End of the Line

by C. M. Sutter

  I added my two cents. “Callie didn’t have any known enemies, and she was an honor student who was taking nursing courses at the state university. She never filed any complaints with the university police. We know where she lived, and we’ve spoken to her roommates and best friend, Danielle. Hell, for one day, I think we have a lot.”

  “I guess if you look at it that way, you’re right. We didn’t see anyone follow her out of the terminal either,” Henry said.

  “But,” Frank said.

  Everyone turned to him.

  “We did see somebody tailing her when she turned off of Ninety-Fifth onto South Prairie.”

  I raised my hands when everybody began firing questions at us at the same time.

  Frank continued. “The man—or woman—was too far from the camera, and the lighting was too dark to tell anything other than there was a figure following about fifty feet behind her and they turned the same way she did.”

  Kip shook his head. “Shit.”

  The room went silent. I was sure we were all thinking the same thing—Callie had only minutes to live.

  The bullpen door opened, and Tony walked in. “Here you go.” He set the laptop and a slip of paper on my desk.

  “Thanks, buddy. All her social media friends need to be spoken with.”

  “And that’s something we can start tonight,” Chuck said. “Go home and take a load off, you guys. We can handle this.”

  “Not the worst idea. I wouldn’t mind soaking my feet.” I slipped on my shoes, gathered my belongings, and headed out with our day shift detectives. Frank and I stopped at Lutz’s office as we passed. He looked to be packing it up for the day too. “Night shift has the reins, Boss. I need to get home and take off these shoes.”

  “You should keep—”

  “Don’t say it. I’ll fill my damn trunk with extra shoes so I never have to deal with this problem again. The night shift guys are going to call Callie’s social media friends and see what they know.”

  “Good idea. Okay, then, I’ll see you boys in the morning.”

  Frank and I parted ways in the parking lot. Since I’d been at the job for more than twelve hours, I was happy to be heading home, and as I drove, I envisioned a recliner and a cold beer in my immediate future.

  Chapter 14

  Richard finally snatched a seat as people exited the Blue Line at the Chicago Street stop. He planned to ride until at least a half dozen women exited. After getting off then, he would follow one or two to get an idea of the general area and his chances of success.

  As the train jerked, slowed, stopped, and sped up again, Richard stared at each and every woman. They were a strange breed—self-centered and with an air of entitlement. They were weak—frail, actually—but insisted they were empowered and strong.

  In numbers only. Alone, not one of you has a chance in hell. I’ve already proven that.

  Most of all, they had no loyalty. Not to family, friends, or husbands. They’d cheat at the first indication that they weren’t the only person their spouse cared about. They needed validation from someone else, and in Amy’s case, that someone was a hotel room lover.

  She should have known better. My remodeling business was thriving and kept me at the job sites longer than I wanted, but it was for us—our future—and she threw it all away. She wanted the perks of my income—fancy cars, designer clothes, trips to wherever—but while I was out making that money, she was spending it at expensive hotels and lying in bed with a different man every month. Stupid cheating bitch triggered the person I was in my past to resurface.

  Finally, after the seven-year wait was over, Richard was able to have Amy legally declared dead, and he collected her life insurance. All those years had passed with the police thinking she had abandoned him. Richard had prepared well in advance with copies of her hotel receipts, photographs of Amy with other men, and phone calls recorded between her and her lovers as they exchanged sexual innuendos. After an exhaustive investigation, the police finally dropped the case and agreed she must have left Richard for another man. They couldn’t find proof that Richard did anything wrong, and he’d covered his tracks flawlessly.

  Taking several deep breaths, Richard tried to calm himself. He didn’t want to give away the anger that still festered under his skin, and that night was only meant for seeing which stop would serve him best. Exiting the train half-cocked and killing someone because he was amped up would be reckless. With six murders under his belt already, he had no intentions of stopping—he couldn’t even if he wanted to. His hatred for women was stronger than ever.

