Broken (14 page)

“Are we going to have a problem here, O’Loughlin?” Arena asked, not even trying to hide his eagerness.

“No.” Jay answered Arena but stared at Berg. “We’re not going to have a problem, Arena. There’s nothing here worth fighting for.” He turned and stalked back into his office and slammed the door behind him.

“What the fuck was that about?” Arena asked as he and Berg headed down to the basement floor interview rooms where Feeny was waiting—no doubt with his lawyer—as requested after returning from New York.

“Difference of opinion,” Berg muttered.

“About what?” Arena asked, none too subtle in his nosy approach.

About how fucked up I am.

“Nothing you need concern yourself with. It’s no big deal.”

Arena raised an eyebrow, but left it.

The detectives opened the door of Interview Three and strode in. They carried little by way of props, Arena sporting a thick, yellow file labeled ‘Feeny’, which detailed the murders of his wife and mistress, their autopsy reports, the scant few leads they had, and little else. Feeny and his lawyer stood and they all shook hands politely, like the civilized people they were pretending to be.

Feeny’s lawyer—Berg had missed his name—eyed them shrewdly. His designer suit and leather briefcase reeked of a Loop blue ribbon law firm.

She sighed inwardly—clearly Feeny had no intention of making this easy. “We appreciate you coming in, Mr. Feeny. This won’t take long. We just have a few standard questio—”

“If we could get to it?” Feeny’s lawyer said. “My client’s a busy man.”

“Fine. So how long were you in a sexual relationship with Lauren Wesley, Mr. Feeny?” Berg asked before they even sat down.

Feeny’s lawyer unbuttoned his silk jacket slowly before indolently lowering himself onto the hard metal interview chair as though he was reclining in a comfortable leather armchair at whatever exclusive club he was sure to be a member of.

“I was not in any such relationship with Miss Wesley,” Feeny replied, unruffled. “I knew her in her capacity of secretary of the golf club only.”

“Really?” Arena replied, feigning surprise. “Because we have a very interesting signed statement from her saying you were, in fact, having an affair, and that you were planning on leaving your wife for her until that got too complicated, and you just offed your wife instead.”

Feeny nodded toward his counsel.

“Sadly, it seems Miss Wesley had some unrequited feelings for my very happily married client. My client was hoping her feelings would resolve themselves, but it seemed they recently escalated. And, as we all know, desperate women can be . . . mistaken,” the nameless legal mouthpiece drawled.

“Really? Lauren also claimed to have been on your yacht and overheard you ordering a hit on your wife. She gave a very detailed description of the interior of the vessel. Care to explain that?” Berg asked.

“As I said, desperate women often resort to desperate tactics. She was upset, a stalker, and lied to get my client’s attention. Sadly, now she’s deceased, we won’t ever have the chance to expose her lies face-to-face. How unfortunate.” Feeny’s lawyer used the words ‘sadly’ and ‘unfortunate’ in tones that instead screamed ‘fuck you’ and ‘loser’.

“Yes. How unfortunate, and convenient, for you, Mr. Feeny,” Berg said sarcastically, ignoring the lawyer. “So you’re really going to maintain there was no relationship? That’s what we’re doing here today? Lying?”

“Asked and answered. There was no relationship.” The lawyer leaned back in the chair and smiled the phoniest smile Berg had ever witnessed.

“Interesting. Because we have a credit card receipt with your name on it for very expensive flowers delivered to Miss Wesley the week she died. How do you explain that, Feeny?”

Feeny flicked a glance at his lawyer, who nodded slightly. “I’m not denying I sent her flowers. She helped me with my swing the previous week, and it really improved my game. I wanted to thank her. That’s it. I’m terribly sorry if she read more into it.”

“It seems you thanked her quite regularly. There were multiple charges from that florist to your card.” Berg watched Feeny closely for a tell.

“I think you’ll find the other flowers were delivered to my wife, whom I loved very much,” Feeny said, knowing the florist didn’t keep address records beyond the delivery.

“When did your wife find out about Lauren?” Berg asked.

This time, the glance Feeny threw his lawyer was more than a little annoyed.

“My client has already stated categorically that he was not in a relationship with Miss Wesley. Move on,” the lawyer said coolly.

“Did you hire someone to kill both your wife and Miss Wesley, Mr. Feeny?” Berg questioned, leaning forward intently. The movement set her back ablaze as her clothes settled against the carpet-burned skin. She suppressed a wince.

“Do you honestly expect me to answer that?” Feeny said angrily. The lawyer touched Feeny’s hand briefly, and Feeny took a deep breath and calm himself down. “No, I did not. Why would I do such a terrible thing?” he said with a smirk.

“Maybe because your wife found out about your affair and was going to take you to the cleaners?” Berg retorted. She knew she was losing it, but she didn’t care—the asshole was not going to get away with two murders if she could help it.

Arena cleared his throat and gave her a ‘what the fuck are you doing?’ look.

The lawyer reached over again, silently signaling Feeny. “I assume you have some kind of proof that the late Mrs. Feeny was seeking a divorce? Otherwise, you are just making baseless accusations.”

Smug bastard.

Of course he knew the CPD didn’t have any proof. Any pending divorce proceedings were likely being handled by his very law firm and neatly buried behind client confidentiality laws. As much as they had tried calling every other law firm across Chicago, they couldn’t find anyone willing to admit they had been approached by Mrs. Feeny to handle a divorce.

The detectives were spitballing, and they all knew it.

“You don’t seem very upset over the brutal murder of your wife.” Arena rested his elbows on the table and clasped his hands in front of his mouth.

