Head Case Read online

  Contents

  Cover

  Also by Michael Wiley

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  Chapter Fifty

  Chapter Fifty-One

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  Chapter Fifty-Three

  Chapter Fifty-Four

  Chapter Fifty-Five

  Chapter Fifty-Six

  Chapter Fifty-Seven

  Chapter Fifty-Eight

  Chapter Fifty-Nine

  Chapter Sixty

  Acknowledgments

  Also by Michael Wiley

  The Sam Kelson mysteries

  TROUBLE IN MIND *

  LUCKY BONES *

  The Detective Daniel Turner mysteries

  BLUE AVENUE *

  SECOND SKIN *

  BLACK HAMMOCK *

  A Franky Dast mystery

  MONUMENT ROAD *

  The Joe Kozmarski series

  LAST STRIPTEASE

  THE BAD KITTY LOUNGE

  A BAD NIGHT’S SLEEP

  * available from Severn House

  HEAD CASE

  Michael Wiley

  This ebook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.

  First world edition published in Great Britain and the USA in 2021

  by Severn House, an imprint of Canongate Books Ltd,

  14 High Street, Edinburgh EH1 1TE.

  Trade paperback edition first published in Great Britain and the USA in 2022 by Severn House, an imprint of Canongate Books Ltd.

  This eBook edition first published in 2021 by Severn House,

  an imprint of Canongate Books Ltd.

  severnhouse.com

  Copyright © Michael Wiley, 2021

  All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. The right of Michael Wiley to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs & Patents Act 1988.

  British Library Cataloguing-in-Publication Data

  A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.

  ISBN-13: 978-0-7278-8983-6 (cased)

  ISBN-13: 978-1-78029-762-0 (trade paper)

  ISBN-13: 978-1-4483-0500-1 (e-book)

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Except where actual historical events and characters are being described for the storyline of this novel, all situations in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is purely coincidental.

  This eBook produced by

  Palimpsest Book Production Limited,

  Falkirk, Stirlingshire, Scotland

  For those who take down walls and fences

  ONE

  Gary Renshaw’s gelled black hair jutted like a breaking wave. Ever since a guard broke his jaw during his first stint in jail, the cock of his chin matched his hair.

  Sam Kelson pointed at Renshaw’s head. ‘You could wax a car with that thing,’ he said.

  Renshaw was proud of his hair and indifferent about his jaw. So he leveled his .22 Mossberg Plinkster – a kid’s rifle, for shooting at squirrels if a boy wanted to give the squirrels a fighting chance – and shot Kelson clean through the arm.

  The bullet popped a hole in Kelson’s biceps and left another hole on its way out. Blood pulsed from the wounds and streamed down Kelson’s arm.

  ‘Ho ho,’ Renshaw said. ‘An artery shot.’

  Kelson stared at his arm – then collapsed on the hallway floor.

  Renshaw grinned down at him. ‘So easy,’ he said. He aimed the rifle at a scar on Kelson’s forehead where a seventeen-year-old street dealer nicknamed Bicho also once shot him. ‘Anything to say?’

  ‘Oh, you’re in trouble now,’ Kelson said.

  Renshaw grinned. He had skinny teeth.

  Then a big gun fired from the end of the hallway. Renshaw seemed to lift into the air and fly away in a spray of astonishment. Kelson’s friend DeMarcus Rodman had arrived.

  Kelson looked toward Rodman. His eyes screwed, blurred. Rodman was six foot eight, almost three hundred pounds, but Kelson couldn’t see him.

  ‘What did you do this time?’ the big man asked, and Kelson passed out.

  Outside Renshaw’s condo, the city went through the motions of a cold January day. A gray sky hung overhead. Snow, as fine as dust, fell as if it never meant to touch the earth. There was no wind. Children on school playgrounds looked up with the joy they felt. Bus drivers and cabbies hesitated before turning on the wipers. The balding meteorologist on Midday News said the snow would stop by evening. His voice was gruff, but if you listened close, you heard the same joy you saw in the children’s eyes as icy pinpricks stung their cheeks.

  An ambulance siren pierced the air. The children turned their gaze back to the world. Cops flipped on their overhead lights. Bus drivers and cabbies inched to the curbs to let them by. The meteorologist sent it back to the anchor for a breaking story from the northside.

  Kelson, his blood pooling on the hallway floor, slept the sleep of the almost dead.

  TWO

  ‘Not even close,’ the surgeon told Kelson when he awoke two days later. ‘I mean, another five minutes, and we’d’ve said God rest his soul. OK, it was close, but we got you.’

  ‘Comedian,’ Kelson said. His mouth was dry, caked with crud. ‘I feel like I ate a bag of cat litter.’

  ‘What?’ the surgeon said. He rocked on his toes when he talked. He had short, curly blond hair and wire-rimmed glasses.

  ‘You look young enough to play make-believe doctor.’

