The Prosecutor. Adrienne Giordano

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СКАЧАТЬ hell.

      “I need to go,” she said.

      For safety, Zac stepped far enough out of reach so he didn’t do something stupid and touch her. “Yes, you do.”

      He watched her leave the office while his pulse triple-timed. A career-making case and he was having carnal thoughts about the convicted man’s sister. Talk about a brilliant way to screw up.

      Time to refocus and get organized. Zac dialed Alex Belson to find out where all the evidence for this case was. In a matter of one business day, Zac had fallen way behind on a case that should have been a slam dunk. A damn murder conviction and he had no files.

      “Alex, hey, it’s Zac Hennings.”

      “Hang on.” Alex said something to someone on the other end then came back to him. “Sorry. Madhouse. What’s up?”

      “The Sinclair case. What the heck happened here? I’ve got one box—half full. I should have a truckload.”

      Alex groaned. “I feel for ya, man. I inherited exactly what you got.”

      “And?”

      “And what? I was the fourth PD to handle this guy. I backtracked, though. The first guy died—as in keeled over out of the blue. And the other two guys aren’t with the PD’s Office anymore. I’m guessing when the first guy crapped out, some of his files were never recovered. Then the other two guys left and all I could salvage was what was in that box.”

      A murder case with no evidence. Zac dug his fingertips into his forehead. He’d have to track down the two remaining PDs, wherever they might be. If he had a knife, he’d gut himself. “You’re telling me that one box is all there is?”

      “As far as I know. I don’t have investigators just sitting around here. Plus, we’re dealing with a cop’s daughter as the victim. Dude, I knew going in I was going to lose. The blue wall wasn’t coming down on this one.”

      Cops in Chicago were legendary for their ability to keep quiet about crimes involving other cops. Chicago’s blue wall wasn’t cement—that sucker was solid steel—and the detectives didn’t bend over to help the defense. For the most part, Chicago detectives were honest investigators who worked until they reached logical conclusions. In some cases, hunches, whether right or wrong, guided them, made them feel someone’s guilt deep in their bones. Magicians that they were, they found a way to organize the evidence so it helped get a conviction.

      In the case of Chelsea Moore, detectives chipped away until the evidence fit. They would have made it fit for Dave. In a way, Zac understood.

      And that scared the hell out of him.

      “I’ll tell you one thing, though,” Alex said. “Emma Sinclair made for a great investigator. She hammered me about the victim’s boyfriend. Ex-boyfriend. Ben Leeks Jr.”

      Zac wrote down the name. “What about him?”

      “His father—Ben Leeks—is an Area 1 detective.”

      Zac’s stomach pitched. He shot a glance at the box of evidence. There had to be something in there about the boyfriend. “Was he questioned?”

      “According to the detectives, he was cleared early on. The PD before me talked to the kid. Nothing there.”

      “I’m guessing Emma wasn’t happy.”

      “She thought it was too convenient. Can’t say I blamed her. I went with what I had.”

      After three other PDs had already gone with it. Total snake pit. Zac made another note to look into the boyfriend. “What happened with the boyfriend?”

      “Chelsea’s friend said the kid was abusive. Smacked her around some.”

      “And he was cleared?”

      “The blue wall, my friend, the blue wall.”

      Zac wrote blue wall on his notepad and then slashed a giant X through it. If it took a blow torch, he’d burn through that steel wall.

      Chapter Three

      After blowing off class on Friday morning and visiting Brian, Emma flew down the expressway toward home. Lately it seemed she was always in a hurry to get somewhere while never really reaching the place she wanted to be. Today however, her optimism had hit a two-year high. During their visit, Brian had made adjustments to her time line. How those adjustments would differ from the video and trial transcripts, she wasn’t sure, but she’d find out soon enough by comparing them.

      Emma sang along with the radio. She felt as if things were looking up. Even if the gray sky, in complete contrast to her mood, hung dull and lifeless, it wouldn’t dampen her sunny mood. Brian had stayed subdued about their new lawyer. Defense mechanism. Her younger brother lived in a six-by-six cell. Hope ran thin for him.

      Emma’s cell phone rang and she punched the Bluetooth.

      “Helloooo?” she sang.

      “Penny Hennings here. Where are you?”

      Hello to you, too, Penny. Then again, Emma didn’t need her pro bono lawyer to be her friend. She needed her to give Brian his life back.

      “I’m coming from seeing Brian. Thirty minutes from downtown. Why?”

      “I’m heading to court. I need my intern’s help. Can you get to the parking garage next to Magic?”

      Emma stuck out her bottom lip. “The nightclub?”

      “The one and only. I had one of our investigators call the garage owner about the missing receipt. He has an office across the street from the garage above the sub shop. He also has five years of security backups and can pull the date we need. I love technology.”

      Now this could be good. “He’s willing to let me look through them?”

      “Yes. And if you find anything, he’ll give us a copy. I’ll call Zac. I want someone from the State’s Attorney’s Office to be with you so they can’t accuse us of tampering. The chain of custody on this will be rock solid. Ha! My brother will have a cow. I cannot wait. Seriously, I love my job sometimes.”

      Maybe Zac was right about his sister being nuts. Sanity issues aside, this might be another lead. “I’ll take care of it.”

      Emma arrived at the garage, parked and made her way across the street. A lunch rush descended on the sub shop and, with her metabolism reminding her that she’d only had a banana for breakfast, she contemplated grabbing a sandwich on the way out. Next to the sub shop was a door marked ENGLAND MANAGEMENT. She swung through the door and walked up the stairwell.

      At the top of the stairs she found a second glass door. The receptionist glanced up and waved Emma in.

      “Hi. I’m Emma Sinclair.”

      The receptionist smiled. “He’s expecting you. Come in.”

      Emma was ushered down the short, carpeted hallway to an office where a man sat at a metal-framed desk. The receptionist waved СКАЧАТЬ