Broken (8 page)

“Oh?” Berg said, looking up and jerking back her chair. “What
the fuck
are you wearing?”

Arena looked down at his skin-tight, baby blue woolen V-neck Ralph Lauren sweater, a T-shirt and a collared shirt peeking out the top, his white golf pants, and pristine white golf spikes. He winked at Berg and adjusted his matching golf cap jauntily—it was the icing on the most ridiculous cake she’d ever seen. “If you want to swim with the fishes, you can’t look like a shark. Don’t knock it—it worked.”

“That outfit actually worked?”

“Of course it did,” Arena said. “My ass looks great in white. I just discreetly hung out in the parking lot until some poor, lone female player needed assistance with her clubs. An invitation to join her for a round was a done deal after that.”

“Jesus. I just lost all respect for Chicago’s elite.” Berg dropped her head into her hand and shook her head. “So what did you get?”

“Naturally, Feeny’s banging the secretary,” Arena said smugly.

Berg glowered. “His secretary? We already interviewed her and dismissed her as a possibility. She’s over sixty and must weigh north of two hundred pounds!”

Arena raised his finger and wiggled it back and forth. “Not his PA, the secretary to the general manager of the golf club. Check it. After my lovely golf partner happily filled me in on all the weaknesses and predilections of her fellow players, and bought me a very expensive lunch,” he said, patting his stomach in satisfaction, “I did a bit of snooping. There’s a huge bunch of expensive flowers on this secretary’s desk. The card was unsigned, but the bunch is from the same florist in The Loop that Feeny regularly uses.”

Berg checked her watch. It was after five and she still had to approve the distribution of a press release and image of the Young suspect for PR, so it could make the six o’clock news. “Let’s get her in here first thing,” she said. “Great work, Arena.”

“It was your idea,” he said. “I must admit, I thought it was a random attack.”

“You work long enough with me, you’ll find out nothing’s ever random.” She sighed, massaging her temples.

Arena’s phone buzzed. Checking the caller ID, he frowned and rejected the call. “You okay? You look wrecked,” he asked Berg.

She sighed again and grabbed her phone from the console. “Just tired.” She reviewed the press release, attached the image from the Metra surveillance tape, and hit send. “Young suspect image and press release—sent.”

“Why don’t you go home and catch an early night? I’ll stick around in case PR has any follow-up questions.”

Berg was touched by his offer, and she had to admit it was tempting. She was so tired that earlier in the day she had visited the drugstore and bought some over-the-counter sleeping pills. Sitting in her purse and practically calling to her, she was desperate to go home, take two, and sink into dreamless oblivion for at least eight hours. “Really?” she asked. “You wouldn’t mind?”

“Not at all. Go,” he said, waving to the door.

“Thanks,” she said gratefully, grabbing her coat and purse. “I owe you one.”

Arena smiled as Berg left—he had every intention of collecting on her IOU.

He checked his e-mail for a few minutes until he was sure she had left the building, then, hands in pockets, he sauntered into Jay’s office without knocking.

Jay looked up from his screen, irritated at the intrusion, and waved toward a chair. “What is it, Arena?”

Arena remained standing. “I’m here out of courtesy. It’s about Berg,” he said.

Jay sat up a bit straighter.

“I’m throwing my hat in the ring, as they say. I thought it would be gentlemanly to let you know.”

Jay clenched his jaw. “That hat?” He nodded toward Arena’s golf cap that was still sitting jauntily on his dark hair. “Because that hat is ridiculous.”

“Whatever, funny man,” Arena replied sarcastically as he snatched off the cap and turned to go.

“Arena, wait,” Jay said quickly.

Arena turned back laconically, defiance in his every movement.

“Look, I totally get it and I don’t blame you. But give Berg some space. She needs it right now.”

Arena laughed shortly. “Sitting back and doing nothing may be your style, but it ain’t mine.”

Jay clenched his jaw. “Back off, Arena, I mean it. She doesn’t need this shit.”

“No,” Arena replied, taking a slow, deliberate step forward. “What she doesn’t need is you jerking her around, keeping her on a leash, and then dating other women.”

“Other women? What the fuck are you talking about?” Jay asked, his voice rising with every word.

“I mean we saw you the other night at the deli as you romanced some kid.”

Jay’s face fell. “Berg saw that?”

Arena nodded smugly.

“But I was interviewing a newbie out of the academy at the deli that night! I need more headcount in patrol.”

Arena shrugged. “Whatever. You and Berg are done,” he said. “Step aside.”

Jay stood up abruptly, his fists clenched. “Wow, way to suck up to your captain, you moron. I hope you weren’t planning a long career here?”

Arena shrugged.

“Look, Berg is in a vulnerable place, the last thing she needs is a bastard like you who won’t take no for an answer! If you care about her, you’ll give her some space.”

“Why should I? Unlike you, I know what I want. You snooze, you lose, O’Loughlin.”

“Fuck you. You want to take a run at Berg? Be my fucking guest. She’s way too smart for you and will see through your bullshit.”

“You trying to convince me or yourself of that?”

