by M. K. Gilroy
I call Klarissa’s number again. It goes into voice mail immediately. Not good. Is she going to be there? She has to be. But if she is, is she still alive? I force that thought from my mind.
Dean, the Cutter Shark, has been neat and orderly his whole career of killing. Van Guten is right. He’s unraveled—which is good for us catching him but not necessarily good for my sister right now. When he said his next victim was going to be at the beginning of summer, how literal was he being? The first day? The first official minute of summer—just an hour or so from now? He issued a challenge to us. But is his mind clear enough to follow through on it to the detail?
I downshift into second to slow down for a red light on Kenzie. I see a gap in the traffic flow, stomp on the accelerator, and run the red. I look in the rearview mirror and see that Carter didn’t make it. I keep his number under a magnet on my refrigerator. He’s called numerous times to announce visitors, but not much in the past week. I know his number is in my call log and I’m going to have to scroll down to find it.
I continue to weave in and out of traffic, one eye on the road, one on the tiny screen, and my mind everywhere. Van Guten said that the Cutter Shark’s attack of me was a message to all law enforcement members on the case—letting them know who was in charge—but that it was also something personal. Why didn’t I—why didn’t any of us—think about my family’s safety?
I think I’m close to finding Carter’s number when my phone chirps and I hit the green button immediately, hoping Klarissa is calling me back to say she is on her way home from talking with Warren or a quick trip to the grocery store or anything else that has nothing to do with the Cutter Shark.
“Conner,” I answer.
“Okay, what’s happened, what’s going on, KC?” Don asks.
“Do you have troops on the way to Klarissa’s house?”
“I’ve been on the phone with Zaworski and Konkade. We’ve got a couple patrol cars on the way. No one is in the immediate neighborhood but the first should arrive within ten minutes. They’re in the middle of a situation and are being told our deal takes precedence. Blackshear, Martinez, and Reynolds are all driving there, too. Reynolds is bringing his soldiers—not sure how many. I’m at least thirty minutes away. Not sure how far away the FBI guys and gals are. But we’re coming en masse. Are you riding with your security detail?”
“Not exactly,” I answer, looking in the rearview mirror for any sign of Carter.
“What’s that mean?”
“They’re following me over,” I quickly say.
“Okay, good. Zaworski reminded me to tell you that you do nothing solo.” I’ll have no problem obeying—unless my sister is in imminent danger. “What did you get? What do we have waiting for us?”
“Dell slid a note under my apartment door, Don. He’s picked up his brother’s trail and knows he’s been watching Klarissa.”
“And he’s known this how long?” Don asks in amazement.
“I’m not sure,” I answer, “but he’s either at Klarissa’s or on his way over. He thinks he’s going to protect her from his brother.”
“What a fool!” he yells. “You sure he’s on our side?”
“I think so,” I respond, “but honestly, I don’t know anything for sure, including the Cutter’s whereabouts.”
“And you think tonight is the night?”
“I don’t think anything for sure. But it makes sense in light of his message through the ChiTownVlogger that the next murder would be summer.”
“We need to bring in both of those boys tonight,” he says.
“We need to make sure my sister is okay.”
“It all goes together,” he says. “How far away are you from her place?”
“Less than five.” I am driving seventy-five and eighty on a road that has a speed limit of forty-five.
“Okay, you listen carefully, Kristen. I know it’s your sister. But I am going to repeat what Zaworski said. Stand down and wait for backup. No freelancing. We don’t need a double hostage situation.” How about having a little confidence in your partner, Don?
“I’ll call you back in about five—let me give Zaworski and Reynolds a heads-up on the additional information. But you stay in your car until we get there. Understood?”
“I hear you,” I say and hang up the phone. I’m getting close. I quickly thumb through the call log on my phone and find what I think is Carter’s number. I hit the call button and he answers on the first ring.
“Detective Conner, I’m sorry but we’ve lost you,” he says rapidly. “I just got off the phone with Sergeant Konkade and he gave us the address for your sister and we’re flying low. But he wanted me to tell you to wait for us outside your sister’s place until we arrive.”
