Storm's Cage by Mary Stone (uplifting novels .TXT) 📕

Otherwise, their entire case hinged on the ballistics report from the bullet in Ian’s body, and the weapon they’d found near the scene.

Natasha straightened to her full height. She should have been glad to see Badoni behind bars after he’d allegedly killed one of the Chicago PD’s own, but she couldn’t shake a nagging voice in the back of her head that told her she’d missed an important piece of information.

With a metallic creak, the door to the small observation room swung inward. Holding it open with his shoulder, Floyd held up two paper cups. “Here, I got you decaf.”

Midway through accepting the coffee, Natasha narrowed her eyes in feigned indignation. “If you did, I swear to god.”

Floyd grinned stupidly as the door latched closed behind him. “You know I’d never do that to you, partner. Careful, though. Any coffee I get from that place is always the same temperature as the surface of the sun.”

Chuckling, Natasha set her cup down on the worn table. “Thanks again. Badoni was remanded yesterday, so this’ll be the first interview post-arraignment.” She curled her hands around the hot container to warm them. “And of course, we’ll be talking exclusively to his lawyer.”

As he moved to sit on a metal file cabinet facing the one-way glass, Floyd pursed his lips. “More than likely.” His pale eyes flicked to hers. “How do you think our ballistics is going to hold up in court?”

Natasha flicked a miniature braid over her shoulder and shook her head. “I don’t know. Honestly, I’ve been wondering about this case.”

One of Floyd’s dark brows quirked up. “You have? What about it?”

Based on the relieved look on her partner’s face, Natasha wasn’t the only one who’d come to suspect that there was more to the investigation than met the eye.

“It doesn’t make sense.” She waved a hand at Gabriel and his lawyer. “Other than three citations for driving under the influence, the most recent of which is two years old, his record is spotless. I looked through the Portelli file yesterday, and it seemed a pretty obvious case of self-defense.”

Floyd tapped a finger against his cup. “I agree, but wasn’t it Ian’s partner who said that he didn’t think Badoni shot Portelli in self-defense? Why do you think he suspected a premeditated murder when the grand jury threw out the charges?”

Pulling out a chair that matched the two in the interview room, Natasha dropped into the seat. “I’m not sure. Probably because Badoni and Portelli are both affiliated with the mob. Seems like an easy assumption to jump to, you know? You hear D’Amato or Leóne, and you immediately think that everything was calculated. That it was all part of some grand scheme.”

Floyd nodded. “True. But there were security cameras that recorded the entire exchange and witnesses who said that Portelli was the only antagonist. Granted, Badoni flipped him off a couple times, but the guy was shopping at Target with his wife. Doesn’t seem like a stop you’d make for a premeditated murder.”

“I agree, but you know how some detectives around here get tunnel vision when they hear that one of the families is involved. But, anyway, I digress.” Natasha swatted at an invisible bug.

“Right. Back to the case. There’s plenty here that doesn’t make sense to me, but what about it were you going to mention?”

As she returned her attention to the glass, she crossed her arms. “Gabriel’s been part of the D’Amato family since he was born, and from what I can tell, he’s pretty highly regarded. Why in the hell would he kill Ian Strausbaugh? On top of that, why do it with the same weapon he used to kill Gerard Portelli in self-defense?”

Floyd slumped against the gray drywall. “And how’d he get the weapon in the first place? It should’ve been locked up in evidence.”

“That was my next question.” Natasha stretched tall, reaching for the ceiling to relieve the tension in her back, and took a deep breath, releasing it as she brought her hands back down. “I’m not saying we aren’t looking at a D’Amato perp here. And I’m not saying Gabriel is innocent. He could be, though.”

She hesitated as if the connection between her mind and mouth had been cut. Something was definitely wrong. Natasha chewed on her lip as she searched for the right words. But tired as she was, they weren’t coming. She shook her head, settling for gut instinct. “Look, I can’t put a finger on it. I just get this feeling…that…he’s lying to us. But why lie if he is innocent?” She lifted an index finger and turned to Floyd. “But I do know that we don’t have the whole story.”

“The more I think about it, you’re right.” He rubbed his chin. “And I don’t think that we’re likely to get it while he’s here with his expensive lawyer, either. We’ll have to keep looking. Otherwise, the ballistics might not stand on its own.”

Natasha clenched her jaw.

Her partner was right.

One way or another, if they didn’t get to the bottom of this, a cop killer would go free.

And who knew which one of them he’d target next.

16

As Amelia slid down in the passenger seat of Joseph Larson’s car, she squeezed her eyes closed and rubbed the bridge of her nose. They were within an inch of closing in on Carlo Enrico’s killer. She could feel it, could see the light at the end of the damn tunnel.

They were so close, but Waylon Erbach had been as cooperative as a pissed-off badger. He hadn’t asked for a lawyer, but in a two-hour interview, he’d given them zero usable information. He’d gone on a rant about how the government was out to get him when they’d asked why his fingerprint was found in a room only accessible to prison staff.

Amelia had left him with the promise that the U.S. Attorney’s office would seek the death penalty, and all she could do now was hope that the threat marinated