The Enemy Inside (13 page)

Leigh was unfazed by Consiglio’s glowers, glaring back at him.

Reinhardt nodded and released the witness. Consiglio’s prosecutor followed Leigh with his next witness, head of forensics Nick Halwood. The prosecution ran him through the ins and outs of evidence collection and the unlikely event of evidence transfer, trying to paint Halwood into a corner.

The prosecutor smiled slyly. “Dr. Halwood, do you feel you processed this particular crime scene sloppily?”
 

Halwood took a moment to answer. “No,” he eventually replied, scowling.

“In the eight years since you became head of forensic services, has there been a single case of evidence contamination or transfer?”

“No.”

Reinhardt nodded and dismissed the witness. Following a short recess, during which Berg sat unmoving at the table, the defense was invited to present its case and witnesses. Feeling Captain Leigh had helped their case, Malloy did not call her for cross-examination. Halwood, however, was not so lucky.

“No one doubts your exemplary record, Dr. Halwood,” Malloy said.
 

Halwood nodded in acknowledgment.
 

“But the simple fact is that evidence transfer does happen sometimes, doesn’t it?”

“Yes, it does.”

“While there are many different procedures and evidence custodians to try and limit evidence contamination, it can still occur, is this correct?”

“Yes.”

“Using your best judgment, is this the most likely scenario in this case?”

“Yes.”

Malloy checked his notes. “Did you find any other definitive evidence on Rogers’s body or the surrounding crime scene pointing to Detective Raymond as the perpetrator?” he asked, looking up.

“No, I didn’t.”

“And Detective Raymond was at the windy, outdoor crime scene where the DNA was found?”

Halwood nodded. “Yes.”
 

“So one simple hair could be explained away?”

“Yes. In fact, the entire science of forensics is based on the fact that no one, criminal or investigator, can enter and leave a crime scene without leaving something behind and taking something with them. That is the core belief of our work,” Halwood replied.

Malloy smiled. “Thank you, Dr. Halwood.” Malloy called no more witnesses, and the board exited the room to deliberate.
 

“Well, I think that went very well,” Malloy whispered to Berg and Jay as he gathered up his papers. “Sounds to me like Consiglio has made a grave error.”
 

The trio fell quiet while they awaited the board’s decision. It was less than half an hour before the men and women filed back in, still looking somber.

“We can find no reason to terminate the employment of Detective Alicia Raymond at this time,” Reinhardt said. “However, while I am confident Detective Raymond did not perpetrate these crimes, there is DNA evidence on one victim to be accounted for. I understand the murder scene has not yet been found and Detective Raymond has no alibi?” She directed the question at Malloy.
 

Malloy cleared his throat before speaking, looking uncomfortable. “That’s right, Madam President.”
 

“Then, due to the DNA, I will impose a maximum thirty-day suspension on Detective Raymond. During that time, you will either clear her name, or the CPD will gather enough evidence to formally charge her with murder.”
 

Reinhardt and the other members of the board gathered up their papers and made to leave.

Malloy cleared his throat again loudly. “Ah, the media, Madam President? I’m sure I don’t need to explain to you the damage this could do to the reputation of both Detective Raymond and the CPD if this is leaked?”

“Very true. I am placing a gag order on this case.” Reinhardt glared over at the prosecution’s table and stared over her half-moon glasses for emphasis as she swept out of the courtroom before anyone had a chance to stand.

Later, Jay and Berg piled into the car, sitting for a moment on the cool, black leather and reflecting on the outcome.
 

Jay thought it had gone as well as could be expected.
At least she wasn’t fired or charged with murder—yet.
“How are you doing?” he asked as he started the car.

“Fine.”
 

“See? Nobody thinks you did this, not even the board. So stop feeling sorry for yourself. You’re not the first police officer to have to clear their name. Come on, I’ll take you out to lunch. You look like you need a proper meal. Just up the street, they have great pasta. You like Italian food?”

Berg sighed and nodded. “Okay, thanks.”
 

While Jay negotiated their way out of the parking garage, Berg looked out of the window.
 

“Actually, Jay, I’ve lost my appetite. Can you just take me home, please?”
 

“Why?”

“I just . . . please?”

Feeling disappointed, Jay just nodded and turned on the car stereo.

“—and in further news, a Minnesota family is appealing for anyone to come forward who may have seen the driver of a light blue Honda Civic along the Chicago stretch of the tollway four nights ago,” the announcer said. “The forty-year-old was expected by his family nearly forty-eight hours ago, but has not been seen for over three days. His car was found abandoned on a stretch of the tollway near the suburb of Hoffman Estates.”
 

Jay flicked off the radio.

Chapter Thirteen

Jay sat in the semidarkness, the dim streetlights illuminating the interior of his borrowed car. He’d been on plenty of stakeouts during his career, and was armed with enough hot coffee and doughnuts to see an entire team of overweight cops through a long, chilly night. But unease settled in his gut, and the sugary food remained untouched on the passenger seat next to him. This was the first time he had ever staked out a coworker and friend.

He shifted lower in his seat. He was not on official business, so he couldn’t requisition any of the “dead” plates used by the CPD for stakeouts. Instead, he had borrowed a buddy’s car, a family sedan with a baby seat in the back. Berg was smart and hard to fool, even in her current state, so he was parked well down the street from her apartment.

His decision to watch Berg had not been an easy one to make. However, after she denied leaving the apartment and his chat with her nosy neighbor, not to mention her unwillingness to clear her own name, he figured this was the only way he could find out what was going on.
 

