Authors: Wendy Byrne
He gave her a slight smile. “You think those who are supposed to serve and protect might have taken matters into their own hands? I thought I was the one who didn’t trust cops.”
“I’m just saying…well…I don’t know what I’m saying. I guess that it seems awfully coincidental.”
“We’ll never know. It’s not like any of the boys in blue are going to admit it.”
“But maybe if you filed a report—”
“That’ll only give them satisfaction. The way I see it, no harm no foul.” He shrugged. “Besides, I already had the window fixed—A1 Glass Company. Good as new.”
“But—” Why couldn’t he see that not every cop on the force was bad, or that going through channels might be a good option?
“Forget it, princess. Not going to happen.”
Considering that for once he was in the mood to talk, she thought she’d try another tactic instead of arguing with him. “Do you often work with a defense lawyer?”
It took him a couple of beats to respond. “Sometimes. Garrett and I did investigative work for Vince when we got out of the army and were working on getting our degrees. He works with the Innocence Project out of Northwestern Law School, so he takes in a few pro bono cases. Most of the time, he’ll ask us to track down some potential witnesses, that kind of thing.”
She nodded as she tried to think of something else to say. He looked as if he wanted to keep talking, but she was way out of her league. She didn’t know where to go with her questions. As it turned out, she didn’t need to go anywhere with the conversation. For once, he was the blabby one.
“Something’s been off about the evidence from the beginning. Everything is too neat and tidy, like it was planted. Crime scenes never work that way. And the deeper I dug, the more confusing the whole thing got. The person supplying the ironclad alibi for the defendant suddenly turned up missing. Then Tony gets attacked in prison.” Lost in thought, Shane stared into space.
“Maybe I could help you.” All right, she was stretching her luck, but it seemed like a noble gesture. She was caught up in the moment and wanted to help out. But then he laughed. And suddenly, she wanted to choke him.
“I don’t think that’s such a good idea.” Shane struggled to keep his laughter contained. The guy barely knew how to crack a smile, but found the idea of her playing the part of a detective oh-so-amusing.
“Why?” Though she could think of a hundred different reasons why she’d be the last person anyone would want help from, she didn’t need him to agree with her assessment.
“This isn’t like singing or flirting or shopping.”
“Duh.” She rolled her eyes. “I’m not an idiot.”
“I never said you were. But sometimes these things can get dangerous.” He was talking to her in that patronizing tone her brother Enrique used, and since she felt some kind of lecture coming on, she decided the sliver of peace between them must have come and gone.
“Singing at a blues club can get dangerous, but you don’t see me running away.” Except for now. She grabbed her usual water with lemon from behind the bar, along with one for Donna, and went in search of her. Right now she needed a friendly face to soothe her bruised ego.
Before she made it to the back, two men came inside. At five forty-five, the place wasn’t technically open for business even though the door was unlocked.
She suspected Shane was about to tell them that when he stopped short, a scowl on his face. “What can I do for you, officers?” He gave her a quick glance that said, ‘Didn’t I tell you this would happen?’
She felt guilty, especially when she remembered she had left a message for Patrick a few hours earlier. Suspecting it might be the reason for their visit and wishing to circumvent even more trouble, she walked back up to the front. “Good evening. May I help you?”
The rounder of the two men studied her for a second or two with the patented I-don’t-need-to-be-bothered-with-you cop look. He chewed on a piece of gum for emphasis. “Doubt it.”
The other didn’t even acknowledge her presence, instead zoning in on Shane.
Rather than leave, she hung around to see what they wanted. It couldn’t hurt. And maybe she might be able to diffuse some of the testosterone floating around.
They plunked their substantial behinds on two stools along the bar and unfolded a piece of paper. Their faces impassive, they slid it in front of Shane. Curious, she slipped around the back of the bar to stand next to him.
“Know her?” The men didn’t bother to put up a pretext of being nice.
Even more curious, she peeked at the photo. A woman was lying spread-eagled, her clothes ripped and torn, her face a battered mass of bruises, with what must have once been blonde hair caked in blood. “Oh, my God.” Her breath hitched. “That woman must be dead.” Stating the obvious once again.
Shane’s jaw locked and his eyes went half-mast. “That’s Annie Taylor. She used to sing here.”
Her stomach churned while her mind raced. This was the drug addict/singer, the one who went missing. And now she was dead. Holy crapola.
One of the cops took out a pad of paper and started to jot down notes. “When did you last see her?”
Shane crossed his arms and leaned against the counter in back of the bar. From his relaxed posture, you would have thought this kind of thing happened to him every day. It was his ever-so-tight jaw that gave him away. “The last night she worked was towards the end of July. I’d have to get a calendar and her last pay stub to tell you the exact date.”
