End of the Line

by C. M. Sutter

  End of the Line

  by

  C. M. Sutter

  Copyright © 2020

  All Rights Reserved

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  This book is a work of fiction by C.M. Sutter. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used solely for entertainment. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the internet or any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  C.M. Sutter is a crime fiction writer who resides in Florida, although she is originally from California.

  She is a member of over fifty writing groups and book clubs. In addition to writing, she enjoys spending time with her family and dog, and you’ll often find her writing in airports and on planes as she flies from state to state on family visits.

  She is an art enthusiast and loves to create gourd birdhouses, pebble art, and handmade soaps. Gardening, bicycling, fishing, and traveling are a few of her favorite pastimes.

  C.M. Sutter

  http://cmsutter.com/

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  End of the Line: A Detective Jesse McCord Police Thriller, Book 6

  He chooses his prey as they ride the subway to their final destination, and when they do, he exits into the night. The women of Chicago have no idea that a knife-wielding killer is following them until it’s too late. They’re caught off guard, and his razor-sharp tactical knife cuts through them like butter.

  It’s up to Detective Jesse McCord and the homicide unit to track down the killer and bring him to justice, but the only image of his face is on a home’s doorbell camera that’s gone missing, along with the nineteen-year-old sister of the murder victim who lived there.

  The killer taunts Jesse’s partner, Frank Mills, and starts a race against time. The police need to find the missing girl before she’s the killer’s next victim—and he’s becoming restless.

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  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  Chapter 57

  Chapter 58

  Chapter 59

  Chapter 60

  Chapter 1

  Somebody would be brutally murdered that night—it was an undeniable fact.

  The subway train rocked back and forth as riders clung to the poles that kept them from falling every time the train sped off to its next stop. The lucky people who had seats were seldom women or the elderly. The fastest to board—usually young adults—snagged them up and stayed put until they reached their final destination.

  Richard had been riding the train for hours and watched the workday crowd get on and off. There was always the possibility of someone catching his attention, but that wasn’t the norm. The daytime crowd usually consisted of men in business suits and middle-aged women who didn’t raise his blood pressure in the least. The early evening riders were next. They took the train into the city, likely to see a live performance or have dinner with friends. That Friday night’s group was more interesting, and when the doors parted every time the train jerked to a stop, he took note. No luck in his car—none were young, desirable women riding alone. When the train reached Monroe, he exited and walked to a corner diner, where he ate and waited for a later train.

  Hours passed before Richard returned to the East Monroe Street station. He milled about while anticipating his choice of women. He would pick the perfect victim. The bar crowd was the last group to ride the train south. Richard liked them best since the women were easy targets—weak and usually drunk on Friday and Saturday nights.

  They’re so clueless. They should know about safety in numbers, but they get off the train, go their separate ways, and before they realize what’s happening, I’m at their backs and ready to kill.

  The image forming in his mind was nearly enough to make him follow women exiting the station right then—he could barely contain himself. The desire to kill pulled him like a magnet. It gave him the satisfaction he needed to get by, a loner among the overpopulated city of nearly three million people.

  The Green Line had a better selection of young women on the southbound route due to the proximity of the University of Chicago. It was like comparing ground chuck to a rib eye, but the train didn’t run between twelve forty-five and four o’clock in the morning. That eliminated much of the Friday-night bar crowd, but the Red Line ran twenty-four hours a day, and with the state university less than a mile from the last stop, its location worked in his favor. As long as he stuck to the train routes, Richard could continue his obsession for the foreseeable future. Three times a week, he took the L to other locations in and out of downtown. The entire city of Chicago, along with every stop the train made, was his personal killing field.

  He checked the time, and it was pushing two thirty in the morning. The party crowd had begun to gather—drunk, stupid, and easy prey. The women teetered as they waited for the Red Line train to reach the Monroe Street station, and the digital clock showed one minute to go. It was the middle of the night, and the downtown bars were closing. Richard caught sight of a pretty blonde who braced herself against a pillar near the tracks. She was young, fresh, and perfect for plucking. She and the two brunettes who accompanied her wobbled just enough in their hooker heels to prove they were more than inebriated.

