by C. M. Sutter
“Yes, sir. Sorry I touched it.”
“Okay.” I squeezed his shoulder. “Next time anything looks off to you, call the cops first.”
I sent the kid back inside and had Foxworthy leave with the purse. Firing off a text to Henry, I told him to meet us outside at the Quick Fill station on the corner of State and Ninety-Fifth Street. We’d start our search for camera footage there.
Chapter 10
I had printed out a map of the businesses on either side of Ninety-Fifth Street before I left the bullpen. Several fast-food restaurants, a handful of apartment buildings, gas stations, and an insurance agency lined both sides of the street. Abbott Park took up a good portion of real estate on the south side of Ninety-Fifth.
Henry and Shawn arrived minutes later, and with the map placed on the trunk of our cruiser, I pointed out the buildings with possible cameras between State and Prairie.
“This isn’t rocket science,” I said. “We’ll just divide up the street and head east. Shawn and Henry, you two take the north side of the street, and Frank and I will take the south side. Since the park is on our side and we may have fewer commercial properties to check, once we reach Prairie, we’ll cross over to your side and start heading toward you. Begin here at the gas station. You may get lucky and see the person who dumped the purse.”
Shawn gave us a nod. “Why don’t we move the cruisers over to the park? Don’t want to make the gas station employees mad by taking up two of their customer spaces.”
“Good plan. Let’s go.”
I pocketed the map and climbed into the cruiser. Frank crossed the busy Ninety-Fifth Street and slipped into a space in the lot at Abbott Park, and Henry pulled in behind us.
“Okay”—I glanced at my watch—“it’s two fifteen. Henry, I’ll text you with an update every forty-five minutes.”
He and Shawn jogged across the street, where they would begin with the Quick Fill station’s footage. As we took to the pavement, I realized that some of the nine-to-five, Monday-through-Friday businesses might be closed on Saturday. We’d do what we could, and the person who followed Callie would show up somewhere on Ninety-Fifth Street during the timeframe in question unless they were cunning enough to stay hidden from view until she turned onto Prairie.
Frank and I walked east until we reached South Michigan, where the fast-food restaurants began on our side. We entered the first one and were told by a manager that the only cameras they had were at the drive-through window, the registers, and in the dining room. None faced the sidewalk parallel to the street. We continued on and bypassed the next building, which didn’t have any visible cameras outside.
Taking a five-minute break at a shaded bus shelter was a welcome relief. The midafternoon sun beating down on the concrete sidewalk was brutal, and I realized then that I should have left my sport jacket in the cruiser. I texted Henry, who replied with a call seconds later.
“My mouth moves a lot faster than my fingers do,” he said.
I chuckled. “What have you got?”
“On last night’s footage, we heard noises by the gas station’s dumpster, but since none of the cameras face that side of the building, it was the sound only.”
“Like opening and closing it or what?”
“Yep, exactly like that. No grainy images, no shadowy figure walking by, just what sounded like the dumpster opening and slamming closed.”
“What time was that?”
“Just before four a.m.”
“And how many people board the northbound train at that early hour?”
“Next to none, I’d say.”
“Exactly. You and Shawn go back to the terminal and watch the trains heading north between three thirty and four thirty. We’ll take care of the cameras along the street, and I’ll update Lutz.”
“Copy that.”
Frank and I hit the other two fast-food restaurants, which were likely our best bets. One had inoperable cameras facing the street, and that was a letdown, but the other gave us images of several people walking throughout the late-night hours. We were sure one was Callie. Even when she was a good distance from the camera and across the street, her long blond hair was a dead giveaway. I checked the time on the footage—3:17.
Chapter 11
It was the third time Richard had boarded the southbound Red Line since late Friday night, and it would be the last time for the foreseeable future. He wouldn’t return to the Ninety-Fifth Street terminal again until the police investigation died down, but he needed the picture of the bloodstained sidewalk to add to his collection. Once that was taken, he’d be good to move on to a different subway route. He never murdered at the same exit more than twice a year, and there were plenty of lines and stops to last him for quite some time.
Passengers had just exited at Eighty-Seventh Street, and the train jerked as it picked up speed. His stop was next. He would walk a different route to South Prairie—it was the prudent thing to do. When the doors parted, Richard exited the train, and once he moved away from the sea of people, he stared at his phone’s map. He’d take East Ninety-Fourth to South Indiana and turn right. After crossing East Ninety-Fifth and continuing on, he would reach East Ninety-Sixth a block later. There, he’d make a left and then another left a block later on South Prairie, where he’d cut north again. Once he reached the bloodstain, he’d have his phone ready to snap off a quick picture without stopping—just in case someone was watching.
With his route chosen, Richard started for the exit. He stopped when he saw two men coming his way. They were dressed in typical cop garb—cheap sport jacket with casual pants, and each wearing a badge at his waistband. He nonchalantly took a seat on a bench as if he was waiting for the next northbound train. His eyes were laser focused on the cops, what they were doing, and where they went next. He discreetly aimed his phone at them as they neared, and he snapped off several pictures of their faces. They passed Richard, apparently none the wiser. He stood and followed them but far enough back that they wouldn’t notice.