“Thanks, Carter.”
My phone is already vibrating again. It’s Konkade. No time to answer. I’m on Klarissa’s street. I turn off my headlights and cruise slowly past her place. Lights are on downstairs. I try her cell again. She’s still not answering. I park a block away and walk back toward her house on foot, keeping to the shadows on the opposite side of the street as much as possible. I watch her windows for any sign of movement and look at each car as I slide by. I don’t know what kind of car Dell has now and there is no record of Dean picking up a rental in any of the names he uses. I don’t see anyone watching—and none of the cars have a rental company sticker on the back.
I look at my watch. Maybe five more minutes for the first patrol car to arrive. Too long, I decide. I sprint across the street to her house. I know where she keeps her spare house key and jump the wrought-iron fence on the left side of her tiny front yard and head down the narrow brick walkway that separates her home from her neighbor’s. I take a quick look at her garage. The door is closed, so I don’t know if her car is there or not. On tiptoes I look inside a row of high windows. She never leaves doors unlocked, much less open. That’s a big deal to her.
I freeze for just a second. I hear a voice tell me if I just walk away and go to my apartment and get in bed, everything will be fine; Klarissa will call me in the morning and say that she and Warren met up to talk about getting back together and argued until 4 a.m. We’ll laugh at how I was worried about her and meet for coffee. We’ll never argue again.
Move. Face whatever it is you have to face.
My heart is beating crazy fast. I force myself to breathe slowly. My fear is paralyzing me. It has grown in the pit of my stomach and is working its way up my chest and to my throat, threatening to suffocate me. I’m reminded of standing on a ledge, thirty feet above a Smokey Mountains lake. We were on a family vacation when I was about fifteen. I was frozen in place on a small rocky perch for almost five minutes before absolutely forcing myself to dive into the air and into the deep, cool waters below.
God, let Klarissa be okay. And alone. Please. Kristen, move. Now!
On the back stoop, I push up the edge of the large, molded concrete flowerpot, feel around underneath, and find the key before letting the pot thud back to the ground. Quietly! I slip the key in the lock and turn the dead bolt silently, then wince as it makes a thunk sound. I open the back door and slip inside, thankful for no squeaky hinges.
I pull my Beretta from my pocket and hold it in front of me. Walking on the outside edges of my feet, I start looking around in the back two rooms on the first floor of her three-story town house, the kitchen and a small office. If she’s here alone, I’m going to give her a heart attack. She’s not in either room, and at quick glance, there’s nothing out of place.
I quietly tread up the hall to the front rooms. I poke my head in the dining room. Nothing. I look in the formal living room.
That’s where I find Dell.
77
June 20, 11:39 p.m.
I GUESS IF someone outside sees us on the way to the door I’ll just smile and tell them she had a little too much to drink tonight.
But I might not see everyone who sees us from inside. And the city is holding its breath. Change pla
ns?
No chance.
I’ve changed plans enough in Chicago to last a lifetime. If you want the biscuit, you have to risk it. Dell used to say that to me when we were little. That makes me feel a little sad to think of us as little boys and now I’ve hurt him. But he did ask for it, trying to get in my way. Nope. No changes. It’s almost time and this is the place.
I still wish I hadn’t had to hurt Dell tonight. I think he might be my only living relation. He always tried to be nice to me. He visited me when I was a prisoner of the state. He got me out of the red brick monster that tried to devour me and into that church home. I wouldn’t call it summer camp but it was definitely better than being behind the barbed-wire fence of the Colorado Institute for Troubled Youth. If you weren’t troubled before you got there, you sure would be after you had stayed for a while. But not me. That’s where I found myself, where I was set free. That’s where I learned I was a man apart, a man of destiny.
Any desire I might have had for a relationship that falls within the social constraints of the masses died the day I was reborn. I knew I was beyond social constructs and traditions. But if I ever was to desire the kind of relationship others must settle for, it would be with her. She is my soulmate after all.
