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“Alexandra Conway.”
“Your husband’s name?”
“Jeremy Trotter. Goes by Jerry.”
Showing no reaction, Summers wrote the names on the form. “Did you get the hitman’s name?”
Why would a hitman toss his name out there? Especially to someone who was hiring him?“No. He never said his name.”
“You live in Evanston, right? What’s your address?”
She rattled off the address. Pressed her palms on her thighs to stop her legs from jittering.
“I’ll have a uniform talk to Mr. Trotter tomorrow,” Summers said. He set his pen on his desk and studied her for a long moment. “Maybe you misunderstood,” he finally said. “Coulda been a business conversation about an upcoming project.”
“Yes,” Alex said evenly. “It was a business conversation. About my murder.”
“We’ll check it out, Mrs. Trotter.”
“It’s Ms. Conway,” she said.
“Sorry, Ms. Conway. One of our officers will get your husband’s side of the story.”
Alex studied the detective for a long moment. Trial lawyers needed to be able to read people. Clients. Witnesses. Judges. Juries. Summers wasn’t going to help her. And when he or another officer talked to Jerry, her husband would realize she knew about his scheme.
“You know, Detective, maybe you’re right. Maybe I misunderstood Jerry. Don’t bother sending someone to talk to him.”
“You sure, Ms. Conway? It’s not a problem.”
“No, they were speaking quietly. I guess I misunderstood.” She stood up to leave. “I apologize for wasting your time.”
Alex ran down the stairs. As she pushed through the doors, the desk cop’s phone rang.
He listened for a long moment, then said, “Sounds like you had a live one, Summ… uh, officer. Shift change report is in five minutes. You can tell everyone about it. We all need a laugh.”
Her face burning, Alex exited the building. Summers hadn’t believed her. And now he was going to tell the rest of the cops on his shift about the crazy broad who thought her husband had hired a hitman.
At least he wouldn’t be talking to Jerry. If Summers had taken her seriously, Jerry would realize she’d overheard him. He’d tell Southern Accent to speed up the plan.
If the police didn’t believe her, she had nowhere to go for help. She wasn’t safe. She had to disappear.
After leaving the police station, she drove around downtown Evanston until she found an all-night convenience store. She parked, hurried in and bought a burner phone. Drove to the lakefront park near downtown Evanston.
She sat in the car and transferred her contacts from her phone to the burner. Then she trudged into the woods. Hidden in the shadows of the trees and bushes, she hunted for a large rock. When she found one, she pounded her iPhone into an unrecognizable mass of twisted metal and plastic. Then she dumped it in a garbage bin. With any luck, it would disappear into a landfill in a few days.
* * *
Gideon Wolf slid the thick envelope of bills into the inside pocket of his jacket and stood up. “Don’t call me,” he told Jerry Trotter. “I’ll let you know when it’s done. And don’t expect it to happen immediately. I’ll do extensive surveillance before I make my move. In the meantime, act normal around Alexandra. If she’s smart, she’ll suspect something’s up if you get squirrelly.”
“That’s the problem,” Trotter said, his mouth turning down in a sulky pout. “She’s too smart. Can’t put a damn thing over on her.”
Then why’d she hook up with a loser like you?
As if he’d heard Gideon’s thoughts, Trotter smirked. “The sex was off-the-charts-hot, though.” He scowled. “Back when we actually had sex.”
Okay. Question answered. Sex could make even a smart woman blind. Nodding at Trotter, Gideon let himself out the front door as Trotter took one more look at Gideon’s hands. He’d worn nitrile gloves, and they freaked Trotter out. His gaze had kept dropping to the blue gloves, and Gideon had deliberately kept them in Trotter’s line of vision.
Making sure the guy was afraid of the hit man he’d hired suited Gideon’s plans perfectly.
