LITMIR.BIZ

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had his back toward the door, his face turned toward the open window, scanning the street, when she came back. “I’m just curious,” he said without turning around. “You saw her when I said his name. She knows something. You know it, and I know it. How come you let her walk away?”

      “Who’s Mirandez?” she asked.

      He turned around. He wanted to see her face. “Dantel Mirandez is scum. The worst kind of scum. He’s the guy who makes it possible for third graders to buy a joint at recess. And for their older brothers and sisters to be heroin addicts by the time they’re twelve. And for their parents to spend their grocery money on—”

      “I think I get it, Detective.”

      “Yeah, well, get this. Mirandez isn’t just your neighborhood dealer. He runs a big operation. Maybe as much as ten percent of all the illegal drug traffic in Chicago. Millions of dollars pass through his organization. He employs hundreds. Not bad for a twenty-six-year-old punk.”

      “How do you know Mary is involved with him?”

      “It’s my job to know. She’s been his main squeeze for the past six months—at least.”

      “It doesn’t make sense. Why would he try to hurt her?”

      “We don’t think he’s trying to hurt her. It’s more like he’s trying to get her attention, to make sure she remembers that he’s the boss. To make sure that she remembers that he can get to her at any time, at any place.”

      “I don’t understand.”

      “Three weeks ago, during one of his transactions, he killed a man. Little doubt that it wasn’t the first time. But word on the street is that this time, your little Miss Mary was with him. She saw it.”

      “Oh, my God. I had no idea.”

      She looked as if she might faint again. He pushed a chair in her direction. She didn’t even look at it. He watched her, relaxing when a bit of color returned to her face.

      “I’m sure you didn’t,” he said. “The tip came in about a week ago that Mary saw the hit. And then the convenience store got shot up. She got questioned at the scene, but she didn’t offer anything up about Mirandez. I’ve been following her ever since. It wasn’t a coincidence that my partner and I were parked a block away. We saw a car come around the corner, slow down. Before we could do anything, they had a gun stuck out the window, blowing this place up. We called it in, and I jumped out to come inside. My partner went after them. As you may have heard,” he said, motioning to his radio, “they got away.”

      “It sounded like you got a license plate.”

      “Not that it will do us any good. It’s a pretty safe bet that the car was hot. Stolen,” he added.

      “Do you know for sure that it was Mirandez who shot out my window? Did you actually see him?”

      “I’m sure it wasn’t him pulling the trigger. He rarely does his own dirty work. It was likely someone further down the food chain.”

      She swallowed hard. “You may be right, Detective. And I’m willing to try to talk to Mary, to try to convince her to cooperate with the police. You have to understand that my first priority is her. She doesn’t have anyone else.”

      “She has Mirandez.”

      “She’s never said a word about him.”

      “I assume he’s the father of the baby,” he said. “That fact is probably the only thing that’s keeping her alive right now. Otherwise, I think she’d be expendable. Everybody is to this guy.”

      Liz shook her head. “He’s not the father of her baby.”

      “How do you know?”

      She hesitated. “Because I’ve met the father. He’s a business major at Loyola.”

      “That doesn’t make sense. Why isn’t he tending to his own business? What kind of man lets his girlfriend and his unborn child get mixed up with people like Mirandez? He knows about the baby?”

      “Yes. But he’s not interested.”

      “He said that?”

      “Mary is considering adoption. When the paternity of a baby is known, we require the father’s consent as well as the mother’s.”

      “I guess they’re not teaching responsibility in college anymore.” Sawyer flexed his hand, wishing he had about three minutes with college boy.

      “Can’t download it,” she answered.

      Sawyer laughed, his anger dissipating a bit. “And where does Mirandez fit into this?” he asked. “You saw her face when I said his name. She knows him all right. The question is, what else does she know?”

      “It’s hard to say. She’s not an easy person to read.”

      “How old is she?”

      “She turned eighteen last month. Legally an adult but still very young, if you know what I mean.”

      “Yeah, well, she’s gonna be young, foolish and dead if she doesn’t get away from Mirandez. It’s only a matter of time.” He wanted Liz to understand the severity. “Otherwise, if I can prove she was at that murder scene, then she’s an accessory and that baby is gonna be born in jail.”

      “Well, that’s clear enough.” She turned her head to look at her desk. She took a deep breath. “It may not have anything to do with Mary.”

      He lowered his chin and studied her. “Why do you say that?”

      She walked over to the desk and flipped over a piece of notebook paper. She pointed at it and then the envelope next to it. “They go together. I opened it about a half hour ago.”

      He looked down and read it quickly. When he jerked his head up, she stood there, looking calmer than he felt. “Any idea who sent this?”

      She shook her head. “So maybe this has nothing to do with Mary. Maybe, just maybe, you were busting her chops for nothing.”

      For some odd reason, her slightly sarcastic tone made him smile. “I wasn’t busting her chops,” he said. “That was me making polite conversation. First time you ever get something like this?”

      “Yes.”

      “Anybody really pissed off at you?”

      “I work with pregnant teenagers and when possible with the fathers, too. Most of them are irritated with me at one time or another. It’s my job to make them deal with things they’d sometimes rather ignore.”

      He supposed it was possible that the shooting wasn’t Mirandez’s work, but the similarities between it and the shooting at the convenience store were too strong to be ignored. “I imagine you touched this?”

      She nodded.

      “Anybody else have access to your mail?”

      “Our receptionist. She sorts it.”

      “Okay. I’ll need both your prints so that we can rule them out.”

      She blew out a breath. “Fine. I’ve got her home number. By the way, they spelled my name wrong,” she said. “That doesn’t necessarily mean it’s not someone who knows me. Given that business is also spelled wrong and the grammar isn’t all that great, I’d say we’re not dealing with a genius.”

      “They still got their point across.”

      She smiled at him, and he noticed not for the first time that Liz Mayfield was one damn fine-looking woman. “That they did,” she said. “Loud and clear.”

      “Why don’t you have a seat? I’ll get an evidence tech out here to take your prints. That will take a few minutes. In the meantime, I’ve got a few questions.”

      She rolled her

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