Fractured by Wendy Byrne Page A

friends had to have planted the gun at her place. There was no other explanation. She’d never believe anyone from CPD would set her up. Sure there were a few bad apples, but not nearly as many as the media would have people believe.
    She needed to start somewhere and figured she could only work with what she knew. Finding Lou or Sergio was Plan A, even though right now that seemed a bit like finding a needle in a haystack. But having a friend in the medical examiner’s office didn’t hurt. Working that angle until something better came along would at least get her the time of death and other specifics.
    As quietly as possible, she left the apartment and walked down the front steps. It was a weekday morning and people were out and about either jogging or bustling off to work or school. After spending some time in the area, she recognized some of the faces: the men in their suits rushing to the El, or the students hustling off to nearby DePaul University, or the mothers with their children in tow, off to yoga class or the daycare center before work.
    She even recognized the bums on the street corner. They tended to be territorial about their turf, so that wasn’t a big surprise. Even though most people tried to ignore street people through fear or guilt or something else less tangible, she knew that they could be a wealth of information. They were almost like a tornado siren before the big one hit; they had the pulse of the neighborhood in their blood.
    They knew the cops, both the ones that left them alone and the ones that hassled them. They knew the kids, both good and bad. They could read the faces of the people and know instinctively which ones would cough up some change and which ones would walk by.
    That’s when it hit her. She had an untapped resource that might potentially produce some information.
    Now when she got into her car, she not only had a Plan B to work with, she also had a Plan C.
    She’d start out with Leo. Most days he hung around the corner from her house. Frequently, she’d drop him a couple bucks, or hand him a fresh cup of coffee or a sandwich if she’d stopped to get one for herself. At night, in the winter, he’d make the trek into the Loop and stay on Lower Wacker Drive where many of the homeless congregated. Every once in a while the cops would make an effort to roust them, but they always came back. In the end, it was a vicious cycle that nobody would win. There’d always be homeless people and there’d always be those who wanted them to somehow become invisible.
    She wasn’t sure where Leo stayed at night during the summer. Her guess would be he stayed in the neighborhood alleys and parking lots, or maybe one of the parks since both Oz and Lincoln Parks were close by.
    It took her about fifteen minutes to travel the couple miles from Landry’s neighborhood to hers due to the morning congestion. She stopped at Starbucks and grabbed two coffees before she headed to Leo’s usual spot.
    The late October wind had picked up swirling the dirt and leaves around the sidewalk. She felt the beginnings of the winter chill in the air and wished she’d taken some gloves from her apartment.
    Leo wasn’t at his usual corner. But he couldn’t be far. If nothing else was predictable in her life, Leo was.
    Finally, she spotted him. He had a squeegee and a bottle of watered-down Windex and was cleaning off the front windshields of passing cars. Most people hated when the homeless did that. No doubt they felt an invasion of privacy or guilt eating at their conscience. Some made sure their doors were locked. Others rolled up their windows in silent protest. Frankly, she didn’t see how Leo could make any money doing that considering the unpredictable nature of people’s reactions, unless maybe they paid him to move on.
    After the light changed to green, he shuffled back toward the sidewalk.
    â€œHey, Leo.” She motioned with coffee in