“So you have no idea who he was or why he was tailing you.” The detective’s voice was heavy with scorn.
“That’s right.” Georgia made an effort to keep her voice neutral. An hour had passed, and she was back in the coffee shop. Sherman Avenue was now a crime scene, crawling with uniforms, techs, reconstruction experts, and a photographer. The experts were trying to analyze skid marks, the speed of the SUV, and the bullets’ trajectory. The techs were sifting and bagging. The photographer was shooting. The uniforms weren’t even trying to look busy.
Detective Raoul Gutierrez, in jeans, heavy sweater, and peacoat, looked to be about her age, early thirties. He had dark hair, a trimmed goatee, and an edgy hostility. Was it because he was Hispanic? Frustrated he hadn’t risen far enough, fast enough? She could relate; she’d struggled when she was the token female on the force.
She picked up her coffee, trying to calm her nerves, but realized her hand was still shaking. “Like I said before, I never saw the guy.”
The detective caught it. “Is that a fact. Then how do you know he was tailing you?”
She leveled a look at him, all the while thinking she had to pull it together. She was a PI, for Christ’s sake. And a cop before that. It might have taken her a while to pick him up, but she had. She might have been freaked-out by the drive-by, but she’d seen worse. “I know when I’m being followed.”
Gutierrez fingered his goatee like he was vain about it. She took another sip of now cold coffee. She grimaced.
Paul held up his hand. “I’ll make you another.”
“Thanks.”
As Paul brought her a new drink, one of the techs strode inside and hustled over to Gutierrez. The detective stood, gave Georgia his back, and conferred with the guy. The tech flipped up his hands and went outside. Gutierrez turned around.
“There’s no ID on the vic.”
She shrugged. She’d expected that.
“You sure you have no idea who he was?” He sat again, arms folded.
Gutierrez must be one of those cops who bullied others before they could bully him. She appraised his build. Slender but wiry. Ropy neck muscles. Probably a martial arts expert.
“Nope,” she said almost cheerfully, then immediately regretted it. No reason to stoop to his level.
“What about the SUV? You get the plate?”
“Sorry.” She hoped it sounded sincere.
“I thought you used to be a cop.” His glare was a mix of irritation and triumph, as if he’d scored a three-pointer.
“The SUV took off too fast. But”—she paused and took a sip of her drink—“I did get a partial.”
The detective’s eyebrows arched. “That so? You planning to share?”
“It started with six-three-three.”
“Illinois plates?”
Georgia nodded.
Gutierrez wrote it down.
“You see anyone inside the SUV?”
“Two people. Driver. Passenger.”
“Descriptions?”
She shook her head. “They wore ski masks.”
Gutierrez took out a ChapStick, removed the top, and rolled it over his lips, carefully avoiding his goatee. He stuffed it back in his pocket. “You’re not giving me much.”
“Look, Detective. I want to know who the hell was tailing me as much as you. I was the target, remember?” She folded her arms. “After all, if A killed B, and B was following me, A might come after me.”
He looked her over with an expression that said he didn’t really give a shit. Was he playing bad cop? Trying a sexist ploy? Whatever his motive, she’d had enough. She zipped up her jacket, finished her drink, and hoisted her bag on her shoulder. She was just standing when his cell rang. He fished it out of a pocket and took the call.
“Gutierrez…” He got up again and stepped away from Georgia. She tried to eavesdrop, but he was out of earshot. She looked over at Paul, who rolled his eyes. She glanced through the window. The media vans had arrived. She’d have to be careful. Gutierrez started back in her direction.
“I’ll do that. Thanks.” He snapped the phone shut and held it up. “You have a friend.”
Georgia’s eyebrows went up.
“O’Malley. Deputy superintendent up north. Says you’re okay.”
She didn’t mind Gutierrez checking her out; any good cop would. Dan O’Malley had been her peer, then her boss, when she was a cop. They still talked, usually when he was trying to persuade her to come back on the force. She’d been suspended over an administrative matter a few years earlier, set up shop as a PI, then resigned. She didn’t want to go back. She liked being her own boss. Still, it was reassuring to know someone had her back. She just wished O’Malley had been more vocal when the suspension went down.
“Good.” She stood and tossed her cup in the trash. “Anything else? I need to get going.”
“Listen, I—well—if you don’t mind, let’s go over it again.” Gutierrez’s tone was less hostile now, almost civil. He sat and motioned to the empty chair. Georgia sat. He summarized what she’d already told him: a stranger was tailing her. Could have picked her up outside her apartment. He followed her here but didn’t approach. She went into the coffee shop, then came out fifteen minutes later to confront him. He got shot in a drive-by. That was it.
“You got any enemies you know of? Cases you’re working on that are hot?”
She thought about Reggie Field and the flash rob at his store. Sure, property had been stolen and tempers had frayed. But tailing her and killing someone who didn’t appear to have anything to do with the robbery? It made no sense. Still, she told him about the case.
Gutierrez scribbled on a notepad. She could tell he didn’t think it was a strong lead either. She told him about her other cases too.
“So you think the offenders who gunned down the tail will be coming after you?” He asked.
“No clue. But the way I figure it, the tail either wanted to give me information or wanted information from me. The offenders”—she almost smiled—“didn’t want one of those things to happen. If they’re coming after me, I guess I’ll know soon enough.”
Gutierrez was silent for a minute. “You mind if we call your clients?”
Georgia hesitated. “Yes, I do. My cases are confidential. But I’ll canvass them myself and let you know if I find anything.”
Gutierrez didn’t look happy, but he must have realized there wasn’t much to be gained by pushing—more than he had.
“One thing,” she said. “The media. Can you keep them off my back? I don’t want to end up on the six o’clock news. Have them stake out my place. It’s bad for business.”
He appeared to be mulling it over. Then he gave her a brief nod. “We’ll keep it quiet. But that doesn’t mean they will.” He handed her his card. “Keep me informed. I want to nail these guys.”
She nodded back. “Me too.”
He almost smiled. Gutierrez might be an asshole, but he was a good cop.