  Richard looked at the route map on the wall, and California Street was next. He would watch to see who exited when the doors parted and decide at that moment whether he’d jump off too. Although he preferred blondes, a perky redhead caught his attention. She was pretty and flaunted it. She was loud, and everyone heard her, and she was sexy, and everyone saw it. In Richard’s eyes, she was perfect, and although she didn’t resemble Amy, her attitude was spot-on.

  I won’t kill her tonight, but I will soon. She’s going to be the focus of my next attack.

  With luck on his side, Richard saw the woman ready herself to exit by grasping the pole nearest the doors. That was his cue, and he would get off right behind her. His pulse increased as he eyed her up and down and thought of creative ways to snuff out her life.

  Chapter 15

  That night, I wished Hanna sweet dreams and hung up with a smile on my face. She had a way of bringing out the best in me. The eight months that we’d known each other had gone by quickly, and we had settled into a comfortable routine. She usually spent the weekends at my house unless I had an ongoing case that kept me at work for hours on end. On those nights, I needed as much sleep as possible, and that usually amounted to five hours if I was lucky. Thoughtful woman that she was, Hanna always ordered takeout, brought it to my house, and we’d eat, spend an hour or two catching up, and then she’d leave by ten o’clock.

  Many times, I’d thought of asking her to move in with me. My house had more than enough space for both of us, but knowing how much she liked her new home, I resisted the urge. Someday, I’d test the water and put the offer out there, just not yet. She needed time to settle into Chicago, her home, and her job at the animal hospital. I was a patient man and enjoyed what we had exactly the way it was, and I didn’t want to put that kind of pressure on her.

  Maybe next year.

  With a stomach full of lasagna and crusty Italian bread—courtesy of Hanna and Antonio’s—I headed for the bedroom with Bandit on my heels. Sleep would come easily, I hoped. Two glasses of red wine and that delicious meal should ensure it.

  I patted the foot of the bed. “Come on, buddy. Get up here and find your spot. I’m too tired to wait for you to spin in circles, lick your paws, and finally get comfortable ten minutes from now.”

  I fluffed my pillow, turned the switch on the nightstand lamp, and dozed off.

  A sound interrupted my sleep. I opened my eyes to darkness and realized what I had heard wasn’t in my dreams—my phone was ringing.

  “What the hell?” I reached for the light and grabbed my phone. Squinting at the screen, I tried to clear my vision with eye rubs. Lutz was calling. “Damn it.” I sat up and answered. “Hey, Boss.”

  “Sounds like I woke you.”

  “No shit. What time is it?”

  “Three twenty-five. Sorry, Jesse, but we’ve got another murder on our hands.”

  “Son of a bitch. Same MO?”

  “I’m just leaving my house now, and the details are sketchy. I gave Don a heads-up and will confirm things with him when we get to the scene.”

  I threw back the blankets and sat on the edge of the bed then got a pad of paper and a pen out of the nightstand drawer. “Okay, shoot. What’s the address?”

  With the piece of paper jammed into the pocket of the pants I’d slipped on, I went to the bathroom and washed my face to wake up. I would grab a coffee and a sweet roll at the all-night ga
s station on the corner and be on my way. According to my phone’s GPS, the location was a thirty-minute drive from my house. I buttoned my shirt as I walked to the kitchen, then I filled Bandit’s dish with kibbles. He would be fine, but I’d text my neighbor Dean later to ask him to check on my pup.

  Out the door in the pitch black, with only a few hours’ sleep, seemed to be the way I started many of my mornings.

  A half hour later, I turned the corner onto the residential street, and its location left no guesswork. I’d found the home by the beacon of flashing blue lights. I pulled to the curb and climbed out, then I approached the officer who held a flashlight over the body. I looked down at the dead woman, whose eyes were still open.

  I glanced at the name tag on the officer’s chest pocket. “Do we know the manner of death, Officer Keller?”

