The Prosecutor

Chapter Three


After blowing off class on Friday morning and visiting Brian, Emma flew down the expressway toward home. Lately it seemed she was always in a hurry to get somewhere while never really reaching the place she wanted to be. Today however, her optimism had hit a two-year high. During their visit, Brian had made adjustments to her time line. How those adjustments would differ from the video and trial transcripts, she wasn’t sure, but she’d find out soon enough by comparing them.

Emma sang along with the radio. She felt as if things were looking up. Even if the gray sky, in complete contrast to her mood, hung dull and lifeless, it wouldn’t dampen her sunny mood. Brian had stayed subdued about their new lawyer. Defense mechanism. Her younger brother lived in a six-by-six cell. Hope ran thin for him.

Emma’s cell phone rang and she punched the Bluetooth.

“Helloooo?” she sang.

“Penny Hennings here. Where are you?”

Hello to you, too, Penny. Then again, Emma didn’t need her pro bono lawyer to be her friend. She needed her to give Brian his life back.

“I’m coming from seeing Brian. Thirty minutes from downtown. Why?”

“I’m heading to court. I need my intern’s help. Can you get to the parking garage next to Magic?”

Emma stuck out her bottom lip. “The nightclub?”

“The one and only. I had one of our investigators call the garage owner about the missing receipt. He has an office across the street from the garage above the sub shop. He also has five years of security backups and can pull the date we need. I love technology.”

Now this could be good. “He’s willing to let me look through them?”

“Yes. And if you find anything, he’ll give us a copy. I’ll call Zac. I want someone from the State’s Attorney’s Office to be with you so they can’t accuse us of tampering. The chain of custody on this will be rock solid. Ha! My brother will have a cow. I cannot wait. Seriously, I love my job sometimes.”

Maybe Zac was right about his sister being nuts. Sanity issues aside, this might be another lead. “I’ll take care of it.”

Emma arrived at the garage, parked and made her way across the street. A lunch rush descended on the sub shop and, with her metabolism reminding her that she’d only had a banana for breakfast, she contemplated grabbing a sandwich on the way out. Next to the sub shop was a door marked ENGLAND MANAGEMENT. She swung through the door and walked up the stairwell.


At the top of the stairs she found a second glass door. The receptionist glanced up and waved Emma in.

“Hi. I’m Emma Sinclair.”

The receptionist smiled. “He’s expecting you. Come in.”

Emma was ushered down the short, carpeted hallway to an office where a man sat at a metal-framed desk. The receptionist waved her in and the man stood up. He wore khaki pants and a long-sleeved golf shirt that stretched across his protruding belly. She guessed his age at about fifty, but she never was any good at figuring out a person’s age. His lips curved into a welcoming grin and the wrinkles around his eyes bunched. Nice smile. Emma returned the gesture. She’d come to appreciate someone smiling at the sister of a man convicted of murder. Even if that man were innocent, most people didn’t take the time to think of her feelings in that regard.

“I’m Emma Sinclair. I believe Penny Hennings told you to expect me.”

“Sure thing. I’m Glen. Glen Beckett. Have a seat.” He waved her over to one of the two chairs in front of the desk. “You know the date you’re looking for?”

I sure do. “Yes. March 21st—two years ago. Not last March.”

Glen swung to the computer and grabbed the mouse. Emma leaned forward. “On second thought, Glen, would you please wait one second? Someone is meeting me here and I don’t want to start without him. Let me make a quick call.”

She dialed Penny, who picked up on the second ring. “He’s coming.”

“Who?”

“Zac.”

“Really? Not an investigator?”

“Zac’s court appearance was continued and my brother is no fool. If I’m requesting someone be with you, he knows I’m not playing games. My extremely smart brother wants to see for himself what evidence I’m going to hit him with.”

The door behind Emma flew open and Zac Hennings, all wide shoulders and six-foot-plus of him, marched into the office. For reasons she didn’t understand herself, Emma stepped back. Zac certainly knew how to enter a room and command it.

“He’s here.” Emma disconnected and shoved the phone in her jacket pocket. “Hi.”

Zac nodded. “Emma.” He turned to Glen, held his hand out. “Zac Hennings. I’m an Assistant Cook County State’s Attorney.”

“Holy...” Glen shot a look at Emma then went back to Zac.

“I’m only here to authenticate the video if we find something.”

“Oh,” Emma said. “We’ll find something. My brother said he walked Melody to her car and she drove him back to Magic.”

Glen faced his computer again. “Then we should have it. The camera by the exit records all vehicles as they leave. Do you know what time?”

“Somewhere around 12:30 a.m.”

