Too Dark To Sleep

by Dianne Gallagher

  “You are out of line, lady,” Walker said.

  “No, you are.”

  It was enough to knock the superintendent off balance.

  “You’re the only one who could’ve ordered that body released. The family wanted their daughter, right? They called the mayor. The mayor called you. You called the morgue. End of story. Don’t wonder where your evidence is when you were the one who flushed it down the toilet.”

  “Maggie,” Tierney began.

  “I’m your consultant, right? I’m being paid to tell you how to solve this case. If you don’t let me do that, if you don’t listen, then why am I here? Just an insurance policy if things go south?”

  Both men were silent. They knew the answer to that question. Maggie smiled.

  “Let’s move on,” said Tierney softly.

  “The bludgeoning of the victim’s face appears to have occurred post mortem. No trophies were taken. The assailant is probably someone she knew, considering the personal nature of the assault. He is also right-hand dominant. Considering he is disorganized, there is a huge possibility he may be non-functional, either in or just out of a hospital or dead.”

  “Dead?” Walker asked.

  “Suicide.” Maggie felt the superintendent’s heart skip as his eyes flitted from her face to her arms. “Detective Dublowski receives daily updates from area hospitals regarding psychiatric admissions. They know what kind of individual we’re looking for and they’re keeping their eyes open.”

  Of course, Dublowski didn’t know he was getting updates. Maggie hadn’t told him yet.

  “Unfortunately, this guy is not your problem,” she continued. A map came out from under the table. There were Post-It flags stuck in a dozen locations Maggie plotted the previous night. “Twelve strangulations in the last six years. No apparent pattern to the timing of the attacks. Random. Unlike the victims. All share similar backgrounds, similar financial status, physical features. One victim each in Areas Two through Five. Five in suburban locations. Southern Cook, Dupage, Lake. All left hand dominant. No sign of struggle. Just bruising around the neck along with varying degrees of mutilation involving the torso. Sarah Dougall is the exception, but I’ll get into that later. All had some sort of trophy taken. Jewelry. The last three cases.” Maggie pointed to the flags in Area One. “Cramer, Rosenberg and Dougall. All in Area One. All twelve victims were manually strangled and most mutilated. All missing jewelry. In Sarah Dougall’s case, every piece was taken.” Maggie looked at the chief. “This, gentlemen, is your problem.”

  Walker couldn’t speak. How had this been missed? Everyone was using C.L.E.A.R.

  “There’s a lot of reasons no one caught this. Too much crime and not enough detectives is one reason. The biggest are time and location. Enough time passed between each killing in each separate area that no one saw a pattern. No one was looking for one. As far as your investigators were concerned, each of these was a separate, unrelated crime.”

  “Our detectives cross-check the data base,” said Walker with an incredulous sniff.

  “No, they don’t. You tell your boss and the press that they do, but most of your detectives don’t use the system consistently. Some don’t use it at all and that’s a whole other problem. Look, I ran the stats back when we had two bodies and I came up empty. It’s only when I tossed out a bigger net, expanded my search parameters, that I found this.”

  Walker turned to the chief. “We don’t want to focus valuable resources and manpower on a situation that doesn’t exist, John. Let’s not jump to any conclusions.”

  Maggie briskly laid photos in front of him. Twelve photos of twelve women, alive. Twelve more photos of the same twelve women, dead. “So what else do you want? His name tattooed on their asses?””

  “Maggie,” the chief said between clenched jaws.

  “You want more bodies, Superintendent, just wait. He’ll give you more.”

  Walker stared at the photos. The women could’ve been sisters. “What kind of strategy are we looking at to come up with an arrest?” he asked

  “Just keep working.”

  “That’s it? Just work?” Walker said.

  “We’ve got a ghost. The only things this guy leaves behind are dead bodies. No prints, no DNA, no nothing. He started good. Now he’s better. Which means we’ll have to work harder. Now if you want to end our arrangement, that’s fine. End it. You can feel your way through this one straight into November.” Maggie stared at the man in front of her. He was blinking. A lot. Quite a few synapses firing. “Or you can let me earn my pay.”

  Walker was on his feet. “Keep me informed. I don’t want this to turn into a wild goose chase.”

  The room was still after Walker left. John Tierney let out a tired breath. “So why did he beat Sarah Dougall?”

  “Because Melinda Phillips was beaten. And her killer is still loose.”

  “Don’t tell me.”

  Maggie shook her head. “He was killing before Phillips. He’ll keep on killing after her case is closed. He’s hoping we’ll blame Phillips’ killer for the whole shooting match and he’ll walk away clean, ready to pick up where he left off another day. Only next time, he’ll be even harder to spot. Because he would’ve learned.”

  “So are we completely screwed?”

  “Not as long as he likes it in the First. He’s confident. Cocky. That’s going to work in our favor. When he started, he was just going for the rich kids out in the suburbs where it’s harder to get caught. No mutilation. That would draw attention.” Her finger traced his path on the map. “Then he ups the ante, moves in a little closer, hitting in CP territory. He starts cutting. Finally, his last three, he goes all in. Rich, powerful families right in front of Chicago’s best homicide department. He thinks he’s too smart to lose.”

