Fractured by Wendy Byrne Page A

cop in her searched for gang tattoos on his exposed arms.
    Nothing. But nowadays the gang members had gotten smarter. They’d put their markings in areas that weren’t visible. Sometimes they’d put them on the sides of their fingers, sometimes on torsos that remained hidden unless they wanted to expose their affiliation.
    That day she’d seen him he’d worn all black without the contrasting gold of the Kings or the blue of the Aces. That didn’t necessarily mean anything, especially if he knew Lou lived in the same building as a cop.
    She had asked Lou about the guy later, but he hadn’t been overflowing with information. He’d only told her Sergio had been a work acquaintance and that they’d both gotten laid off at the same time. Not much to go on.
    Maybe if she stopped by Schmidt Packaging, Lou’s former employer, she might glean a little more information. Most people had a tendency to be cooperative when a cop came around to ask questions.
    Schmidt Packaging was in a brick warehouse similar to the ones that surrounded it. She circled the block a couple of times to scope it out. The loading dock was housed in back. A trickle of trucks lined up to get their packages loaded by able-bodied men and women.
    She pulled into a spot marked for visitors and went through the front door. A woman sat at a desk behind what looked like heavy-duty bullet-proof glass answering phones. Isabella spotted others working inside, mostly females, in cubicle-like structures. It looked pretty busy for someplace that fairly recently had to lay off workers.
    For the first time she wondered if Lou had been honest with her. A slow creep worked up her spine, but she squashed it.
    After getting a break from the phone answering, the woman clicked on a sound system in order to communicate. “Can I help you?”
    She flipped out her badge. “Detective Sanchez. I’d like to speak with someone in charge.”
    â€œMay I ask what this is regarding?”
    She shrugged as nonchalantly as possible. “Just a few questions about some burglaries in the neighborhood.”
    A slight fabrication. But there had to be at least some burglaries going on within an eight-square-block area of this place.
    Besides, she’d learned long ago if she threw out a carrot, it would pique curiosity. From that comes open doors. Naturally they’d wonder why they hadn’t heard about the burglaries, if there was something they could do to prevent it, or only to hear the gossip. The reasoning didn’t matter; it all worked to her advantage.
    â€œI’ll get Mr. Schmidt for you.”
    The top dog. Excellent. “Thank you. I appreciate that.” Isabella didn’t sit down in one of the chairs for a couple of reasons: For one, she didn’t expect she’d be kept waiting very long. For another, she had too much adrenaline to sit right now.
    The woman behind the window spoke. “Mr. Schmidt will see you now. I’ll buzz you in.”
    The woman flicked something behind the desk that unlocked the door. Isabella pulled at the flip handle and was surprised at the strength of it. The door was made of solid steel with one of those reinforced door latches that could withstand anything but a missile attack.
    Why did a packaging company need all this protection? Bulletproof glass in the reception area, steel reinforced doors and, from what she could tell, a state-of-the-art alarm system.
    Sure, this was not one of the best neighborhoods in Chicago, but there were areas a lot worse. Maybe the owner was a little paranoid, maybe they had some unfortunate incidents in the past, or maybe there was something more to it.
    â€œRight this way, Detective Sanchez.” The woman led her through a series of cubicles to a corner office on the right-hand side.
    The man behind a large mahogany desk pulled off reading glasses and stood. His hand was outstretched and gripped hers in a firm shake. “Jonathan