22. Henry

22

HENRY

F ucking Lana on her desk wasn't the wisest idea. Anyone could have walked in. But the desperation to bring her back to me clawed at my insides. I needed her to trust me, for me to be inside her to feel whole again.

As I leave Lana's office, my mind is a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. I can't shake the image of her face—hurt, confused, and angry. It tears at me in a way I never expected. Part of me wants to turn around, go back to her, and hold her close. To promise her that everything will be okay, that I'll protect her from law enforcement and rival families alike. The depth of my feelings for Lana startles me. When did this woman, who should be nothing more than a subject of investigation, become so important to me?

But another part of me recognizes the danger in these emotions. I'm a detective, sworn to uphold the law. She's part of a criminal empire, regardless of her personal involvement. Our worlds are fundamentally incompatible. Every moment I spend with her puts my career, my integrity, at risk. I imagine her time with me can put her at risk as well. If her family or other families find out about us, what will they do to her? Will they think she's an informant? Fucking hell. She's in twice as much danger than I'd considered.

Then there's the rage that someone put his hands on her. A cop, no less. I want to march into the station and beat the shit out of him. Why did he do it? Is he simply a douche using his authority to intimidate women? Or is it personal against Lana and her family?

I clench my fists, torn between my duty to the force and my growing disgust with some of its members. I know I need to report this incident, but will it make any difference? Or will it just paint a target on my own back? Lana isn't wrong in that cops protect their own.

As I step outside, I take a deep breath, trying to clear my head. One thing's for certain. I can't keep straddling this line between Lana and my job. Something's got to give. But which part of me am I willing to sacrifice?

I make my way back to the precinct, my mind still reeling from the events at Lana's office. As I enter, I spot Peter at his desk and make a beeline for him.

"Peter." I take a deep breath, trying to keep my voice level. The last thing I need for him to glean is my feelings for Lana. "What have you learned about the call and that fuckup at the D'Amatos' office?"

Peter's expression turns serious. "As far as the call, nothing. Same old anonymous tip."

I think about the request for the phone information I put in the other day. I should follow up on that soon.

"As far as what happened at the office, it's just a couple of overzealous cops. I have spoken to their superior. They'll be reprimanded for their actions. It's Jones. You'll know he'll rip them a new one for potentially fucking up an organized crime case. How about you? Were you able to smooth things over with Ms. Ice Princess D'Amato?" He laughs. "Wouldn't that be something? Us sued by a Mafia princess?"

I hope my expression is neutral. "Yes, I think so. But apparently, one of them, the one who cuffed her, also sexually assaulted her."

Peter's brow pulls together. "What? Nah. They're a couple of jerks, but I don't believe that. Do you?"

I don't like how he's dismissing Lana's claim. But I know that deep down, he has a bias against her and her family. "Did any of them mention what they did to La—Ms. D'Amato?"

He seems to think on it. "No… although Tabor blew her a kiss or something in the elevator, but that's not sexual assault."

"Grinding his dick against her when he cuffed her is. Telling her he'll let her off for a blow job is."

"What the fuck?" Peter's eyes widen in genuine shock and disgust. "Jesus."

His reaction eases some of the tension in my shoulders. At least he understands that cops can't engage in this behavior toward anyone, including those we believe are involved in crime.

"If they fuck up our case…" He shakes his head. "I'll let his superior know and include it in the report."

"Thanks for taking care of it."

"Of course. I know we've been pushing hard on this case, but what happened today… that's not how we do things. We're better than that."

It's a relief to hear him say that, because there have been moments when he's seemed on the verge of going off the rails. Although that's usually about his father's case.

"I'm glad you feel that way, Peter. It's important that we stay on the right side of the line."

He nods emphatically. "Absolutely. We're a good team. I've got your back on this. Just like you have mine. We'll get the D'Amatos the right way."

I don't know if I'm reading something into his words out of my own worry or not, but a part of me wonders if he knows about me and Lana and is asking what I'll do if push comes to shove.

"Of course. I've got your back."

"Well, I'll deal with this. It's not a good look for the cops to be doing what they did today right in front of an office full of people. Makes us look less than our best. It matters that people believe we're here to serve justice."

"I agree. Thanks again. Keep me posted will you?"

"Sure. What are you on today?"

The last thing I need him to know is that I'm looking into Lazaro's disappearance. "Just some leg work on a stolen vehicle that might be related to an abduction." I hope I'm vague enough that he doesn't realize whose abduction.

