The Breakthrough Read online

  “Anybody in it?”

  “I think so. Hard to see.”

  “Can you see a plate number?”

  He heard the rustle of a curtain. “Can’t make it out, but it doesn’t look like an Illinois tag. Dark background.”

  “What color?”

  “Can’t tell from here.”

  “What kind of car?”

  “Foreign. Compact. Old, shabby.”

  “Hon, my binoculars are on the shelf in the front closet. See if you can give me a tag number.”

  He heard her set the phone down and rummage. She called out, “Found ’em!”

  A few seconds later she was back on the phone. “Solid background, maybe a little lighter than navy, three white numbers and three white letters, can’t make out the state.”

  “Indiana,” Boone said. “Read ’em off to me.”

  “You won’t be able to write them down.”

  “C’mon, Hael. Memorizing plate numbers is a hobby of old street cops.”

  She recited the numbers and letters.

  “I’ll run it, but don’t open the door to anyone you don’t recognize.”

  2

  Unwelcome

  The mystery car, a twelve-year-old Nissan Sentra, was registered to DeWayne Mannock, male, Caucasian, age twenty-nine, no current warrants, long history of suspended licenses for DWI, DUI, reckless driving, and even excessive lane changing. His license had been reinstated just four months before, restricted to work-related trips.

  As Boone turned onto the street leading to his cul-de-sac, he phoned Haeley again.

  “Any idea how DeWayne Mannock got our home address?”

  “Oh, Boone! No!”

  “Ever known him to be dangerous? Violent?”

  “No, but be careful. He was a jock, you know.”

  “What’re you, serious? I thought he was a skinny little loser.”

  “Uh, no. A loser for sure, but not always. He was once cut, strong.”

  Boone shook his head, recalling the mug shot of Haeley’s old boyfriend, the father of her child. A mullet on a real man?

  “I called for backup, but they’ll wait around the corner until I need them. I want to talk to this guy.”

  “What could he possibly want after all this time?” Haeley said.

  The sun was gone when Boone slowly pulled in and parked under a streetlamp about twenty feet behind the Sentra. The driver seemed to be studying his rearview mirror. Boone pulled a flashlight from the glove box, emerged slowly, and opened his back door. He laid the light on the seat and donned his uniform cap and coat. After buttoning it from the bottom, he cinched his gun belt tight, tucked the flashlight under his arm, and strode to the left rear of Mannock’s car.

  Boone stopped at the taillight and directed his light into the driver’s outside mirror. The Nissan started.

  “Don’t even think about it!” Boone bellowed, free hand on the leather flap covering his Beretta. “Shut it off!”

  The car died, and the driver left the key turned far enough to roll down his window. “Problem, officer?”

  “Keep your hands on the wheel.”

  “You don’t want my license or registration?”

  “I want you to speak only when spoken to and keep your hands on the wheel.”

  Boone’s shoulder radio squawked, “Backup in position.”

  “Ten-four. Stand by.”

  Boone approached the driver’s side, staying back so Mannock had to crane his neck to see him. That would make it harder for DeWayne if he had a weapon.

  “Where’s your license?”

  “Wallet. Back pocket.”

  “Slowly, under my light.”

  The wiry young man with greasy hair and a wannabe moustache handed his license to Boone.

  “Registration in the glove box?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Open it, but don’t reach in till I can see in there with my light.”

  Seeing no weapon, Boone told him to grab the registration. As Mannock handed it out, Boone moved next to the man.

  “You still live in Hammond, Mr. Mannock?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Long way from home, aren’t you, DeWayne?” Boone said, pronouncing it Duane on purpose.

  “It’s Dee Wayne, sir, and I know who you are.”

  “Don’t be answering questions I didn’t ask, DeWayne. Now what did I ask you?”

  “Yeah, long way, I guess.”

  “Still dealing at the casino there?”

  “Part-time. The economy, you know.”

  “Since you know who I am, you also know whose house you’re sitting in front of.”

  Mannock nodded. “Wondering if I could talk to you guys.”

  “You don’t have a phone? Why not call first?”

  “Don’t have a number.”

  “How’d you find the address?”

  “That’s easy with the Internet and everything.”

  “What do you want with us?”

  “Well, it’s more what I want with Haeley.”

  “That’s not going to happen, DeWayne.”

  “You’re not even gonna let me talk to her?”

  “What do you want with a woman you haven’t seen for more than five years?”

  “My piece of the action.”

  “Step out of the car please, sir.”

  “Why?”

  “So I don’t have to put one in your ear and come up with a reason.”

  “Am I under arrest?”

  “Not yet.”

  “For what?”

  “You’re asking me what you’re not under arrest for?”

  Mannock slid out of the car and looked warily at Boone. “What?”

  “Follow me.”

  Boone led him to the back of the car. It appeared Mannock was trying to look nonchalant. He put one foot on the bumper and rested a tattooed forearm on his thigh. It read NEVER SAY DIE.

  “Haeley has moved on. Stay out of her life.”

  “You can’t keep me from talking to her.”