“That’s a long time. You didn’t report her missing?”
Shane put a bar straw in his mouth and chewed on it. No doubt it kept his jaw from popping out of the socket. “I’m not her family. She didn’t show up for work. I moved on.”
“Did you have an argument with her?”
Shane placed his hands onto the bar top and leaned over toward the cops. To her way of thinking, his body language, even without his general attitude, was going to get him brought down to the station. “You know damn well I did. The woman was higher than a kite. She couldn’t perform to save her soul most of the time.”
“Probably made you angry,” one said.
“Angry enough to kill her,” the other followed with.
They weren’t even playing good cop/bad cop. They were just playing bad cop/bad cop.
“Sure. That makes a lot of sense. Because the woman had marginal talent, was a drug addict, and couldn’t stand upright, let alone remember the words to a song, I killed her because that would…hmmm…what exactly would that do for me, officers?” Shane’s voice actually got quieter, but somehow managed to become even more forceful.
“You were in Special Forces in the army. You know how to kill people.”
“It doesn’t take Special Forces training to know how to kill. Any idiot with a gun or a knife can do that.” His smirk made his inference clear. “Where did you find her?”
While she didn’t know Shane well, she knew he wasn’t going to back down, and from the look of things, neither were they.
“The Westside.”
“Shocking. A drug addict turns up dead in the middle of drug central. Gee, I wonder what happened.”
“Maybe you killed her and dumped the body there so we’d come to the obvious conclusion.”
“Look, even in this picture I can see the fresh needle marks. It doesn’t take a genius to figure this one out. So back off or arrest me.”
The cops glanced at each other as if calculating their next move. Finally, one of them looked at her. Gabriella wasn’t sure if it was for a specific reason or simply gave him time to think.
“Did you know the deceased?”
She was so relieved they’d shifted their attention from Shane she didn’t even mind they were focused on her. “Never met her. I’m her replacement.”
“How bad did you want this job?”
She rubbed her fingertips along the side of the glass filled with water. “Let me put it this way. They’re paying me five hundred bucks a week plus expenses. I’ve made twice that before. I’ve made half that before. I’m a singer. It’s what I do. I don’t have a whole lot of trouble finding jobs.” That part was kind of a fib, but she didn’t want them to think she was desperate.
“What’s your name?”
She gave him the information. After he took it down, they went in search of Mack and Donna.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Gabriella was beginning to believe Shane’s prediction of trouble, especially when Patrick strolled in later, surrounded by a posse of friends. It was pretty obvious they’d all had a couple rounds of beer and were spoiling for a fight.
Shane seemed more withdrawn than usual as he manned his station behind the bar. She could tell Annie’s death was bothering him more than he’d let on earlier. Either that or he was still plagued by thoughts of Tony.
Mack was being Mack, but a little more anxious than normal. Donna was upset, having known Annie personally.
On the other hand, Gabriella was trying to maintain the status quo and hope all hell didn’t break loose even though it felt as if it might at any second. While she sat at the bar trying to worm more than simple one-word answers from Shane, Patrick came up and grabbed her hand.
“Come on, Gabriella. Let’s dance. We can talk about why you need me.”
Rather than watch Shane’s reaction, she ushered a slightly inebriated Patrick onto the dance floor. Her personal breathalyzer test on Patrick was holding at about a six point five, making him close to obnoxiously drunk.
He chose a slow dance, probably because he couldn’t stand upright without her to lean on. She was wearing a short, tight, black leather skirt that hugged her hips just below her belly button. Lengths of gold chain linked around the top like a belt and a black lycra t-shirt stopped two or three inches above the skirt, exposing her midriff.
His fingertips tickled the length of her exposed spine as he moved. It didn’t feel icky, but it also wasn’t something she welcomed.
“Why’d you call?” His breath whispered against the column of her throat and he placed a kiss at the sensitive spot below her ear. “You wanna hook up?”
That was the last thing she needed right now.
She pushed back to get some space. “No. I…” In light of Annie’s death, reporting the purse-snatching incident now seemed almost silly. Shane was right. She had gotten her stuff back, and after the display of cop force earlier, she didn’t want anything to go haywire. “This gig will be over in a couple of weeks and I was wondering if you could line me up some interviews.”
While she didn’t necessarily want to stay in Chicago, it was the first thing that came to mind. Besides, it made the most sense to keep the topic on her rather than on anything going on between Patrick and Shane.
“I could get you a job tomorrow. One a hell of a lot better than this. Why do you stay here? Shane’s a prick.”
