A Matter of Time 07 - Parting Shot (MM) Read online

  I was not a guy who questioned, and I didn’t ask him to stay when he walked out the same way he’d come. I’d see him when he was ready; it wasn’t my place to pin him down. He was my friend. It was really the only thing that mattered.

  “Detective?”

  The officer who leaned into the room, who had not checked with me to see if Terrence Moss could come in, was apparently back from his break—or the bathroom or wherever he had been—and ready to ask me if I wanted to see a Mr. Sutter.

  “Please.” I swallowed hard, wondering what I was going to say and what all Aaron had been told. Had he dispatched men to check on me, look for me, find out what was going on with me, or not? We were supposed to have kept in touch, but I had been held for five days. As far as he knew, I was just not taking his calls. Or had he been briefed on everything that had happened to me? There was no way of knowing what kind of information money like his could buy.

  The question was answered when a version of Aaron, but not Aaron, walked into the room.

  “You’re the brother?”

  “Yes. I’m Maxwell Sutter.”

  He was beautiful, too, golden like the original. But while Aaron had laugh lines in the corners of his eyes, a swagger to his walk, and a slow, sexy grin, Max resembled a model. Everything was perfect, not a hair out of place. His jacket and tie were perfectly creased, his manicure was shiny, and so were his teeth when he smiled. Really, he belonged in the Hamptons or on a yacht, welcoming guests aboard. Even if you didn’t know who he was, you knew he was rich. His very presence screamed good breeding and money.

  “Detective Stiel?”

  My eyes narrowed as I wondered what in the world he was doing there.

  He reached the end of my bed and stared at me, taking all of me in for a moment before he took a breath and began. “I don’t know if you know, but my brother is fighting my father for control of Sutter Inc.”

  I was quiet a minute, sizing up Max before I spoke. “Yeah, I heard.”

  He cleared his throat and came around the bed. “Well, what started out as something very ordinary, just our father sort of throwing his weight around, has become much bigger.”

  “Okay.”

  He moved closer, and between the worry in his eyes, the furrowed brows, and the way he was crossing his arms, I got that whatever he was talking about was a really big deal.

  “What did your father do?”

  “He got a lot of people to vote their proxy shares.”

  “I don’t know what that means.”

  “It means, that votes Aaron thought he had, because they would vote the way they always have in the past, are suddenly alive and need to be courted.”

  “And you’re here why?”

  “Because there can’t be any reason for someone not to be swayed by Aaron,” he answered. “It’s vital that he not be involved in any impropriety or scandal.”

  I was tired and hurt, but my brain still functioned. “Your brother could lose the company to your father if anyone finds out about me and him.”

  “Yes,” he said softly.

  “Does he know you’re here?”

  Slowly, he nodded. “Yes, he does. He really wanted to come, but he simply can’t. He’s doing a charity fundraiser tonight with the mayor and then flying to Brussels tomorrow morning. I’m going with him.”

  I coughed, which hurt my broken ribs quite a bit. “So when will you two be back in Chicago?”

  “I’m not sure,” he said and sounded almost sad.

  I understood, I did. Me more than most people. Aaron Sutter couldn’t be gay any more than I could. It didn’t go with the image, with the job, and now there was no reason for me to rock the boat. He was stepping away from me because he had to.

  “It’s really great you guys are putting up a united front,” I complimented him. “Nice that you’re on your brother’s side.”

  “He’s making me the public face of the company.” He beamed at me. “Which he said was something he had talked to you about, actually.”

  “We were just shootin’ the shit.” I forced a smile. “I don’t have any sway over your brother.”

  “So you say.”

  “What about Jaden whatever-his-name-is, your brother’s old boyfriend?”

  Max made a face as if it was beneath him to mention the guy’s name. “Jaden Cobb has been proven a blackmailer. He was found with pictures of my brother and the wife of a married man. Of course, Aaron had to pay to avoid a scandal.”

  “You mean the appropriate pictures were planted on him to ensure that everyone goes on thinking Aaron is straight.”

