Dirkson’s grin quickly faded. “Now wait a minute, Detective—”
“You touch my suspect one more time, and I’ll have Internal Affairs all over your sizeable ass,” Marilyn leaned in and whispered, causing Grant to miss the end of the conversation.
There was a clanging in the hallway, and Marilyn backed off, turning to smile at the forensic techs. “Come on in, guys,” she said. Turning back around, she maintained her congenial expression as she told Dirkson, “I suggest you join your partner over there and get out of our way, Officer.”
Dirkson silently followed her command.
Bruce had agreed that Marilyn would be the first to interrogate Grant, since she’d already questioned him once. He efficiently took charge of the crime scene as she turned her attention to the suspect on the couch. “How are you holding up, Mr. Madsen?”
“I’m fine, ma’am. Please, do you know how Sophie is doing?”
“When Officer Stone called me, he said he was going to try to track down which hospital she was taken to. I’m sure he’ll let me know once he finds out anything.”
Grant nodded, though her answer had not smoothed the lines of worry on his face at all. His heart remained crushed by guilt. He had done this.
A tech joined Bruce in pulling on latex gloves before stooping down to examine Carlo’s body. Cocking his head toward Carlo, Grant resolutely informed her, “I shot him. I killed my cousin.”
She blinked several times before extracting her notebook from her jacket pocket. The air was heavy between them as she jotted down his quote. “His name is Carlo Barberi?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Mr. Madsen, I need to ask you some questions.” Even though he was a parolee, she read him his Miranda rights, just to be clear. Then with a nod from Grant, she began her questioning.
“Why did you shoot him?”
Grant shifted uncomfortably, trying to ignore his throbbing shoulders. “He shot Sophie, and he was going to kill us all—”
“Wait a minute. Back up. Why did Mr. Barberi shoot Ms. Taylor?”
Drawing a deep breath, Grant launched into the story. “Carlo found out about the money Sophie had turned over to the police, and he came here, demanding that she get it for him. By the time I arrived, he already had the gun on Sophie and Kirsten.”
“This is Kirsten’s apartment?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“How did you know Mr. Barberi would be here?”
“Because Carlo came to see me first,” Grant said. “Sophie had left a note with her address on my fridge, and after Carlo took off I realized he’d stolen the note. I got here as fast as I could, but I was … too late.”
“This the note?” the tech called out. He held up piece of paper he’d removed from Carlo’s pants pocket, and Grant immediately recognized Sophie’s flowing scrawl.
Bruce’s gloved hands took the note from the tech and read it. “Who’s Bonnie?” he asked.
Although he’d just admitted to killing another human being, Grant looked endearingly cute as he blushed. “Private joke, sir?”
Marilyn nodded. Getting back to business, she looked down at her notebook as the forensic tech bagged the note and resumed his duties. “Mr. Barberi had the gun trained on the two women?” Marilyn prompted.
“Yes,” Grant said. “He ordered me to join them on the sofa, but I refused. I was just trying to get him out of here, away from Sophie, but he wouldn’t leave.”
“He had a gun on you, and you didn’t do what he said?” Marilyn asked.
“Yes, ma’am.” He shrugged, wincing in pain as he moved his sore shoulders. “He had the gun on me at my apartment too. It wasn’t a big deal.”
“Why did he threaten you in your apartment?”
Grant paused, wondering if he should share that he’d agreed to join his Mafia family.
“Mr. Madsen?” Marilyn urged.
Sighing, Grant admitted, “Carlo threatened to kill Sophie unless I started working for the family.”
Marilyn arched her eyebrows, and a hint of sarcasm crept in her voice. “Let me guess. You agreed to do it and didn’t even think of calling the police.”
“How could I call the police when I had to race over here?”
“You never would have called them. Let’s face it, Mr. Madsen.”
“Don’t you understand how my family works, Detective? You can’t go against them, no matter how hard you try, and I’ve been trying all my life. Believe me. You can’t go to the cops—nobody can keep you safe. Hell, my father would have killed the man who was informing on him if not for Carlo messing it all up.”
“But the informant lived, and your father got caught.”
In the last few days Grant had not thought once about his father, holed away in prison for the rest of his life. How would Enzo react to all that had happened? How would his father treat him when they reunited at Gurnee?
“The good guys won that time,” Marilyn continued. “I suppose we should thank Carlo here for that one.”
Grant glanced furtively at the pallid body surrounded by busy techs. He would never feel thankful toward Carlo.
Bruce stood with his arms crossed in front of him, supervising both the collection of evidence and the interrogation.
“So.” Marilyn resumed her questioning. “What happened when you refused to join Sophie and Kirsten on the sofa?”
“Carlo was counting down before he put a bullet in my head, and that’s when Sophie …” Grant’s voice faded. He had not allowed himself to consider Carlo’s confession since it occurred—it was too overwhelming to acknowledge that his own cousin had killed his brother. It was unfathomable.
“What did Sophie do?”
“Sophie …” He trailed off again, feeling hot tears in his eyes. He didn’t want the detective to see him crying again. “Sophie—I don’t know how she figured it out, but she knew.” His voice thick with tears, he leaned forward. “And once she said it, I knew too.”
“You knew what?”
As much as his restrained arms would allow, Grant’s head sunk lower and lower. His tears were flowing freely now, just as they had that afternoon at Logan’s funeral. “Carlo killed Logan,” he said. “He killed my brother.”
Marilyn sat completely still, running through various scenarios in her mind.
Grant rocked as he sobbed, refusing to look up, and Marilyn eyed him sympathetically.
“Carlo murdered Lo,” he bawled. “I know y-y-you don’t believe me, but he was the k-k-killer. He did it.” He sniffed and took a shuddering breath. “And he said … he said that Lo died t-t-trying to protect me. Lo wouldn’t give me up.”
Marilyn took a deep breath, watching the parolee writhe in pain before her. She stood up and conferred with Bruce for a moment before approaching the two police officers.
“Madsen’s in the mob?” Dirkson quietly asked.
She looked at him with disdain. She was glad this idiot worked for the Chicago PD, not for Great Lakes.
“How long has Mr. Madsen been handcuffed, gentlemen?”
Dirkson glanced at his watch and shrugged. “Hour and a half?”
“Remove the cuffs.”