‘Right … I didn’t mean to, but I met her eye and I saw it. Her pain, her terror, then fire all around her, consuming her …’
She turned to Adam, her voice quivering:
‘Madelaine Baines is going to be his next victim.’
82
Kyle Redmond glared at Gabrielle, tugging at the straps that anchored him to the restraint chair. He had been calm while he had a gun to his head, but as soon as he was in custody, he’d gone berserk – kicking, punching, even biting the officers who laboured to process his arrest. In the end, they’d had to restrain him, before moving him to the interview suite. Restraint chairs were more often associated with Guantanamo Bay, but Gabrielle was within her rights to use one and wasn’t taking any chances. Detective Miller was still getting checked out, but Gabrielle suspected her deputy had a broken nose.
‘Jacob Jones. And Rochelle Stevens.’
Gabrielle slid photos of the two victims across the table, until they sat under Redmond’s nose. He made no attempt to look at them, however, instead staring directly at her. His eyes seemed to be crawling over her features, as if trying to commit them to memory.
‘Both brutally murdered. Can you tell me when you first met them?’
Redmond turned his attentions to Detective Suarez, who was sitting in for the injured Miller, staring directly at him. It was an obvious play for a thug like Redmond – divide and rule – but she knew Suarez wouldn’t be intimidated. He was a seasoned officer who’d faced down plenty of bad folk in his time.
‘Let me help you. You cleaned Mr Jones’s house on West Erie Street. And Rochelle Stevens’ property on Washington Close. Did you talk to them while you were there, Kyle? Get to know them?’
Lazily, Redmond returned his gaze to Gabrielle. He seemed almost amused by proceedings. There was no sense at all that he was cowed by his capture.
‘No? Maybe they were in a hurry to get to work,’ Gabrielle continued easily. ‘They’re both busy people. I guess you had the place to yourself after that? Pick up anything, did you? Spare set of keys, perhaps?’
Redmond’s eyes narrowed fractionally, but he maintained his stony silence.
‘Because here’s the thing. Whoever abducted these guys had access to their homes and all the householders’ keys have been accounted for, so …’
Gabrielle let this hang in the air, but Redmond wasn’t biting.
‘No? ok, let’s do the basics, then,’ she pressed on. ‘Where you were on the night of April 10th?’
Redmond took in the question, but said nothing.
‘No? How about April 17th then? The night Rochelle Stevens was murdered.’
Redmond shifted in his chair, pulling angrily at his restraints once more.
‘I asked you a question, Kyle.’
Reluctantly, Redmond stopped tugging.
‘I was out. I don’t remember where.’
‘Out doing what? Partying? Drinking?’
‘Driving, I guess.’
‘Go anywhere near West Town?’
Redmond shrugged.
‘That’s where the victims lived. But, of course, you’d know that, wouldn’t you? Having visited them before,’ Gabrielle continued, conversationally.
‘I’ve a bad memory for faces,’ he replied defiantly.
‘Really? Two handsome creatures like them? Look at the photos, Kyle. These two are hotties. You couldn’t see those faces and not remember them, surely? But, then again, maybe they wouldn’t give you the time of day.’
Redmond looked up sharply, to see if Gabrielle was mocking him. His own face was dominated by a large birthmark – this, added to the heavy tattooing, piercings and angry, shaven head, meant Redmond was the type of character you would cross the road to avoid.
‘You enjoy having power over people, don’t you?’
‘What?’
‘Sexual assault, false imprisonment, torture. It’s all here in black and white. You enjoy terrorizing people, degrading them …’
Redmond snorted and yanked at his restraints once more. He was getting visibly frustrated at his helplessness now, sweat forming on his creased brow.
‘You’re not going anywhere until you start talking to me, Kyle. So, tell me about Dani. What had she done to you?’
Redmond ceased his struggling, surprised by the mention of his ex-girlfriend.
‘She liked you. She took you in. And, in return, you kept her hostage for forty-eight hours. Tortured her, cut off two of her fingers.’