  The surgeon smiled down at him. ‘And you look like you’re going to be
fine after some rest and rehabilitation.’ He held a clipboard with Kelson’s medical information.

  ‘Thanks for saving my life,’ Kelson said. ‘And my arm.’ Bandages – thick as a down coat – were wrapped around the arm, from his shoulder to his elbow.

  ‘Thank your pal for that,’ the surgeon said. ‘We did what we always do. He made sure you got here in time.’

  ‘DeMarcus?’

  ‘Great big guy? Eyes kind of funny – real close together?’

  ‘Yeah, DeMarcus,’ Kelson said. ‘Is he here?’

  The surgeon rocked on his toes. ‘He took off when the police said they wanted to talk to him. Something about the illegal use of a weapon.’

  ‘Could you stop doing that?’ Kelson said. ‘You’re making me seasick.’

  More rocking. ‘What?’

  ‘You look too young to use big-people scissors,’ Kelson said. ‘Who let you have a scalpel?’

  The surgeon tapped the clipboard. ‘I understand you suffer from disinhibition. Frontal lobe injury. After your previous firearm mishap. You can’t help saying what’s on your mind?’

  ‘Yep, that’s me.’ The scar on his forehead – still pink three years after Bicho shot him – proved it. So did his drooping left eye.

  ‘Well, it seems to be unaffected by the latest shooting.’

  ‘Thank God for that.’

  ‘We have a surprise for you.’

  ‘Surprise me by standing still.’

  The surgeon stepped to the door and signaled into the hall.

  Kelson’s twelve-year-old daughter, Sue Ellen, and his ex-wife, Nancy, came into the room.

  After growing three inches in the last three months, Sue Ellen looked like a mini-Nancy, with raven black hair and a hard chin.

  Nancy wore scrubs from the Healthy Smiles Dental Clinic. When she wasn’t working as a dentist, she practiced mixed martial arts. Since divorcing Kelson, she mostly treated him like she wanted to head-butt him and choke him out. But now she kissed him on the forehead.

  ‘Wow,’ Kelson said. ‘That close?’

  ‘They thought you were going to die,’ Nancy said.

  Sue Ellen hopped on to the side of the bed. ‘Mom said if you did, I could have your car.’

  ‘Not funny,’ Nancy said.

  Kelson grinned. ‘Funny enough.’

  ‘Mom also said I can get a potbellied pig.’

  Nancy curled her lips. ‘Did not.’

  Sue Ellen gave Kelson doe eyes. ‘What good is having my dad get shot if I don’t get presents?’

  ‘Did you feed the cats?’ Kelson asked her.

  ‘We got them from your apartment. I’m keeping them in my room.’

  ‘Only until they release your dad,’ Nancy said.

  ‘Or forever,’ Sue Ellen said.

  ‘Your daughter’s becoming snotty in her old age,’ Nancy said, and dug into her purse for a couple of bucks. ‘Go be snotty at the vending machines.’

  Sue Ellen snatched the bills. ‘Yeah, that’s subtle. If they have peanuts, I’m buying some for the pig.’ She darted from the room.

  ‘Wow,’ Kelson said.

  ‘My energy,’ Nancy said. ‘Your lack of self-control.’

  ‘She’s tough,’ Kelson said. ‘Like both of us.’

  Nancy looked him over. ‘What the hell happened?’

  ‘That bad?’

  ‘You look like you crawled out of a hole.’

  ‘A guy named Gary Renshaw ran this auto repair shop for high-end cars,’ he said. ‘When he had the cars in the shop, he made copies of the keys. A year or so later, he’d steal the best of them – from driveways, parking garages, restaurant parking lots. He took it slow, played the long game. He kept a list of ready buyers. Out of state. Out of country. He repainted the cars, changed the serial numbers. He was smart until he got stupid. He stole a second vintage Mercedes from the same collector in Hinsdale. I went to talk to Renshaw about it at his condo. Then he shot me.’

  ‘Stupid to confront a man like that at his own home,’ Nancy said.

  ‘DeMarcus went with me.’

  ‘Two stupid guys are better than one? When are you going to quit doing this?’

  ‘This?’

  ‘You had a good career – you’ve got disability. Yeah, it sucks that the kid shot you in the head. But it’s time to take it easy.’

  ‘I’m making a living.’

  ‘You’re going to get yourself killed. You can’t help yourself, Sam. You can’t shut your mouth. If you hide from a man with a gun and he calls your name, you call back, Yo, I’m in the closet.’

  ‘That happened only once.’

  ‘What happened this time? Did you tell Renshaw you were wearing a bulletproof vest so he should shoot you in your arm instead of your chest?’

  ‘Number one, I wasn’t wearing a vest. Number two, he shot me after I made fun of his hair.’

  ‘Call this what it is, Sam. Total lack of self-control. Men with brain damage don’t work as detectives.’

  ‘It makes me better at my job.’

  ‘In what possible sense?’

  ‘I’m more … empathetic.’

