Beneath The Silk

“Screw visiting hours, Ward. I got a crisis on my hands. If I could have found you last night, a black-and-white would have picked you up.”

Now what? Jackson wondered. Other than Clide, he hadn’t pissed anyone off for two or three days—not that he was aware of, anyway. He stepped inside and closed the door. “What’s your crisis, Chief?”

“Milo Tandi. He was murdered night before last.”

The name Tandi was as commonplace in Chicago as the Loop and Wrigley Field. The Tandis were also front-runners in the Chicago-Italian Organization. Jackson had gone to school with Milo and knew from personal experience that his old classmate was about as likable as fungus on a toad.

Clide poked a finger at the electronic device attached to his bed and hoisted the mattress to raise him upward. “Well, give me some background on him. Draw me a picture, Ward. Don’t just stand there irritating the hell out of me.”

Jackson fished in his pocket for a cigarette, then remembered hospital regulations and slid the pack back into his shirt. “Milo’s thirty-four, same as me. He was born to Vito and Grace Tandi. The sole heir to the family fortune. Vito is alive, but he’s been a recluse since the scandal.”

“What scandal?”

“Grace was caught in bed with Vito’s best friend.”

“Go on.”

“Frank Masado was the friend. He’s also worth millions, and connected. Some say Grace was carrying Frank’s kid when Vito decided to slip her pretty long legs into a pair of concrete pantyhose and drop her off in the middle of Lake Michigan.”

“He killed his wife?”

“It was never proved.” Jackson grinned. “Guess Grace never popped up.”

“Don’t be cute, Ward. Keep going.”

“Milo ran Vito’s nightclubs. The Shedd, his favorite, is famous for its exotic dancers.”

“So it’s the usual? Prostitution? Gambling? Drugs? Tough guys playing tough?”

“It’s all that.” Jackson narrowed his clear green eyes—eyes that had come from his Irish grandfather on his father’s side. His black hair, prominent cheekbones and classic nose were gifts from his mother’s Sicilian heritage. “What’s this all about, Chief?”

“Someone put a hole in the middle of Tandi’s forehead in an apartment at the Crown Plaza. He was found naked, tied to a four-poster bed with red silk scarves. Scarves that have been traced to Silks Inc.”

“Was he offed before the fun started or after?”

“God, Ward, what the hell difference does it make?”

“Just wondered if he died happy, Chief.”

“He did, if that makes any difference.”

“It would to me,” Jackson confessed. “This place, Silks… I’ve never heard of it. Is it suppose to mean something to us?”

The color drained from Clide’s already pale cheeks. “It means something, all right. It means my baby girl’s gotten herself in trouble in your town, Ward. Normally I wouldn’t give a damn that some Mafia mogul’s son ate a bullet. But when the evidence is pointing straight at Sunni that changes things.”

“Sunni?”

“My daughter. She’s been living in Chicago for the past two and a half years.”

While Clide started at the beginning, Jackson sauntered to the third-story window and gazed down at the congested street traffic. The crowded city had never been a problem for him. Having grown up in Chicago, he was used to people. But it was the heat that he’d never gotten used to. That’s why he’d taken Ry’s suggestion and cut his hair. No, not for a second had he considered playing suck-up, but sweating less had definitely appealed to him.

“So you see, Sunni’s the prime suspect,” Clide was saying. “She started Silks six months after she moved to the city. It’s one of those fancy lingerie shops. And her apartment is at the Crown Plaza. That’s why Detective Williams thinks he’s got his case sewn up.”

“Stud Williams?” Jackson slowly turned from the window.

“What’s that look mean, Ward?”

“Stud was one of my partners when I worked for the CPD.”

“Well hell, that’s no surprise. You change partners damn near as often as I change my shorts.” Clide rubbed his gut, made a face. “Williams claims the scarves are Sunni’s. I thought he meant that they came from her store, but he says they’re her personal property. That she identified them and that her fingerprints were on all four scarves.”

Jackson relaxed his shoulder against the wall and tried to imagine what Clide Blais’s daughter looked like. He’d never seen Mrs. Blais, but Clide was five foot six, seventy-five pounds overweight, and the only place he could grow hair was on his upper lip.

“Williams also told me the only reason Sunni hasn’t been arrested is that she’s got an alibi for the night of the murder.”

“At least that’s something.”

“You won’t think so once you hear who it is. Sunni’s alibi is Frank Masado’s son. The oldest one. Williams says Joey Masado is my daughter’s boyfriend.”

Jackson winced. “You’re telling me she’s been seeing both Joe and Milo Tandi at the same time?”

“Hell, no. That would be stupid.”

Deadly was a better word, Jackson thought. Just ask Grace Tandi.

“Masado claims Sunni was having dinner with him in his suite when Milo Tandi took the hit.” Clide rubbed his gut again, the obvious strain of the situation adding to his chronic ailment. “It’s bad, ain’t it? She’s in deep, and it’ll take a miracle to pull her out of this quicksand mess she’s gotten herself into without dragging her face-first through the mud.”

“If she’s innocent, then—”

“Of course she’s innocent. Only…”

“Only what?”

“I’ve got more bad news. Sunni’s store is in Masado Towers.”

Jackson frowned. “You didn’t know that before last night?”

“Don’t look at me like I’m some negligent father. Sunni made it clear when she moved to Chicago that she was tired of living in a fish bowl. Asked her mother and me to give her some space. We agreed that being the police chief’s daughter had stifled her some. We phone back and forth. We’re planning a trip up there for Christmas.” Clide paused. “I know you and I haven’t seen eye-to-eye too often, Ward. Hell, maybe never. But whether I like it or not, you’re the man.”

“The man?”

“You know how to get around department bureaucracy better than anyone I know. And you’re familiar with who’s who. You not only know the Tandi family, but you and the Masado boys were pretty tight, I hear. You lived in the same neighborhood, right?”

“That’s true. But—”

“But nothing. I want you on this case. Back in Chicago today, Ward. Before supper if you can manage it.”

“I don’t think I’m the man, Chief.”