The words resonated in her head like a harsh slap to the face.
“What?” She sat up in bed, her face in a grimace. “How? When did this happen?”
“I don’t have details yet, but with Baker connected to Harrison Station as an informant, Garza is on his way to the scene now. At this point all we know is that the guy got gunned down outside a skate rink.”
Miller gave her the nearest intersection and Sam’s mind flashed on the location. The place wasn’t far from The Cutthroat. The coincidence was too much to ignore.
Without a doubt he would bring Jess in for round two. Only this time she might need a solid alibi.
Sam looked at the clock on her nightstand; just after two in the morning. South Chicago Station would still be working the scene. She threw off her covers and sat on the edge of the bed. Waiting until her shift started wasn’t an option. She had to know more now, especially the timing of Baker’s murder. Had she been with Jessie and Seth —or had it gone down after they dropped her off?
Even if she could serve as Jessie’s alibi, she’d have a hard time explaining what happened at The Cutthroat. She didn’t have all the facts herself. And during the course of an investigation, detectives retraced the victim’s whereabouts prior to the murder. She didn’t see how she’d avoid getting pulled into the case. And if that was going to happen, she needed real answers from Jessie this time.
But before she got off the phone, Sergeant Miller conveyed his true reason for calling.
“You might wanna steer clear of this one. The timing of your friend’s run-in with Baker could backfire on anyone standing in the way. And Chief Keller will be interested in how this turns out. You get my drift?”
“Yeah, I do.” She took a deep breath and dragged fingers through her dark hair. “Thanks for the heads-up, Sarge. I owe you one.”
“I’ll add it to the list.” He had a smile to his voice that quickly faded. “Watch yourself, Sam.”
“Will do. And thanks, Jackson.”
After she hung up, Sam stared through the shadows of her bedroom, thinking about Jess and her possible involvement with Lucas Baker. In her heart of hearts she wanted to blindly trust her childhood friend, but as a cop, blind trust wasn’t an option. And because she did know Jessie, she had to admit a fraction of doubt lurked in the back of her mind.
Sam spotted the crime scene up ahead. Red and blue bursts of color strafed the walls of nearby buildings, coming from police cruisers strategically parked to block off side streets. And yellow crime scene tape set up the police barricade, with floodlights coming from the back parking lot of the skate rink. Beyond the perimeter, techs bagged and tagged evidence, dressed in uniform vests. The Mobile Crime Lab was present, which meant ET-South would be working the scene, forensics investigators of an evidence technician unit assigned to the area.
A group of curious onlookers cast a shadowy obstruction, blocking her view. And TV reporters, operating from the perimeter, capitalized on the dramatic backdrop of the investigation as cameras rolled. She parked down the street and made her way back to the scene with her badge clipped to her belt and visible.
Nearing the police barrier, she was stopped by a beat cop in uniform, one of the few assigned to crowd control. When he saw her badge, he waved her through with a nod. She’d seen him before. Detective Ray Garza was talking to an evidence tech across the way, and Sam headed toward him, negotiating her way around the main activity. In her hand, she had a large cup of coffee. This time of morning, java never hurt as a goodwill gesture.
When Garza saw her, he had plenty of questions.
“I know why I’m here, but what about you? You got a good reason for the extracurricular?”
“Come on, Ray. I came to see you in action. I’m interested in moving out of Vice.”
“If that’s true, you should avoid this case.” He grimaced. “For you, this one has got career suicide written all over it.”
“Thanks for your heartfelt concern, but why don’t you let me worry about that.”
“It’s your neck, Coop. And a damned fine one at that.”
Garza took the coffee she offered without a thank-you, keeping his eyes on her. His words had been flirty, but the expression on his face said otherwise. The man was all business. When he looked like he wanted to ask her another question, she beat him to the punch with her own agenda.
“When did this go down?” She reached into her pocket for a pair of latex gloves and pulled them on. “What did the M.E. say about T.O.D.?”
She wanted to establish Baker’s time of death, to confirm that she’d been with Jess when the man was killed. Across the parking lot, the body had been bagged and lay on a gurney, ready for a trip to the morgue. The medical examiner stood nearby, giving his preliminary assessment to an investigator. If Garza wouldn’t cooperate, she had other options. One way or another, her morning trip would pay out.
“I don’t think I want you at my crime scene, Cooper. The way I figure it, you’ve got a conflict of interest. And until I figure out how your friend Jessica Beckett is involved with Lucas Baker, that’s too much coincidence for me to swallow.”
“This isn’t your case, Ray. South Chicago’s got lead.”
“You don’t want to push this, Sam. Trust me.”
She forced a smile. “All I want are the facts, Ray. If you can’t handle that, then I’ll find someone who can.”
After taking a gulp of coffee, Garza glared at her. She returned the favor and didn’t blink. Eventually, he caved and answered her question, bare minimum.
“Witness accounts put T.O.D. around midnight. Anything more, you get from the lead investigator. I don’t want any part in whatever agenda you’ve got. And I won’t play a hand in flushing your career down the toilet, even if you don’t give a damn. Thanks for the coffee.”
Detective Garza walked away, distancing himself from her. She’d be on her own.
With Baker gunned down close to midnight, Sam knew she couldn’t rightfully claim to be with Jessie. She was walking home at that hour. Seth might work as Jess’s alibi, but a skeptical detective could be convinced that both Jessie and the kid had gone looking for Baker after they’d dropped her off, trying to even the score or settle unfinished business. At The Cutthroat pool hall, she’d had the distinct impression that she interrupted something bigger than a misunderstanding and a barroom brawl.
Until she knew more, she wouldn’t mention any of this to Ray Garza. Putting Jess in the vicinity of Baker’s murder at the nearby Cutthroat would have piqued the detective’s interest, enough for him to bring Jessie in for questioning. And Sam wanted first shot at the truth. Her stubborn friend would play hardball with Garza and dole out her version of what happened, filtered through her considerable self-preservation skills. Who knew how that would turn out? No, she needed to get to Jessie first, but not without more intel to strong-arm her friend into cooperating.
To confirm what Garza told her about Baker’s time of death, she spotted a forensics tech she knew, a guy named Greg Walters, working the blood evidence. Walters confirmed the eyewitness accounts of the incident that had established a reasonable time of death.
“So who reported the shooting?” she asked.
“The manager of the rink. He only saw the shooter for a few seconds. He called 911, then took cover. The guy was scared shitless.” Walters nudged his head toward the body bag. “You need to see the body? If you’ve got a weak stomach, I’d pass.”
Although she would have preferred to avoid a look at the corpse, she needed to keep the tech talking. And acting squeamish on the job wouldn’t cut it. She planned to take notes, supporting her claim to Garza that she came in the interest of advancing her career—instead of imploding it, which was the more likely outcome.
After the tech unzipped the body bag on the gurney, he directed the beam of his Kel-Lite onto the face of Lucas Baker. The stench took her breath away, and Sam recognized the smell. At the time of traumatic death, the muscles relaxed and the bowels emptied. She clenched her teeth, trying not to react, but even worse, she knew the gore would haunt her.
Baker had been shot in the eye—a pitch-black hole drilled through a misshapen skull. No doubt the bullet and its exit wound had done extensive damage to the man’s brain, causing his head to appear lopsided. The other eye —wide and accusing—had turned milky white. Seeing him alive only a few hours ago took its toll. She didn’t have to respect Lucas Baker to have an appreciation for the fragile nature of life.