  “Not yet, Detective McCord. There’s too much blood.”

  “Okay, thanks. Commander Lutz here yet?”

  “He’s behind the condos with the other officers and a neighbor. I guess the medical examiner is on his way.”

  “Sure thing. How do I get back there?”

  “Go to the corner and then turn right. They’re in the alley.”

  “Thanks.” Minutes later, I approached the group of five that were huddled beneath a pole lamp at the back of the buildings. A light mist began to fall, and the asphalt glistened in the lamp’s ambient glow. I looked to the sky then at my commander. “Boss.”

  “Jesse.”

  With a head tip toward the front of the row houses, I commented that the body should be covered to preserve evidence.

  “Everly, get a tarp from your squad car and drape it over the woman. Don can take it from there when he arrives.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  I watched as the officer took the same route to the front that I’d just walked, then I turned back to Lutz. “What do we know?”

  “The attack began back here. The witness made the 911 call when his headlights caught what looked to be a robbery in progress. He heard the woman scream, saw the perps run in that direction”—Lutz pointed east—“and then the woman obviously stumbled to the corner, turned, and died in front of one of the condos.”

  I frowned. “Is that where she lived?”

  Lutz shook his head. “Nope. Everly knocked on the door, and the man of the house answered. He and his wife were both asleep, and they live there alone.”

  I looked around. “Where’s the witness?”

  An officer pointed at the vehicle farther up that was idling and still had its headlights on. “His name is Tim Grimes, and he’s sitting in the car up there by his residence.”

  Lutz took over. “Nickels is interviewing him as we speak.”

  I scratched my cheek. “Hmm.”

  “What?”

  “I was under the impression our subway killer struck again since the station is only a few blocks from here.”

  “But?”

  “But you said the witness saw more than one perp run away. That doesn’t fit.”

  “It doesn’t fit what we think but not necessarily what we know.”

  I smirked. “Yeah, which is a whole lot of nothing, so maybe there are two perps after all.”

  Several minutes later, Nickels returned. “The medical examiner just arrived, Commander.”

  “Okay, thanks,” Lutz said. “Tape off this area of the alley. We need to find the exact spot where that woman was attacked and preserve whatever evidence might be there. It’s going to be tough seeing anything before daylight.”

  I sighed at the thought of another woman murdered within twenty-four hours of Callie’s death. “Do we even know her name?”

  Everly responded. “Yeah, Jane Doe, since everything about her was likely in the purse the assailants took.”

  Everly’s comment reminded me that we had a long day ahead of us. I took a sip of my coffee and groaned.

  Chapter 16

  Hours later, I entered the bullpen with a heavy heart. Confusion, sadness, and anger weighed on my mind, and it felt like an anchor was tied around my neck. Sleep deprivation didn’t improve my outlook. I wondered if spending the last twenty-four hours looking for a single assailant had been a waste of our resources. Maybe there had been two men all the while, yet we’d been searching the CTA footage and every store surveillance camera for one person. I didn’t want to admit we were back to square one, but there was a good possibility that we were.

  Our only eyewitness was Mr. Grimes from three hours earlier, who’d caught a glimpse of the perps as they attacked the woman behind the building. After we’d briefly talked to him at the scene, he agreed to come in and give Frank and me a taped interview. His account would be the most important evidence so far, and it needed to be preserved.

  I stared at the blank sheet of paper on my desk then reached for the phone. Speaking to Don could offer some clarity. I needed his opinion on similarities and differences between the latest murder and Callie’s.

  “Don, it’s Jesse. Do you have a minute? I need to pick your brain.”

  “Sounds like that’ll take more than a minute. Why don’t you come down to my office? I’m due for a coffee break, anyway.”

  “Yeah, me too, and I’ll bring the coffee.”

  I informed Lutz that I was indeed present but that I’d forgo the roll call for time better spent with Don. He noted that and asked me to update him when I was done. Carrying two coffees, I took the back stairs to the lower level of our building and entered the medical examiner’s office. Already at his desk, Don closed out what he was reading on the computer and gave me his attention.

