"You're not exactly Mr. GQ, Tony. Look at you." She fought to hide a smile. His Menudo concert T-shirt was his prized possession. She didn't have the heart to make fun of it. "I guess between the two of us, we're walking billboards."
"Don't be slammin' my tee. I love Menudo," he mumbled under his breath, hand over his heart in mock sincerity.
"I know, Tony." She indulged the man with a pat on his shoulder.
"Ricky Martin was in Menudo. Did you know that, Raven?" he whispered, adding a conspiratorial wink.
"Yes, Tony. And I'm livin' 'La Vida Loca.'" She nodded, humoring him. She made some final notes in her book, but couldn't resist a quick glance down at her attire.
She had to admit she'd been influenced by Tony's usual fashion choices. The man worked undercover and came from the ranks of Narcotics. And being called at all hours, Raven paid little attention to her work clothes. She usually pulled her dark hair into a quick ponytail and poked it through the back of a ball cap. If she needed to deliberate over a case, she'd usually turn the cap around, rally style. Her good-luck ritual. It helped her think more clearly.
Over the years, she'd sacrificed fashion for function, working in a male-dominated career. Wearing makeup and donning anything remotely feminine always drew unwanted attention. These days, her fashion accessories included her badge, handcuffs, cell phone, a nine-millimeter Glock tucked into her shoulder holster, and a .38 strapped to her ankle. Being a gear freak, like most cops, she ordered more equipment and clothing from Galls law enforcement Web site than she did from any hoity-toity fashion catalog.
"Come on. Back to work." Tony's voice summoned her. "You done here, Raven?" After a quick nod from her, he gave the order, "Go ahead. Bag him."
When the gurney rolled down the center aisle, with her partner following, Raven wandered toward Father Antonio and sat beside him. Someone had given him a cup of coffee. The Styrofoam cup shook in his hands every time he sipped.
"The caffeine will probably keep me up tonight, among other things." He raised the cup, but stopped and lowered it again, avoiding her eyes. "Sorry. I don't know what I'm saying anymore."
"It's okay, Father. I understand. I'm Detective Raven Mackenzie. And that's my partner, Detective Tony Rodriguez." She shook the hand he offered. Tony waved from a distance, then joined them. He sat in the pew in front.
"Tell me what happened, Father Antonio," she began.
"Not much to tell. I came here to take confession. Got to the chapel just after dusk, maybe a quarter after seven. I was running a little behind my schedule, so I wasn't paying much attention, I'm afraid. That's when I found . . ." His voice trailed off. He took another sip of coffee. The dark, steaming liquid quaked in his grip. With the cup now held in his lap, Raven stared down into the dark ripples of his coffee when he spoke.
"I was praying when I heard the dripping sound. I thought we had a roof leak in the chapel." He tried to find humor in his assumption, but his laughter sounded more like a choked sob.
With the priest's last remark, Raven found the eyes of her partner, to see if he'd caught the same thing. But his face was unreadable.
She persisted, "Did you see or hear anything out of the ordinary, Father?"
"It was dark," the priest replied. His eyes stared straight ahead, as if he were reliving the moment. "The chapel lights are usually on, but they weren't when I came in."
"And did you know the deceased, Father? Did he come to church here?" she asked.
"No. But I didn't—I couldn't look at him." The priest shook his head, struggling to block the memory.
"Can you think of anything else?" she prompted.
The young cleric shook his head, staring into his coffee cup.
"Well, if something comes to you, anything at all, call me. Even the smallest detail might help." Raven handed him her business card. Touching his arm, she got him to look her in the eye. "Be sure to get some help in dealing with this, Father. Don't try and do it on your own. Call me if you need a referral."
"Thank you, Detective. I appreciate your concern. I'll call if I think of anything."
Father Antonio stood and shook their hands. Two other priests escorted the young man back to the rectory. She and Tony watched him walk away.
"You thinkin' what I'm thinkin'?" She glanced toward her partner.
"Depends on if you're thinking Starbucks and a Krispy Kreme would taste pretty good right now and that you'd like to get home before midnight. But if you're thinking that, I'd say we been partners too long," he bantered. When she narrowed her eyes, giving her best sarcastic look, he asked for clarification. "Enlighten me."
"I was just thinking about that whole blood-dripping thing, and how he heard that. I think our good father had someone watching over him tonight." When Tony looked puzzled, she explained. "The vic's blood was still dripping. That means Father Antonio barely missed the killers making their renovation to St. Sebastian. I think that whatever made him late probably saved his life."
Raising his eyebrows in agreement, he pursed his lips and nodded. "Interesting observation, Mackenzie. Well, you know what they say? He works in mysterious ways."
"Maybe Father Antonio's guardian angel will bring us good luck." She punched Tony's arm affectionately. "Now let's go tackle some paperwork. With us talking to Fiona Dunhill tomorrow, I got a feeling a mountain of paper, stale coffee, and secondhand smoke from the bullpen is gonna seem like heaven."
Even though false bravado tempered her voice, she knew enough to worry. Money and power were a deadly combination in the wrong hands.
And Fiona Dunhill had both.
CHAPTER 2
Dunhill Estate
Shoreview Historic District
"Get a load of this place!" Tony gawked at the acres of pristine countryside. "They must have a riding mower."
"People like this don't get their kicks from wrangling the trusty Toro. They hire it done," Raven teased.
Her eyes on the rearview mirror, she made note of all the firepower carried by the armed guards at the imposing fortress at the front gate. Security personnel dressed in black uniforms commanded the precision of the military. Maybe more like well-paid mercenaries. But mission accomplished, the entrance to the Dunhill Estate was a battlement.
Yet once inside the grounds, she found the view spectacular, despite the cold gray morning. Age-old oaks were rooted to the fertile soil, the expanse of their branches giving an air of timelessness. Slowly negotiating the curves of the asphalt drive in her police-issue burgundy Crown Vic, Raven marveled at the grand estate looming on the horizon—a white colonnade of southern charm with the backdrop of Lake Michigan.
"This place is like a throwback to the late eighteen hundreds—and so close to the heart of Chicago. Amazing!" She widened her eyes in awe.
They pulled up to the front tiled steps. Raven suddenly felt intimidated by the size and opulence of the manor. Tony must have felt it, too. He squirmed in his seat, crooking a finger between his neck and shirt collar.
"I thought this clip-on tie wouldn't feel so tight around my neck, but my damned shirt collar is choking me."
Raven fought to hide her amusement. Apparently, there were no secrets between her and Tony if he admitted owning a clip-on tie, much less had the nerve to actually wear it.
"I know you're not comfortable, but you still look nice, partner." She grinned.
When he stopped his fidgeting and returned a smile, his dark eyes softened. She knew his pale blue oxford button-down didn't fit anymore. And admittedly, his brown herringbone sport jacket, with its dated elbow patches, should have remained hidden in the back of his closet. But Tony was her partner, for better or worse. Today just happened to tip the scales on the side of worse.