That’s interesting. They just walked through the security room door. Going to check the footage, are you? It’s obvious you suspect somebody that rode the train with Callie. Good thing I always cover my tracks.
After leaving the station, Richard walked the route he had in mind. Cops could be scouring Callie’s neighborhood again, and he’d have to be vigilant in keeping an eye out for them once he got closer.
At Ninety-Fifth Street, he looked both ways before crossing, and since he didn’t see anyone who looked like a cop, he continued his southbound route. Less than ten minutes later, Richard made his final turn onto South Prairie. His heartbeat increased dramatically when he passed the brick duplex where Callie had lived, according to what was stated on her driver’s license, and the feeling was exhilarating. Nothing at the house appeared out of the ordinary, and nobody who looked suspicious was milling around.
One more block to go, and I’ll be back at the spot where it happened. If only I could relive that moment again every day, all day long. What a thrill that would be.
Richard recognized the building ahead. It was the one he’d hid against while waiting for Callie to pass. He was almost there. He looked both ways before stepping off the curb and crossing the street. As soon as he reached the other side, he saw it—a darkened stain on the sidewalk, more than a foot wide with smears and droplets surrounding it. He wanted to linger and take it in, but he knew that would be dangerous. He slowed his pace, readied his phone, and snapped several pictures as he passed. Looking at the pictures was the only way he could savor the memories of the night he took Callie’s life.
I’ll go home, print them out, and enjoy them over a glass of wine.
Richard shielded his eyes and scanned the street as he turned left. Ninety-Fifth was the main commercial street leading to the terminal, and plenty of people walked to and from the station at that time of day. He spotted them right away. Another pair of cops had just exited the fast-food joint on the north side of the street
and were walking toward him. He could barely contain himself. The irony was nearly more than he could take, and he wanted to laugh. Cops scoured the streets and the terminal looking for him, yet there he was in plain sight. He turned around, set his phone to selfie mode, and caught the two cops coming up behind him. He planned to enlarge the photo later to see if he could find them on the PD’s website. To stay in the game for the long haul, Richard needed to be one step ahead of the police at all times.
Obviously, you fools have nothing. I thought by now, somebody would have viewed the footage of the subway car Callie was in last night, but I must be wrong. I stood only two feet from her, and now you’re walking toward me, and my face doesn’t ring a bell. I guess I’m getting better and better at this as time goes on.
Pleased with himself, Richard turned around and faced the cops then gave them a head tip as they passed by. He looked back and stared as they continued on.
That big guy reminds me of Ronald. I definitely need to find out who he is.
At the station, he rode the Red Line north to Jackson then boarded the Blue Line that went northwest to O’Hare. He would watch the stops to see where the most women got off, and then he’d exit and scout out the area. That was where he’d kill his next victim on Monday and he couldn’t wait.
Chapter 12
The footage we caught of Callie walking by was a dead end. We hadn’t seen anyone following her, and we watched it until she was out of sight. We continued on and checked two churches. One didn’t have any cameras, and the other had a camera that recorded only their parking lot activity. Months earlier, church staff had called law enforcement to report drug deals going down in their parking lot, and since then, they’d had cameras installed.
I winced as we walked on. My heels rubbed painfully against the back of my shoes, and I was sure blisters were forming. Every step I took hurt, and Frank noticed.
“Shouldn’t have worn your new shoes today.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“Should always keep a pair of comfy ones in your trunk.”
“I know that too.” After we passed a man who tipped his head at us, I pointed at the hair salon. “That’s the last commercial building before Callie would have turned onto South Prairie. The killer had to be relatively close to her, or he wouldn’t have seen her turn.”
“Unless he didn’t notice her until she was already on Prairie,” Frank said.
“Right, but then that should mean he’s local to this neighborhood, and if we catch his face on footage, somebody might recognize him.”
Frank swatted the air. “Nah, that doesn’t add up.”
“Why?”
“Because he tossed her purse in the gas station’s dumpster close to the terminal. Why bother throwing it away at that location unless he was going to board the train? There aren’t any houses around there, so it wasn’t like he was walking home.”
“We’ll know soon enough.” I pulled my phone from my inner jacket pocket and tapped Henry’s name on my contact list. He picked up on the second ring.
“Hey, Jesse.”
“Have you reviewed the footage from this morning yet?”
“Yep, and the terminal was nearly dead. The only people who boarded were a man and woman together, a family—likely transferring to the Blue Line later and going to O’Hare—and two guys dressed in business attire. That’s it. Four a.m. doesn’t seem like a high-demand time to be riding the rails.”
I let out a frustrated groan. Our leads amounted to zero. It was as if Callie had fallen out of the sky, and the only evidence we had was her death.
“Okay, thanks. Hear anything from the crime lab about the purse? Were Callie’s fingerprints on it?”
“Mike hasn’t called me. I assumed he’d let you know.”
“I’ll give him a buzz. Thanks again.” I clicked off when we entered the salon and approached the counter. A woman, around forty with purple-spiked hair, greeted us.