  He nodded.

  “I see.”

  It was nice of Aaron to save his ex, to give him pictures that helped him and removed him from his father’s clutches at the same time. I hoped Jaden appreciated it and learned his lesson about who to trust.

  “The board is not pleased with my brother’s indiscretions, but it’s not been proven he’s gay. There is no proof.”

  “Sure.”

  “But you would be the proof if Aaron saw you, Detective. He seems serious about you.”

  “Which makes no sense, considering you’re here,” I said flatly.

  “You’re missing the point,” he assured me.

  “I don’t think so.”

  The point was, Aaron Sutter did not want anyone to take pictures of me and him together. He couldn’t. I was a cop. My presence in his life could not be explained away. When I had asked him that day about who I would be—a friend, his bodyguard—it had been only semiserious. But I understood, now, that to Aaron, his business had to be paramount. It had to take precedence over our affair, and truly, what had just started was now at an end.

  No matter what our conversation had been the last time I’d seen him, the truth was Aaron Sutter was not in any position to step outside the closet. His father had made sure of that with his latest scare tactics. And while it would backfire—Mr. Sutter would not wrest his company from his son—the fact was what I had counted on was not happening either. What either of us wanted was not to be.

  “Don’t worry,” I said to Max. “As soon as I get out of the hospital, I’m on a plane for Chicago. Once I’m home, I promise not to contact your brother again. You can count on me.”

  He appeared relieved. “I knew I could, Detective. My brother said you were an honorable man.”

  “Sure” was all I could manage.

  “If there’s anything I can do for you or—”

  “No.” I exhaled sharply, closing my eyes. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to rest.”

  “Yes, of course. Thank you again, Detective.”

  “Please make sure you tell Aaron that he can count on me to keep his secret.”

  “I certainly will.”

  I heard him leave the room.

  Chapter 7

  IT WAS early—not even eight in the morning—but my partner, Jimmy O’Meara, and I were in River North at an ultraexclusive nightclub called Posh. The upscale establishment, which didn’t close until 4:00 a.m., had reported nothing amiss the night before. But when the cleaning crew came in at six, they found a dead man in the john.

  “That is new,” Jimmy told me as we both walked up to the stall where Ellie Chun squatted beside the man.

  “How are you not barfing in there?” I knew she was a trained professional, but still, the smell was overwhelming, and I knew the paper mask she wore did nothing to block out the stench.

  “Oh.” Her eyes lit up when she pivoted, clearly amused. “Little smell gonna bother the big bad detective?”

  I flipped her off, but she expected it, so I got the eyebrow raise and over-the-top cackle right back.

  I had been medically cleared for active duty three months after being discharged from the hospital. Two months to fully recuperate and another month to work out, strengthen my body, and build up my left shoulder and my mended right arm. Once I was ready, I had been debriefed, my transfer completed, and I was back in the 18th District workin
g homicide.

  It was good to be back, doing the job I normally loved, and even better, to be reunited with my partner, James Vincent O’Meara. I’d left him after the one serious relationship I’d ever had went up in flames. It was too much to handle homicide without someone waiting for you at night, to hold you through the memories of the bad parts of your day. Major crimes wasn’t any better, though. The time and effort people took to fuck each other over was painful to see. It had never been a good fit for me, and so I had transferred back to homicide.

  Being back full-time—no more undercover stings or task force drama—was necessary, because putting Aaron Sutter out of my head was a hell of a lot harder than I thought it would be. I had counted on spending time with him, getting to know him, and the realization it was not to be was more painful than I’d anticipated. It was, in fact, quite acute. I felt broken, hollow, and usually, work fixed whatever ailed me, gave me purpose. Even after a month on the job, sixteen weeks total of being apart, I could not seem to get over him. The job, which I had always been able to count on in the past, had failed to take his place and make me forget. Worst of all, I was having trouble wrapping my brain around the fact that it wasn’t working. At night, alone in my bed, my mind always dredged up Aaron Sutter.