A few clicks later a video popped onto the screen. Emma jumped out of her seat and crashed into Zac, her shoulder nailing him right in the solar plexus as they both attempted to round the desk. He let out a whoosh of air and clasped both her arms to keep her from stumbling. Emma stared down at his hands—good strong hands that had to be capable of all sorts of things—and sucked in a breath.

“Sorry!” she said. “So sorry. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” He waved her through. “Go ahead. You’ll recognize him before I will.”

She wedged herself between Zac and the desk and stood next to Glen, who scrolled through a video while checking the time stamp.

“I can stop it around 12:25, if you want. Then you can watch it in slow motion.”

“Thank you,” Emma said.

Behind her, Zac inched up, his body not touching hers, but close enough that an awareness made it hard to focus. He had that way about him. Commanding, but reserved. Somehow she didn’t think Zac Hennings had to beat on his chest and holler in order to control a room. He had a sense of authority about him that completely unnerved her.

She kind of liked that. Or maybe she was just lonely. Either way, she couldn’t think too much about it. Her loneliness depressed her and she had no interest in analyzing that fact. Or the fact that he was the prosecutor on her brother’s case. What a mess that would be. Allowing herself to want him darn near guaranteed another heartbreak.

“Do we know what kind of car we’re looking for?” Glen asked.

Emma stepped forward, adding space between her and hunky Zac Hennings. “It’s a Dodge Neon.”

Zac nodded and three pairs of eyes focused on the screen. Three minutes later, Emma checked the time stamp again. 12:35. No Dodge Neon. No Melody. No Brian.

Come on. Inside her shoe, she wiggled her toes. Her head pounded as the seconds ticked away. Please be there.

“There it is!” Glen yelled.

Emma brought her gaze to the car on the screen. The pounding in her head tripled and she squeezed her fingers into fists. This could be it.

Zac leaned closer, his chest nudging Emma’s shoulder. “Can you slow this down?”

Had they been anywhere else, she would have poked him with her elbow and given him the back-off-buddy look, but she refused to take her eyes off that screen.

Glen tapped at the mouse and the car slowed to barely moving as it proceeded through the open gate.

“Here we go. This should be it,” Emma said as two figures—one male and one female—came into view. As the car rolled forward, the camera finally captured their faces and—bang—there was her brother’s smiling face. Energy roared into her, made her a little lightheaded, and moisture filled her mouth. She swallowed once, twice. He’s there.

“Freeze it,” she yelled before the car drove off screen. She turned to Zac. “That’s him. That’s Brian. And Melody.”

“12:37,” he said. “Okay.”

“Okay? Okay what?”

Zac shrugged. “We have him on tape. This gets admitted into evidence.” He turned to Glen. “I’ll need a copy of this video.”

Clearly, the prosecutor didn’t want to say another thing in front of Glen. Fine. She’d wait. At least until they got outside. Then they’d chat.

“Make it two,” Emma said.

* * *

ZAC STEPPED ONTO THE sidewalk and contemplated jumping in front of the bus pulling up to the curb. His sister would go crazy over this video. Not only would she smell the blood, she’d swim faster to get to it.

Emma had stayed on his heels on the way down to the building exit and parked herself in front of him. Forget the impending self-inflicted death.

“12:37,” she said. “That proves where he was.”

“Yes. At 12:37. Doesn’t necessarily help, though. We have the time of the murder narrowed to an hour. He could have done it after Melody dropped him back at the club.”

She flapped her arms. “Oh, please. This is a guy who worried enough about his friend to walk her back to her car and then ride out of the garage with her. You think he goes from there to killing someone? It makes no sense.”

The bus pulled away with a whoosh and left a batch of engine fumes to poison Zac’s lungs. Once again he contemplated the bus. Should have jumped. He looked back at Emma. “Nothing ever makes sense in my job. I go with the evidence. Tell me about the victim’s ex-boyfriend and the abuse.”

Emma jerked her head back and stared up at him with those big brown eyes that made him think of liquid chocolate and all the things he liked to do with it. Now he’d have to figure out a way to get that thought out of his mind.

“Yeah,” he said. “I know about that. I talked to your brother’s public defender. He said you hammered him about the ex-boyfriend. So tell me because there’s nothing in that box of files about it and that doesn’t sit right with me.”


Emma hesitated, twisting her lips for a second and—yeah—he’d have to get those lips, along with the liquid chocolate, out of his head, too.

“I was upset that the police weren’t talking about the boyfriend. Brian knew Chelsea Moore casually. They were the same age and were regulars at Magic. Brian told me she’d texted him a few times after she’d broken up with her boyfriend. I don’t think Brian was interested in her in a—well—sexual way so he didn’t pursue her. When he was questioned, he asked the police about her ex-boyfriend. They did nothing with it.”