  The sudden gust of wind through the tunnel and the familiar rumbling told him the train was approaching. As it slowed to a stop, he neared the women. Richard watched the blonde, and as soon as the doors parted, she and her friends grabbed the seats closest to them. Grasping the pole only feet away, Richard stood within earshot of their conversation. With desire, he stared at the blonde and felt
his heartbeat pick up. He thought back seven years to the last night he’d spent with his former wife. She was also a pretty blonde until he delivered that fatal blow to her skull. The blood seeping from her wound had turned her blond locks a deep shade of red.

  Richard shook himself out of the past and returned to the present. He had to catch their conversation so he could plan his move.

  He overheard one brunette say the next stop was hers. Richard glanced at the route board mounted on the wall, and Garfield Boulevard was coming up.

  One down and two to go. Hopefully, the blonde and the last brunette get off at different stations, but no matter what, the blonde is mine.

  The train continued on after Garfield, and Richard noticed the second brunette gathering her belongings when the train approached the Eighty-Seventh Street station.

  When the train slowed to a stop, she stood and grabbed the same pole Richard was holding. “Text me tomorrow, Callie.” A loud hiccup stopped her midsentence, and they both erupted in laughter. The brunette cautiously continued while chuckling. “We’ll grab lunch if we aren’t too hung over.”

  Callie, huh? Perfect first name for a dead woman. I’m sure I haven’t killed a Callie before.

  The brunette stumbled off the L with a handful of other drunks, then the doors closed and the train continued on.

  Richard tipped his chin at the remaining girl. “Out partying?”

  Callie appeared preoccupied with her phone, as most riders were. She gave him a glazed-over stare. “What?”

  “Looks like you ladies had a fun night. That’s all.”

  She shrugged, and her head bobbed. “I guess.”

  Disrespectful bitch. I’ll get your full attention sooner than you’d like. That much, I guarantee.

  Richard made sure to keep his back toward the car camera. Nobody would be able to tell he had spoken to the blonde, and he wouldn’t be identifiable that way. He watched her through the reflection in the window opposite them. She lay her head back and closed her eyes.

  “Exhausted?”

  She answered with an annoyed tone. “I drank too much. That’s what people our age do on Friday nights.”

  “Yep, I’ve done that plenty in my time, especially during my college years. You a student at the state university?”

  She nodded and closed her eyes again. Richard counted eight other people in their car. Most looked dead tired, and none paid him a second of attention. That was a plus. He knew the CTA had plenty of cameras on the trains, in the terminals, and on the elevated platforms that were parallel to the freeways on the Blue and Red Lines. Richard had memorized the locations of the cameras on the routes he used most often, and he avoided appearing directly before them. At times, he wore hats and sunglasses as well. So far, nobody had connected the murders he’d committed with the subway routes since he’d always followed his victims for a distance before striking. That night would be no different.

  The last stop was approaching—the terminal at Ninety-Fifth Street, which was literally and figuratively the end of the line for Callie.

  The train stopped and the riders exited, each going their separate ways. Richard turned in the opposite direction of the blonde but kept a watchful eye on her. He needed to see where she went and if anyone was meeting her. If everything was a go, he would keep her in eyeshot until they were away from the camera’s range. After that, he planned to follow her out into the night and take her life.

  Since the coast was clear, Richard left the terminal and kept a good hundred feet between himself and his target. Smoking, messing with her phone, and stumbling down the sidewalk, Callie was oblivious to his presence.

  Youth these days, they’re all idiots and deserve their fate. They don’t think about danger and live in a bubble of ignorance. She’ll make my job easy, just like the others before her.

  He would have to close in on her sooner rather than later. Since he didn’t know her destination, she might have only a block or so to walk. As she headed east, Richard picked up his pace but made sure to stay a distance behind her and on the opposite side of Ninety-Fifth Street. When she turned on South Prairie, it was a godsend. The residential street was far darker than the well-lit Ninety-Fifth Street. Away from the beams of the overhead pole lights, he remained in the shadows of the newly bloomed trees that draped over the sidewalk.

  I have to get ahead of her and take her by surprise.

  He dipped his hand into the deep front pocket of his cargo pants and felt the reassuring shape of the knife. Richard smiled as he ducked into an alley. He would jog parallel to Prairie and get a half block in front of her then spring out as she passed.