  “Thanks for the coffee, Jesse. So, what’s on your mind?”

  “I need your expertise.”

  “About our two recent murders?”

  “Yep. What’s your take on that? Do you think both women were killed by the same person?”

  “Well, I just got the second woman cleaned up and printed. Mike has her prints and will see if they’re in the system.”

  Knowing that the witness said he didn’t hear a gunshot, I assumed I knew how the woman died. “She was stabbed, right?”

  “Yes, and unfortunately, the knife pierced her heart. Since there was only one wound, it could have been a survivable attack if it weren’t for the location of the stab. The perps ran away as soon as the headlights hit them, so they didn’t have time to inflict more injuries.”

  “But since they were seen, they grabbed her purse and ran off instead.”

  “That’s how I see it, but I’m not the detective.”

  I contorted my face.

  “Something about that doesn’t sit right with you?”

  “No, it doesn’t. Two perps could have easily knocked her down and ran off with her purse. Why stab her at all?”

  “And you posed that very question at Callie’s murder too.”

  “I did. It’s like the murders are for pure enjoyment and not about theft.”

  “And it could very well be exactly that.” Don lifted his cup and blew over it then took a sip.

  “So do you think it’s one killer? Is the length and width of the knife the same in both murders?”

  Don maximized his computer’s screen. “Actually, I was making that very comparison when you walked in. Unfortunately, the depth and size of our Jane Doe’s wound is different from the one in Callie’s back.”

  “In what way?”

  “The knife was serrated, and from the depth of the injury, it not only pierced the heart but completely penetrated it. I’d say the blade of the knife was five inches long and somewhat narrow and could have easily come from somebody’s butcher block.”

  “Sounds like a steak knife. So it was a weapon of convenience, just in case it was needed?”

  “It looks that way.”

  “How can you tell it was serrated if it didn’t scrape bone?”

  “Because of the ragged wound. Callie’s cuts were smooth in both the neck injury and the stab to her kidney. That knife was larger and meant f
or inflicting injury. It had a strong, razor-sharp blade.”

  I rubbed my forehead—with even more questions than answers. “So maybe the murders aren’t related after all.”

  “Usually, if a killer has a weapon that’s worked well in the past, they’re likely to continue using the same one.”

  “Right, unless they’re trying to throw law enforcement off their trail.” I stood and knuckled Don’s desk. “Appreciate your science and insight.”

  “Not a problem, Jesse, and I hope you catch the killers.”

  I paused at the door and looked back. “You aren’t the only one.”

  As I took the stairs to our floor, I decided to stop at Lutz’s office and tell him about Don’s findings. I thumped on his partially open door.

  He waved me in. “Talk to Don already?”

  “Yeah.”

  Lutz pointed at the guest chair. “Take a load off and spill.”

  “Don doesn’t think the alley murderer and Callie’s are the same.”

  Lutz’s wiry brows nearly touched. “No shit? Why?”

  I shrugged. “Simple enough—the knives are different.”

  Swatting the air, Lutz continued. “No disrespect to Don, but that doesn’t mean anything. Middle of the night, dark area not far from the L, same type of weapon used, and a woman singled out alone. Sounds like a lot of similarities to me.”

  I held my tongue since I was leaning more toward Don’s opinion.

  “Jesse?”

  “Yep?”

  “What do you think? You are a homicide detective.”

  “I guess the two-perp scenario threw me off, but we need to know who the woman was before anything else. She may have known the guys. Could have been a drug deal gone bad when Mr. Grimes showed up. Maybe the perps thought she double-crossed them. Who knows?”

  “You’re right, and it’s too early to speculate. What’s up with the prints?”

  “Haven’t heard yet, but I’ll call Mike and see what he knows.”

  Lutz gave me a nod. “Find a connection, McCord. That’s what you do best.”