long, painstaking process. Sam had driven by the scene yesterday but the crew wouldn’t let anyone near who wasn’t wearing protective clothing. And, the crew had to be careful not to destroy any part of the body.
“Sam, glad I caught you.” Chief Connelley closed the door behind him. She reluctantly sat down as he settled into a chair across from her.
Sam smiled, her blue eyes flashed, and when she tilted her head her third earring of beads and feathers swayed slightly, brushing against her shoulder.
“Did you hear about the body in the overpass?”
“Not your jurisdiction, Sam. How’s your mom?”
“Fine.” Her smile slowly faded. This was it. He waited until the end of the day to tell her about Preston. “If it’s about my report, it will be on your desk by tomorrow morning.”
An uncomfortable silence filled the air. Connelley reached into his pocket and pulled out a picture. “Recognize anyone?”
She studied the picture. It showed two waiters and a waitress carrying platters of drinks and food. The waitress wore a French uniform and what looked like a doily for a hat. Her hair was short and platinum. Sam blushed. It was one of her self-directed undercover jobs from two weeks ago.
“Right,” Connelley said. “Seems you didn’t think that Mayor Jenkins might have surveillance cameras in his house. You are just lucky he didn’t recognize you.”
“Would you have?”
Connelley ripped the picture into numerous pieces. “Maybe not at first but I’ve become accustomed to being suspicious whenever you look bored.” There was a slight twinkle behind his clear blue eyes.
“I’ll just have to be more careful next time.”
Connelley shook his head. “No, you are not, young lady.” He held up a finger to stop her from interrupting him. “I wasn’t born yesterday. Don’t think for one minute I believe this is your first charade.”
“Where else do you think I got all the dirt I reported to you?”
Connelley scooped the pieces of paper into the garbage can. “Things have changed. Once your face starts showing up on camera and the mayor asks me to check it out, I know it’s time to rein you in. My god, Sam. What if he gave the pictures to the FBI rather than me?”
“My disguises always worked before. I’ll just lay low for a while.”
“Honey, you’re not listening.” This time he didn’t hide the impatience in his voice. He tugged at the cuffs of his shirt.
Sam stared at those cuffs, admired the fourteen-carat gold cuff links in the shape of bullets. Connelley followed her gaze.
“Your father always did have good taste.” He and Samuel Casey had been college roommates, were best man at each other’s wedding. Chief Connelley was her godfather and had taken her under his wing since she graduated from the police academy five years ago. Although he claimed he had nothing to do with it, she was promoted to sergeant before her twenty-fifth birthday. “I’m trying to keep you out of harm’s way, Sam. I promised your father.”
She should have been thankful for his concern. But all she could muster was, “There must be some hidden agenda here, Chief.”
“Things have changed now, Sam. Jenkins told me I have a good chance of getting the commissioner’s job. Something like this…” His face took on a pained expression as he added, “Hon, face it. You’ve been bored here. I really think you need to spread your wings. It’s for your own good.”
“Sounds more like it’s for YOUR own good.” The words stung but she could see in his face that nothing she said was going to change his mind. Connelley scribbled a name on a piece of paper and shoved it toward her. Her mind wandered, catching the gist of his speech, like how he felt it best she be transferred to Precinct Six effective tomorrow, and she should report to the captain whose name he had written on the piece of paper. It was for the better, he droned on, and he was sure she would understand. Instead, she was thinking of Preston’s reception and the security guard. Her gaze drifted to the piece of paper where Connelley had scribbled the name, Captain Dennis Murphy.