“Leave her the fuck alone! She’s in recovery—” Jay froze as the color drained out of his cheeks.

“Really? In recovery for something, hey? That’s interesting. Thanks for letting me know,” Arena said softly as he turned back toward the door.

“Fuck. Arena, wait!” Jay shouted.

Arena stalked out of the office, a small smile playing on the corners of his mouth, grabbed his cell off the desk, and wandered into the deserted stairwell of the building’s fire escape. He quickly dialed and put the phone to his ear.

“You rang?” he said, before listening intently. “Yes, everything’s on track.” He nodded as the voice on the other end gave instruction. “Yeah, divide and conquer. It’s all set. I have some other information that you might find useful. Just let me see how it pans out . . .” He felt a momentary stab of guilt. “I do this, and I become the youngest captain of the CPD ever, right? I got your personal guarantee?” he asked. He listened to the reassurance on the other end. “Okay, good.” He hung up and wandered back out to his desk.

The young woman sat across the interview room on a hard chair, fidgeting.

Looks pretty staid and proper for a mistress.

Berg wasn’t sure what she had expected, really, but a brunette with her hair carefully tied back in a knot, wearing librarian glasses and a modest black pantsuit was definitely not it. Lauren Wesley looked more like the wife than the mistress. For some reason, Berg had imagined someone bleached blond with huge fake tits and a trout pout.

Berg took another sip of her coffee and narrowed her eyes as she stopped evaluating the woman and reevaluated herself.

Obviously, I need to stop thinking in clichés.

The detectives had visited Lauren at the Cook County Golf Club that morning and invited her to have a quick chat. They had explained this was all voluntary, no lawyers needed. She wasn’t in trouble, after all.

Of course, once they had gotten her safely in front of them in an interview room and laid out their theory about her boyfriend’s involvement in his wife’s brutal murder, Lauren had looked as though she was regretting the decision to be so cooperative; with every word, Feeny’s mistress had looked more and more disturbed. Then the silent fidgeting had begun.

“Maybe I should call Mike’s lawyer,” she eventually said, staring down at her fingernails as she picked them anxiously.

“Why?” Arena asked. “Do you have something to confess? Because we’re just having a friendly chat here, aren’t we, Detective Raymond?”

“Very friendly,” Berg replied, doing her best to look nonthreatening and helpful. “Of course, if you were involved in your boyfriend’s wife’s death, then we’ll cease this friendly interview, read you your rights, and get you a lawyer straight away.”

Lauren looked at each officer then bit her lip.

Berg leaned forward and prepared to dish out her best good cop. “You look like a nice girl, Lauren, from a nice family, am I right?”

Lauren nodded, looking at Berg with her big, innocent eyes.

Berg felt a flash of pity—she couldn’t be more than twenty-five and had clearly found herself in too deep with the wrong man. “There’s no way a good girl from a nice family would be involved in anything like a murder, right?”

Lauren shook her head emphatically.

“That’s what I thought. See, Detective Arena? I told you she wasn’t involved.” Berg flung her hands in the air, gesturing to the poor, innocent woman and opening the floor to Arena.

“The hell she isn’t.” Arena actually growled. “We’ve got enough to charge her with accessory after the fact, at least, if not the murder itself. She’s right, let’s charge her and get her lawyer in here.” Arena shut the blank file he had been holding in front of him as a prop with a slap, and stood up.

Lauren looked horrified, shooting a pleading glance in Berg’s direction.

“Come on, Detective Arena. If a nice, law-abiding girl from a close family, like Lauren, knew something about this crime, of course she would tell us, because that’s the right, honest thing to do.” Berg nodded, subconsciously prompting Lauren to do the same. “She’s smart enough to know that we would be able to offer her a deal and immunity. What
decent
woman is going to go to a
federal prison
for at least ten years for a murder she’s not even involved in? Just to protect a brutal murderer who killed a woman he claimed to love?” Berg scoffed theatrically. “I don’t think so!” Berg rolled her eyes and smiled at Lauren apologetically, shaking her head.

Berg and Arena fell silent, letting their none-too-subtle manipulations sink in. At first, it looked as if Lauren hadn’t fallen for the routine at all.

After a few minutes of silence, while Lauren resolutely studied her now bleeding fingernails, Arena sighed softly and looked at Berg.

Berg twitched her index finger slightly, indicating he should wait a moment longer.

Berg opened the file folder, pulled out some photographs, and plopped them down in front of Lauren—images showing Elena Feeny’s dead body in stark detail. While the body had been cleaned, her hair was wet and hanging back from her face, which was missing half its forehead. White, jagged bone showed in shards through pale pink and blue skin. The brain cavity was empty.

Lauren stared at the images before turning white and looking away.

“I mean, honestly, Detective Arena, any smart woman would know that a man capable of doing this to his own wife to be free of her is capable of doing the exact same thing to the mistress to get rid of her, too. She would know that the safest place for her is with the police. And Lauren’s a smart woman. She’s worked hard to become the secretary of such a prestigious institution. Why would she jeopardize her position there, not to mention her
life
?”