Page 19 of Tortured Eyes
“I know. Just hear me out. Who’s running the cartels in Chicago?”
“Emilio Mortoni. His family have been players for years. Why?”
Nothing new there, then. “Any other names coming up? Rumours? Shifts in the last few weeks?”
“Nothing.”
Bullshit, nothing. The biggest drug trafficker on the eastern seaboard dies and it doesn’t impact on any of the main cartels in the business?
“Why are you so interested? If you’re working a case connected to cartels and drugs, then I want in.”
I bet he does. “And you will be. I’m just following a lead, and right now, it might be shit. A couple of random murders on the surface, but it might be more. I’ll keep you posted, but I’ll expect the same in return.”
“Sure.” He hangs up before I have the chance to do the same to him.
My father always used to say that part of being a good cop was learning when to follow your gut. My gut is screaming at me to look at this further and see the pattern behind the coincidences. I hope it's there, and it's not just four years of guilt and promises disguising what I think I can see.
* * *
The interview with the husband of Watts and Nigel’s case was cut and dry. Alibi provided. No clear motive established, and the usual amount of grief being held back. Nigel led and ensured that Watts didn’t open his big mouth and jeopardise anything, and although it gave us little to work on, I was happy that Mr Hammond wasn’t now a person of interest in the case despite Watts’ previous statements.
It still means we have a murder to solve, but right at this time, my attention is torn. I need to speak to Logan. Getting up in his face is a better statement of how I currently feel.
Since our meeting, I’ve scoured the internet for any story relating to him, and there are plenty. He acted like a fucking celebrity in his younger days. Riding around town in the latest suped-up car and partying hard. Perhaps it was Daddy’s coke that started that little habit of his? But then the stories became less frequent. His bad-boy days seemed to decline, and with them, more stories of what Cane was doing as a business empire popped up—expansion, working in new territories. Logan Cane wasn’t in the picture anymore. Another reason why Logan is my in now. His apparent lack of favour with his own company and family hasn’t gone amiss. Why isn’t he sitting at Carter Wade’s desk?
More unanswered questions and more threads of a story I’ve got to weave together if I ever have a chance at solving the crimes my father was so desperate to put to bed.
* * *
It's already late when I finally turn off the light and give up on trying to focus on my cases. My ineffectiveness pisses me off. I owe it to every single victim on my board to give it my best, my all. And I know I can’t do that while this is hanging over my head. Before leaving, I head down the corridor and notice the light of my lieutenant’s office is on.
“Sir, have you got a minute?"
“Sure, McCarthy, but make it quick. I should have left an hour ago.”
“I need to take a few days. I apologize for the short notice, but I have some family matters that I need to attend to.” The lie rolls off my tongue, but again, it’s more an omission of the full truth than anything else.
“Late notice. We’ll be short-staffed.” He leans back in his chair and steeples his fingers, keeping his shrewd eyes on me.
I avoid fidgeting and stand fast. “My teams are all capable and have their current assignments. Nigel will be an adequate overseer in my absence, or if not, Simpson or Jenkins can cover.”
“What’s your caseload?”
“Three murders and a violent assault victim. Marcos and Daniels are on court duty, and Marr and Patterson will handle all new cases across the desk.”
“Sounds like you’ve got everything worked out.”
“That is my job, sir.”
“How long do you need?”
Isn’t that the million-dollar question?
“Give me seventy-two hours. I’ll be back on shift then.”
“Fine. Don’t make me regret this. And if something big comes in, I’m cancelling this. Got it?”
“Understood.”