She ignored his comment. “Why didn’t you tell me he was your brother?”
He shrugged. “Don’t think of him as my brother. Never did, really. We’re not blood.” His narrow definition of family was sad for both of them.
“Why?”
“Loved to show how much better he was than me at everything from sports to women.”
“Shouldn’t you have outgrown the sibling rivalry thing by now?”
“Don’t tell me you’re falling for him? He’s an ass, always out for himself, never caring about anybody else. Killed the only mom I ever knew just as sure as I’m standing here.”
The crazy notion that Shane had been responsible somehow for his mother’s death seemed ludicrous. From experience, she knew most people had a tendency to point the finger at others when something went wrong rather than admit that sometimes there wasn’t anyone to blame. She should know all about that. She blamed everything from the wrong outfit to the stars being misaligned when things went wrong for her.
“Are you saying he took out a gun and shot her? Or maybe wielded a knife and stabbed her?” She couldn’t help noticing there was a whole lot of anger behind her words, although she wasn’t sure why.
“But that doesn’t mean he didn’t cause it.”
“You’re a cop. You should know there’s no waffling in murder. He either did the deed and should be in jail, or it was an unfortunate accident, something that just happened and was nobody’s fault.”
“His soulful looks and war wounds have gotten to you, too.” He pulled away, seeming much more sober than he had a few minutes earlier.
“I’m saying brothers should act like brothers. They should be there when they need each other, not be each other’s worst enemy.”
“And I don’t need a lecture from you.”
“Tough.”
He glanced at Shane, then came in close, giving her a soft kiss on the cheek along with a cocky smile. “Thanks for the dance, Gabriella.”
“Anytime, Patrick.”
She mumbled thanks before making her way off the floor. Anxious to have some breathing space, she stumbled through the poorly lit back hallway and pressed the bar to open the back door. Since there was a wedge of wood stuck inside the door jam to keep it from closing completely, she figured either Donna or Mack must be out back catching a smoke.
But once she got outside, she was alone. Which was good. She didn’t feel like company. A mix of emotions tumbled through, turning her mood even more somber.
The weird vibe permeating the club tonight had invaded her as well. The fact that the woman who sang there before was dead made her nauseous. Sucking in giant gulps of air, she tried to keep from throwing up.
While she stood there minding her own business, leaning against the brick of the building, a black Cadillac slowly made its way down the alley and stopped on the other side of the dumpster to the right of the doorway. She didn’t think much about it until she heard Mack’s voice coming from somewhere out of sight. Though she tried to make out what was being said, she couldn’t catch most of the conversation.
The whole thing seemed odd and she was mesmerized for a few minutes, trying to sort it all out. Suddenly she remembered Mack being AWOL for stretches of time during certain evenings for no apparent reason. Frequently, Shane would ask where Mack was, but she never had an answer. She’d always thought Shane was being controlling, but now she had to wonder.
She glanced at her watch, trying to pinpoint the time. As she was trying to put two and two together, she heard a car door slam and then Mack came around the dumpster.
“Gabriella, what are you doing back here?” Fidgety, he looked over his shoulder.
“I came out for a little air. Who was that?” She wouldn’t have cared much, except that he acted so guilty she couldn’t help being curious.
He shrugged, but even in the dim light of the alley, it looked false. “Just some guy. He was lost.”
Mack clearly couldn’t lie well. But she didn’t have the energy to press him on it.
Later, as things continued to go downhill, she barely remembered his lie. She was way too absorbed in the escalating tension swirling about the club like a big black cloud.
At first it was a kind of restlessness in the audience. She wondered if she wasn’t giving her best performance because she was distracted. And even though she shouldn’t let it bother her, it got under her skin when people chatted and carried on while she was singing. When arguing broke out, she got downright angry.
Between song four and five of the set, she heard voices escalate in the corner of the room at the table of cops. Pretty soon, chairs were tumbling, and a glass shattered on the wood floor prior to two men squaring off.
Shane bolted from behind the bar to wedge himself between them, his arms keeping them at a distance. He told them to knock it off in Shane-type colorful language.
It seemed to her he shouldn’t toss off those kinds of threats to a table full of cops. She sauntered over, convinced it would get really ugly within thirty seconds or less. Patrick and another guy stood on the periphery, not encouraging but also not stepping into the middle of things. More than likely, Patrick had every intention of letting Shane go down in a blaze of glory.
She gave Patrick her best scathing look and moved in next to Shane. Nobody was saying anything, just glaring like guys do, and it made her anxious.
“Come on, fellows. The song wasn’t that bad, was it?” She touched one man’s arm and he recoiled. “Keep this up and you guys are going to have to arrest yourselves.” She figured if she made it clear they were cops, they would stop. Either that or get even worse.