Maybe I will call 911 and get some help for Dell. No. That wouldn’t be wise. Not enough distance between the front doors. I’m sorry brother, you are going to have fight this one on your own. I’ll tell you what. You make it through this alive and I owe you one.
78
“HE’S LOST A LOT of blood but he’s alive,” I explain to Konkade. Don patched me through to him with call forward. Konkade makes things happen faster than anyone else on the CPD, and he has already arrived back at the Second to coordinate actions.
“The ambulance will be there in next to no time. I think your backup is about to arrive, too. I’m sorry there were some delays. The closest squad car was involved in a domestic violence situation. But they’ll be arriving any minute. So, Conner, I know it must be incredibly hard not knowing where your sister is, but don’t move. We need you there to figure next action steps. We’re going to find her with you.”
I realize Konkade is yammering away to keep me on the phone. Zaworski suspects I’ll bolt out the front door if I have any ideas on where Dean might have my sister. And he would be correct.
I hang up. Dell groans and tries to lift his head. I carefully cup a hand behind his neck and tell him to be still. His eyes are unfocused. “Help is on the way, Dell,” I say. He has a gaping knife wound that draws a jagged line from his shoulder across his chest. The flow of blood is steady—the knife got an artery. I’ve pulled off my Under Armour sweat top and tied it around his chest to put as much pressure on the wound as I can. The flow has slowed to a trickle, but that’s still enough to drain his life away.
I kneel over Dell and see his left temple is matted with blood, swollen and turning an angry purple shade. I look around and don’t see a likely blunt object. Either Dean took it with him or more likely, after he knifed Dell, he kicked his brother in the head.
Dell opens his eyes and seems to focus on me, even as he labors to breathe. There’s really only one question I need answered. “Where’d he take her, Dell?”
He clutches my hand and his eyes bore into me. His lips move, but no words come out. A red bubble pops from his lips. His eyes now seem to plead for me to understand something important.
“Hold on, Dell. Hear those sirens? They’re coming to help you. But please tell me, where is Klarissa?”
He gurgles in an effort to speak. But his eyes are confused and filled with fear. They say I don’t know.
His eyes close from the exertion and his breathing slows way down. For a second I think he might be dying in my arms, but then he opens his eyes again. He swallows, and then in a raspy breath says, “Kristen.”
“Dell, you don’t have to tell me you didn’t know what your brother was doing. I know that already. Save your energy. Can you tell me where he’s taken Klarissa?”
“I didn’t know he was . . .”
Focus, Dell! I don’t care.
“Where does Dean have Klarissa, Dell?”
“I swear I didn’t know he was the . . .”
Dell’s eyes shut again. Is this the final fade? I know I can’t push him in this state, but every fiber in my being is screaming for him to shut up about his innocence and tell me something that will help. I want to shake him. I’ve got to get to my sister.
“Dell . . . Dell! You’ve got to help me. Do you have any idea where he has taken her?”
His eyes focus again and he battles to get words out, but they can’t escape his lips. One corner of his mouth is turned up. Has he had a stroke? He turns from me and looks at the ground. I’ve lost him. I’ve lost Klarissa.
But then he starts moving his forefinger through the thin puddle of blood at his side. I watch as he writes one letter: h. Then another: o. And another: m.
“Home?” I whisper to Dell. His eyes go up and down in assent. “What home, Dell?” I ask.
Dell gulps and gasps for breath. More blood is pulsing from his wound and I put pressure on his armpit to slow the flow. I’ve got to let him rest, but I also need whatever else he knows. I pause, holding my breath. His eyes flicker and I think he’s mouthing the word “my.”
My? That’s his. His home.
“Your home, Dell?”
His eyes move up and down. That’s got to be a yes. And I have to move.
“Thank you,” I say as a flood of sirens roars up. I dash to the front door and slam it open for two EMTs who have jumped out of an ambulance. One of them is Lloyd. Not as easy to recognize as he was a month ago. He’s losing weight. Maybe it was my pep talk. I doubt it.
