Debby Giusti - Killer Headline

A few bad choices only compounded Clay’s feeling of alienation. Married too young and divorced before he knew what being a husband was all about added to his hesitancy to depend on anyone, even God.

Now he faced at least two more weeks of probation until the board of inquiry made their decision. “Slam dunk,” most of the guys on the force had said, slapping his back and praising him for the way he’d handled Cameron.

Not what they would have done, of course. But then none of them had an ex-wife who had been pimped and mainlined with heroin until she didn’t know the difference between right or wrong.

Clay let out a frustrated breath.

After all that had happened, Jackson’s request had surprised Clay almost as much as hearing Violet’s voice the other night. Hard to imagine the FBI would want him to pay the sassy reporter a visit and that Chicago P.D. would let Clay go. Of course, every law-enforcement officer in the Windy City knew Special Agent-in-Charge Jackson McGraw usually got what he wanted.

Clay’s cell phone chirped. He flipped it open, read the caller ID and smiled. “I was just thinking about you.”

Jackson chuckled.

“What’s up?”

“I contacted the local chief of police after your last call. His name’s Walter Howard. Wanted him to know you were in town.”

“Did you mention Violet?”

“He knows her. They’re from the same hometown. I told him we were concerned the Mafia might be spreading its muscle into his neck of the woods.”

“Which probably caught his interest.”

“He said he didn’t need or want any more trouble. Seems the local P.D. has a retention problem. Slots vacated by older officers who’ve retired haven’t been filled. Younger guys sign on for a few years then transfer to better-paying lines of work. He’s understaffed and worried.”

“Sounds typical of a lot of areas of the country.”

“Despite the low recruitment, the chief said to call if you need anything. He sounds competent. Don’t hesitate to contact him, Clay.”

“What about the Martino family?”

“More activity at their compound. Change is definitely in the air. Just wish we had a better handle on how it’ll go down.”

“Might be time to put a task force together.”

Jackson’s silence was telling.

“Okay. I get the picture.” Clay smiled. “You’ve already got one in place, right?”

“Just proves, we think alike. I haven’t mentioned it before, but there’s a safe house in the local area. Worst case scenario, of course. Just keep her safe. I don’t want another woman killed in Montana.”

Clay flipped his cell closed, the gravity of Jackson’s statement hung heavy on his shoulders. Clay had a job to do no matter how attractive Ms. Kramer happened to be.

The sound of a car engine caught his attention. Clay trained his eyes on the road ahead. Headlights approached from a distance.

The car swerved as it rounded the corner. A late-model SUV. The vehicle made a large swath around Clay’s car then pulled to a stop at the far corner. The driver cut the engine.

The door opened, and a man dropped to the pavement. Illuminated for a moment by the interior lighting, Clay made note of the guy’s jeans, dark sweatshirt zipped over his chest and a beanie pulled low over his hair. He appeared close in height to the man Clay had chased earlier. Could he be the same guy, returning to drive home the point he’d tried to make with Violet?

The man eased the driver’s door closed then glanced at the row of houses, his gaze lingering longer on Violet’s home than the other modest dwellings on the street.

Clay’s gut tightened.

Beanie-man headed for the shadows. The guy was definitely up to no good.

Clay grabbed his cell and placed a call to police headquarters. The dispatcher said she’d notify a cruiser in the area.

Silent as a cat, Clay crawled from his car and grabbed the guy from behind.

“What the—” the punk groaned. He jerked but couldn’t pull free from Clay’s grasp.

He shoved him toward the street and slammed him against his car. “What are you doing?”

“Nothing, man.” He appeared to be about eighteen or nineteen.

Clay tugged at his arms. “Don’t lie to me, kid. What’s your name and who are you working for?”

“Jamie…my name’s Jamie Favor.” He shook his head. “I don’t work for no one.”

A siren screamed in the distance. The sound grew louder. Flashing lights broke through the darkness as a cruiser turned on to the street and braked to a stop in front of Clay’s car. O’Reilly got out just as a second police sedan approached from the opposite direction.

“Hey, man, I didn’t do nothing wrong,” the punk moaned.

“Did you plan to break into someone’s house?” Clay demanded. “Frighten someone? Steal a few valuables?”

The kid shook his head. “No way.”

“Got yourself a live one, eh, Clay?” Officer O’Reilly said as he neared.

Clay nodded toward the SUV. “The kid parked down the block then headed this way. He hugged the houses, staying in the shadows.”

“What are you doing, young man, this time of night?” O’Reilly asked.

“Visiting my girlfriend.”

“She lives on this street?” The Missoula cop feigned surprise.

Jamie nodded. “I thought she did.”

O’Reilly patted him down.

“Look what I found.” He yanked an automatic from the punk’s waistband.

“Ah, man,” the punk lowered his head.

Pulling out handcuffs, the officer rattled off Jamie’s Miranda rights then clicked the cuffs in place. “Let’s get you down to headquarters, Jamie, and see what else you might want to tell us.” O’Reilly passed the kid on to the second officer who herded Jamie into the backseat of the cop car.

Clay slapped O’Reilly’s shoulder. “Thanks for getting here so fast.”

“No problem. You think he’s the guy who broke into 518 earlier?”

Clay followed the cop’s gaze to Violet’s house. “Hard to tell. Instinct tells me that first guy was bigger, but I didn’t get close enough to know for sure. Find out if Jamie has ties with anyone in Chicago. The Mafia’s caused some problems in Montana. The FBI suspects they’re interested in someone in-state.”

O’Reilly pursed his lips. “And the reporter? How’s she play into the mix?”

“Ms. Kramer’s a bit more inquisitive than she should be for her own good. The mob doesn’t like anyone on their heels. She’s gotten a little too close.”

“I’ll have the guys on patrol keep watch on this neighborhood. There’s been rumor of someone dealing drugs a block over. Jamie may have been heading that way. If he talks, we may be able to close down the operation. Appreciate the help you provided tonight.”

Clay gave the officer his cell-phone number. “Call me when you find out what the kid was doing.”

“Roger that. Stop by headquarters later, if you’ve got time. I’ll tell you what we learned.”

Clay appreciated O’Reilly’s invitation.

Two men up to no good in one night. Every cop knew coincidences didn’t apply to law enforcement.

Trouble had found Violet Kramer twice. In Clay’s opinion, that was two times too many.

He turned at the sound of a front door opening to see Violet step on to the porch. Her hair swirled around her oval face in tiny ringlets wound as tight as she seemed.

She wore jeans and a parka and a pair of hot pink, fuzzy bedroom slippers that slapped down the stairs and sidewalk as she stormed toward him.

“What in the world is going on, Clay? Sirens and flashing lights in the middle of the night? How can anyone sleep?”

She glanced at the crowd of neighbors, many of them senior citizens, who gathered on the opposite side of the street and were watching with interest. One sweet older lady waved. Violet smiled a greeting before she turned back to Clay, the smile gone.