“How my client handles his considerable grief is not relevant and certainly none of your business. I would ask you keep the questions respectful, or this interview will be over. I remind you that we don’t have to be here today.”

“How do you explain that your wife, plus another woman you claim not to be having an affair with, were both killed within weeks of each other?” Berg tried to sound casual, but she knew she was pressing it.

Feeny’s lawyer practically pounced on the table to answer. “My client is devastated at the loss of his wife, plus another innocent woman in an increasingly violent city. Apart from my client, is there anything linking these crimes whatsoever? Evidence? Bullets?”

Berg pursed her lips. “The bullets from the crimes did not match, but as we suspect a silencer was used in the killing of your wife, Feeny, that’s not unexpected.”

The group all stared at each other, each waiting for the other to fill the silence. The minutes felt like hours.

Berg took a deep breath, trying to get her temper under control. “You’ve got to be feeling pretty unlucky about now, Feeny. What are the chances of two women you were involved with being murdered within weeks of each other? About a billion to one?”

“Oh, at least a billion,” Arena said, nodding.

“This is pure coincidence and nothing but speculation on your part. If you had any evidence of any wrongdoing, Mr. Feeny would be in custody and this interview would be over. But as you know full well, he was nowhere near either of the women at the times of their murders. There is no proof he ordered the murders. In fact, there is no proof these murders are even linked! There is no proof he was having an affair. Careful, detectives. We are here out of goodwill, and you are skirting dangerously close to having that goodwill run out. You are berating an innocent, grieving man.”

“We’ve got several golfers at the club willing to testify about the nature of the relationship between Feeny and Miss Wesley,” Arena lied.

“My client just announced a major sponsorship deal with the club, so I doubt that’s true. They’d hardly partner with someone with a history of inappropriate behavior. I think if you check again, you’ll find your so-called witnesses have found they simply misunderstood the completely plutonic relationship,” the lawyer said, clearly going for earnest but coming off as self-satisfied.

“You know what women are like when they get together.” Feeny curled his lips into a rancorous sneer. “The silly bitches think water cooler gossip is fact.”

The lawyer once again touched Feeny’s hand lightly, and he fell silent.

Arena snorted. “That’s a neat trick your lawyer’s got there. Does it also work on zoo animals and rabid dogs?”

Berg was losing her cool. “You don’t like women very much, do you, Feeny.” It was a statement, not a question.

“You occasionally have your . . . charms.” Feeny looked Berg up and down. “I’d imagine even a man-hating ballbuster like you could have some kind of interesting use—if only on your back.”

“Pull your head in, Feeny, or I’ll rip it off,” Arena said.

“This interview is over.” Rather than looking disturbed at the tension arcing across the table, Feeny’s lawyer looked vaguely amused, as if he was indulgently watching kids in a schoolyard scuffle.

“What is it, Feeny?” Berg couldn’t seem to stop the momentum now that she’d gotten a reaction. “You’d rather kill the women who love you than have them stand up to you? Divorce you? Is it that your tiny little ego can’t take it? Or is it something else that’s tiny?”

Arena sucked in a shocked breath. Berg had not only stepped over the line, but hurdled it, and kept right on running.

“What is it, detective?” Feeny mimicked. “Your daddy didn’t love you enough? Do strong men intimidate you? Is that why you prefer other girls? I’ve heard all kinds of stories about yo—”

At the end of her tether, Berg jumped up. Her chair shot across the room and crashed into the wall. “Sons of bitches like you don’t deserve to draw oxygen,” she said. “You go through life thinking you can do whatever you want to whoever you want, hiding behind your expensive lawyers, money and sponsorship deals, motivated only by greed, hatred, and your tiny little appendage. Don’t think for one second you are going to get away with it. I know what you are! Take my word for it: one way or another, you’ll pay for discarding those innocent women like they were nothing more than last week’s leftovers! You are now number one on my shit list, and I won’t rest until you’re behind bars!”

Feeny’s lawyer re-buttoned his suit jacket. “We’re done here. This has been nothing but an ambush and a witch hunt, and you can be sure we will be filing harassment charges against this department.”

He and a smug Feeny strode out, closing the interview room door behind them.

Seething, Berg picked up her fallen chair and hurled it with all her strength. It crashed into the unyielding door, leaving a dent in the solid metal just below the handle, before clattering to the ground, unbroken.

The door released and silently swung open a few inches.

“Jesus, Berg! What the fuck is your problem today?” Arena shouted. “We didn’t discuss an ambush strategy. That was our one shot. No way Feeny’s coming back in here voluntarily again. And the judge has already denied us an arrest warrant. Fuck!”

The door flew open thanks to a hard shove from outside. “What’s going on in here?” Jay yelled. “I’ve got enough to do without the front desk informing me that my detectives can be heard berating an interviewee from street level!” He glared at Arena, then Berg, awaiting an explanation. He stepped inside and tried to close the door behind him.

It swung open, tapping softly against the hall wall.

Jay fingered the significant dent in the door and cursed. “And now I’m meant to find money in an already stretched budget to fix this! Who did this?”

“I did,” Berg said, folding her arms.

“Why?”

“Feeny was pressing my buttons. That smug bastard killed his wife and lover and is going to get away with it!” Berg shouted.

“So find some fucking evidence, detectives!” Jay yelled back. “What, you thought you’d get him in here and he’d just confess? Talk to his friends, colleagues, college buddies, even his milkman, for fuck’s sake! You got him in here prematurely, and instead of using the interview to glean something useful, you—what? Lose it? In front of the guy’s lawyer? Are you fucking dumb? Arena, go back over the crimes with a fine-tooth comb. The evidence is there. Find it.”