“I heard you beat Linda.”
His face flushes. “You ever been divorced?”
“None of your f*****g business,” I snap.
Edwards grins, seeing he’s hit pay dirt. “What s**t did they say about you in yours?” He rises abruptly. “If you want to talk to me again, it’ll have to be through my lawyer. Please leave.” He points to the door.
As I head to my car, I call Tony Shahbaz, demanding a warrant for Edwards’ office, car, and apartment.
“Tom, the guy’s a lawyer. They’re never going to let us just go through his drawers. Get reasonable.”
“Do what you can,” I reply, and hang up.
Sporting a small halo of mustard on his right sleeve, Larry greets me as I walk into my office. The metallic odor of alcohol hits my nose.
“We get anything from the Morales couple?”
“Chicago PD uniforms went to check the