"I'd offer to help, but I've got a husband with a knife in his back that his wife says she has no idea how it got there." He rolls his eyes.

"Keep an open mind. Lots of people are backstabbers."

He laughs.

I go to my desk, reviewing my files, then burying it away so Peter doesn't happen upon them. Then I leave, heading to the shop in the outskirts of Chicago to talk to the witness who believes they saw Lazaro's abduction.

The shop's faded sign and weathered exterior don't inspire much confidence. As I push open the door, a bell chimes overhead. An older woman looks up from behind the counter, her eyes narrowing with curiosity.

"Can I help you?" she asks, her voice rough from years of cigarettes.

I flash my badge. "Detective Henry Lutz. I'm here about a potential kidnapping that occurred outside your shop about three years ago."

Her eyebrows shoot up. "Three years ago? That's a long time ago."

"New information has come to light. I was hoping you could tell me what you remember."

She shrugs, leaning on the counter. "It was a while ago. Not sure I remember all the details."

"That's fine. What do you remember?"

"Just a bunch of guys beating the crap out of a man and tossing him into a van."

"Can you describe the victim?"

She shrugs. "Maybe six feet. Dark hair. I don't know. Regular."

I hold up a picture of Lazaro. "Any chance it was this man?"

She studies the picture. "Maybe."

Maybe isn't good enough, but it's not a no, either. "How about the men who took him? Anything you can tell me about them?"

While she talks, my eyes scan the shop. In the corner, I spot a security camera, and another by the door.

"Those cameras," I interrupt, pointing. "Were they here when the incident occurred?"

The shop owner nods. "Sure were. Been here since I opened the place."

My heart rate picks up. "Would they have caught anything?"

"No, not those. But I have a camera at the opening of the alley. It caught some of that night."

"It did?" I feel a surge of excitement at the shop owner's mention of an alley camera. This could be the break I've been looking for in this case.

"Yeah. It has the man entering the alley with someone else, and then a van pulls in. A bunch of guys… I don't know, three, maybe. Maybe five. They wore masks, so I can't tell you about them."

"Do you still have the footage?" I don't hold my breath. Most surveillance video is gone, taped over within a few days of being created.

The woman frowns at me. "You already have it."

"What?"

"Yeah, the police came by not long after it happened and took it. That's why I wonder why you're here."

I blink, stunned. "The police? Are you sure?"

She nods emphatically. "Yes. Two officers came by, said they were investigating the incident. They took all the tapes from that day and the day before."

This doesn't make any sense. I've been through the case file multiple times, and there isn't any mention of security footage. Nor is there a surveillance tape.

"Did they give you any paperwork? A receipt for the tapes?" I ask, grasping at straws.

The shop owner shakes her head. "No, nothing like that. They just took the tapes and left."

Something is off here. There are no reports of surveillance tapes in the file.

"Can you describe the officers who took the tapes?" I ask, pulling out my notebook.

Like the man she described being abducted, the woman's description of the cops is vague. They could be anyone.

I thank her for her help and head back to my car. Someone deliberately kept this evidence out of the official channels. Who? And why?

As I slide into my car, I consider the two most likely scenarios. Either the attackers who took Lazaro were clever enough to pose as police officers and got the tapes to cover their tracks, or actual police were involved in his disappearance. My initial instinct is to believe the former. But given the recent behavior of those officers with Lana, it's quite possible that it's the latter. A chill runs down my spine at the thought.

I sit for a moment, sifting through all I know to try and make meaning out of it. Why kidnap Lazaro at all? Why not just kill him there? I answer myself by noting how organized crime doesn't kill in the open like it used to. And as for why, Lazaro's life of crime would have made him a target for many.

I think about Peter's assertion that the D'Amatos were responsible for his father's death. It's become an obsession with him. But if Peter had exacted his revenge on Lazaro, why would he still be obsessed with his father's murder? Maybe because it would look weird if he wasn't eager to solve his father's murder. But he could have easily pinned the murder on Lazaro since he's missing and can't defend himself.

So, not Peter, but maybe some other cops. I wonder how long Frick and Frack from this morning have been on the force. I should look into them since they appear to have a vendetta against the D'Amatos.

I grip the steering wheel tightly, feeling the weight of these revelations. An unsettling feeling comes over me as I realize that I can't trust anyone now. External threats are one thing, but the possibility of internal betrayal within the force is far more insidious.