Capture: A Crime Thriller (CJ Sheridan Thrillers Book 2) Page 11

  With a sigh, Jim shook his head. “I don't know why I'm telling you all of this. Just feeling helpless right now. I made some calls before coming out here, but nobody knows anything. I have a few of my best agents poking into it, not including Jessica.”

  “She’s good at what she does.”

  “I know.”

  “Right.” Of course Jim would know. He was her boss, after all. A few levels up, but from what Jessie said, he was on top of what was going on with his agents.

  “She said she's going to call around to the districts. She still has plenty of friends in the Chicago P.D, and they're more likely to speak with her than they will me.”

  Mark nodded. “She's good at sweet-talking information.” He cleared his throat. “About the other stuff. Whatever you're worried about, I'm sure it'll work out.”

  Jim searched Mark's face, his fear evident. For the first time ever, he appeared raw and vulnerable. “I hope you're right. I…I just have a bad feeling.”

  Blanche came out to the patio, her eyes wide. as she looked from Jim to Mark. “A bad feeling?”

  Mark looked away. He also had a bad feeling, but he didn't give voice to his fears.

  “Why would I be pissed off?” Jessica stood just behind Blanche.

  Jim sat straight, all traces of vulnerability gone as if they had never been there. “When did you get here?”

  “Just now.” She partially turned and waved towards the front of the condo. “Your door was unlocked and I knew you were all in here, so I just came in. Hope you don't mind.”

  “No. Of course not.”

  Mark rose and moved to her, giving her a hug and a quick kiss as Blanche stepped past Mark to allow him to be closer to Jessie.

  Jessica pulled a small notepad from her purse and came forward. “I'm on my way over to speak to my old partner, Dan. You guys remember him, right?”

  Jim nodded. “Great. I appreciate it. I remember him being a big help a few years ago.”

  Mark shifted his feet, unsure how he felt about Dan’s help. He’d given Mark some grief when Mohommad had been causing trouble.

  “Do you guys have any more info for me?” She looked over to Mark. “How about you? Any more visions?”

  “Not really. Just a little more on the last one. CJ's being held somewhere. Maybe under arrest.”

  Jessica's cellphone buzzed. She looked down at it. “Dan just texted me. CJ's car was towed from an alley and is in an impound lot.” She looked around. “Got a pen?”

  Jim pulled one from his pocket and handed it to her. She jotted down something.

  “Here's where we can start. This is the alley where they found his car. Somebody around there has to know something.”

  “Okay. Let's go. We can ask around.” Mark turned to go, but Jessica grabbed his arm.

  “Hold on. I still want to go talk to Dan. Why don't we split up? You and Blanche can go look around the alley. See what else is in the area. Jim can come with me. Dan hinted at something, wouldn't speak on the phone about it.”

  Chapter Eleven

  CJ awoke with a start when his head fell back, thumping against the door. He winced and rubbed it, forgetting for a moment where he was. When he did, he scrambled to his feet, shooting a look to the bench and breathed a sigh of relief. Tom was still there, stretched out with his arm at an awkward angle as it dangled from the cuff. The man snuffled, then snorted in his sleep.

  Yawning, CJ scrubbed a hand down his face. How long had he been dozing? His hand returned to his face. His jaw was rough with stubble. More than he usually sported. He must have been asleep for a few hours at least. Had he been here twenty-four hours already? It had to have been, but his mind could be playing tricks on him. Physically, it felt like a long time. His head pounded and his mouth was dry, his thirst overwhelming. Hunger had come and gone, but his stomach felt hollow. Soon, the hunger would return.

  A rancid smell assaulted his nostrils and he saw a wet stain on the wall next to the bench. Tom must have stood up and taken a piss at some point. CJ wrinkled his nose and waved a hand in front of his nose. He opened his mouth to tell Tom what a slob he was, when CJ realized that he hadn't peed since he'd been taken, except for one break they had given him not long after he'd arrived. That couldn't be a good sign.

