by C. M. Sutter
“Jennifer?”
“That’s me. Right this way.”
We followed her to a room barely the size of a bedroom.
“This is where our lockers are and where we eat lunch.”
Frank pulled out a chair and nodded for her to sit down, then we took seats on the opposite side of the table and faced her.
“We’re here about Paul Harper and need to know everything he did from the moment he got that emergency phone call earlier to when he left. You worked all day, correct?”
“Yes, since eight this morning when the pharmacy opened. I’m still on probation, so there’s no way I’d be late.” She folded her hands and avoided eye contact with us.
“You seem nervous,” I said. “Is there a reason?”
“You’re cops. Isn’t that enough? I’ve never been around cops before.”
I smiled. “And that’s a good thing. Let’s start with something simple to put you at ease.”
She looked relieved.
“Tell us how each employee clocks in and out every day.”
“Okay.” She lifted the lanyard over her head and placed it on the table. “We park in the lot behind the pharmacy. The outside door has a keypad, and we all have the same six-digit code to enter. Our badges are used mainly as identification and for how we get paid. We swipe them when we arrive and when we leave. They’re like a time card.” She pointed at the bar code along the edge of her badge. “The machine reads the bar code, similar to the way a magnetic strip is read on a credit card. The door unlocks, and it gives us twenty seconds to get inside before it auto locks again. If that happens, we’re screwed.”
I frowned. “How so?”
“I’m told it’s a safety feature. We’re locked out for fifteen minutes before we can try again. If that happens, our pay gets docked. Street value of drugs from any pharmacy could add up to millions of dollars.” She stopped herself cold. “I guess I shouldn’t have said that.”
“It’s okay.” Frank chuckled. “We’re the cops, remember?”
She smiled. “Once we’re in the building, there’s another door that leads directly into the pharmacy. That one is keypad entry only, and the door locks behind us. Another keypad inside our area allows us out after the code is entered. The area between the customer and us has the steel roller door that is lowered and locked every night so nobody can get into the pharmacy.”
“Except employees, right?”
“Yes, except us. The process going out is exactly like it is coming in. Each time our badge is swiped, it tells personnel how many days and hours we’ve worked.”
“Got it.” I set my pad and pen down. “So how did Paul go about his morning after he got the emergency phone call?”
“Well, Adam Jones is the senior pharmacy tech, and he took over until Ron, the licensed pharmacist, showed up.”
“And that’s Mr. Vincent?”
She nodded.
“How long did it take for Paul to leave?”
She rubbed her neck while she thought. “I’d say five minutes. He got another call and then rushed out after telling Adam to take over.”
“Really? He left that quickly?”
“I’m pretty sure he did, and Sarah and Adam saw him leave, too, so they’d know about as much as I do. They can confirm how long Paul was here before he took off.”
“Okay, thanks, Jennifer,” I said. “See, that wasn’t so bad, right?”
She gave us a quick smile. “No, it wasn’t bad at all. Should I get Sarah?”
“We’d appreciate it.” I raised a brow at Frank after Jennifer walked out. “I’m thinking Paul Harper needs another interview.”
Sarah walked in next and took a seat. We cut to the chase just to see if her account matched Jennifer’s. We introduced ourselves and asked one simple question—when did Paul Harper leave the pharmacy?
She looked up and to the left—a sign that she was trying to recall a true memory. “I’m pretty sure he left right after telling Adam to take over. Something about an emergency at home.”
“So you’d say five minutes, ten minutes, or what?” Frank asked.
“Less than ten minutes for sure. He told Adam to take the reins and to call Ron, then he grabbed his jacket and swiped his badge. His phone rang as he was walking out. Probably closer to five minutes, I’d say.”
We thanked Sarah and asked that she send in Adam.
“The proverbial BS noose is tightening around Harper’s neck,” Frank said. “The question is, why did he lie?”
A second later, the door opened, and Adam took a seat. Once again, we introduced ourselves and asked the one question—how long did Paul stay after he got the call?
“His phone rang, and he answered it. I was bagging prescriptions right next to him. He listened, said uh-huh a few times, and then said he would leave immediately. He hung up and told me to take over and to call Mr. Vincent. Paul grabbed his coat and clocked out. So to answer your question, I’d say three minutes before he hit the back door, answered his phone again, and disappeared.”
The length of time Paul Harper had remained in the building was becoming less with each person we spoke to. Three people had confirmed that Paul’s story was pure fiction and that he walked out long before Ron Vincent showed up.
After speaking to each employee, we returned to the counter, then Ron gave us the phone number for the personnel department. They would have a record of the exact time that Paul Harper clocked out that morning. We gave our contact cards to the employees, thanked them for their time, and left.
Chapter 6
I huffed in amazement as Frank drove. “Do most people think they’re smarter than us?”
Frank shrugged. “Yeah, probably. At least the ones who have something to hide. We’ll update Lutz and then track down Harper for a second interview. He has some explaining to do.”
I called CMS’s personnel department and met with the usual red tape. They wanted a warrant for Paul’s time sheet records. I hung up and would mention that snag to Lutz.