  That morning, though, no memory or yearning, nothing could stand up to the odor wafting through the bathroom. I was 100 percent focused because, Christ, the place just stank to high heaven.

  “I need a gas mask,” I complained to Ellie.

  “Or something else to smell,” she offered. “Aren’t you glad you came back to all this?”

  I was. I had missed the part where I got closure for people. And even though I was back, I kept up with the case I had left for.

  Riley Evanston, the mob enforcer, faced life without parole and fought extradition to Texas for two murders committed there in 2010. Any deal with him was off the table once Joaquin Hierra rolled on the Delgado cartel instead of facing prison himself. I could testify to Hierra killing Benny Aruellio and DEA Agent Andre Franks, who had been undercover for a little over two years.

  Mr. and Mrs. Gibson came to see me in the hospital, and Mr. Gibson held my hand, while his wife and their daughter, Raquel, cried all over me. I had done what I promised, had tracked down the man who killed their son and brother, and Evanston would face the maximum sentence for his crime. The idea that he might be transferred to Texas to die by lethal injection was something the family was sharply divided on. Mrs. Gibson would pay to watch a needle be put into the arm of the man who killed her baby. Mr. Gibson didn’t believe in the death penalty, and life without possibility of parole was, to him, justice. I hoped whatever happened to Riley Evanston would not tear their family apart, but I had done all I could. I tracked down a killer, had lived, and so had prevented Joaquin Hierra from getting away with murder. As a result, Esau Modella was a wanted man. Everyone would face judgment; it was simply a matter of time.

  For my part, everything had worked out. I had received a commendation—basically for not dying—and I made sure Andre Franks received a posthumous one as well. I gave a statement so his family knew he had done his job.

  “Detective?”

  Coroner Eleanor Chun was still waiting for me to decide whether I needed Vicks VapoRub. I made my smile big. “I’m good, thanks.”

  She laughed at me. “Then man up, Stiel. You don’t remember when the cat lady died downtown in that loft near Halstead?”

  “Oh God.” I tried not to gag. “Yeah, all right… that shit was worse.”

  “Shit,” Jimmy snickered as he rejoined us, having gone to check with the officers on site. “That’s funny.”

  “You’re a pig,” Ellie passed judgment on him.

  “You two, separate corners.”

  “Gotta love homicide,” she said cheerfully.

  “Shut up,” I ordered.

  She laughed again behind her mask. “Ask me, already.”

  “Just wait a sec. What is with that?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I mean, people do shit themselves when they die, but that doesn’t always happen, does it?”

  “No, you’re right,” she agreed. “I think our vic here was in the process of going when he was killed.”

  “Aw, that’s just mean.” Jimmy sounded repulsed.

  “And how was he killed?” I asked her.

  “GSW here, to the head,” she answered, pointing at his temple for me. “It’s a small caliber; I’m guessing a .22 maybe. I’ll know more when I get him on my table.”

  “Anything else?”

  “There’s what looks like a muzzle burn, contact wound, here on his skin.”

  “So whoever did it got right up against him.”

  “Yeah,” she agreed.

  “Okay.” I got closer. “So he’s sitting there, pinching a loaf, and someone opens the door, shoves a gun in his face, and fires?”

  Her dark brown eyes met mine over the mask she had on. “Yeah, that’s what it looks like.”

  I threw up my hands. “Who leaves the door open when they take a shit at a bar?”

  “Oh, you’re asking the wrong girl.” Her voice dipped low. “I only do my business at home.”

  “Only?” That was interesting. “How do you manage that? What if you get hold of some bad Italian and get the runs?”

  Her face scrunched up. “You go home, Stiel. That’s disgusting.”

  I circled to Jimmy. “Is that disgusting?”

  “No.” He pointed at the dead man on the toilet. “That is disgusting.”

  “O’Meara!”

  “What?” he groused at her. “It is. Jesus, I need to make captain already.”

  Ellie and I laughed.