  It didn't surprise him that they were withholding water from him, but what about Tom? Didn't they care if he died of thirst? He took a few steps to stretch his legs, but his vision swam, and he bent, bracing his hands on his knees as a wave of lightheadedness swept him. Lack of food and water over the last however many hours it had been, were taking a toll. All they'd have to do is wait him out. No doubt Tom was better hydrated and fed than he was, and they knew it.

  Slowly straightening, he tried to form a plan, but he was out of ideas. He had the stun gun, but it was doing him no good. Even if he used it, his shots were limited. Then what? What could he do when he had an empty gun? They'd storm in here and beat the crap out of him, probably. He had to make some kind of deal. Now. While he was still thinking clearly. He staggered as he moved back to the door. Somewhat clearly, he amended.

  “Hamilton!” CJ pounded the side of his fist against the door. “We need to talk.” He repeated the request a few times, beating his palm against the door each time. What if nobody was left in the building? It could be three in the morning for all CJ knew. There were no windows to show the passage of time.

  He glancing at Tom, surprised the man slept on, despite all the racket he had been making. CJ moved away from the door when he heard footsteps on the other side. His body tensed as the door eased open. A demand for release formed on CJ's lips, but before he could utter it, a familiar face showed in the small slit. It was the cop who had transported him to speak to Hamilton—when was that? Only a few days ago? It seemed like ages. What was the guy's name? His mind felt sluggish. Cottony. As though his thoughts were fighting their way out from beneath a blanket of confusion. What was his name again? Wayan something.

  “Hey, man. What's going on in here?” Wayan's first look shot to Tom, and his eyebrows rose, before he noticed CJ standing against the wall. “Sheridan?”

  Wayan's surprise gave CJ hope. Here was his chance to get out. Finally, he could deal with a rational police officer. “Thank god. You gotta talk to Hamilton. Tell him he's made a mistake. I didn't kill anyone. I was just—”

  Before Wayan could reply, there was a loud shout from somewhere beyond Wayan. It sounded like Hamilton. “Shut the damn door, you idiot!”

  Wayan pulled back, turning to look over his shoulder. “Who are you calling an idiot? I heard someone shouting, I had to investigate.” He said something else, but CJ didn't catch it because the door slammed shut.

  “Wait!” CJ rushed forward, grabbing the door handle and yanking it. He pulled so hard, that when his hands slipped off the handle, he flew backward, catching his balance with one hand against the far wall. “Dammit!”

  A chuckle came from the other side of the room and CJ glanced over to find Tom standing, attempting an awkward stretch. “Guess you missed your opportunity.”

  CJ leaned his forehead against the door and closed his eyes. The cold door felt good. After a moment, he turned his head without lifting it, eyeing Tom. What to do with him? He grimaced as Tom scratched his crotch. When he saw CJ looking, he shrugged. “What? I got an itch.”

  Ignoring the comment, CJ said, “What does Hamilton want from me?”

  “He wants you to tell the truth. That you killed Officer Cruz.”

  “But I didn't'. I'm not going to confess to something I didn't do. End of story.”

  Tom sat down again. “Guilt is neither here nor there. He doesn't give a shit if you're guilty. He just needs a confession.”

  CJ pushed off the door and took a few steps towards CJ. “Needs?”

  “Yeah. He needs a murderer. You were chosen.” Then he laughed. “You're the chosen one!”

  The guy was starting to sound insane. Certifiable. “Yeah. I guess I should be flatter
ed.”

  “Nah, he just wants you out of his way. You've screwed up a few things already. Gotten in the way of business.”

  Taken aback at the statement, CJ stared at Tom for a few minutes. Was the guy bullshitting him? He didn't seem to care about CJ's reaction if he was. He'd already leaned back against the wall, his eyes closed as though trying to catch a few more winks. “What did I do? At least let me know.”

  “I don't know. Not my business.” He didn't even open his eyes.

  “So you're just the muscle?”

  Tom's lips stretched into a thin smile. “Now who's been watching too many old movies?”

  “Listen, Tom. I have no idea what's going on. If I got in anyone's way, it was purely unintentional. Tell Hamilton that.”

  “Kind of hard to talk to him from here.”