We arrived at the station twenty minutes later and walked directly to the commander’s office. Once Paul Harper’s lies were again explained to our boss, he agreed that we needed to haul the pharmacist in for a second interview. Something was definitely off with his timeline.
Lutz rubbed his brow as he leaned back in his chair. “So there’s, what, fifty minutes or so that’s unaccounted for?”
“About that,” I said. “Most people who have been called by the police with a message saying there’s an emergency at home would likely hightail it to their house.”
“You’d think. Okay, go pick him up.”
Frank and I continued on to the bull pen. I took a seat at my desk and pulled out my notes from that morning.
“Damn it. Paul hasn’t called me back with the name of the hotel he was checking into.”
Frank frowned. “He should have done that by now. We told him to find a place to stay until he’s allowed back in the house, go to the school and pick up his kids, and then explain their mother’s absence. Guess he’ll have to be convinced to come in for that formal interview via a phone call.”
“Yeah, I have his number in my notes. With any luck, he hasn’t gotten the kids yet. If he has, they’ll have to hang out in the bull pen while we talk to him again.” I made the call to his cell phone, but it went unanswered. “Damn him, he’s not picking up.” I left a message on his voice mail saying he was needed at the station now, then I hung up. “Guess that’s all we can do short of putting a BOLO out on his car, which at this point seems too extreme. We’ll give him an hour to respond.”
Meanwhile, I checked the updates the chief put out daily on the Chicago Police Department’s website.
“Humph.” I knew I was in for a ribbing the second the word left my mouth, but I couldn’t take it back.
“Use your words, pal.” Frank had a shit-eating grin plastered across his face. He had been waiting for the perfect opportunity to say that, and he had it sooner than I w
ould have liked.
“Okay, you got me, and I deserved it. Anyway, it looks like drug sales across the city have risen significantly in the last few weeks. Especially opioids.” I scratched my cheek. “Glad I’m out of that department. Drug dealers are the most unpredictable and dangerous kind of people. Guns, money, and being high aren’t a good mix, no how, no way.”
My mind took me back to my years in Narcotics and my old partner and best friend, Jim Crosley. He was shot and killed in his own home nearly a year ago by John Conrad, a dirty cop. Jim’s absence was something I would never get over, but I couldn’t let myself go to that dark place right then and shook the memories out of my mind.
I checked the time—3:39 and still no return call from Paul Harper. I dialed Mike Nordgren’s cell phone. “Hey, buddy, are you guys still at the Harper house?” I leaned forward and pressed Speakerphone.
“Yep, we’ll probably be here for the rest of the day. Don left with the body about an hour ago, though. I imagine he’s back and prepping Mrs. Harper right now.”
“Okay, I’ll check in with him in a bit. Are there still officers canvassing the neighborhood?”
“As far as I know. Looking out the window, I see three squad cars still parked at the curb.”
“Good. What about prints, blood that may not be our victim’s, that sort of thing?”
“Sure. We did find blood smears on the inside frame of the back door. Must have happened when the assailant was leaving. That tells me the killer was either injured and possibly cut during the attack, or it was blood transfer from Mrs. Harper. We’ll analyze it either way, and we’re bringing back all the household knives to test as well.”
“Good plan. No bullet casing found, though?”
“Unfortunately not. Either the gun was wrapped in a plastic bag and fired, the shooter picked up the casing, or it was a revolver.”
“Right. Don can give us more on the caliber once he pulls the slug from Mrs. Harper’s skull.”
“That’s correct.”
Mike sighed through the phone lines. Even though we were accustomed to talking frankly, any layman would cringe at our words.
He added a final comment before hanging up. “There are still two officers here going through the house. Maybe they’ll find something helpful.”
I tapped my pencil against the desk. “Okay, thanks, Mike. Give me a holler when you get back. There’s a chance I’ll still be here.”
“You got it.”
I hung up and rose from my desk. Frank jerked his head in my direction.
“Where ya going?”
“To see what Don knows. Mike said he’s back with Mrs. Harper’s body.”
Frank stood and rounded his desk. “I’ll tag along.”
We took the back stairs to our lower level that housed the jail, our county medical examiner’s office, crime lab, and our tech department. Our district was one of a few that had many of the necessary departments under one roof, and having the medical examiner’s department housed within our facility was a godsend.
I knocked on the closed frosted-glass door that had Donald Lawry-Medical Examiner, written across it in black lettering. He called out to come in. Frank and I entered, and I looked to my right to see if Don was at his desk—he wasn’t. That meant he was in the autopsy room and likely prepping Mrs. Harper.
We headed that way. The door was half closed as usual, since that was the only way Don would hear someone knocking on the outer door when he was working in the autopsy room.
“Come on in, guys. I’m just getting started.”
We entered as Don smoothed the white sheet over Mrs. Harper’s body. I grimaced at the wound on the side of her forehead. The edges were raised like a volcano, and the inside was black with coagulated blood. I took a closer look and didn’t see any stippling. I raised a brow.
Don watched me and commented. “The gun and his hand were bagged. No GSR or stippling on her face, and that’s the reason we didn’t find a shell casing either. The perp was careful and covered his tracks well.”