“Here for a haircut, gentlemen?”
I flashed my badge. “Not today, but thanks, anyway. What we need to know is if your camera by the door reaches the street.”
“It only catches the front door and sidewalk—for security, you know—but it doesn’t go as far as the street.”
“Okay, we’ll need to see the footage from overnight. Can you set that up for us?”
“Sure thing.”
The woman called over an employee to watch the counter then led us to the salon’s office at the rear of the building. She set up yesterday’s recording and looked over her shoulder at me. “What time?”
“Actually, I guess it would be today, not yesterday. We’d like to start it at three a.m.”
She tapped the keys and changed the date. “Here you go. It’s ready whenever you are.” She stood and pointed at the chair. “Go ahead. I need to get back out front.”
I gave her a nod and took her seat, and Frank pulled a chair to the desk and sat next to me. I calculated the timeline before I began the recording.
“Callie walked past the fast-food restaurant at three seventeen, so we should see her pass here around three twenty-five.”
We leaned in and stared at the screen. With fewer commercial buildings in that area, the ambient lighting was poor, and streetlights were less frequent.
Frank pointed. “There! That’s got to be her. It’s the same person as before.”
“Come on.” I was on pins and needles. We needed to see someone following her before she turned onto Prairie, where darkness would definitely take over. I nearly leapt from the chair when I saw a figure walking about fifty feet behind her. “That’s got to be him! Damn it, though. I can’t tell anything about his appearance. He’s just a dark figure going in the same direction she is.”
“I hope this recording catches her turn. If he turns, too, we’ve got him dead to rights.”
I frowned at Frank. “Yeah, that’s awesome. We’ll have a dark, shadowy figure dead to rights. How the hell do we make an ID on that?”
He shrugged. “Sorry, bud. I’m just getting excited for something to pop.”
We continued to watch. As Callie made a right and the man followed her into the darkness, my muscles tensed. We knew what lay ahead, and if only we could turn back time.
Frank rose and walked to the door. “I’ll get her back in here so she can send that video to your email address.”
“Thanks.” I took a minute to call Mike. “Hey, buddy, anything on the purse?”
“Yep, Callie’s prints are all over it, so we know definitively it belonged to her.”
“I don’t hear excitement in your voice. Is bad news coming next?”
“Yeah. Sorry, Jesse. The other sets of prints are from unknowns. They aren’t in the system.”
I heaved a sigh. “Guess one set belongs to the kid and the other to our perp.”
“Most likely.”
“Okay, thanks.” I clicked off as Frank and Miss Purple Hair walked in together.
I gave her my email address, and we watched as she sent the video on its way through cyberspace. Seconds later, I got a notification that an email had arrived in my in-box. After giving it a quick check to make sure the attachment was included—and it was—Frank and I thanked her and left.
Outside, I gave Frank the bad news as we headed to the cruiser. “I spoke to Mike.”
“And?”
“The purse was Callie’s, and the only identified prints belonged to her. The two other sets weren’t in the system.”
“The killer and the kid?”
“Yeah, I’d assume so. We have to find that guy and damn soon. We don’t know if he’s on a spree or if Callie’s murder was a one-time thing.”
“But she didn’t have enemies that anyone knew of.”
“True, but some people are good at hiding their anger until they need to unleash it on someone. If it wasn’t personal and he’s an opportunist, then he’ll slip up sooner or later.”
“Sooner suits me just fine.”
Chapt
er 13
We returned to the station late in the day. Our second shift guys had already arrived, and Tony was filling them in. I limped to my desk with a roomful of eyeballs watching my every move.
“Step on a rock?” Kip asked.
“No—new shoes. Stupid on my part to walk miles in shoes that aren’t broken in.”
“You should keep a comfortable pair in your—”
I held up my hand at Kip’s suggestion. “Believe me, I’ve already gotten an earful from Mills.” I took a seat in my chair, peeled off the shoes and socks from my aching feet, and pulled two Band-Aids from my desk drawer. I placed one on each heel and put my socks back on.
The room erupted with gags and nose pinches.
“Real funny. Has anyone heard from Billy or Todd about Callie’s laptop?”
Tony responded for the group. “Yeah. As a matter of fact, Billy said they checked out Callie’s social media posts for the last few days.”
“And what did she write?”
“That she was going to Lindsay’s party at the Regency and she would post the pictures today.”
I huffed. “And that didn’t happen for obvious reasons. Does Tech still have the computer?”
“Yeah, I think so.”
I jerked my head at Tony. “Would you mind bringing it up here? Make sure you get all the log-ins too.”
“Sure thing, Gimpy.” Tony rose and walked out.
Seconds later, Shawn and Henry walked in. They greeted us with groans and mutters.
“What does all that mean in English?” I asked.
Henry groused. “It means we don’t have anything more than we had this morning.”
Frank ran his hand through his buzz-cut hair. “It’s a process of elimination, Johnson. What we do know is that nobody witnessed the attack, but we have the approximate time it happened. We also know that the perp dumped the purse in the trash at the Quick Fill station but didn’t board the Ninety-Fifth Street train.”