  ‘So empathetic you ridicule a man’s hair? A man with a gun? A man who shoots people who ridicule him?’

  ‘He also had skinny teeth. He looked like a chicken.’

  ‘Sue Ellen needs a dad. A living dad.’

  ‘Don’t bring her into it.’

  ‘Don’t bring your daughter into it?’

  ‘Our daughter. And she doesn’t worry about me doing my job.’

  ‘She’s twelve years old. She worries about everything.’

  ‘You think?’

  ‘Yeah. Most of all, you.’

  ‘When did she get started on potbellied pigs?’

  ‘First I’ve heard of it. And don’t change the subject.’

  ‘I don’t like your subject.’

  A short, muscular, olive-skinned man in his late twenties came in from the corridor. He wore blue nurse’s scrubs. ‘Excuse me,’ he said, ‘you’ve got another visitor.’

  Homicide detective Venus Johnson came into the room. Kelson knew her from two disastrous cases he’d worked since leaving the Chicago Police Department. She nodded at Nancy and raised her eyebrows as if they both knew what they were dealing with. She frowned down at him.

  Kelson said, ‘They put you on this?’

  ‘Do you see flowers?’ Johnson said. ‘Do you see a teddy bear in a cute sweater?’

  ‘Huh?’

  ‘Do you see a get-well card? Then I guess they put me on it. I kicked and screamed but it was my bad luck.’

  ‘Is DeMarcus in trouble for shooting Renshaw?’

  ‘We need to talk to him is all,’ she said. ‘D’you know where we can find him?’

  ‘He saved my life,’ Kelson said.

  ‘More bad luck,’ she said.

  ‘What kind of way is that to talk to a man who almost died?’

  ‘I’ve been saving up especially for you.’

  Nancy nodded, like she understood why.

  Kelson eyed the two women. ‘Didn’t the doctor tell you to avoid upsetting me?’

  Nancy and Johnson answered together. ‘No.’

  Kelson said, ‘If DeMarcus is hiding, he has good reasons. You tried his apartment?’

  ‘Yeah, dumbass, we tried his apartment. His girlfriend says she hasn’t seen him.’

  ‘Then he doesn’t want you to find him. I can tell you whatever you need to know about the shooting.’

  ‘And a lot more than I want to know,’ Johnson said.

  ‘Renshaw shot me in the arm. He wanted to shoot me again. DeMarcus shot him instead. That’s it.’

  The nurse watched their back-and-forth.

  Johnson asked Kelson, ‘Does he have a FOID card? I know he doesn’t have a concealed carry license. I checked.’

  ‘You want to nail him on a permit charge after he saved me from an execution?’

  ‘We like legal heroes.’

  Sue Ellen
came back into the room. She had a Snickers bar and a bag of Planters peanuts. She stopped cold and stared at Kelson. She stared at Nancy. She stared at Venus Johnson. ‘Are you going to arrest my dad?’

  Johnson looked confused. Then she softened. ‘No, honey. I’m making sure we get all the bad guys responsible for hurting him.’

  Sue Ellen looked at Kelson and Nancy, then at the police detective again. ‘Bullshit.’

  ‘That’s my girl,’ Kelson said.

  ‘Be polite, Sue Ellen,’ Nancy said.

  ‘Never be afraid to speak truth to power,’ Kelson said.

  Johnson said to him, ‘You should keep your mouth shut.’

  ‘Never happen,’ he said.

  Sue Ellen nodded. ‘He has disinhibition.’

  The nurse laughed. His laugh was deep and easy – a strange sound in the hospital room. He said, ‘You’re all a bunch of messed-up güeyes.’

  Nancy curled a lip at him. ‘Don’t you have somewhere else to be?’

  ‘No, ma’am,’ the nurse said. ‘The doctors told me to stay close – take good care of this man.’

  THREE

  ‘Don’t worry, I got your back,’ the nurse told Kelson after Nancy, Sue Ellen, and Venus Johnson had left.

  ‘Lately, I can’t even cover my front,’ Kelson said.

  The nurse nodded, like he’d been through it too. The ID on his lanyard called him Jose. ‘Well, I’ve got the human touch. I put the extra juice box on the lunch trays. I fluff the pillows. You want yours fluffed?’

  ‘I’m good, thanks.’

  ‘You sound like you’re messed up, you want to know the truth. You a detective for real?’

  ‘Sure. I worked undercover narcotics for five years. When a street dealer shot me in the head, the department wrote me a check and put me out. So I set up independent.’

  Jose considered him. ‘They let a guy with a hole in the head own a gun?’

  ‘Two guns,’ Kelson said. ‘A Springfield XD-S I keep in a desk drawer and a KelTec I hide under the desktop.’

  ‘World’s gone loco, they let a guy like you pack, huh? You carrying when you went to see this Renshaw dude?’

  ‘I thought he was a car thief, not a killer.’

  ‘So you left your guns in your drawer and your secret hiding place no one knows about, except you tell anyone that asks and anyone that doesn’t.’