Jay didn’t want to think she could be responsible for any murders, but doubt had started gnawing at him. It was clear she was hiding something. He was glad Consiglio hadn’t found out about Berg’s late-night outings yet; he really wished he hadn’t.

Yawning, he tried to stretch. It was after eleven and he had already been on the unofficial stakeout for a few hours. He had punished himself at the gym while rationalizing the decision, and his muscles ached. Adding to the discomfort was the fact he was starting to suspect he was sitting in baby puke. Taking a long slug of coffee, he hunched down lower in the seat and waited.

It was nearly two hours later when his patience was rewarded. He spotted Berg’s silver car nosing out of her parking garage. Climbing out of the back and starting the car, he followed her until she turned ahead. He fell further back on purpose, taking care to switch lanes regularly, as he drove behind her for fifteen minutes.

There wasn’t much traffic, and he hoped she was distracted as he tailed her deep into the southwest of the city. She continued on to the old meatpacking district, an area now renowned for its slums and gang crime. Jay had no idea why Berg would be headed there at night on her own. He killed his lights.

A few minutes later, Berg pulled over and parked down a side street before stepping out of her car swiftly, her head down.

Jay pulled over as Berg strode down the road. He was confused, because she seemed to be heading toward a disused industrial site. It had been raining and the streets were shiny with moisture, giving the appearance of cleanliness. But this was anything but a sanitary part of town, and he hoped Berg had her wits about her, or at least had a gun in her pocket.

Wearing a long coat belted at the waist and knee-high boots, Berg crossed over the road and ducked down a couple of small side streets before turning into a tiny alleyway between the old buildings.

Unable to see her any longer, Jay swore, then ran over the road and ducked down the same alley. He stopped, drizzle misting his hair lightly as he stared down the empty alley.
What the fuck?
 

Berg was gone.

Jay trotted to the end of the alley and rattled the tall, padlocked chain fence, checking for any openings. Unless Berg was moonlighting as Spiderman, it was a dead end. Looking left and right, he checked behind a few Dumpsters in case she had spotted him and was hiding, and then tried a few dingy-looking doors. All locked. He stood still for a moment, trying to hear if any noise emanated from the old buildings. Nothing. She had disappeared.

“Son of a bitch,” he muttered under his breath and headed back to his car to wait for her.

It was nearly five in the morning before he gave up. Wherever Berg had gone, she was not coming back out the way she went in. He started the car and drove back to the side street where she parked her car. It, too, was gone.

Jay drove the smelly sedan home in the rain, wondering what Berg could possibly have been doing in a bad part of town on a weeknight and why she was lying about it. He also gave a good deal of thought as to why he cared so much.
 

Chapter Fourteen

Jay sat at home on the Saturday night following his stakeout, giving serious consideration to following Berg’s lead and becoming friends with Jim and Johnny himself. His career was in the toilet, his feet were killing him from pounding the pavement, and Berg was still being evasive and dodging his calls.

His apartment was a small, messy studio. He sat on his couch that converted into a futon bed, his feet on an old leather trunk that acted both as a coffee table and as extra storage.

The right side of the central room was dedicated to his clothing, and most of it hung on racks in drycleaner plastic. The other side of the room was home to a wooden wall unit, which was crammed with his entertainment system and numerous DVDs.
 

Unlike Berg, who was a house-proud homebody, he preferred to spend his money on Italian suits than on furniture he was never around to see. He turned off the flat screen television and took a swig of his first beer of the evening.

“Seventy-eight channels and nothing fucking on,” he muttered.

He’d hoped that once Berg made it over the first hurdle of the Police Board, she would snap out of her funk. But if anything, the exact opposite had happened.
 

To make matters worse, Detective Hamilton had updated him earlier in the day regarding Taylor’s, Rogers’s, and Melissa’s murders. In the absence of any other plausible theories, they’d gone back to the initial idea that the confirmed rapist, Taylor, had given Melissa a ride at some point, thus explaining her DNA on his shirt. Jay agreed it was more believable than the thought that tiny Melissa had managed to subdue, torture, and murder a rapist three times her weight.
 

As Rogers had also been a trucker, they were searching for more evidence to link the killings together. So far, they had come up with very little evidence one way or the other, but if Consiglio managed to link Berg to Rogers, then Berg could end up going down for three murders, not just one. He thought it wise to keep this information from his partner; she was sinking fast enough.

Jay had managed to speak to Berg once in the past few days since the hearing. He was surprised when she picked up one of his many calls, but she still wasn’t being particularly forthcoming.
 

He, of course, hadn’t told Berg he’d tailed her, but did ask if she went out the night of his stakeout. She once again lied and said she hadn’t. He had hung up when she started to get annoyed with his incessant questions.

He was at his wits’ end. Now on a first-name basis with Berg’s neighbor, Vi, Jay called her often to check on the comings and goings of his partner. It was always the same story: home all day except to walk the dog, then out all night. Jay was feeling like some kind of weird stalker and beginning to suspect Berg was doing harder substances than just Jim and Johnny.
 

He had seen the signs of addiction firsthand before and had no desire to live through them again. He was seriously considering cutting his losses, requesting a new partner and leaving the whole mess behind him. After all, what was Berg to him, really? But when he thought about not seeing her face every day . . .

He sighed and rested his head in his hands. He hoped he could snap Berg out of it before Consiglio cottoned on to her mysterious expeditions and used them against her.
 

Lifting his head for a moment, he picked up the old photograph lying beside him on the couch. He had fished it out of its hiding place earlier in the evening, as he often did when he felt a bit low, telling himself that this time he was going to tear it up and put it in the garbage where it belonged.