  CJ conceded the point. “He's gotta come in here sometime, right?”

  Tom shrugged.

  “I mean, he's not just going to let you die of thirst in here, is he?”

  “Probably not.”

  “Probably?” CJ tried to hide his growing apprehension. Tom was bluffing. That was all. No way would Hamilton leave his guy to die.

  “Okay, listen. Hamilton is a little…different. I probably shouldn't be telling you this, but what the hell. Maybe we're bonding?”

  CJ snorted.

  “Anyway, you don't wanna cross him. I do what he tells me. I don't got a choice.”

  Was this some new version of good cop, bad cop? Had Tom and Hamilton planned something like this all along? Could this be their modus operandi? Suspicious, but unsure if he was over-thinking it, CJ rubbed his temples. What to do? Free Tom and let him talk to Hamilton? There was no guarantee that the guy would do anything to help CJ. Why should he?

  He was too thirsty to think straight. His head ached and his tongue felt thick. “What I wouldn't give for a drink of water right about now.”

  “Let me go now, and I'll make sure you get a tall glass of ice water. First thing.”

  CJ licked his lips and tried to push the image out of his mind. But the glass remained front and center. The ice cubes were stacked one atop the other, clinking as they melted and settled in the glass. Condensation trickled down the side, weaving between an erratic pattern before spreading on the tabletop. It was so real, he could almost feel the cool liquid sliding down his throat. He blinked. “No. I can't let you go. I'll be stuck here forever.”

  “Not likely. Most get out. Eventually.”

  “Most? Not all?”

  Tom darted a look at the door. His voice lowered. “Sometimes shit happens, ya know?.” His gaze swept the room as though searching for something, then he leaned forward, his voice harsh, but barely above a whisper, “You didn't hear nothin' from me.”

  After studying him for a few seconds, CJ turned away, pressing the heel of his hand against his forehead, grinding it in a circular motion. He squeezed his eyes shut. If only he didn't have this god-awful headache. He had to think.

  Had his dad realized he was missing yet? What about Mark? Blanche wouldn't. She was working tonight. Or last night. Or whatever. She could still be at work or it might be the next day. He just didn't know. His legs shook and he sat down, his back against the wall as he faced Tom. He brought his knees up, draping his arms over them as he rested his head against his forearms.

  * * *

  “What the hell are you doing?” Detective Hamilton's voice boomed behind Wayan.

  Startled, he spun, the door slamming shut behind him. He jabbed a thumb back at it. “Someone was yelling. I was just checking it out.”

  Hamilton took a deep breath, smoothing a hand down the front of his shirt. “Well, everything is fine. Just have a suspect we brought in a few hours ago. We'll be questioning him shortly.”

  Wayan glanced around the nearly deserted building. “Here?” He hadn't meant to sound skeptical, but he couldn't help being surprised. This was just a facility to exchange cars if a squad car was acting up. His car had been sputtering this morning and so he was advised to bring it here where they could take a look at it. A garage occupied the back of the site and he'd driven back, exchanged his squad for another one. It was the first time he'd ever been sent here, but he knew the department contracted with different shops. Wayan hadn't planned on entering the building because he'd already been given keys to a different squad, but he had to hit the john. Since he hadn't yet called in to dispatch to be put back in commission, he decided to take advantage of the extra moments. When he'd entered, he'd seen a door marked 'Men' off to his left, and had made a beeline for it, barely glancing around.

  It wasn't until he left the men’s' room that he noticed that the building seemed almost deserted. Was this even part of the maintenance facility? Had he just barged into some private business and used their bathroom? Feeling foolish, he'd headed for the door, when he heard shouting. Loud, desperate shouting. As an officer, he was obligated to investigate, not that he needed obligation. What drove him to become a police officer is also what compelled him to try to help whoever it was who was in distress.

  Now, he found himself face to face with Detective Hamilton. “You question suspects here?”

  “Officer…Cooper, isn't it? This is part of an undercover operation. You shouldn't even be in here.”

  Hamilton knew very well who he was. They operated out of the same district. His superior attitude rubbed Wayan the wrong way. “I was just exchanging my vehicle. If I wasn't supposed to be here, Fleet Management wouldn't have sent me here.”

