Jerry’s mouth dropped open. “You lied about being a Cubs fan? That’s blasphemous! Why the hell did you lie to me?”
“Calm down, sir,” Grant said, attempting to keep a straight face. “When I first met Sophie outside your office, I was wearing this jacket. She saw it and told me you were a huge Cubs fan—and that you were grumpy that day, so I’d better not admit I cheered for the Sox.”
Jerry took a step back from the bars, warily studying Grant.
“Are you okay, sir?” Grant asked nervously. His smile faded as he noticed his PO’s angry expression. “Sophie didn’t mean anything by it. She just told me to take off my Sox jacket, and I did.”
Jerry shook his head. “Christ, even then she was trying to get you to take off your clothes, Madsen.”
Grant was pleased to see a smirk pierce the veneer of the older man’s sternness. “So, she’s really okay, sir?”
“Yes. I talked to her after her surgery, and she couldn’t get me out of the room fast enough. She wanted me to come over here and check on you.”
“Really?” Grant beamed. “She’s not mad at me?”
Jerry looked incredulous. “You saved her freaking life, Madsen! You landed yourself back in jail, all for her. I’m thinking ‘mad’ isn’t topping the list of how she’s feeling right now.”
Looking down, Grant twisted his hands nervously. “How long before I return to Gurnee, sir?”
“I don’t know. Detective Fox needs to speak to the prosecutor, and there will probably be some sort of hearing.”
Grant nodded. After a beat, he looked up and asked, “Will you tell Sophie I miss her?”
“What the fuck? I’m not your damn relationship counselor! Tell her yourself. You had your phone call, right?”
“No, sir.”
“You haven’t gotten your call yet? You gotta be more assertive, Madsen. The squeaky wheel gets the grease. Didn’t you learn that in Gurnee?”
“I was trying to fly under the radar there. I was hoping not to let on that I was Enzo Barberi’s son.” Grant sighed and jammed his hands into the pockets of his jacket. “The truth is, I don’t really want to make that phone call. They haven’t offered it to me, and I’m not chomping at the bit.”
“Why? Who are you going to call?”
“My Uncle Joe.” Grant chewed on his lower lip. “I can’t believe I have to tell him I’ve been arrested again. He’s going to be so disappointed.”
“Better now than never, Madsen. He’s going to find out one way or another.”
Grant nodded.
“I’ll go get some boys in blue to let you make that call.”
“Okay, thanks.” He glanced around him at the cell. “I, um, I guess I’ll stay right here, then.”
Jerry grinned, shaking his head as he walked down the hallway.
*
Smoothing a hand over her hair, Marilyn took a deep breath and knocked gently on the door before cautiously pushing it open. She walked into the room, expecting to find the patient conked out while her loved ones nervously paced around her. Instead Marilyn was greeted by Sophie’s inquisitive brown eyes staring from the hospital bed. Kirsten was sprawled out, sleeping on a nearby chair.
“Hi, Detective,” Sophie whispered.
Sitting next to the bed, Marilyn whispered back, “I thought you’d be sound asleep.”
“This pain medication makes it hard to sleep, I suppose,” Sophie said. “I’m dead tired, but I can’t sleep. At least I stopped shivering—I couldn’t stop shaking after the surgery.”
“They say the anesthesia can do that to you.” Marilyn smiled, and then the questions she was expecting began.
“Did you have to arrest Grant?”
“I’m afraid so. He confessed to shooting Carlo Barberi. Is that what you saw?”
Sophie nodded. “But it was self-defense!” Her voice trembled. “Is he back in Gurnee?”
“No, he’s in a holding cell for the moment. We’ll sort it all out starting tomorrow. Now, Ms. Taylor, are you able to answer some questions for me?”
Sophie nodded.
“How did this all begin tonight? Can you tell me the events from your perspective?”
“Kirsten and I were on her computer, in her bedroom, when we heard something in the living room. We went to investigate.” She gulped. “And there was a man by the futon holding a gun on us.”
“Carlo Barberi?”
“Yes.” Sophie shuddered.
“How did he get in?”
She looked down. “I forgot to lock the door when I came in.”
Marilyn arched one eyebrow, and Sophie lamented, “I know, I know. It was really stupid of me. I was just so flustered by my dad that I wasn’t thinking straight.”
“And where is your father now?”
“He’s talking to his attorney on his cell phone somewhere in the hospital. He thinks he can get me out of parole now that I got shot.”
“Not likely, Ms. Taylor.”
“That’s what I told him, but it’s like talking to a wall once he gets his mind set on something.”
Marilyn’s stern look softened. “You can stop beating yourself up about leaving the door unlocked. Mr. Barberi was Mafia. If he wanted in, he was getting in, and a little lock on the door wouldn’t have stopped him.”
Sophie gave her a grateful smile and continued explaining the events of the evening. Eventually she said, “Suddenly I just knew Carlo had killed Logan.”
“How did you know?
Sophie thought for a moment. “Carlo wanted the money Logan had hidden in my office, so obviously he knew Logan, but he also said that they weren’t friends or something like that.” Her heart raced at the memory. “When he held the gun on G-G-Grant, I realized he was going to kill him. He would have done it without a second thought. And it hit me then that Carlo was ruthless enough to kill Logan too.”
The detective was quiet, and Sophie studied her worriedly. “You probably don’t believe me, but I swear that’s how it happened.”
“Oh!” Marilyn interjected. “I believe you. I, um, I just wish I could have identified the killer before you had to. Then maybe you wouldn’t be lying here in this hospital bed.”
Sophie stared at her incredulously. A police officer believing her? Treating her nicely?
Getting back to business, Marilyn clicked her pen and held it poised over her notepad. “What happened when you accused Carlo of murder?”
“At first he looked so busted, but then he tried to deny it. Grant wasn’t about to believe his lies.” She closed her eyes. “Grant kept walking toward him, and Carlo was shouting at him to stay back. They were yelling at each other, and then all I remember is feeling like a speeding train slammed into my arm.” She swallowed hard, trying to slow her breathing. “The next thing I knew, Grant was on his knees …” She felt tears behind her eyes. “And Carlo had the gun to his head.”
Sophie clenched the sheet as a tear slid down her cheek, and the heart-rate monitor beside the bed beeped as the number on its display climbed higher and higher.
“Take your time,” the detective encouraged.
Sophie nodded. “My memory is kind of fuzzy. I think Kirsten was trying to get to the phone, but Carlo wouldn’t let her, and then Grant and Carlo were wrestling on the floor and … the gun went off. I was so scared, thinking Grant was the one who was shot, but then he got up, and I could see it was Carlo.”