“How do you know?”

“I asked the public defender. The guy before Alex Belson. He didn’t have anything on it.”

“Then how do you know the ex was abusive?”

“Well, Zac,” Emma said, layering on the sarcasm. “I did something that was pure investigative genius. I did something the Chicago P.D. never thought of doing.”

Here we go. “Ditch the drama, Emma. I get it.”

She held up a finger. “I talked to the victim’s friends. Miraculous, isn’t it?”

Zac rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t blame her for the attitude. If it had been one of his siblings on trial, he’d feel that same burning, festering anger. This whole thing stunk of cops trying to protect the ex-boyfriend, who also happened to be the son of a cop.

The blue wall.

He grabbed Emma’s elbow and ushered her to the corner. “Are you parked in the garage?”

“Yes. I need a sandwich first. I haven’t eaten all day.”

“Fine. I’ll wait for you and then walk you to your car. Then I have a couple of detectives to talk to.”

* * *

DETECTIVE JOHN CUTLER marched into Zac’s office wearing a wrinkled blue sport coat and a scowl. The man didn’t like being summoned to an ASA’s office in the middle of the day. Zac didn’t care.

Not when one of Cutler’s investigations was about to be sliced and diced in court and Zac would be the one taking the hit.

He tossed a pen on his stacked desk and leaned back in his chair. “Have a seat, detective.”

Cutler stared down at the two chairs, curled his lip at the one with the stack of file folders and dropped his bloated body into the vacant one. He spent a few seconds shifting into what would have to pass as a comfortable position, then stretched his neck where loose skin spilled over his collar.

Zac waited. Why not? No sense giving the detective the ever-important mental edge. Nope. Zac would control the festivities.

Finally, Cutler held up his hands. “What do you need?”

Zac leaned over, scooped a box off the floor and set it on the desk. “The Sinclair case. These are the files. On a six-month investigation. Am I missing something?”

Cutler’s gaze tracked left then came back to Zac. “How do I know what your office did with the files?”

Not an answer. “Is this box everything? If you tell me yes, then I work with what I have. If you tell me no, we have missing evidence.”

Cutler folded his hands across his belly and tapped his index fingers. “I’d have to look through the box. See what’s there.”

“Sure.” Cutler got up to leave. “I’m not finished, detective.”

The man made a show of checking his watch, and Zac nearly laughed. He’d grown up in a household that produced three lawyers. He thrived on conflict.

Cutler reclaimed his seat.

“Couple of things,” Zac said. “What do you remember about a parking garage receipt given to you by Melody—” he checked his legal pad “—Clayton? She’s a friend of Brian Sinclair who claims he was with her around the time of the murder.”

Slowly, Cutler shook his head.

Patience, Zac. Patience. “You don’t remember a receipt?”

“No. She could have given it to Steve and I wasn’t aware.”

“Steve Bennett? The other detective?”

“Yes.”

Sure, another dead guy to blame. This case was rife with dead guys. “I’ll look into that. I’m assuming you viewed the video I sent over. What do you remember about the witness?”

Cutler shrugged. “It’s not like we coerced him. We showed him a six-pack, helped him narrow it down.”

Helped him narrow it down... “And what about the white shirt? Who told him Brian Sinclair was wearing a white shirt?”

“I don’t know anything about that. That must have been Steve.”

Of course.

Zac jotted more notes and the detective tugged on his too-tight collar again. Yes, detective, you should be nervous. The truth was, Zac scribbled gibberish. The Area 2 detectives weren’t the only ones who knew how to play mind games.

“The victim’s friend told Emma Sinclair that Ben Leeks—I’m sure you’re aware he’s the son of a Chicago P.D. detective—was abusive.”

Cutler shot Zac a hard look. Well, maybe Cutler thought it was a hard look. Zac thought it was more of a desperate, defensive man’s way of trying to intimidate an opponent. “The kid was cleared early on.”

“Cleared how?”

“He was inside the club. We had witnesses who saw him getting busy with some brunette. He didn’t leave the club until closing. When he did leave, he left with a group and they all went to the diner down the street.”

Zac nodded. “I need names. They’re not in the case file.”

Cutler grabbed one of the armrests and shifted his big body. “I told you I don’t have anything. I turned over all the reports.”

“Even the GPRs?” Zac smacked his knuckle against the box. “I didn’t see any GPRs.”

“I turned over everything.”

“Did you write up any GPRs?”

Again the detective tried a hard look and Zac angled forward. “I’m aware that you’re not happy being questioned. I don’t care. I’m about to get hauled into court to defend your work. My guess is you want me to feel confident about that work. I’m far from confident. Cut the nonsense and answer my questions.”