  “What?”

  “You have no patience,” she informed him.

  “You’re a dick,” I further educated him.

  We both got flipped off.

  “Detective Stiel!” came the call from the outer area.

  “Back by the toilets!” I yelled.

  “Not something you hear every day,” Jimmy wisecracked.

  “Nice.”

  “Well.” He arched an eyebrow for me. “It is you we’re talking about.” And I was given the international sign for blow job, his fist working an invisible cock, his tongue making the sliding motion on the inside of his cheek.

  “Charming.”

  “See,” Ellie said, as she too knew I was gay, “that’s why you’ll never be captain. That’s gross, what you just did.”

  “Awww, lighten up and get laid.”

  “Stiel!” she complained to me.

  “You knew the job was dangerous when you took it.”

  Her exasperated growl was funny.

  I was still amused as we were joined by Robyn Cohen and Seth Benoit, who both gagged and coughed when they reached me.

  “Who is this guy?” I queried them both.

  “This is Evan Polley.” Cohen spoke up first, as was her way. I liked her; she was earnest and thorough. She passed me the victim’s wallet, one latex-gloved hand pinching her nose shut. “He’s thirty-four, owns—or I should say, owned—Rabbit Run Productions—”

  “It’s a record label, Boss,” Benoit chimed in, fiddling with his own gloves.

  “Thank you for that.” I smirked.

  “No problem.”

  “Suck up,” Cohen muttered under her breath, and because her nose was pinched, she sounded like a cartoon bunny.

  “When did anybody last see him?”

  “The girlfriend saw him right around twelve thirty last night.”

  “Time of death?” I inquired of Ellie.

  “Between 12:00 and 2:00 a.m.”

  “Do we like the girlfriend for it?” I checked with the two people who technically worked for me, at least this time out. My grade was higher.

  “Probably not.” Cohen shrugged. “She was pissed at Polley because he wouldn’t get her bar tab, so she ditched him and picked up another guy, Artie Thompson, who wo
uld. Lots of people saw her and Artie going at it hot and heavy in the VIP room.”

  “Why wouldn’t he buy her drinks?” Jimmy sounded annoyed. “That’s so lame.”

  “Apparently, Mr. Polley was trying to, and I quote, cut the dead weight out of his life,” she read out of her notebook. “End quote.”

  “And that’s from?” I pried.

  “His buddy Nick.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Apparently, Mr. Polley was desperately trying to get his life back in order before he went completely bankrupt,” Cohen went on.

  “Okay, lemme get this straight. He’s poor.”

  “Yes,” Cohen confirmed.

  “But he’s here at this high-end club last night? That makes no sense.”

  “No,” Jimmy agreed, looking at the two younger detectives. “So what the hell was he doing here?”

  “Not sure yet.”

  “Okay, so the girlfriend….” I trailed off, needing the name.

  “Liz Guerra,” Benoit supplied.

  “Of course he talked to the girlfriend.” Cohen rolled her eyes.

  “Me too.” Jimmy elbowed Benoit. “I always hit up the hot women while Detective Stiel was in the dumpster.”

  Cohen was grinning at me.

  “Don’t talk to them like they’re people,” I warned my partner.

  “Oh yeah, true,” he said, moving away from Benoit as if he were a leper.

  I cleared my throat. “Okay, so Liz is pissed, and were they fighting?”

  “Yeah,” Benoit nodded. “They were loud, and suddenly Evan is screaming at her that he can’t keep up with her spending.”

  “We have witnesses to that?”

  “We do. And that corroborates Mr. McCall’s statement about Liz being dead weight that we got from him.”

  “Do we like this McCall for the murder?”

  “No,” Cohen explained. “He left with some guy he picked up before midnight.”

  “Okay.” I was piecing it together. “So buddy Nick is gone and Liz is….”

  “Off with Artie,” Benoit reminded me.

  “Got it,” I said, filing it away as I made notes in my logbook. “Now tell me about Rabbit Run.”