  Minutes later, snugged against the side of the building, he peeked around the corner and saw her approaching. With the woman only thirty feet away, he could almost smell her perfume and the stench of cigarettes. He pulled the folding tactical knife from his pocket and opened it as she passed. With a final glance at his surroundings and seeing nothing but dark porches and houses with the curtains drawn, he knew she was all his. Richard sucked in a breath of anticipation and leapt out from the shadows. He hooked his arm around her neck before she had time to bolt, and with a hard thrust, he buried the knife in the left side of her back and gave it a twist. Her grunt was louder than he’d expected—he needed to end her life before neighboring house lights went on. With his hand over her mouth and pushing her head upward, Richard pinned her to his chest and pressed the blade against her neck. He sliced through her skin like hot steel through butter. He watched with satisfaction as she thrashed violently and tried to squeeze the gash closed with her frantic fingers. Blood spilled onto the sidewalk, and she dropped to her knees before falling face-first on the pavement.

  “You can’t begin to understand how satisfying that was. You just made my night, Callie, so thank you. I think I’m good for a few days.”

  As soon as her gurgling stopped, Richard took several pictures, snatched up her purse and the phone that had skidded across the sidewalk, and walked away. After stopping at an all-night gas station’s bathroom, he cleaned up, removed her wallet from the purse, and tossed the purse in the dumpster just outside the restroom’s door. As a cautionary measure, Richard walked the short mile to the Eighty-Seventh Street station. He knew better than to board at the same location he had just exited. Once home, he would catch a few hours of sleep before returning to the scene to see if she’d been discovered yet. For the rest of the night, he hoped to relive the murder over and over again in his dreams.

  Chapter 2

  We were on scene by six o’clock. The rising sun had lit the mid-May sky at five thirty, and an early-morning jogger spotted the dead girl on the sidewalk a block from his home. His 911 call set our day in motion.

  Dispatch alerted the nearest patrol units, and after seeing the wound in the woman’s back, they contacted Homicide. Once Lutz was notified, he called my phone and woke me from my last hour of sleep.

  Twenty minutes later, forgoing my shower and shave, I parked at the corner of East Ninety-Sixth Street and South Prairie. After dipping under the yellow tape of the already secured scene, I met up with my commander and the first responders.

  Our group had surrounded the body, and I assumed they were waiting for Forensics and the medical examiner, Don Lawry, to arrive. We knew better than to touch or disrupt anything. From the amount of blood staining the concrete, it was more than clear that the victim was dead.

  I peered over Lutz’s shoulder at the blood on the female’s back. She lay face down, so all we knew was that she had enough of an injury to kill her, yet there was far too much blood at the scene to have come from that wound only.

  “Multiple stab wounds?”

  Lutz shrugged. “We can’t flip her over, but I’d say so. There’s way too much blood under her head.”

  I rounded the victim and knelt just outside of the taped perimeter. “She looks young. College-age, probably.”

  Tillson tipped his head to the right. “The state university is less tha
n a mile from here.”

  “So she could very well be a student. No ID or phone?” I pushed off my knee and stood.

  “Not unless there’s something in her pockets, but we’ll wait for Don to check.” Lutz called out to Clayborn. “You doing anything at the moment?”

  “No, sir, just waiting for instructions.”

  “Okay, then run over to the terminal, see if this street is visible from the upper level, and then bring back as many coffees as you can carry.”

  “You got it, Commander.”

  I glanced down the street, and Don’s van was heading our way. “Lawry is here.”

  “Good.” Lutz waved Tillson and Foxworthy over. “Start canvassing this street and bang on every door. It’s Saturday morning—people should be home. Find out who went out last night and who stayed up late. Ask if anyone heard anything or saw that girl walking, and if they did, was somebody following her. Now go. I’ll have Clayborn join you as soon as he gets back.”

  Don parked his van along the curb and killed the ignition. After opening the sliding side door, he grabbed his bag of supplies, ducked under the police tape, and joined us.

  “Morning, guys. Guess hoping for a normal Saturday would be asking too much.” He set down his bag and stretched a pair of gloves over his hands. “When did the call come in?”

  Lutz looked at his watch. “An hour or so ago, give or take a few minutes.”

  “Uh-huh.” Don knelt at the female’s side. “Forensics got stuck at a few red lights. They should be rolling up any minute, though. Anyone touch anything? The caller, possibly?”

  “Nope, not according to what he told Tillson. Came across the woman, saw all the blood, and immediately called 911.”

  “Sure. Looks like a singular stab wound to the left center of her back, possibly penetrating her kidney, but that wouldn’t cause all the blood beneath her head.”