Cutler sighed. “I wrote up GPRs. I don’t know what happened to them.”

“Did you make copies?”

“No.”

“Of course you didn’t. Does it shock you that reports pertaining to the allegedly abusive son of a detective were not submitted into evidence for a murder trial?”

Cutler stayed silent. The blue wall.

Zac eased his chair up to the desk and put the box back on the floor. “I think we’re done. For now.”

The detective sat across from him, his breaths coming in short, heavy bursts and his cheeks flamed. He was obviously steaming mad.

Good.

Zac was about to get his butt handed to him—by his baby sister, no less—and he wasn’t going down alone. Ignoring the about-to-be-raging bull across from him, he flipped open one of the many file folders on his desk and began reading. Cutler finally pushed himself out of his chair.

“That Sinclair kid is guilty,” he said. “No two ways about it.”

Zac didn’t bother to look up. “A video of him leaving the parking garage at 12:37 might say otherwise. Buckle up, detective. We’re about to go for a rough ride.”

* * *

EMMA PULLED INTO THE driveway at 12:15 that night after enduring Friday-night chaos at the restaurant. As usual, Mom had left the porch and overhead garage lights on. Even now, with a son in prison, Mom worried about her children being out late.

It never ends for her.

Emma gathered her apron and shoved the car door open. Her feet hit the pavement and she nearly groaned. Hauling trays all night had left her arms and back aching and, combined with her beat-up feet, she longed for her bed.


Nothing about waitressing was easy, but the money was good. Better than good since she’d gotten lucky and landed a job in an upscale steak place. Still, she craved the day when she’d go back to an office job, sit behind a desk and leave the body aches behind.

Soon, Emma. If her plan worked and Brian came home, she’d have her life and a chance at a normal schedule back. She could attend law school at night, allowing her to take a nine-to-five job. Heck, maybe Penny would hire her as an assistant.

Emma hip-checked her car door shut and hit the LOCK button. A loud beep-beep sounded. Out of habit, she glanced behind her. Nothing there. Their neighborhood had always been safe, but she’d learned to be cautious wherever she went. Criminals didn’t necessarily care what neighborhood they were in if the target appeared easy.

Humming to herself for a distraction until she reached the front door, she tossed her apron over her shoulder. She’d throw it and her uniform in the washer before bed so she’d have it for tomorrow.

“Ms. Sinclair?”

Emma froze, her body literally halting in place, unable to move. Deep—male—voice behind her. He knows my name. An onslaught of blood shot to her temples. Car key pointed out, she spun around. A man wearing an unzipped brown leather jacket, dark shirt—no buttons—and jeans stood in the tiny driveway directly under the garage light. He wasn’t tall, but he appeared fit. Muscular. Tough.

Get a description.

Short, darkish hair that was almost black. No gray. She guessed he was in his late forties. His nose was wide and crooked, broken a few times maybe.

He stepped toward her. Don’t let him get too close. She backed away, key still in hand, ready to poke an eye, if necessary. He grinned. A disgusting I’ve-got-you grin that pinched Emma’s throat. She swallowed once, gripped the key harder.

“Ms. Sinclair, relax. I’m Detective Ben Leeks, Chicago P.D.”

Emma let out a long breath, but paralyzing tension racked her shoulders. No straight-up detective would be visiting her house at this hour, particularly the father of a guy whose girlfriend had been murdered. With her free hand, she reached into her jacket pocket for her phone. Worst case, she’d hold the panic button on her key ring to trigger the car’s horn and then dial 9-1-1.

“Detective, it’s late. This is inappropriate.”

Slowly, she backed toward the porch. A car drove by. Scream. That’s what she should do. Except she might wind up looking like a lunatic and lunatics never got their brother’s convictions overturned.

The detective didn’t move. Simply stood there, arms loose at his sides, posture erect, but casual, completely nonthreatening. “No judge in Cook County will overturn that conviction. Get comfortable with your brother in prison and stop making trouble. Troublemakers in this city get dealt with. Sometimes the hard way.”

Emma stood in a sort of detached shock. Tremors erupted over her body, that nasty prickling, digging into her limbs and making her itch. He strolled out of the driveway, just a man enjoying an early spring night. Get in the house. She ran toward the door, shoved the key at the lock with trembling hands and missed. She glanced over her shoulder again, saw no one and breathed in. Get inside. On the second try, the key connected and she stormed into the house, throwing the dead bolt then falling against the door.

He’d just threatened her.

Maybe it wasn’t an overt threat. Without a doubt he’d deny it if she flung an accusation his way, but they both knew he’d just delivered a message.

All that was left now was to decide what she’d do about that message.