To Floyd’s side, Detective Reyman folded her arms atop the table. “You were at Detective Strausbaugh’s house earlier that night, is that correct?”
Sipping at the still-scalding coffee, I nodded. “Me and a few of the other guys from homicide all got together to watch the Cubs play the Cardinals. Ian usually does stuff like that when his wife is out of town. He’ll make a giant batch of chili, and a few of us will swing by to watch a game. Sometimes, his kids are there, but last night they weren’t.”
I dropped my gaze to the black plastic lid as the room lapsed into silence.
Fortunately for me, cops—especially males—tended to put forth a tough guy persona around other people. On any given day, the only emotion displayed by cops in a police precinct was anger.
Between the sense of defeat that hung on my head like a leaden crown and the stone in the pit of my stomach, I wasn’t sure I was capable of pretending to be mad.
My long silences and distant stares would have to work.
“Well, you’re the first person from that get-together we’ve talked to.” Natasha Reyman’s businesslike tone snapped me out of the funk. “Could you list the names of the other detectives who were at the house that night?”
Tightening my grasp on the coffee, I met her chocolate-brown eyes. “Of course.”
Floyd ripped out a sheet of paper and handed me a pen. “No rush.”
As I jotted down my fellow detectives’ names, Natasha’s expression shifted from focused to sympathetic. “Now, this might be a little hard to answer, but do you know of anyone who might’ve wanted to harm Ian or his family? Were there any perps you’d heard about lately that might have been giving him a hard time? Threats, stalkers, or anything like that?”
I drummed my fingers against the table and pursed my lips as I considered my next words. I was about to take a risk, but if the gamble paid off, I’d walk away from this investigation without so much as a sideways glance in my direction.
Clearing my throat, I straightened in the rickety metal chair. “There might have been someone, but I’m not one-hundred-percent sure. All we really had to go on were rumors, but I think Ian might have pissed off the D’Amato family in a case he was working a little earlier in the year.”
One of Floyd’s dark brows quirked up at the mention of the powerful mafia family. “The D’Amatos? How’d he piss off the D’Amatos?”
I’d rolled the dice, and all I could do now was hope for a favorable outcome.
If Natasha or Floyd were on the D’Amato family’s payroll, my plan could backfire. I was confident that neither detective was dirty, but in Chicago, no one could be sure.
I clenched my jaw. “The Portelli case.”
A crease formed on Natasha’s forehead as she drew her manicured brows together. “Gerard Portelli? That Leóne soldier who was killed outside a Target about six months ago?”
My nod was slow and measured. “That’s the one.”
Leaning back in her seat, Natasha tapped an index finger on the edge of the table. “I thought that was self-defense. Why would the D’Amatos be pissed about that?”
“Ian didn’t think it was self-defense.” I shook my head emphatically and held my hand up when she opened her mouth to fire off another question. “He thought it was a well-planned murder for hire.” As I held Detective Reymen’s gaze, I listed each point, counting them out on my fingers as I spoke. “The guy who killed Portelli is still free. He’s a D’Amato bigshot and does a lot of their technical work. He runs a bunch of their ops in the city. But he’s smart, and we’ve never been able to pin him with anything. That ‘self-defense’ case was the first time we brought him into the precinct.”
The newest lie came from a version of the truth, at least. I’d learned long ago that the best lies were spun from the truth.
Ian and I had done our damnedest to bring Portelli’s killer down for murder, but the intent had been to deal a blow to the D’Amato family more than anything.
After a few more questions about the Portelli case, Floyd and Natasha went through the remainder of the standard interview.
On my way out of the drab gray room, I asked the two detectives to keep me in the loop as they went through their investigation. I’d made the same request of the men and women who’d worked the murders of each friend I’d lost since being promoted to detective.
The only difference was, I’d never been involved in any of their deaths.
Soft cries accompanied the sound of my name, and I turned to face yet another part of this entire shitty scenario I’d been dreading.
“Dana.”
The grieving widow’s name was a whisper through the clog in my throat, and I closed my eyes as she threw herself into my arms. As I wrapped her in a warm embrace, I could have sworn I spotted the living darkness from my nightmare.
Before my mind could spiral into the abyss, I kissed the top of her head. “Natasha and Floyd will find the bastard who did this,” I assured her in my most confident voice. For a moment, I almost wished that were true.
I didn’t want to be caught, of course. Not really. I just wished the bad guy in this scenario wasn’t me.
Not that I’d had a choice, of course.
Her sobs were like nails down the proverbial chalkboard. “You…you promise?”
I buried my face in her hair. “I promise.”
My stomach rolled as the words slipped from my lips, but I fought back the nausea. With my pulse hammering in my ears, I said my goodbyes and sprinted to the nearest men’s room.
The scent of bleach wafted over to me as the wooden door swung closed at my back. Swallowing against the bile that rose in the back of my throat, I