Frank frowned. “Wouldn’t the stabs come first to put her down and then the kill shot after that?”
“Yes, that would be the most logical.”
“So he stabbed her and then took the time to tape the bag around his hand and gun?”
I added my opinion. “But she wouldn’t be a threat to him if she was already near death. He could take his time.”
“Or—”
We both turned to Don.
“Or what?” I asked.
“Or there was more than one assailant.”
I raked my hair and groaned. “That, my friend, is the last thing I wanted to hear.”
“Just mentioning all possibilities,” Don said. “Come on over to the counter, and I’ll show you what I’ve noted so far.”
We walked with Don to the rear of the room, where a portable office space was located on a counter along the back wall. A laptop, recorder, phone, and plenty of notepaper sat on the counter’s surface. Above that, a bookshelf was stuffed with medical journals, logbooks, and files. Don reached for the notepad that he used as a temporary log until the information was entered into the computer and a legal autopsy file was created for Eileen Harper.
He lifted his reading glasses from the lanyard and perched them on the bridge of his nose. Exhaling a puff of air, Don began. “According to her license, which was collected at the scene, Eileen was thirty-four years old. There was a slight discrepancy between the interpretation of her height and weight on the license and what I documented a half hour ago. I have her as five foot three and one hundred and twenty-two pounds. Her hair color—light brown—is true, not dyed, and I’ll go along with her eye color as blue even though they’re hazed over now. She has a tattoo of a green four-leaf clover on her left shoulder and a leprechaun on her right ankle. I’m assuming she’s Irish, but that’s just my guess.” He looked back at her body on the table. “I haven’t removed the slug yet, but I’ll let you or Lutz know my findings as soon as I have them.”
I patted Don’s shoulder. “Thanks, buddy. Is there any reason to do a tox screen?”
He swatted the air. “Nah, not really. We know the cause of death to be either the shot to the head or the multiple knife wounds. And by the way, I counted nine of them, and they were all in her torso and back areas. Either would have killed her, but I’m assuming the head shot was inflicted as insurance and a message, that’s all.”
“Okay, thanks. Mr. Harper will be in tomorrow to make an official ID. I can’t tell you when yet since he isn’t answering his phone.”
Frank and I headed back upstairs, but Don’s comment stuck with me.
“Did you catch what Don said at the end?”
“I caught everything, but what specifically?” Frank asked.
“The part where he said that the bullet to her head was meant as a message to someone. It couldn’t be a message to Eileen because she was the one who was killed.”
“So to Paul?”
“Bingo.”
“Maybe he isn’t answering his phone because he’s on the run.”
“Or he’s hiding out somewhere to protect his kids, but we can’t help him unless he comes clean with us.”
I turned at the sound of the door opening. Three of the officers who had been at the Harper house had returned.
“Evidence, witness statements, anything?” I asked. “As close as those houses are to each other, you’d think a gunshot would have been heard.”
Henry piped in. “Unless the shooter had a suppressor on the gun. The killer knew where the Harpers lived, so they saw that the houses are nearly on top of each other. They may have come prepared.”
“You said they.”
Henry shook his head. “Sorry, nothing implied. It could be a he, a she, or a they. Who knows?”
Frank spoke up. “The garages are in the back, facing the alley, so the killer’s car could have been parked anywhere on the front street, in that alley, or back a few blocks.”
/> I shook my head. “Not sure about any significant distance. I’d go with the alley since the majority of the house’s windows don’t face that way, and as bad as the scene looked, that killer isn’t going to walk far with blood spatter all over his clothes. Don’t forget, he came in through the door that leads out back.” I turned to the officers. “Were you guys checking outside, interviewing the neighbors, or searching the house?”
“We checked around the perimeter of the house and then began the knock and talks.”
“Any luck with the neighbors?”
“Nobody answered at the houses to either side of the Harpers. Could be the reason nobody called 911. The gunshot wasn’t heard.”
“Did anyone on that block have anything of value to say?” I asked.
“One woman, three doors down, said she noticed a black sedan when she left for the grocery store. It had two men inside, driving slower than normal down the street,” Paulson said.
I wrote that down. “That’s something.”
“Did anyone walk the length of the alley?” Frank asked.
Paulson frowned. “Not to my knowledge. The officers still on the scene are going through the interior of the house.”
“Okay.” I jerked my head at Frank, Henry, and Shawn. “Let’s go back and check the alley ourselves, including every dumpster. According to Mike in Forensics, there wasn’t a bloody knife or a gun left at the scene.”
Chapter 7
Our normal workday would have been over by now, but when we worked a new case, we rarely went home on time. I exited the cruiser with Frank just as Shawn pulled up behind us. The forensic van and one squad car still sat at the curb in front of our cars.
“Let’s go inside and check in with the guys first,” I said.
The four of us ducked under the police tape that began at the sidewalk and wrapped the entire yard. I pushed open the front door and found Mike and Danny still hard at work.
“Hey, guys, just wanted to let you know we’re here.” I tipped my chin toward the rear of the house. “We’ll be searching the length of the alley on this block and every dumpster too.”
Mike frowned. “Sounds like a shitty job.”