  “Is he?”

  Quinn’s eyes were glued on the map as she chewed her lip. “He’s smart, but he’s not that smart.”

  Tierney nodded. “You can’t push Walker around like that.”

  “It worked.”

  “Today. He gets heat from the mayor and…”

  “I know,” Maggie nodded.

  “Go home. Get some sleep. You look like shit.”

  “So do you.”

  “Thanks.”

  The Boys were still watching when she left Tierney’s office. Maggie didn’t stop. She didn’t hang her head or apologize. She just walked out.

  “What was that about?” Dublowski caught up with her in the hallway.

  “Walker wants to make sure he’s getting his money’s worth.”

  “So why wasn’t I in there?”

  “Ask your chief,” she said, trying to step around him.

  He moved to stop her. “I know what you’re doing. I’m not that stupid, you know.” Nick’s voice was soft, strained. “You’re shutting me down. You want to get back on the force. Fine. Wrap this one up yourself, so they’ll take you back. Give you your old job. No problem. Just don’t walk over me to do it.”

  “The chief called. I was just doing what I was told.”

  “So why wasn’t I in there with you? I’m the one who’s been on the fucking phone all week. I’m the one running all over hell to talk to people. This is my investigation. My case. Not yours. Mine. Got it.”

  Maggie reached into her bag and handed Dublowski a sheet of paper. “Area hospitals. They all have your name. They’ll call if anyone matching the profile of Phillips’ killer is admitted. He’s crashing soon and he might just end up in one of the psych wards and then your case would be solved… and you’ll be the hero. But I’m sure you already thought of that. Right, Detective?”

  Dublowski was silent.

  “I’d keep that list close. Tierney’s going to ask you about it.” Maggie turned to leave, then stopped. “And if you think I’m
doing this to get my job back, you are stupid. No one’s going to let me back.”

  Nick stared at the paper. A list of over thirty hospitals Quinn had contacted. All with his name. “Look, Maggie… I’m…” But when he finally dared to look up, she was gone.

  Just disappear. That’s what Maggie wanted to do. She was pissed and things always had a way of turning bad when she was pissed. There were too many people at the front exit, so she snuck out the side door.

  The sun was high and it was a warm day, so Maggie chose a direction and walked. It took fifteen minutes to realize she was alone. Completely alone. For the first time since she went for that ride in the ambulance, no one knew where she was.

  It felt good. Liberating. Another fifteen minutes and she wasn’t thinking about Dublowski or the killings or Rayney who was waiting in the car. She wasn’t thinking at all, just watching the sky, the sidewalk, the trees. Enjoying the sheer freedom of being anonymous. Feeling the air fill her lungs, noticing how little effort it took to push the same air back out. When Maggie finally cared to notice where she was, thirty blocks had gone by. Thirty blocks thinking of nothing. Not even the dark.

  Maggie didn’t remember weaving through the streets, but she must have. A straight path would’ve taken her to the lake, but she was nowhere near Michigan. Maggie knew where she was and how she got there. Pausing for one last thoughtless breath, she walked past University Hospital. Where Erin died.

  A piece, a seemingly innocent piece of information, fell. It lay in Maggie’s brain, staring at her. She opened the flagged map from her bag and studied it. Then, like dominoes, more pieces tumbled out from various filing cabinets in her head. They shifted, moved, reassembled as she stared at the huge building. Finally, the theory was complete. Maggie pulled out her cell phone. Shit, she turned it off for the meeting and forgot to switch it back on. The phone rang the moment she hit the power.

  “Yeah, I’m over near Maryland and 57th.”

  “What the fuck are you doing over there? Are you okay? I was waiting at the police station all fucking morning. No one knew where you were,” Rayney screamed.

  “You went inside?”

  “You bet your ass I went inside. And you were nowhere. What the fuck do you think you’re doing in that neighborhood? Huh? Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine. Just come and get me.” She needed to get home and check out the idea, hold it up against the evidence. It was like drawing a picture with your eyes closed, then laying it over the original to see how well it matched… just like she and Erin did on rainy days.

  Maggie stared at the hospital for a moment. She couldn’t look any longer. It hurt too much, so she walked to the intersection and waited for Rayney.

  “You can’t just take off. Did you know where you were? Not the best fucking place to be standing around waiting on the fucking street corner. Jesus!”

  “Look, it’s okay.”

  “No, it’s not. I thought you…” Rayney couldn’t finish his sentence.

  “What? I was abducted? Raped? What?” Maggie chuckled, enjoying the chance to get a good tease in until she read his face and realized what an idiot she’d been. Rayney wasn’t thinking about any of those things. He was thinking about the scars on her arms. “I’m sorry. I should’ve called sooner.”

  The young man must’ve been scared shitless, playing out scenarios the whole time he looked for Maggie. She bailed, maybe took a jump in the river or stepped into an oncoming Metra or went to Walgreens and bought an X-Acto knife. Next time, Maggie would call.

  “So what were you doing?” Rayney asked after he cooled off.

  “I needed to walk.”

  “No shit.” He was trying to remain calm. “Get anything out of it?”