‘Bitch had no loyalty, no class –’
‘Also, I see from your juvenile reports that you attacked your mother.’
‘No one deserved it more than her,’ he said, a smile spreading across his features for the first time.
‘Also, your siblings, fellow students …’
Redmond shrugged, but Gabrielle could see his pride at the memories.
‘And now Jacob Jones and Rochelle Stevens. Tell me, what did it feel like when you had them at your mercy?’
Redmond was watching her closely now.
‘Did you want to destroy them? To make them unrecognizable to their families, their loved ones? Did they say – or do – something that belittled you? That made you feel small?’
Redmond lowered his eyes to the photos on the table, drinking in the images in front of him.
‘No? Maybe I’ve got this all wrong then? Maybe you are innocent?’
‘Now you’re getting it …’
He smiled mirthlessly, revealing several gold teeth. Gabrielle got a blast of stale tobacco breath, but concealed her distaste, determined not to react to his provocation.
‘So why did you run from us?’ Gabrielle countered. ‘If you’re innocent, why did you shoot at a police officer? Assault my colleague?’
‘I’ve broken parole. If I get taken in, I’m back in jail.’
‘Bullshit. You don’t attempt to murder a CPD officer over a parole violation.’
‘You ever served time in Cook County?’ he replied scornfully.
‘Of course not.’
‘Then how would you know? All sorts of freaks in there. I’d rather take a bullet – shit, I’d rather meet my mother in hell – than go back in there.’
‘Is that right?’
‘You know it,’ Redmond replied confidently, as if he’d just landed a three-pointer.
‘Well, that’s a shame,’ Suarez added, ‘because that’s exactly where you’re going.’
Anger flared in his eyes now. Redmond was about to launch a volley of abuse at Suarez, but Gabrielle stepped in.
‘Where did you do it, Kyle?’
‘Jesus Chrrrisssttt …’
‘We know it was by a body of water,’ Gabrielle countered. ‘A river or lake. I’m wondering if you did it in your trailer on South Morgan Street?’
Now Redmond tensed, visibly wrong-footed by Gabrielle’s assertion.
‘A couple of people knew about it, sure, but no one significant, right? It was private, out of the way and very quiet at night.’
‘Plus, you had everything on hand to wash away the evidence,’ Suarez overlapped. ‘Nice and easy …’
‘What you talking about? I ain’t got a trailer on South Morgan Street.’
‘Yes, you do, Kyle. It was rented in one of your favourite aliases.’
Another reaction. Finally, Gabrielle sensed she had Redmond on the run.
‘Our CSI teams are heading down there right now. If we find a single hair belonging to Rochelle Stevens or Jacob Jones …’
‘You won’t find jack,’ he countered.
‘So why had you cleaned so thoroughly? The whole place stunk of bleach and I’m talking the heavy-duty stuff, not your everyday household product.’
‘This is bullshit.’
‘You knew the victims, you’ve got form –’
‘No, no, no, no.’
‘Plus, you have no alibi and the perfect kill site.’
Redmond said nothing in response, staring at his feet. Gabrielle let the silence hold for a few mome
nts, before continuing.
‘Now, you’ve been lying to me since you sat down, but … I’m going to give you another chance. I know you’re not acting alone. I think that maybe you weren’t even the one that started all this, so I’m going to ask you one more question. And this time I’d like the truth.’
Redmond continued to stare at the floor. He looked like he’d lost his bearings now, like he didn’t know what was coming next.
‘Do you know this girl?’
She slid a photo of Kassie Wojcek across the table. Reluctantly, Redmond looked up, his brow creasing once more, as he took in the photo.
‘What you say next will have a big bearing on how this plays for you, Kyle. So, think very carefully and tell me – do you know this girl?’
Redmond stared at the photo for a long time, as if debating how best to react, then muttered:
‘No …’ He shook his head slowly, but wouldn’t meet Gabrielle’s eye. ‘Never seen that bitch.’
