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As Jess climbed into the van in the parking garage, her cell phone rang. She recognized the number.

“Yeah, Sam. What’s up?”

“Harper has got a bail hearing in an hour, give or take, depending on the docket. Thought you’d want to be there.”

“An hour?” Even time was conspiring against Seth. Getting out on bail was a long shot at best, but without that tox result, the odds of him seeing daylight anytime soon just got shot to hell.

Sam gave her the particulars, and continued, “The DA wants Harper remanded without bail. They plan to argue he’s a flight risk due to his sketchy background with no apparent ties to the community. And with the strong evidence they have against him and the brutal nature of the crime, they can make a convincing argument he’s a danger to the community. Even his big, brown, puppy-dog eyes won’t help. It doesn’t look good that he’ll be out of jail anytime soon.”

“Thanks, Sam. I’m on my way. And I’ll call you later to let you know what happened.” But Jess wasn’t hopeful Harper would be with her when she made that call, even if she could scrounge up bail.

“Oh, and one more thing,” Sam interrupted. “I looked into the police records for Beladi and Pinzolo. These are two nasty dudes. Beladi runs hookers and sells drugs, but he’s real cagey, and some of his business dealings are legit. The DA has had a hard time making an arrest stick. And Pinzolo is his muscle, suspected in more than one murder. We may never know if Beladi was Desiree’s pimp or dealer, but if Harper got between her and Beladi, he may have crossed paths with the wrong guy. And now, you have, too. Watch your backside, Jess.”

“Oh, great. And here I thought Fugitive Recovery was a great way to meet people.” She shook her head. “Call me when you know something more. And thanks, Sammie.”

Jess ended the call and put the key in the ignition to start the van. Seth’s blue monster. Driving his car—the one he had given her out of kindness—made her feel her connection to him all the more. The guy didn’t have a malicious bone in his body. And forcing him to stay in jail while he waited for trial would drain what was left of his spirit. She had already seen the damage from his incarceration over a weekend.

“Damn it, Harper. You gotta let your friends help you.” She headed for the exit and the courthouse at 26th and California Avenue. “Who the hell are you protecting?”

Cook County Criminal Courthouse

Being held in the Cook County Jail, Harper was a block down from one of the busiest felony courthouses in the country—only a short hike to public humiliation.

Jess had parked her car in a pay lot on a nearby street, not knowing how long she’d be waiting for Harper’s bail hearing. After securing her Colt Python in the glove compartment of the van, she stood in line with the masses for the metal detector and finally made her way to the room where Harper would be taken. The wood-paneled courtroom was packed with the ebb and flow of concerned parties for every case heard before Judge Joseph Bellinger, the presiding judge of the criminal division.

Overworked public defenders with their bland expressions handled one case after another. Prisoners wore civilian clothes or DOC jumpsuits and were brought in from a side entrance. Family members and other interested parties crammed the small room. Controlled chaos.

Dressed in a red prison jumpsuit, Harper was escorted into the room. Jess craned her neck to get a better look at him and tried catching his eye. When that didn’t work, she stood. Seth looked dazed, but eventually he found her standing toward the back of the room. He locked his gaze on her and with a subtle shake of his head, she knew he wished she hadn’t come, but the kid was scared. Really scared.

When his lawyer sidled up next to him, Harper turned around and lowered his head, and the proceedings began as she sat back down.

Handing the judge a case file, a court clerk said loud enough for the courtroom to hear, “Docket number 34521 People v Seth Harper, voluntary manslaughter.”

The judge flipped through the filing papers and cleared his throat.

“Voluntary manslaughter,” Judge Bellinger repeated the charge without looking up. “What’s your plea, Mr. Harper?”

Seth kept his head down, barely looking up at the man in the black robe. Jess could only imagine the terrible blur his life had become. And today was another sickening spiral of degradation.

“Not guilty, Your Honor.”

Jess barely heard his voice through all the commotion near her. After Harper choked out his plea, the judge asked for the People to present the evidence against him. Stacy Nichols, a slender blonde in a rust-colored suit spoke up, a young attorney with the DA’s Office trying to make her mark. She knew of the woman and her ruthless reputation. Ruthless in a prosecutor was a good thing normally, as far as Jess was concerned, but not when directed at Harper.

“He was found with the body in a motel room, and he was covered in blood, Your Honor. A bloody handprint at the scene was identified as belonging to the defendant,” the ADA said. “The People have strong and sufficient evidence against Mr. Harper, and we consider him a flight risk. He’s got no ties here, and given the heinous nature of the crime, he’s a danger to the community. We recommend he be remanded without bail, Your Honor.”

Harper jerked his head up for a moment and stared at the woman but quickly dropped his chin to his chest. It broke Jess’s heart to see him look so defeated.

The public defender appeared disorganized as he fumbled through paperwork. The older man in a rumpled suit looked burned-out and jaded, having seen far too many days as a public defender to be an effective advocate for Harper. Jess knew her first impression of the man wasn’t fair, but she hated to see her friend not get a fair shake when he needed it most. Harper would have an uphill battle even if he had the best mouthpiece money could buy.

“I just got assigned this case, Judge, but my client has no priors. And he’s…”

Before the man pleaded his hasty case for bail, a voice came from the back of the room and interrupted the proceedings.

“Please…may I interrupt, Your Honor?”

A tall, extraordinary-looking man with gray hair and riveting dark eyes came forward from the back of the room, dressed in a suit that screamed the word “money.” He walked with fluid grace and the confidence of a wealthy man used to getting his way. And his deep baritone voice exuded poise, enough to make the judge look up.

“And who might you be?” he asked. “Please state your business before this court.”

“My name is Anthony Salvatore. I’m a local business developer in town. My holdings are under the name of Pinnacle Real Estate Corporation.”

When Jess heard the man’s name, she knew exactly who he was, and by the look on the judge’s face, he did, too.

CHAPTER 11

Now she knew why Anthony Salvatore’s Pinnacle Real Estate Corporation had rung a bell when she first saw the reference at Harper’s posh new hangout. The influential man owned half the prime real estate in Chicago, a major player on the local money scene. Chicago’s version of Donald Trump—only with good hair.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” she said under her breath.

As Anthony Salvatore came forward, an officer of the court accompanied him. The uniformed man escorted him from the public seating area behind a wooden railing to the defense table.

“It’s my understanding this young man has not been very forthcoming with his background, no doubt to his own detriment. But I believe he was mistakenly trying to hide his ties to me, to protect what he perceives to be a stellar reputation.” With a charming smile, the man put his arm around Seth. Harper’s head drooped as Salvatore continued, “And despite what the DA’s Office has presented, Seth has very deep ties to this community. He was born and raised here and is the son of a very good friend of mine. A police detective by the name of Max Jenkins. After an unfortunate divorce, Seth’s mother had the boy’s name changed.”