Free The Chicago Way by Michael Harvey

noticed a piece of paper slipped under my door. I walked over and picked it up. Eat-A-Pita was having a special on char-grilled shrimp pitas layered with onions and wasabi sauce. I turned off the hot stove and was about to head out when the phone rang. I didn’t recognize the number but picked up anyway.
    “Kelly, it’s Vince Rodriguez.”
    The detective’s voice seemed a little stretched. Whatever he needed to talk about, Rodriguez had given it some thought and was uneasy.
    “You eat yet?” he said.
    I told Rodriguez about the special at Eat-A-Pita. He seemed properly impressed.
    “How about I meet you there,” he said. “Half hour.”
    I FOUND RODRIGUEZ in a booth by the window. I figured the detective wanted one of two things. Help with a case. Or help with Nicole. I had barely sat down before I got my answer.
    “You and Nicole,” Rodriguez said.
    “Yeah.”
    “Friends since you were kids.”
    “Nicole told you all that, huh?”
    “A little bit.”
    “She grew up a couple houses down the street. Over on the West Side. I looked out for her growing up. Now I think she looks out for me.”
    I took a cursory look at the menu and kept talking.
    “Why the interest, Detective?”
    I tried to keep the grin out of my voice. Across the table, the Unflappable One squirmed.
    “She probably told you. We got a bit of a thing.”
    “A thing?”
    I took a sip of water and waited.
    “You know how it is. On the job and stuff.”
    A waitress drifted over. We both ordered the special. Rodriguez added an iced tea.
    “If she likes you, don’t try to figure it out,” I said. “Just take it as a blessing. Pray she doesn’t wake up one day and change her mind. At least that’s what I’d do. Is that all you wanted to ask me, Detective?”
    “Pretty much. I just wanted to see, you know.”
    “Whether we were more than friends?”
    “Yeah.”
    I shrugged.
    “Never have been. Just not like that.”
    I thought Rodriguez would let it lie. I was wrong.
    “Is there something else going on with her?”
    “How so?” I said.
    “I don’t know. Just seems like there’s some kind of hurt. When you were around the other night, it got a little easier. At least, it seemed that way.”
    “How much does she mean to you, Detective?”
    “You think I like making a fool of myself in front of an ex-cop I barely know?”
    “You give it time. You let her figure it out. Let her figure you out.”
    “I’m thinking maybe we shouldn’t work together. Maybe that would make it better.”
    “Can’t answer that for you.”
    Rodriguez emptied a packet of sugar into his tea and watched it dissolve.
    “I’m not a guy who’s been married before,” he said. “No divorce or any of that stuff. You were a cop. You know what I mean.”
    I did.
    “Give it some time,” I said. “She’s worth it.”
    Our orders came, and we ate in silence for a bit.
    “Any progress on the rape?”
    “Still waiting for Nicole’s lab work,” the detective said. “If she can get DNA off those bedsheets, we might be in business. By the way, what exactly makes you think this guy is a killer?”
    I shrugged.
    “Your victim says he had finished raping her. Done. But he continues with the knife play. Runs it along her ribs, tears up the side of her shirt. Small cuts to the throat. Why?”
    Rodriguez waited.
    “He was playing with her,” I said. “Like a cat plays with a mouse. See if he can get a rise out of her. A little more excitement. Guy like that, he’s building to something. A release.”
    “He kills her,” Rodriguez said.
    “That’s what the cat does with the mouse.”
    Our waitress drifted over. Rodriguez took a refill on his tea.
    “I asked around about you,” he said. “Heard you were pretty good with a case file.”
    The detective was right. In 2003 Chicago had six hundred fresh homicides. I cleared twenty-five of them in eight months, working alone. The next guy had half that and he was working most of the time with a partner. I