83
The radio burbled quietly, as they drove through the darkened streets. Kassie’s head was beginning to clear, the pain was less intense, and once more she felt embarrassed and ill at ease. Adam had said little in response to her latest vision, concentrating instead on signing the necessary paperwork to get her discharged and into his care. Kassie had the distinct impression he wanted to get her away from the hospital before she said anything else.
The Lexus rolled smoothly along the road, exacerbating the silence within. They were on their way home … to do what? Go to bed and forget all about it? Discuss her latest episode and act on it? Call social services? It all seemed so complicated, so confusing, and suddenly Kassie longed for some kind of clarity. Adam had agreed to help her confront her gift, hadn’t he? Or had he been humouring her all along?
Kassie watched as Adam leaned forward to turn the radio up. Clearly the silence was getting to him too. It was WKSC, a classic dad’s station full of eighties rock and nineties grunge. Kassie surprised herself by having to suppress a smile – she kind of liked the cheesy hits this local station played, but surely it was a bit old for Adam, who prided himself on being a trendy, youthful fortysomething. Swallowing down her amusement, Kassie tried to lose herself in the music – a rock anthem being swiftly succeeded by an eighties power ballad. It was fun to switch off, to sink into the clichéd lyrics and overfamiliar melodies. But too soon it was over, the latest news bulletin shattering the spell.
‘Before we bring you the weather, we have some breaking news,’ the newscaster announced. ‘At roughly nine p.m. this evening, CPD officers arrested and detained a suspect in connection with the murders of Jacob Jones and Rochelle Stevens, the so-called ‘Chicago Butcher’ murders. According to CPD sources, the suspect is now at their headquarters in Bronzeville, being questioned by CPD detectives …’
Kassie sat perfectly still, stunned by what she’d heard. The presenter’s voice burbled on, but if anything the silence in the car was now even more pronounced. Kassie’s head was spinning – what did it all mean? It wasn’t possible that she’d got it wrong, was it? That had never happened before …
Turning to Adam, she noted his pale complexion, the way he was gripping the steering wheel tightly. Anguished, nervous, full of doubt, she found herself saying:
‘Do you believe me?’
But Adam said nothing, staring straight ahead into the night.
‘I asked you a question, Adam. Do you believe me?’
There was a long pause, before Adam replied:
‘To be honest, I don’t know what to believe …’
‘Don’t say that,’ Kassie responded, stricken.
‘You tell me there’s going to be another murder, but the police have arrested a suspect. You tell me a woman is helping the killer, but the only female on the CPD’s radar is you. You tell me that I’m going to … to harm you, yet the thought has never entered my head, never would enter my head.’
It was all coming out in a rush – too fast and too devastating for Kassie to counter.
‘So, tell me, Kassie, what am I supposed to think? Just … what?’
Kassie stared at him for a moment, shocked by his words and his aggressive, desperate tone. Then she swiftly turned away.
‘Look, I don’t mean to vent,’ he continued, shooting an anxious look at her. ‘But, honestly, I don’t know which way is up any more.’
Guilt hit Kassie like a sledgehammer. The enthusiastic, committed doctor who’d offered to help her now looked beaten and drained. She sank back into her seat, feeling utterly forlorn. She could tell Adam regretted his outburst and wanted to engage with her, but she wasn’t capable of that right now. So, instead, she stared out of the window, hiding her tears from him as they drove on through the quiet Chicago streets.
84
Madelaine Baines closed the front door and rested her head against it. She was utterly spent – drained of energy, her throat dry – but she was happy. It had gone better than she could ever have expected.
Sliding the deadlock into place, Madelaine gathered herself and dragged her bones to the kitchen. There she was heartened to see a brightly coloured note lying on the breakfast bar. Written in felt tip, it read: ‘Well done, SuperMom. You’re the greatest!!!’ Bordered with pretty flowers, and written in her daughters’ spidery handwriting, it made Madelaine’s heart sing.
She had toyed with allowing them to come to the vigil, but in the end had decided against it. They had school tomorrow and she didn’t want to upset them unnecessarily, so Paul had stayed home with them, with strict orders to let them watch the minute’s silence, then take them up to bed. Clearly this had been enough, however – the sight of the hordes of well-wishers clutching candles impressing them sufficiently to put pen to paper.
