“Rodriguez will have to sign off. Swing by my office. Two o’clock this afternoon.”
I got off the phone and made the same arrangements with Rodriguez. Then I made a pot of coffee and pulled out Elaine’s street file. I got a piece of paper and began to make some notes. At my elbow was Reynolds’ working file on the Carol Gleason shooting. I read through it for about an hour, laid it beside the street file, and thought for a while. Then I picked up the phone and dialed.
“Masters.”
“It’s Kelly.”
A weary sigh.
“What do you want?”
“Nice to talk to you again, Detective. Listen, I need a favor.”
“Of course you do.”
“You remember the old file on Tony Salvucci?”
“The cop shooting? I’m sure it’s around.”
“I need to see a copy.”
“Told you I can’t do it.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re not a cop. Because I don’t know what you’re up to. Because there’s nothing in it for me. Pick a reason, Kelly.”
I felt the conversation about to end and switched tactics.
“How about this. I swing by there with some information. You run with it. If anything pans out, I step away. You take the credit.”
“And if I don’t like it?”
“You walk away. This conversation never happened.”
“What are we talking about?”
“Long shot, but potentially? A career changer.”
There was a pause. I could feel the veteran cop calculating the risk. He didn’t like it, but I knew he would bite. Too much upside not to.
“Be here in thirty minutes. Ask for me, and don’t talk to anyone else.”
“Sure.”
“See you then.”
Masters hung up. I looked through my notes on Gleason, placed a call to Phoenix, and talked to Detective Reynolds for about ten minutes. Then I put the phone down and picked up the photo of Grime’s prosecution team. I had circled a face in the back. The image was blurred with time, but still very much there. I dropped the picture back on my desk and headed out to see Masters.
CHAPTER 50
That afternoon Diane arrived at my office first. We sat without saying much. Rodriguez showed up five minutes later. Diane’s presence wasn’t a surprise. Still, the detective wasn’t happy.
“Before we get started,” he said, “let’s talk about some ground rules. For the press part of this.”
I had not broached the subject with Diane. Figured Rodriguez would set the boundaries here. Diane apparently felt the same way.
“What are your concerns, Detective?” she said.
Rodriguez looked at me, then back at Diane.
“Before we begin, everything here is off the record. You all right with that?”
Diane nodded. Rodriguez walked off, looked out my window, and exhaled. Soft and sad. When he spoke, it was with his back turned to both of us.
“I loved Nicole. You know that?”
I wasn’t sure which one of us he was talking to but Diane answered.
“Yes, Detective. Actually, so did I.”
“Love being a detective, too,” Rodriguez said. “Only thing I ever wanted to do.”
He moved back into the room and sat down in a chair, head down, knees almost touching Diane’s.
“You think Daniel Pollard killed Nicole,” she said. “So do I. DNA, however, won’t make the case against him, will it?”
I sat down in the third chair and leaned into the conversation.
“If he matches on Elaine’s rape, then we got him as an accomplice on Grime,” I said. “And won’t that be a fucking zoo. We also more than likely get him on some current assaults. But probably not for Nicole. No DNA there.”
Diane kept her eyes focused on Rodriguez.
“And it won’t be a death case,” she said. “No matter what.”
Rodriguez shook his head from side to side. Just once.
“Probably not.”
“So if you find him,” Diane said, “you want to kill him.”
The detective looked up. Slowly, inevitably.
“If the DNA comes back a match to Pollard, I roll on the arrest. Alone. Whatever happens, happens.”
Diane reached out and touched his knee.
“Can you live with it?”
Rodriguez nodded.
“Fair enough,” she said. “If that’s how it happens, no one will ever be the wiser. At least not from me. Story is big enough as it is. He was killed resisting arrest. Now, how do you plan on getting his DNA?'
CHAPTER 51
Think this guy knows he’s being followed?” Rodriguez said.
It was just past eight o’clock at night. We were in my car, cruising north on Western Avenue. Pollard had just left a Capt’n Nemo’s, where he’d consumed a roast beef sub, chips, and a diet iced tea. At the end of the meal he’d smoked a cigarette and watched the traffic move by. Then he’d picked up the used butt, his sandwich wrappings, and the empty iced-tea bottle. Had taken the whole thing back to his scratched-up green Pontiac and dumped it into the backseat.
“I think he’s cautious,” I said.
“He’s our guy.”
The detective was getting antsy. We had been tracking Pollard for four days. Each was pretty much the same. A ten-minute drive to work at a local car wash. Lunch at the McDonald’s. Once again, Pollard would pick up all his trash and head back to work. At night he would leave his house just after eight. Then it was a careful dinner, followed by a slow cruise down one of the city’s prostitution strolls. Pollard would stop and watch but never buy anything. I was waiting for another dumpster dive. If nothing else, it would break the routine.
“Why don’t we creep his house?” I said.
On one level, it made sense. If this guy was never going to trial, how we got his DNA didn’t really matter. On the other hand, I wasn’t sure Rodriguez had the stomach for killing Pollard. In that case, a legally obtained sample of his DNA would be essential for court.
“Let’s try to keep it legal,” Rodriguez said. “For now.”
I shrugged. Pollard found his way south and jumped on the expressway.
“He’s headed south,” Rodriguez said and looked over. “Gotta be Cal City.”
We drove another five miles. Pollard got off the highway two exits before Calumet City and cruised through another industrial park. It was dark now. No hint of a moon.
