Chicago Vendetta

Johnny pulled a card from his shirt pocket and handed it to her. “I’m a private investigator, now based in California. Rich and I grew up together. I sent Sergeant Hillman the photos of us in my email. Rich was one of my closest friends. I owe it to him to look into this. I’m extremely good at my job and can find out things others can’t. I also have powerful connections in the right places. I’d be an asset to your team.”

Rusch looked at the card, gave Johnny the once-over, then turned to Hillman. “I think we ought to read him in, Chuck.”

Hillman produce a deep sigh. “Damn it, Lakea, we talked about this—”

“He only wants to help.” Rusch slapped her hand on her desk. “Jeez, Chuck, you’re acting like he’s one of the bad guys. Rich was his friend. These bastards killed Taylor and Brett. They were our friends, damn it!”

Hillman’s voice took an edge. “I know who they were, Lakea. Mick and I joined the force together.”

“Uh, did I strike a nerve?” Johnny asked.

Hillman’s eyes had visibly reddened, and his expression gave him the persona of a man who’d been beaten down and was utterly exhausted. “You’ll have to just cut me a little slack, I’m afraid. It’s been long hours around here.” His chair creaked as Hillman leaned back in it before continuing. “I only just came over to IA. I used to be strictly Intelligence.”

“Why the transfer?”

“Happened after two of the guys on the warrant squad were killed.”

Johnny nodded and then referred to his laptop. “That would have been Sergeant Mick Brett and Detective Reggie Taylor. Correct? They were gunned down by someone with a sniper rifle, but the perpetrator was never apprehended.”

Rusch looked at Hillman, who just nodded, and said, “Chuck was on the detail that was first to arrive less than a minute after the warrant officers were gunned down.”

“They were on standby to serve a warrant I’d just had signed,” Hillman went on, “and I was riding shotgun in the BearCat. I talked to Mick just maybe a few minutes before that and told him we were on the way. He and Iggy got into position ahead of time so we could breach as soon as we showed up.”

“According to the forensics reports, both of them were wearing vests,” Johnny said. “And yet they were killed by someone firing a .308 rifle. I also understand the shooter killed both of them when it was dark, and from an estimated distance of about five hundred feet.” Johnny looked from his laptop at each of the cops in turn and shook his head. “It isn’t likely that a thug like Madera would pay for the services of someone having that kind of skill.”

Rusch frowned. “How do you know all of this? We just received that report.”

“I told you, I’m a good investigator with good sources. This was a professional job, and whoever did it knew you were coming. That much is obvious.”

“You see?” Rusch said. “I told you someone else outside the department would figure this out when they started sniffing around. This was never going to be a secret for as long as we’d hoped to keep it.”

Hillman leaned forward, elbows on knees, and leveled a stern gaze at Johnny. “I don’t like private investigators, but over the years I’ve found they can be handy at times. I’m trusting you because you were Rich’s friend. But you need to understand something before we go any further. Everything we’re about to tell you is strictly confidential. Understand?”

“You’d be pretty surprised to know some of the secrets I keep, Sergeant.” When Hillman didn’t say anything, Johnny added, “Yes, confidential...understood.”

Hillman cleared his throat. “There’s a good reason I got transferred to IA. We’ve pretty much figured out the same thing you have. The brass sent me here because they suspect someone on the inside piped the information to whoever was responsible for sniping Mick and Iggy. As for Walburn and James, their deaths occurring around the same time could not be coincidence. The guy who bombed the Italian café had to know Rich was going to be there, and Kendra James’s house fire was ruled as arson.”

“So in all those cases,” Rusch said, “the perpetrators knew these were all employees of the police department. They knew their habits and their neighborhoods, and they knew about otherwise highly confidential police operations.”

“Okay, fair enough,” Johnny conceded. “But what makes the department think it’s an insider or mole responsible?”

“The victims. As you know, Rich Walburn was a computer forensics investigator. Kendra James was a security operations dispatcher.”

“And Iggy and Mick were both on the warrant squad,” Hillman added. “All of these individuals have regular access to the same information because they all worked out of this building, so we’re convinced our mole is here.”

“And the powers that be decided to take someone who has the experience in gathering intelligence, transfer them to IA, and give the insider a boost in confidence nobody’s onto him. Or her.” He looked at Rusch. “Nothing personal.”