Picking up the note, Madelaine located the magnet they had bought at the Grand Canyon and attached the drawing to the refrigerator. The sentiment made her blush, but actually the girls were right – she had achieved something. Where there was panic and fear, now there was determination and resolve. It gave her a warm feeling, almost taking the edge off her crushing fatigue.
Grabbing a glass of water, Madelaine padded up the stairs. The house was totally quiet – the twins were almost certainly fast asleep and, by the sound of the gentle snoring emanating from the master bedroom, Paul was too. Madelaine felt a little pang of disappointment, as she joined him in the spacious room – part of her wanted to sleep of course, but another part wanted to share her triumph with someone, to process the many and varied emotions she felt.
There had been a little disruption towards the end – a teenager fainting in the front row – but other than that everything had passed off exactly as Madelaine had hoped. There had been many tears of course, but also applause for the contributions the two Chicagoans had made to city life before their untimely deaths. The minute’s silence had been impeccably observed, the speeches rousing, and though she wouldn’t say it out loud, Madelaine felt her own efforts had been on the money. The crowd seemed to appreciate her words, and as they drifted away, consoled and encouraged afresh, Madelaine had had a moment to reflect on a job well done. Shortly afterwards, the phone calls had begun – from radio and TV stations, the press. She was now due to appear on WGN news tomorrow morning, followed by an interview with the Tribune. It was dizzying and, if she was honest, a little exciting too.
She was tempted to turn the TV on, keen to see how the local news channels were reporting the vigil, but that would have to wait until tomorrow. She was too tired even to pick up the remote, so, crossing the bedroom to her side of the bed, she lowered herself gently down on to the mattress and carefully, quietly, switched on the bedside light.
She turned to Paul, to see if she’d disturbed him, but he hadn’t stirred. Satisfied, she began to undress, unbuttoning her blouse and tossing it into the laundry basket, before removing her earrings. She placed them on her bedside table, next to her glass of water and as she did so she spotted something. Her favourite family photo
– of the four of them rafting in Montana – was out of place. Normally it was perfectly positioned so she could lie in bed and drink in the heart-warming image of happy days gone by. But now it was marginally off kilter, facing slightly away from the bed, so she could only make out the girls.
Madelaine paused. The cleaner hadn’t been in today and Paul never ventured over to this side of the bed – her face creams and health serums scaring him off. It must have been the girls then, but why would they be messing around her bedside table? There was little of any interest for them here – iPads not being allowed in bedrooms.
It was a small mystery, but that is what it would have to remain, because Madelaine was far too tired to work it out now. She would ask the girls in the morning, and was already looking forward to hearing what awkward excuses they would make up to cover for their intrusion.
Smiling to herself, Madelaine shed the rest of her clothes, then slid into bed. With one last, happy look at the photo, now correctly positioned, Madelaine leaned over and switched out her light, plunging the room into darkness.
85
Faith kept her eyes closed, her breathing steady.
‘Faith?’ Adam repeated softly.
She had heard them return ten minutes ago. Shortly afterwards, Adam had entered the bedroom, slipped off his clothes in the dark and climbed into bed. Now he was craning over her.
‘Are you asleep?’
She kept perfectly still, not moving a muscle. Moments later, Adam turned away and settled down to rest. She could tell he was disappointed, she had heard a small, almost inaudible sigh of frustration, but she couldn’t face further discussion. She knew she’d been too hard on him earlier, but she wasn’t ready to apologize yet. She had been angered by his apparent willingness to push Kassie away, yet she knew he didn’t deserve the character assassination she’d meted out to him. Perhaps it was her grief that made her overprotective of Kassie, perhaps it was the hormones pouring fuel on her anger – either way she’d felt bad about her harsh words, especially as Adam hadn’t hesitated to go to the teenager’s aid when the hospital rang. His silent departure from the house, his selfless mercy mission in the middle of the night, was the most eloquent riposte to her accusations.
A Gift for Dying Page 21