other officers. I’d already briefed them, so they know what we’re looking for—evidence of homicide, particularly the smoking gun, which in this case, is a garrotte. Or, anything related to the murder victims.
While they search the living area, I head straight to the bedroom. Most criminals hide incriminating evidence in their bedrooms, where they can keep an eye on it and ensure it stays hidden.
After pulling on a pair of gloves, I search his dresser and nightstand. Nothing there. Then I search the small walk-in closet. Along the perimeter of the closet are shelves high up, above the clothing rods. The shelves are stacked with a multitude of cardboard shoeboxes. I pull down the boxes, one at a time, and search them thoroughly. It wouldn’t be hard to hide a slender, flexible wire in one of these boxes.
Most of the shoeboxes contain shoes. A few hold old family photographs and mementos from high school. One box is filled with photographs of Brad Turner—the two men together on vacations, at the beach, camping, hiking, on a cruise, photos of them engaging in sex. There are a couple of flash drives in the box, too, and I’m pretty sure they contain videos of the two men having sex.
When I search the last box in the back corner, I hit gold. Inside, lying beneath a red silk handkerchief, is a gruesome display that warrants Valdez’s arrest for the murder of three men.
Three different Polaroid photographs of a man with a garrotte cinched around his bloodied neck. The three murder victims.
The garrotte in the photographs looks to be about eighteen inches long, a razor-thin wire with wooden handles at each end.
The idea that Ian could have been number four makes me sick. My stomach churns, and bile shoots up into my throat, burning me.
The photographs are enough evidence to arrest Valdez on suspicion of three counts of murder. But the key piece of evidence I’m looking for is missing.
The garrotte is missing.
And that worries me more than anything.
I photograph the contents of the box and call for a forensics team to come process all of the evidence.
“I found what I was looking for,” I call out to the other officers as I return to the living area.
The officers stay behind to wait for the forensics team to arrive. My plan is to return to the precinct and file a request for an arrest warrant for Roy Valdez. But first, on my way to my car, I text Miguel. The killer is out there somewhere, possibly with a garrotte in his pocket, and I need to know that Ian’s safe.
Chapter 18
Ian Alexander
“I’m going to the marina,” I tell Miguel as I polish off the last bite of my salmon filet.
We stopped for a late lunch at Tavern on Rush, one of my favorite local restaurants. We’re seated out in front of the restaurant at one of the sidewalk tables. It’s a beautiful day, with clear blue skies and a nice breeze, and I need to be out on the water. I’m feeling antsy and I need physical activity. I need the sun beating down on my skin and the wind in my hair. I need to forget about Tyler.
As Miguel polishes off the last of his burger and fries, I lean back in my chair and study him. I can’t hang out with someone and not get to know him… it’s way too impersonal. He may be a bodyguard, but he’s not a servant. He’s not some nameless, faceless employee. “So, what do you do when you’re not working?”
He looks a bit surprised by my question. “During my down time—which is pretty rare—I work on my car. It takes a lot to keep a classic in top-top shape.” He wipes his mouth on a napkin. “I ride my motorcycle out in the country, play basketball with my buddies, and on Sunday afternoons, my whole family gathers at Abuela’s house for an amazing meal.”
“Abuela? That’s your grandma?”
“Yeah.” He nods. “I’m a pretty simple guy, living a pretty simple life. I work a lot and play whenever I have the chance. I can’t complain.”
“What did you do before becoming a bodyguard?”
“I did a stint in the military—six years in the Army right out of high school. After I got out, I came back here to Chicago and started messing around with kickboxing and MMA. That’s how I met Liam McIntyre. He told me about his brother’s company, McIntyre Security, and I applied for a job. Shane hired