She inclined her head. “Fair enough. Everyone’s a suspect at this point, Mr. Gray.”

Hillman scoffed. “Lakea’s not a suspect. I’ve worked with her for years. She comes from a family of cops, and there’s no way this is in her character.”

“And obviously CPD has reason to think you’re above reproach,” Johnny observed. “Otherwise they wouldn’t have transferred you to IA and made such a show of it, to boot.”

“Smart, Gray,” Hillman replied. “You’ve a good head on your shoulders. But you don’t know shit about law enforcement in Chicago. No offense. The blue line here is solid, probably not like anywhere you else you’ve ever been. If someone inside is dirty, it won’t be easy to flush them out, and especially not for an outsider, despite whatever skills you claim to possess.”

Johnny forced a grin. “Maybe not. But I have something that might be of interest to you, something you might not yet even possess.”

“And that is?” Rusch asked, arching an eyebrow.

“A lead,” Johnny said.

* * *

Hillman and Rusch sat a vigilant post in their unmarked squad car in a darkened corner of a parking lot. One of them had an eye on the entrance to the grocery store at all times, determined not to miss their quarry. Parked close by in his rental was Gray, who was keeping his own sort of vigil, despite being told it was against policy to allow him on the team. They agreed to share information, but go their separate ways. Hillman and Rusch knew the private investigator wouldn’t listen, and his presence confirmed it.

“So what do you think?” Hillman asked as he looked out the passenger window at Gray’s car and sighed.

“About what?” Rusch replied, never taking her eyes from the store. “Gray?”

“Yeah.”

“I think...” She paused to lick her lips. “I think the guy’s truly looking out for our best interests while trying to find his friend’s killer. I’d be doing the same thing.”

Hillman looked at his partner askance. “Really? I got just the opposite sense after he told us about his lead but refused to give us any idea where the information came from. And how does he get information so fast?”

“I don’t know. It’s just something in my gut. Call it instinct.” Rusch looked over at Gray’s car, too. “He just seems like a straight shooter. There’s something kind of no-nonsense about him.”

“He’s a private dick,” Hillman replied. “Not one of us.”

“Hold up,” Rusch told him. “There he is.”

A thirtysomething Latino male in a leather jacket emerged. He had a canvas satchel in his grip, and his head moved as if mounted on a swivel. Rusch and Hillman remained still. Any sudden movement or attempt to obfuscate their positions inside the car now would just draw unwanted attention. The man didn’t appear to spot them, or if he had, he didn’t give any sign of it.

Hillman whipped out his cell phone and called Gray. When he answered, the detective said, “Even though you’re not supposed to be here, that’s our guy who just came out. Leather jacket and dark hair, climbing into that silver Toyota.”

* * *

Johnny listened carefully, then acknowledgd Hillman’s intel and disconnected.

Neither of the detectives had been eager to pursue his theory that a young decorated narcotics officer named Javier Esparza could be the mole. Johnny couldn’t blame them, as it didn’t make much sense to him, either. But the fact remained that Esparza had some pretty interesting facets to his personal life. For one thing he had a single younger sister with a checking account on which he was an authorized signer. Despite her unemployed status, Esparza’s sister managed to deposit five thousand in cash into the account every week. Esparza also drove a silver Toyota Avalon that wasn’t registered in his name. The car title was free and clear, and the corresponding insurance and sales agreement for the vehicle had been executed in the name of Omeco Industries, which had the earmarks of a shell corporation based on the data Johnny had received from Aaron Kurtzman at the Farm.

Johnny watched as Esparza climbed behind the wheel of his car and left the parking lot, then drummed his fingers against the steering wheel as he waited to see what Hillman and Rusch would do. Finally the lights came on and their vehicle rolled forward to tail Esparza. Johnny started the engine of his vehicle and fell into line behind the detectives, keeping a distance of a few car lengths at all times. Fortunately, they were on the back side of rush hour, so there were enough vehicles in play to make a tail possible.

* * *

“So, what do you think was in the satchel?” Hillman asked.

“It certainly wasn’t groceries,” Rusch replied with a shrug. “But if I had to guess, I’d say cash. Lots of it.”