“Lloyd!” I bark.
He looks up at me in surprise. I’m wearing sweatpants and a sports bra and I’m covered in blood.
“Keep him alive.”
I race down the steps before he can answer. The first uniformed officer looks like he is going to pull a gun on me. I realize my badge is still in my Under Armour top with Dell.
He blocks my way and says in a soothing but firm voice, “Excuse me, ma’am, let’s step over by my car where we can talk. I need to ask you a few questions.”
Before I can speak, a red-faced, out-of-breath Carter runs up, takes one look at me covered in blood, and says, “Have you been shot, Detective Conner?” He looks like he is going to be sick and his face color drains from bright red to pale white in an instant.
“Both of you, get your partners, get in your cars, and follow me,” I nearly shout.
“What about the Cutter Shark?” the uniform asks me.
“He’s not in there, but I know where he is.”
I give him and Carter the address on North Dearborn. I tell Carter to have his partner drive and call the situation into Konkade while we are mobile. I sprint to my car and don’t bother to check to make sure they leave with me. They know how to get there—and they are jammed up in the traffic around Klarissa’s house.
Dell’s house. I knew we weren’t watching it full-time anymore—just spot-checks. I calculate in my head. It’s twenty to thirty minutes from Klarissa’s in heavy traffic; ten to fifteen minutes when the streets are reasonably deserted like now; maybe seven when you are pretty sure your sister is being held by a serial killer and you are willing to use sidewalks when necessary.
I zip across Wicker Park and then south through Old Town. I cut across Belmont and switch from Wells to Clark as I dart through late-night club traffic—most of it pedestrian at this point. So much for Mayor Doyle’s instructions to stay in tonight. My engine is winding to its limits as I shift up and down the gear box.
I look in my rearview mirror. No sign of my squad cars. They’ll get there soon enough.
Now I’m darting through traffic on Sheridan, still trying not to kill any drunks that are laughing and shouting at each other and reeling in the street. I cut over Addison and I’m on Dearborn. I’m three
blocks away and still under seven minutes.
My phone is vibrating. I jab the green button with my thumb.
“Where you at, Don?”
“Close. We’ve been rerouted by Konkade. Everyone on task force is converging on Dell’s house to meet you there.”
“No sirens, right?”
“We’re still running stealth. I’m in the car with Blackshear and Martinez now. No worries. We’re all coming in with no lights or sirens so he won’t know what hits him.”
“Good. I need to get off now.”
“Conner, backup is less than five minutes away. Sit tight, stand down, just stop. Listen for once.”
“Don, I’m here now. I’m going in for Klarissa.”
“Conner! Are you listening?”
I pull a fresh magazine from my glove compartment to put into my Beretta. Twenty rounds that will shoot almost as fast as any automatic. My scores on the shooting range are below average, but if there’s half a shot and my sister is still in harm’s way, I’m going to nail the mad dog right between his eyes. Honest to God I will.
I reach for my 9mm in the holster on the small of my back. No holster. No gun. It is in my Under Armour top. I slam the worthless magazine down in anger. Mr. Barry, whatever you taught me, I need it now.
I trot down the street and pick up speed. Forget the Beretta. I had to park almost two blocks away but I’m about there. My phone rings. Don. I hit the ignore button immediately. I’m two houses away and my phone emits the sonar ping. I look at the text message.
Do not go in alone. Direct orders. Zaworski!
This is distracting.
I pop the battery out and throw my phone in the bushes. I am alone and unarmed. I’m also incredibly dramatic and stupid. I may need my phone when this is done.
79
June 20, 11:57 p.m.
SHE’S BEAUTIFUL, BUT so thin. She’s an angel. Though she was a bit naughty tonight.
I wanted her to be awake for our sweet good-bye, but I had to give her another 15 cc’s of pentobarbital to help her behave herself. When you put the needle straight into the carotid artery, that stuff does its work fast. It worked on my sweet little filly as well as it does for equestrian vets.