  “Fleet Management takes care of the garage. They have no part in this building. Now, if you leave now, I'll think about not reporting you to Internal Affairs.”

  “IA? What for?”

  “For compromising an undercover operation.”

  Wayan glared at Hamilton, but he didn't have a choice but to leave. At least for now. He shot a look at the door. “I'm leaving. I have to get back on the street anyway, but just FYI, your guy in there,…uh, the one not chained to the wall… looks a mess.” He didn't know why he kept quiet about recognizing Sheridan. It was a gut instinct and he was learning to trust his instincts.

  “Thank you for your observation. He was hopped up on meth when we picked him up. Just waiting for him to settle down so we can question him.”

  It sort of made sense, but Sheridan hadn't struck him as a meth head. It also didn't explain the one locked to the wall. “What about the other guy? Isn't he in danger?” It didn't make sense to Wayan. Generally, suspects were kept apart from each other so they couldn't corroborate each other's stories.

  “Don't worry about it. I have it under control. We're keeping a very close eye on the situation via video surveillance of the room.” As he spoke, Hamilton walked towards Wayan, his arms out as though ushering Wayan out the door. “I appreciate the warning though.”

  With one last glance at the door to the room with the suspects, Wayan lifted his arms. “I got it. You're in charge. I'm out of here. I have to get back on patrol anyway.” And then he smiled his goofy smile. Just as he hoped, Hamilton smiled back, his shoulders relaxing.

  “That you do, Officer Cooper. Remember, don't tell anyone about this. Lives are at stake.”

  “Oh, no sir. Never. My lips are sealed.” Wayan grinned again. He'd found that people underestimated him when he pretended to be easygoing. He used the tactic to his advantage when he could, but sometimes, he resented people's stereotyping him into a slot. Hamilton's insistence on secrecy just piqued Wayan's curiosity. This situation reeked like last month's fish, but he'd play along. For now.

  He turned, lifting his hand in a backwards wave. “See ya, Detective.” He pushed through the doors and left the lot.

  * * *

  Mark found the alley but parked on the street outside of it. He and Blanche stood on the sidewalk and looked around. The rumble of the EL caught his attention. There was a station one block down, and one over. Pedestrian traffic was moderate.

  They entered the alley, each choosing a
side, and both of them covering the middle. Mark looked for anything, but he didn't know exactly what to look for. It wasn't as if anyone had left a calling card. He kicked a beer can and started when something scurried beneath a Dumpster a few feet away.

  Stepping gingerly, Blanche walked past the Dumpster, peering into an alcove beside it to a door. Her nose wrinkled. “Whew. Smells like an outhouse. What are we looking for, anyway?”

  “I wish I knew. I think we'd know if we saw something, though.” He hoped something would trigger another vision, but so far, he wasn't having any signs of one.

  They made their way to the far end of the alley. Mark turned around to make another pass when Blanche pointed. “Isn't that a police station?”

  Pivoting, Mark looked. “Yeah. It sure is.”

  “Do you think that's important?”

  “You know, at this point, I have no idea. Could be. The guy in the photo, the one who was on the ground, was a cop. He could have been coming or going from that station.”

  “ If CJ was arrested here, wouldn't they'd book him there? It makes sense, right?”

  Mark did a double take. “Blanche. You're brilliant.” It made perfect sense. “Come on. We can go ask about him. Maybe he wasted his phone call on a pizza or something.” With any luck, they could pay whatever bail was required and spring CJ before lunch.

  Blanche smiled, but her eyes still reflected fear. “I hope that's what happened.”

  It wasn't. Mark knew that, but so did Blanche. They just needed to give each other hope.

  * * *

  “Are you sure?” Blanche asked the cop manning the desk. She drummed her fingers on the high counter. A line formed behind them of people also waiting to see someone at the district.

  “Miss, I'm certain we aren't holding anyone by that name in our facility.” He looked at Blanche, but then his gaze flicked behind her at those waiting. In a rush, she asked, “Okay, well, what about another district?”