For the Baby's Sake. Beverly Long

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СКАЧАТЬ ready to cough it up. She was going to have to play the game his way.

      “Liz Mayfield,” she said. “I’m one of three counselors here at OCM. Options for Caring Mothers,” she added. “This is Mary Thorton.”

      The introduction wasn’t necessary. The girl had been keeping him up at nights. Sawyer knew her name, her social security number, her address. Hell, he knew her favorite breakfast cereal. Three empty boxes of Fruit Loops in her garbage had been pretty hard to miss. “Miss Thorton,” he said, nodding at the teen before turning back to the counselor. “Is there anybody else in the building?”

      The woman shook her head. “Carmen was here earlier, but she left to take her brother to the orthodontist. Cynthia, she’s the third counselor, just works in the mornings. We have a part-time receptionist, too, but she’s not here today. Oh, and Jamison is getting ready for a fund-raiser. He’s working off-site.”

      “Who’s Jamison?”

      “He’s the boss.”

      “Okay. Why don’t the two of you—”

      Sawyer stopped when he heard his partner let loose their call numbers. He turned the volume up on his radio.

      “Squad, this is 5162, following a gray Lexus, license Adam, John, David, 7, 4, 9. I lost him, somewhere around Halsted and 35th. Repeat, lost him. Keep an eye out, guys.”

      Sawyer wasn’t surprised. He and Robert had been parked a block down the street. Sawyer had jumped out, and Robert had given chase, but the shooter had at least a two-block advantage. In a crowded city, filled with alleys and side streets, that was a lot. Every cop on the street in that general vicinity would be on the watch now, but Sawyer doubted it would do any good. Mirandez’s boys would have dumped the car by now. He turned the volume on his radio back down.

      “Why don’t you two have a seat?” he said, trying hard to maintain a hold on his emotions. They hadn’t gotten the shooter, but maybe—just maybe—he had Mary Thorton in a position where she’d want to talk.

      The counselor sat. Mary continued to stand until Liz Mayfield patted the chair next to her.

      Facing both women, he said, “I’d like to ask you a few questions. Are you feeling up to that?”

      “You okay?” Liz Mayfield asked Mary.

      The girl shrugged. “I suppose.”

      The woman nodded at Sawyer. “Shoot,” she said.

      Mary snorted, and the pretty counselor’s cheeks turned pink. “Sorry,” she mumbled. “We’re ready. Proceed. Begin.”

      Wow. She was a Beach Boys song—a regular California girl—with her smooth skin and thick, blond hair that hung down to the middle of her back. She wore a sleeveless white cotton shirt and denim shorts, and her toenails were the brightest pink he’d ever seen.

      What the hell was she doing in a basement on the south side of Chicago?

      He knew what he was doing there. He was two minutes and two hundred yards behind Dantel Mirandez. Like he had been for the past eighteen months.

      And the son of a bitch had slipped away again.

      Sawyer crossed his legs at the ankles and leaned back against the desk, resting his butt on the corner. He focused his attention on the teenager. She sat slouched in her chair, staring at the floor. “Ms. Thorton, any ideas about who is responsible for this shooting?”

      Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Liz Mayfield sit up straighter in her chair. “I—”

      He held up his hand, stopping her. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to give Ms. Thorton a chance to answer first.”

      “I don’t know anything, Cop,” the teen said, her voice hard with irritation.

      Damn. “You’re sure?”

      Mary raised her chin. “Yeah. What kind of cop are you? Haven’t you heard about people in cars with guns? They shoot things. Duh. That’s why they call them drive-by shooters.”

      It looked as if she planned to stick to the same old story. He walked over to the window and looked out. Two squad cars had arrived. He knew the officers would systematically work their way through the crowd that had gathered, trying to find out if anybody had seen anything that would be helpful. He didn’t hold out much hope. In this neighborhood, even if somebody saw something, they wouldn’t be that likely to talk. He heard a noise behind him and turned.

      “I’m out of here.” Mary pushed on the arms of her chair and started to get up. “I’ve got things to do.”

      He wasn’t letting her off the hook that easy. “Sit down,” he instructed. “We’re not done.”

      “You can’t tell me what to do,” Mary shouted.

      You can’t tell me what to do. The words bounced off the walls, sharp, quick blows, taking Sawyer back seventeen years. Just a kid himself, he’d alternated between begging, demanding, bribing, whatever he’d thought would work. But that angry teenage girl hadn’t listened to him, either. She’d continued to pump heroin into her veins, and his son, his precious infant son, had paid the ultimate price.

      Sawyer bit the inside of his lip. “Sit,” he said.

      Liz Mayfield stood. “Detective, may I talk to you privately?”

      He gave her a quick glance. “In a minute.” He turned his attention back to Mary. “I’m going to ask you one more time. What do you know about this shooting?”

      “What I know is that you talk funny.”

      He heard Liz Mayfield’s quick intake of breath, but the woman remained silent.

      “Is that right?” Sawyer rubbed his chin, debating how much he should share. “Maybe I do. Where I come from, everybody talks like this. Where I come from, two drive-by shootings in one week is something worthy of note.”

      Mary lowered her chin. Liz Mayfield, who had remained standing, cocked her head to the side and studied Mary. “Two?” she asked.

      Sawyer didn’t wait for Mary. “While Ms. Thorton shopped in a convenience store just three days ago, the front windows got shot out,” he said.

      “Mary?”

      Was it surprise or hurt that he heard in the counselor’s voice?

      The teen didn’t answer. The silence stretched for another full minute before Liz tried again. “What’s going on here?” she asked.

      “There ain’t nothing going on here,” Mary said. “Besides me getting bored out of my mind, that is.”

      “Somebody’s going to get killed one of these days.” Sawyer paced in front of the two women, stopping in front of Mary. “How would you like it if Ms. Mayfield had gotten a bullet in the back of her head?”

      “I got rights,” Mary yelled.

      “Be quiet,” he said. “Use some of that energy and tell СКАЧАТЬ