  Boone raised his eyebrows in the light from the lamppost and stared at Mannock. “Forget the uniform. Forget the badge. Forget the gun. I’m her husband, and you don’t want to test what you just said.”

  “Why can’t I talk to her?”

  “Because she’s my responsibility, and I don’t see anything good coming from that.”

  “Well, she shouldn’t keep all that to herself.”

  “All what?”

  “Everybody knows how much she got.”

  “And you want a piece of it.”

  “Who wouldn’t? Not much. Just some.”

  Boone could barely find words. He looked left. He looked right. He looked up. “Seriously, DeWayne?”

  “She’s got enough! She could give me twenty-five grand and not even feel it.”

  “You want twenty-five thousand dollars. For what?”

  “I got business ideas.”

  “Good for you. And why would you be entitled to one cent of her money?”

  “’Cause we were like common-law married.”

  “You lived together how long?”

  “I don’t remember.”

  “Not more than a few months. You find out she’s pregnant and you’re gone for good.”

  “Still, I’m the father.”

  “Yet you denied that under oath.”

  “A DNA test will prove it. The court’ll say I’m entitled to half what she got, and here I am only askin’ for seed money for my business.”

  “Now you want to claim paternity?”

  “I’m the father.”

  Boone tucked the flashlight back under his elbow, crossed his arms, and shook his head. “Could you be dumber?”

  “Why?”

  “Have you ever before claimed to be the father? Ever asked to see the boy? Ever sent a dime of support? Anything?”

  Mannock shrugged.

  “You didn’t even contest the adoption, and we know you were duly notified. And now somehow you and
she are partners, entitling you to a share of assets she was awarded five years after you disappeared, and not that long after you told investigators she was a loose woman and you had about a one in ten chance of being the father.”

  “I didn’t know what they were questioning me for! I thought maybe for child support. So I lied. I knew she was a virgin when we met. I’m the father; I know that.”

  “Any court anywhere would study your history and deny all rights.”

  “I don’t want rights anyway. I just want a little of her settlement.”

  “I rest my case. You can’t get any dumber.”

  “She might give it to me. She liked me once.”

  “Don’t flatter yourself, DeWayne. She was rebelling and you were convenient. She’s a different person now.”

  “You should still at least let me try to talk sense to her.”

  “Sense? You wouldn’t know sense if it stole your car.”

  “What?”

  “I’ve got a deal for you, DeWayne. You listening?”

  “I guess.”

  “There’s a squad around the corner, and the officers in that vehicle would love to collar a guy violating his probation.”

  “Who’s what?”

  “You don’t have work-only restrictions on your license?”

  “I was thinking of applying for a job at one of the Chicago casinos, so coming this way is just like driving to work.”

  “Is it? Should we deliver you back to Hammond and let a judge decide?”

  DeWayne seemed to be trying to stare Boone down.

  “You know as well as I do that that would be the end of your license and your part-time job. What would you do then?”

  “That’s why I need a little money.”

  “DeWayne, I’m hot, I’m tired, and I’m hungry. I’m going to give you ten seconds to get back in your car and get home, or I’ll turn my guys loose on you.”

  “You’re going to regret this, Drake.”

  “You want to waste time trying to find out if I’m bluffing, that’s on you. Seven, eight, nine—”

  DeWayne Mannock strolled past Boone and slowly slid into the car. Boone mashed the button on his shoulder transceiver. “Drake clear. Many thanks.”

  Mannock thrust his arm out the window and pointed at his tattoo. Boone snorted.

  Haeley, pale and shaky, was waiting at the back door when Boone came in. She held him tight. “Can’t wait to hear this,” she said.

  3

  Mouthwatering

  JUNE 22

  The next morning on their way to school, Max told Boone all about his recent visit with Aunt Flo. “I miss her.”

  “You miss that little church too?”

  “Sort of. But I like yours better.”

  “It’s ours now, bud.”

  “I liked the old one, but the Life church has so many more kids and things to do.” He still found it difficult to pronounce Community.

  “Aunt Flo lives a little far from us now, Max, but maybe we could see if she’s available again a week from tomorrow.”

  “Where you goin’?”

  “To a barbecue.”

  “I like barbecue.”

  “You want to come?”

  “Will other kids be there?”

  “Nope. Just six adults.”

  “Maybe Aunt Flo will cook me barbecue. She did before, you know.”

  “Did she?”

  “Really good, too.”

  “Let’s hope she’s free then.”

  “I want to stay overnight again.”

  “We’ll check with Mom on that.”

  When Boone dropped Max off, he reminded himself that he really must get back to his letter to the boy. He had written a letter to his first son the day he was born, telling him of his heritage and of his parents’ love and dreams for him. The idea was that Josh would read the letter on his twelfth birthday.

  Though Josh had died as a toddler, Boone still liked the letter idea. He had started his letter to Max the day he adopted him, but he had not finished and had not gotten back to it. Soon, he promised himself.

  Haeley was okay with the idea of Max staying at Florence’s, she told Boone that evening. “I could use the break.”

  “Not feeling any better?”

  “Worse. And I’m late, Boone.”

  He shot her a double take. “Should I be excited?”

  “Not yet.”

