A Chip and a Chair (Seven of Spades, #5)(5)
Recognition sparked in her eyes, followed by a flash of distaste that she wasn’t quite quick enough to suppress.
“Is that a problem?” he asked neutrally.
“Of course not,” she said with a thin-lipped smile. “I’m sure it has no bearing on your effectiveness as an investigator.”
Wow, thanks. Maintaining his pleasant expression, Dominic poised his pen over his notepad. “Ms. McBride told me you’re interested in having your ex-husband Conrad Bishop placed under surveillance?”
“Yes. I believe he’s using drugs again.”
“That was a problem during your marriage?”
“It’s why we divorced.” Cassidy crossed her legs primly at the knee. “The damage Conrad was doing to himself and his career was bad enough, but when he started getting high around our children, I was done.”
McBride’s email had mentioned the kids-two of them, ages nine and seven. “Does Mr. Bishop have any custody?”
She nodded. “While we were divorcing, he went to rehab and got clean, so the judge awarded him every other weekend. But if he is using again, that would violate the agreement-”
“Giving you sole custody?”
“Yes.”
Dominic tapped his pen against the desk. He preferred to keep an open mind until he had all the facts, but Cassidy’s poorly veiled homophobia had already biased him. He couldn’t help wondering if this was retribution on her part, a ploy to snatch her kids away from their dad as payback for the failed marriage. People with addiction problems made easy targets for witch hunts.
“What makes you think Mr. Bishop has relapsed?”
“I was married to the man for almost a decade. I know when he’s hiding something. Plus, his friends and coworkers have all told me he’s been acting oddly for months-ducking their calls, canceling plans at the last minute without explanation. The last three weekends that he had the children, he hired a babysitter in the evenings and didn’t come home until the middle of the night. It’s the same pattern of behavior I noticed when we were married.”
She’d done some investigating on her own, then. “I’ll need a lot more information from you to set up a feasible surveillance operation,” Dominic said. “But before we dive into that, I want to make sure you understand that it’s impossible to prove a negative. If your ex-husband is abusing drugs again, I’ll be able to find hard evidence of that. But if he isn’t . . .” Dominic shrugged. The lack of proof drove some clients crazy, as they refused to accept that their target wasn’t guilty.
“He is,” Cassidy said with total confidence.
“All right. Let’s get started.”
“Police!” Levi flashed his badge as his suspect exited the 7-Eleven. “Hands up.”
The man, a Utopia gangbanger by the name of Lonnie Hale, took off running. Levi smiled-he’d been hoping the scumbag would give him a chance to stretch his legs.
Hale darted around the side of the building, parallel to the street, and through the back lot. He tossed his plastic shopping bag at Levi’s face as he ran; Levi dodged, gaining ground with every step.
The car wash behind the 7-Eleven was built on a slight incline. Hale leapt the guardrail, but lost his footing and rolled down the slope on the other side, right into the road. A horn blared as a car slammed to a halt, missing him by inches before he sprang back up and continued running.
Levi vaulted the guardrail smoothly and landed without a problem. He didn’t bother drawing his gun as he chased Hale across the road-he wouldn’t have fired even if there’d been nobody else around for miles, let alone in a civilian-populated area.
Besides, he didn’t need a gun to bring this asshole down. Hale was already flagging, winded by the sprint and limping from the tumble he’d taken. Levi caught up as they hopped a low wall into a derelict shopping plaza and tackled Hale to the asphalt.
Hale swung at him, wild punches that Levi easily countered before flipping the man onto his stomach and pinning his skinny, tattooed arms at the small of his back. “Lonnie Hale, you’re under arrest for the murders of Victor Nu?ez and Javier Ibarra. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law.”
Levi stood, hauling Hale upright.
“You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided for you. Do you understand these rights as I have read them to you?”
Hale scowled at Levi over his shoulder. “I don’t take orders from Jews,” he said, and spat in Levi’s face.
Levi’s hands tightened on Hale’s arm. Rage clawed at his heart and lungs, crashing against his ribcage like a feral animal desperate to be set free. It would be so satisfying to smash his fist into Hale’s face, feel the bones break, watch the blood spurt-
STOP.
He replaced the violent fantasy with the image of a stop sign. He was in control of his anger; it wasn’t in control of him.
Levi wiped the saliva off his face with the sleeve of his suit jacket, then smiled coldly. Hale looked disappointed-little wonder, because a police brutality charge could have gone a long way toward having his case thrown out.
“Maybe you’ll enjoy taking orders from your cellmate,” Levi said.
Hale blanched.
“Sorry I’m late,” Levi said as he hurried into the conference room at the substation. “I got a hit on the gun used in that double homicide and traced it back to a Utopia foot soldier.”