Chapter 4
Cade walked into the station, coffee in hand and a smile on his face for the desk sergeant. But instead of the expected good morning exchange, the sergeant held up a slip of paper. “A tip came in for you, detective.”
Cade stopped short. “For me?”
“Asked for you by name.”
He took the slip of paper and read the short message. “Didn’t give you a name, huh?”
The sergeant shrugged. “An exercise in community service, according to the caller.”
“Gotta love a concerned citizen,” Cade muttered.
He read the note as he hustled upstairs to his desk. The tipster claimed a valuable Monet-esque painting had been stolen from a college museum. They’d even provided the suspect: Janice Willoughby, a graduate student working in the department.
His stomach knotted.
Anonymous tip on a non-violent crime, plus a name to go along with it? In his head, those details added up to Devyn Norris. Not cool. He wasn’t her personal detective, ready to jump whenever she left a message.
Carefully, he set the note down on the center of his desk. He stared at the slip of paper while he chugged down his coffee. Wasn’t his practice to ignore a tip, but he had his normal caseload to think about.
Was a stolen painting more important?
Not in his opinion. Moving the message aside, he pulled out his chair and got busy while the caffeine kicked in.
He spent an hour replying to emails from the state’s attorney’s office on a couple of cases that would go to trial soon.
He added another court appearance to his calendar, but he didn’t recall much about the case.
Looking it up, he stifled a groan. It had been a breaking and entering case that crossed his desk about a month after his girlfriend died. No wonder he was foggy on the details. He blocked out a few evening hours to refresh his memory so he didn’t undermine the prosecution.
Those early days—lost in his grief—he’d been a serious liability in the field. Now that he was feeling better, he wanted to do better for the folks counting on him. So he stayed focused on the concrete tasks in front of him, everything else taking precedence over the tip throughout the day.
He left the note where he’d see it in the morning, but he continued to ignore it for two more days. No more messages came in and he’d convinced himself the tip didn’t matter when Hoffman cornered him in the breakroom.
“Seriously, Laurier?” She waved the message in his face. “Why did you ignore this?”
“I didn’t ignore it,” he fibbed. “It’s called prioritizing.”
Her dark eyebrows climbed toward her hairline. “We’re going.”
“Hoffman—”
She glanced over her shoulder. “Now.” Her expression dared him to argue.
He didn’t. “You got the same tip?”
“No, I caught the actual case,” she explained as they headed downstairs.
“The museum curator called the police. He’s having conniptions about a stolen painting by a famous art restorer, Paula Sorenson.
Me, being an inquisitive soul,” she rested her fingertips on her chest, “I did some detective work. Her daughter is Marlene Sorenson, a famous psychic living right here in Chicago. We met her—”
“At the park a while back,” Cade finished. “Why would she call in an anonymous tip to me?”
Hoffman strode through the lobby and right out into the parking lot. “Probably wasn’t her.” She pinned him with a hard look. “My money is on Devyn.”
“If either of them have information on a crime, they should go through the regular channels.”
“Well, the curator did,” she said. “And based on the estimated value, it got bumped to me.”
“You know what I mean.”
“Mm-hm. Quit being stubborn.” Her chin dipped to the car. “Get in.”
Annoyed, he yanked open the car door and slid into the passenger seat.
“I’m right. You’ll see.”
Her soothing tone had the opposite effect. He was more than half afraid Hoffman was right. Why couldn’t Norris and her friend stay on their own side of law enforcement? “If Devyn Norris is involved, the chief will drag us over the coals again.”
“Not if she’s right and Janice-whoever has the painting. Looks like she took it late yesterday.”
“We’ll never get a search warrant on an anonymous tip alone.”
Hoffman snorted. “I’m not a newbie intimidated by your record, Laurier. We’re doing this by the book. We can confirm Janice—” She snapped her fingers.
“Willoughby,” he supplied.
“Yes. Her. We’ll confirm her ties to the museum and go from there. We’ll work it like we always do. Slow and steady, just the way you like it.”
“You make me sound like a grizzled old man.”
She shot him a look, then put her eyes back on the road. “Don’t act like one.”
He refused to dignify that with a reply. “Did the curator give you anything helpful?” he asked.
“A lot of details about where the painting should be and when. How and where it’s normally stored. I’m hoping it will make sense to me when we get there and see the place.”
“You don’t want to share any details ahead of time?”
“No point.” With two right turns, she paused at the gate blocking a small parking lot. Hoffman held up her badge and the gate lifted. “We’re here.” She cut the engine and reached for the door. “Let’s go.”
Cade climbed out and looked around at the buildings framing the lot. “This is the college museum? I expected to be on campus. Or...” He didn’t know what. None of the buildings felt modern enough or big enough for an acclaimed museum.
“Yeah, I get it,” she agreed. “Try not to say any of that in front of the curator.”
He was usually careful enough not to offend victims on the scene. “Got it.”
Cade let Hoffman take the lead since she’d caught the actual call about the theft. As they walked around to the front entrance, a single question clanged around in his mind: could he have prevented the theft if he’d acted on the tip the day it had come in?