  “Maybe.” Maggie yawned and rubbed her eyes.

  “You need to sleep.”

  “I need to check something out first.”

  “You need to sleep first.”

  “If I don’t check it out, I won’t be able to sleep.”

  Rayney watched her out of the corner of his eye.

  “So, what? You think you know who did it?”

  “Maybe. Maybe not.” Her eyes were fighting to stay open. “I need to see him.”

  “Shut up,” Rayney said lightly. “You’re tired and talking bullshit. Can’t just look at a man and decide he’s a fucking killer. If people could do that, Ted Bundy wouldn’t have made it past number two.”

  Maggie ignored him as she leaned against the window and watched the city pass.

  “So how?” Rayney finally asked.

  “Huh?”

  “When you look at him, how do you know? What do you see? Glowy eyeballs and shit?”

  “What do you see when you’re deciding whether to make me eat or not?”

  Rayney shrugged. “Nothing.”

  “Because it’s not what you see. It’s what you feel when you see it,” Maggie answered with a yawn. “Potential. You feel the potential.”

  The sun was still high when they got home. Maggie headed straight for the library and, with a brief Google search, found what she needed. Her Chicago map was taped to the desk. A pen and a compass confirmed her theory and her suspect. Maggie pulled a number out of her head and dialed.

  “Yeah, Buddy.”

  “Maggie May,” the man croaked. Buddy Hollister was seventy-four with a three pack a day habit and the voice to prove it. “How ya doing?”

  “Okay.”

  “How did those shots of the old man work out?”

  “He’s not my old man anymore.”

  “Then they worked. So when are you going out with me?” An amused wheeze puffed through receiver.

  “Buddy, you know I couldn’t keep up with you. I’d be dead in a week and then my dad would have to send someone after you.”

  Buddy laughed until he coughed.

  “Look, I got a job. Can you give me some time?”

  “All I got.”

  “I don’t need that much. Look, I’ll e-mail you the specifics.”

  “Family, friends. Names and numbers.”

  “Yeah, teachers and classmates, too. I’m guessing he didn’t have too many close friends.”

  “I know the type,” Buddy wheezed.

  “It’s going to include some out of state.”

  “We can do that.”

  “You’re going to have to work fast. Do you still have that friend at the courthouse?” Maggie asked.

  “Never lost a friend yet.” In Buddy’s line of work that was saying something.

  “Good. This guy could probably bury a semi in a sandbox if he had to.”

  “Yeah, well I got no problems with buried trucks,” he coughed. “Say, how’s the old man doing?”

  “The same.”

  “Glad to hear it. Okay, well, I’ll get on this right away.”

  “I sure appreciate it.”

  Maggie sent the e-mail to Buddy and curled up on the hide-a-bed in the library. She would make one more call tomorrow. When she had a better window of opportunity and more sleep. She would need to be sharp. In her dreams, she chased the man in the blue nylon jacket again and again, missing him by one pinch of fabric. Maggie didn’t scream or cry out this time because now she knew where he lived.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Marcus Galen held the earrings up to his wife’s face.

  “They’re beautiful.” Rebecca Harden simply glowed as she studied the small sapphire hearts.

  “I saw them and thought of you.” He smiled and kissed her on the neck, his lips lingering over her ear lobe where the hearts would soon sit.

  Rebecca let out a deep, satisfied sigh. This was how she liked to spend her days. With her husband. Enjoying the bounty life offered. Marcus took the day off to be with her and now
the earrings. How she ever got such a man, Rebecca didn’t know. She certainly didn’t deserve him. Guilt suddenly bubbled up in her throat. She needed to tell him. But how could she, after he had given her this beautiful gift. Rebecca’s eyes welled up at the thought of disappointing her husband.

  “What’s the matter?” Marcus said softly. He imagined she was so taken by his love, she just couldn’t keep it inside. One of her more endearing traits.

  “I’m so sorry, honey. I’m so sorry.” She kept repeating the words.

  “What is it? Tell me. I’m sure it will be just fine.”

  “I didn’t want to, but I… I just…”

  “What did you do, Rebecca?” There was a detachment to his voice. Another man. There was another man. That bitch. Marcus pulled his anger back, pulled everything back. “What happened? You can tell me.”

  She tried to stop the gasps, slow the sobs. “A speaker cancelled at the last minute. I got a call to fly out tonight.” She paused, eyes moist. “I can cancel and stay here with you. I know I’ve been gone too much.”

  Marcus smiled, then rubbed his lips against her brow and kissed her gently. “No. No. You go. It’s important. I want you to go.”

  His wife’s face gave off a nearly angelic light when he offered his blessing for her trip.

  “Thank you,” she whispered.

  The surgeon looked at his wife beside him in the mirror. Marcus enjoyed giving Rebecca gifts even more than she enjoyed receiving them. It made his wife feel special. Marcus knew. And she was special. She loved him. She loved only him. The surgeon pulled back his lips in a smile generally reserved for photos. Beautiful. He kept his eye on the reflection as he kissed his wife’s neck. It was all so beautiful.

  When the phone rang, Rebecca answered. “For you,” she said coldly. “It’s a woman.”