The Detective

Chapter Four (#ulink_7f4d2573-b295-56c5-9a2e-6f66fee24c9c)

Brenda Williams’s two-story house butted up against the neighboring homes and looked like any other on the block. Weathered brick, a few steps leading to the small porch that barely spanned the front door, a single large window facing the street on the first floor, all of it as ordinary and indistinguishable as every other structure on the block.

Without a doubt, a long way from the pristine five-thousand-square-foot, multimillion-dollar greystone she’d shared with her husband. That house screamed vintage details on the outside but modern upgrades on the inside. To say the least, Brenda Williams had downsized. Apparently not by choice.

A wicked January wind whipped under Brodey’s open jacket to the blasted sling. Leave it to him to screw up his arm in the dead of winter. Despite the doc’s cautions, Brodey had been ditching the sling for an hour or two each day to give himself some freedom. That hour happened earlier when his shoulder cramped up. Now he was stuck in the sling for the remainder of the day. Unless he wanted his doctor to rail on him. What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.

He stepped to the side of the concrete walkway leading to the porch and waved Lexi forward. “Do the honors.”

She climbed the stairs, her long coat covering her amazing rear, and on any day he’d call that one of the great tragedies of his lifetime. And that was saying something for a Chicago PD homicide detective.

Twisted perhaps, but hey, the little things kept a guy like him sane.

Lexi rapped on the door, then turned back. “Did you say something?”

Could be. While working a case he talked to himself. A lot. “Probably.”

She wrinkled her nose. “I’m sorry?”

“I talk to myself. I work crime scenes by talking my way through them, trying to figure out what happened. Half the time I don’t know I’m doing it.” Like now. “What did I say?”

Because given his lack of focus on anything but her delectable rear, he could easily be accused of lascivious thoughts. Thoughts he’d never deny when it came to a woman who looked like Lexi Vanderbilt.

“You were mumbling something about tragedies.”

Phew. Easy one. “Ah. I was thinking about this house versus the one we left. The whole situation is tragic.”

“That it is.”

The front door eased open and a petite brunette wearing jeans, boots and a long gray sweater greeted them. She wore her shoulder-length hair tucked behind her ears, and minimal eye makeup accented her brown eyes. Beautiful eyes. Big and round and probably at one time alluring to any man. All he saw now was sadness.

“Hi, Lexi.”

“Hi, Brenda. We’re a little early. I hope that’s all right.”

“It’s fine. But I just got home, so I’ll need a minute. Come in.”

Brodey followed Lexi into the foyer, where a blast of warm air thawed him. Directly in front of them a staircase with an oak rail and cool twisted spindles led to the second floor. To his left, through a set of glossy white French doors, was the living room.

Children’s voices carried from the end of the hallway. Kitchen probably. Most of these row houses were built with the same basic layout. Living room, small dining room, kitchen on the first floor. Three bedrooms upstairs. He’d lay money on it.

Lexi spun back to him. “Brodey Hayward, this is Brenda Williams.”

“Hello, ma’am. I’d shake your hand, but...” He pointed to his bad arm.

“That must be horrible in this cold. Aren’t you freezing?”

“It’s not bad.”

No sense in complaining about it. In the grand scheme, he could count his problems in three seconds or less, and that alone was enough to be thankful for.

Brenda led them down the long hallway to the back of the house where the kitchen—called it—conjoined with a small sitting area. Didn’t call that one, but he was close enough. That particular room must have been a modification to the original floor plan. That was what he’d go with.

An older boy of about eleven sat with two girls at the round kitchen table. Table for four. The boy met Brodey’s eyes, and nothing in his gaze conveyed anything he should see in a preteen boy’s expression. No mischief, no relaxed demeanor, no lightness. All he saw there was suspicion. A shame, that.

The girl with long blond hair kept her gaze focused on her notebook. Not even a glance at him. The other girl, the one with her brown hair in a ponytail, gave him a cursory once-over and managed a whisper of a smile. Cripes, these kids were locked up tight. Of the three, he guessed the order of ages would be the boy, blonde girl and then ponytail rounding out the pack.

“Sam,” Mrs. Williams said, “please take the kids upstairs to play for a few minutes while I speak with Miss Lexi and Mr. Brodey. We need to leave in half an hour, so make sure you have everything.”

The boy glanced up, his big eyes drooping and, well...miserable. Suppressed. “Okay,” he said. “C’mon, guys. Let’s go.”

The kids left, shuffling out of the room like obedient soldiers, and to Brodey, none of it seemed right. When he was a kid, all they did was yell and run around and get hollered at. They were kids. Kids did stuff like that. This? He didn’t know what this was. Check that. He did know.

This was decimation.

Mrs. Williams watched them go, her gaze glued to them. “It’s a sad day when the eleven-year-old becomes the man of the house.”

“That it is.”

She slid into the chair her son had vacated. “Please, have a seat. I thought we’d work in here so we could spread Lexi’s samples out.”

Would it be rude if he groaned? Probably. But he was a damned homicide detective. What did he know about decorating? He dragged a chair out for Lexi. “You first?”

With any luck, she’d disagree, which was what he really wanted, but since he’d already crashed her meeting he might as well at least try to be accommodating. Even if he hoped it went the other way.

She shook her head. “No. You go first.”

The decorator is growing on me. He gave her chair a gentle push and walked to the other side of the table next to Mrs. Williams.

“What can I help you with, Mr. Hayward?”

From across the table, Lexi handed him the legal pad he’d asked her to stow in her briefcase. Using his usual pocket notepad was impossible with one arm in the sling. Another reason he needed to deep-six the thing. He angled the pad on his lap so he could write on it without disrupting the elbow too much. “It’s Brodey. I have questions. Basic timeline stuff. I’m sure it’s in the case file, but Hennings & Solomon doesn’t have access to those files.”

“Of course. Whatever you need.”

“You separated from your husband a few months before his death. Is that right?”

“Yes. Two months. Things in the marriage had been off. For a while. We tried therapy, but he was so distracted with work, it was a wasted effort. Toward the end, I couldn’t stand his moodiness and the children were miserable. I knew we had to get out.” She waved her hands around the room. “We found this place and moved in.”

Brodey jotted notes, taking a few seconds to get his thoughts in order. Distracted husband. Any number of things could cause that. Money, job in jeopardy, gambling, drugs, an affair. “Were his work distractions typical?”

“Yes and no. He’d always been obsessed with his job, but that last year was worse. When I asked about it, he continually put me off. I knew something was wrong. I just didn’t know what. After he died, I found out he was stealing from his clients, basically using their money to fuel our lifestyle.”

And, hello, fraud investigation. “How?”

“Every time he signed a new client, he’d take money from their account. He’d keep part of it and then pay dividends to existing clients with the rest.” She squeezed her eyes closed and shook her head. “My husband ran a Ponzi scheme.” She opened her eyes, stared right into Brodey’s. “We lived on stolen money.”

Beside him, Lexi shifted, played with her fingers, staring down at them as if fascinated. She needed a poker face. But, in her defense, the average citizen should be uncomfortable with this conversation. Not Brodey. To him, this was nothing. “Do you know if he’d received any threats prior to his death?”