Patrick finally spoke. “Knock it off, Dan.”
The man in question—Dan—did kind of a wobbly glare at the other guy. Then he turned his attention toward Shane and pointed. “You think you’re all badass. But, Shane O’Neil, you’re a dead man.” With that, he turned and walked out the door.
A shiver raced up her spine. She gulped and glanced toward Shane. Either he had ice water in his veins, or he had some kind of a death wish.
What she didn’t understand was how the argument had somehow gone from between the two cops to between the cop and Shane. Then it hit her. He was one of the guys from court earlier, the one Shane had words with. She didn’t recognize him at first because he was in jeans and a baseball cap. It couldn’t be coincidence that he’d ended up at the Blues Stop tonight.
This didn’t look good. She wanted to hightail it out of Dodge and be rid of this mess. But either through stubbornness or nosiness or just plain craziness, she decided at that very moment to stay put. Maybe she was a glutton for punishment.
One of the remaining cops motioned to Shane. “I need a beer.”
“You’re cut off,” Shane said before walking away.
“You can’t do that.”
Shane didn’t respond. He went behind the bar, ignoring the guy’s rant, which didn’t last long because the other men at the table managed to quiet him. Still, any moment the whole place could erupt into a giant fistfight like in those old westerns on TV.
She made her way to the stage. “Well, that was the most excitement I’ve had in a long while. But I think it’s time we get back to singing.”
She was relieved when the set was over and the between-sets music began to play. As quickly as possible, she slipped off to the dressing room. Most times she liked to hang out at the bar or with customers—or Shane—during breaks. Tonight she wanted to hibernate. Starting with the news about Annie, the night had turned into one gigantic disaster. Gabriella was willing to bet it was going to get worse before it got better.
Understandably, Donna wasn’t much in the mood for conversation. So instead of chatting, she had time to think. All she could focus on was getting back to Florida where these kinds of things didn’t happen to her and all she had to worry about was annoying lectures from her family. She hit the play button on her iPod and let music drown out her thoughts.
As she tried to relax, she spotted a piece of paper crumpled up in the corner of the room. She reached down and opened it. ‘
Ayudeme, por favor
. Please help me.’
What the heck? Had that been there before? If it hadn’t, where did it come from?
A sick feeling lodged in the bottom of her stomach as she struggled to normalize the situation. Could it be a prank? Even though part of her knew it wasn’t, she wanted it to be something innocent. A practical joke.
But then she saw a spot of dried blood about the size of a quarter not too far from where the note had been lying. At least it looked like dried blood. Either that or her imagination had gone into overdrive. Considering the last few hours that wouldn’t be much of a stretch.
She glanced over at Donna, but she was lost in sad thoughts, a tear running down her cheek ever so often. Just as she was about to seek out Shane, Mack poked his head inside the door.
“Mack, what’s this on the floor?” She pointed at the spot. Would he come to the same conclusion she had?
He gave the spot a superficial glance, then shrugged. “Those cleaning people suck. I spilled some wine there about a week ago.” Without another word, he turned and left.
Of course. She should have figured. Bar and wine totally went together. It seemed feasible, even probable. She stared at the spot once again and reined in her overactive imagination, pushing down the thought that there could be any connection between the scribbled note she still held in her fingertips and the spot.
She wanted to share her concerns with Donna, but Gabriella didn’t have the heart. “I’m sorry about Annie.”
“I thought she was getting better. She was hooked up with the methadone clinic and a sponsor, but I guess relapse is a part of life for an addict.” A tear hung at the edge of her eyelashes.
“You think it was a drug deal gone bad?” Despite herself, Gabriella was starting to wonder about a lot of things, things that didn’t seem to add up. Getting beat up the way Annie had seemed more an act of vengeance than a drug deal gone bad. And then there was the note and the ‘wine spot.’
“I’m not sure what to think. She swore to me she wasn’t using anymore, but if you ask me, methadone is almost as much of a crutch as heroin, just legalized.” Donna shook her head. “But she was acting strange the last couple of days before she disappeared. She didn’t want to talk about it, which was kind of unusual. We were different kinds of people, but I liked her—not like in a ‘let’s go hang out’ kind of way, but…” Donna stopped for a few seconds, taking a giant gulp of the water and composing herself. “It sucks that it happened to her.”
Gabriella could only nod in affirmation. While she didn’t know Annie personally, she did have up close and personal knowledge of drug addiction. She’d lived with a drug addict of a boyfriend for a long time. In her experience, most of the time they were nice people who’d gotten off on the wrong path. She would bet Annie was the same.