  “But there’s only one reason for being late, isn’t there?”

  “I’m only going by how it was with Max. I wasn’t even nauseated till several weeks in.”

  “So this is more than morning sickness?”

  She shrugged. “Hope not. But something’s not right. I made an appointment with Dr. Fabrie for a week from Monday. I tried to get in sooner, but she’s away till then. You need to meet her.”

  “I don’t want to get ahead of myself, love,” Boone said, “but I’m already excited.”

  “I’m not even sure I’m pregnant. If I am, and if it’s not right—”

  “Can’t you take a home test?”

  She fell silent.

  “Have you already taken one?”

  Haeley shook her head.

  “You’re afraid?”

  She nodded. “If I found out I was pregnant before I could talk to Kris, I’d be even more worried.”

  “You and your doctor are on a first-name basis?”

  “You’ll love her, Boone.”

  “If she delivers our baby, I sure will. What else could make you late?”

  “No idea. I just want her to tell me I’m pregnant and that everything is normal.”

  “Me too.”

  “But wouldn’t you think it would be the same as the first time?”

  “I wouldn’t know, Hael. You want to check with that Indian guy from church?”

  “He not a baby doctor.”

  “But don’t they all study this stuff? He could at least put your mind at ease.”

  “Maybe.”

  Boone found a home number for Dr. Murari Sarangan, the physician from St. Luke’s who had been so kind to him when he lost his first wife and son in a fire.

  He and the doctor traded pleasantries, and Boone apologized for bothering him after hours.

  “Don’t think a thing of it,” Dr. Sarangan said in his lilting accent. “I have been so pleased to see you with your new family.”

  Boone put his phone on speaker and introduced Haeley.

  “Yes, hello, Mrs. Drake! I have seen you at church with your handsome son.”

  Haeley briefly ran down her symptoms.

  “As you know, this is not my field, but many factors besides pregnancy can cause this. You do not appear either overweight or underweight.”

  “I always want to lose a few pounds.”

  “But if I may say, that is just vanity. Your weight does not appear to be a medical problem, at least from my perspective. And you’re sure you haven’t miscalculated on the calendar?”

  “I’m sure.”

  “Have you been under stress?”

  “Not at all. If my life was any better, I’d feel guilty.”

  “That’s wonderful,” the doctor said, but Boone was sobered. Was this the other shoe he’d feared would drop? “Any change in meds?”

  “I’m on nothing but a multivitamin.”

  “Good for you. That leaves just the symptoms. Illness itself can delay your cycle, but a pregnancy could also cause illness.”

  Haeley told him of her appointment.

  “I know Dr. Fabrie,” Dr. Sarangan said. “Excellent. She will be able to tell you for sure whether a pregnancy is causing your ailments or your ailments are causing your lateness.”

  Haeley asked him about a home test.

  “My only hesitation is that a false negative could result if you do this too early. And I suspect that would only add to your anxiety.”

  “For sure.”

  “I would advise you to treat your symptoms over the counter until your doctor can g
ive you a conclusive diagnosis.”

  JUNE 30

  Saturday morning Jack Keller and his former live-in girlfriend, Margaret, arrived in separate cars about half an hour before they and the Drakes were to leave for the west side. They had finally accepted a longstanding invitation from Fletcher and Dorothy Galloway. The last time Boone and Jack had visited the Galloways had been in the middle of the night to involve the recently retired chief of the Organized Crime Division in one last case. Dorothy had lectured the pair and told them the next time they came to her house it had better be because their cholesterol was down a quart.

  “And just so you know,” she had added, “I will be speaking only to the women.”

  “Been looking forward to a ride in your new chariot, Boones,” Jack said. “And have I got some questions for your wife.”

  “I can’t wait,” Haeley deadpanned. “Does decency ever give you pause?”

  Jack and Margaret both laughed.

  “Didn’t think so,” Haeley said. “But you need to know I don’t feel obligated to answer.”

  “We’ll see,” Jack said.

  “Well, we have to drop Max at the sitter’s before we go,” Haeley said, “so save it till he’s out of the car.”

  She put a package of raw burgers and dogs on the console in the front seat, then secured Max in the middle of the back. Jack and Margaret sat on either side of him.

  Both looked younger than their years. They’d had hard lives before they met each other, each having endured multiple marriages. Boone had seen Jack through several relationships since then, but he’d never seen his former partner, mentor, and boss truly in love. Until Margaret.

  Jack could have passed for late forties, as could Margaret. Both took great care of themselves. Jack was a daily jogger and lifter, and while Boone didn’t know Margaret’s regimen, it wasn’t common for a woman in her late fifties to look so fit and young. She was tall and lithe and tanned and freckled with long chestnut hair featuring attractive streaks of gray. Her pale azure eyes appeared both friendly and mischievous, and Boone could imagine her having been a hippie—before he was born.

  He’d been amused when he first met her because she wore clothes too young and revealing for her, and he assumed that was what attracted Jack. After only a couple of brief conversations, however, Boone got an inkling of what had actually so enraptured his partner. Margaret was honest and direct yet also others-oriented. She seemed the type who would do anything for a friend.