***
Daniela spun around in her chair, thrusting herself away from Natalie’s desk and around to Drexel’s, her laptop on her lap. “Okay, boss, I’ve got the footage from the ME’s office back camera that you wanted.”
Drexel said, “Let’s see it.”
She sat the laptop on the desk. The video file was already primed in an application. It was dark, murky. The lights from the parking lot provided little in the way of detail other than a smudge of black and brown.
“Have you seen it yet?” he asked.
She shook her head and tapped the play button on the screen. “This is a few hours before the encounter you described.” She tapped the button to accelerate the playback to two-times, four-times, and then eight-times. About twenty minutes after Isaac’s shift started, two headlights appear facing the door. Daniela tapped the playback speed to normal, rewound thirty seconds, and tapped play. The headlights pull up, stopped near a tree, lingered on, and then turned off. The make of the vehicle was impossible to determine. They waited to see if anyone got out of the vehicle, but when nothing happened for two minutes, Daniela increased the playback speed to two-times. A smudge of movement prompted Daniela to slow the speed, back up, and play at normal again. The driver side door opened. A figure appeared and approached the door of the ME’s building. As the person came closer to the camera, Drexel saw that he wore a hoodie and that the brim of a baseball cap appeared from beneath that. By the gait, he guessed it was a man. The camera caught him lifting his arm—presumably to press the call button. The hooded figure disappeared and then reappeared a couple of minutes later, jogging back to the car.
Daniela fast-forwarded the video thirty minutes, pausing the video and rewinding before tapping play at normal speed. The hooded figure opened the car door, jogged to the ME’s door, rang the bell, disappeared inside briefly, reappeared, and jogged back to the car.
“I can’t make heads or tails of who that is.” Drexel put his hands behind his head and leaned back.
“I’ll try and see if I can clear it up.”
Drexel shook his head and looked at the video. The headlights turn on and the car backed up and pulled out of the slot. It was too dark to even see the license plate. The car moved forward and disappeared from the camera’s view. Drexel sighed and was ready to grieve that the last solid lead he had on Zora’s murder would be just out of grasp. Then the car appeared again in the camera and closer to the camera, using the small access road that ambulances and other vehicles used to deposit the bodies to the ME. Less of a smudge now, Drexel could tell it was a four-door sedan style car. It had the look of a Honda Accord. The lights from the entrance to the building glinted off the side mirror and then the white of the license plate shown bright.
Daniela paused the video before Drexel could tell her to. She used her fingers to zoom in on the plate. Illinois. The standard Illinois plate featuring half of Abraham Lincoln’s face, the cityscape of Chicago with Willis Tower most prominent, the capital building dome from Springfield, and the logo “Land of Lincoln” on the bottom. He could not see that detail—but he recognized the basics of it and knew it was there. And numbers: 381. Clear as day. A glare obscured the opening sequence of the serial number.
“Can we see the rest of it?” he asked.
She paused the playback, rewound, and played in slow motion, zooming closer into the license plate. It appeared in view as the light hit it, exposing the last three numbers. As the car continued forward, the glare shifts across the 381 but did not make the first three digits any more visible.
“I don’t know. I’ll have to see if I can do more with this in some specialized software,” she said. “Give me an hour.”
He nodded.
She gripped his forearm. “Even if we don’t get anything else, I’ve got enough to work on.”
His lips closed tight and then he let out a breath. Tears welled in his eyes. He nodded three times quickly.
She closed the laptop, stood up, nodded once at him, and walked away.
Chapter 27
Drexel waited out the time by working on the warrant for Hector’s and Sabeen’s finances. The judge had signed as predicted, so he prepared the requests to the bank the couple used. He went through the motions in a desultory fashion. He clicked send and leaned back, feeling out of his body. After years of conjectures, dead ends, and frustration, he thought he had—finally—something solid. Evidence that would lead somewhere. He felt the energy of it the way when the day arrives in March or April that turns the corner on winter. You want to roll down the car window and let your hand slide through the air.
Victor’s door opened. “Pierce, I need to see you.”
His captain’s voice shook him out of his mental travels. He nodded, stood up, and walked to Victor’s office. His captain had already seated himself behind his desk.
“What’s up, cap?” said Drexel, as he closed the door behind him.
“What’s the status with the Lopez homicide?”
Drexel sat down in the chair across from him. “I sent the bank a copy of the warrant to look at her parents’ finances.”
“Last report I saw from you was focused on the husband.”
“Still is. But he tossed out in his interview yesterday that they were having trouble. I wanted to investigate and make sure we had our ducks in a row before sending this up the chain to the prosecutor. I still think this is the husband, but I don’t have slam dunk evidence yet.”
Victor nodded. “Carl called me about this a few minutes ago.”
“Where is he? This seems like a case he’d be sniffing around. High profile. Media opportunities.”
The captain let a thin smile creep across his face. Victor shared the same opinions as Drexel of their dear leader. “The powers that be saw it fitting that he attend a conference in Los Angeles. Broken windows policing.”
Chicago was desperate for any tactics that would improve the crime rate, so attending a conference where other city police departments shared how they dealt with vandalism, public drinking, and other minor crimes in an effort to prevent larger crimes seemed at least a nominal exercise.
“Maybe Carl will get the bug like his dad and consult with Hollywood,” said Drexel. Carl’s dad had been a well-respected captain in the Chicago police department lured to the glitz and money of Hollywood, but not before greasing the wheels for his son.
“God, how awful for those people.” Victor shook his head.
Drexel smiled. “Hollywood can have him.”
Victor leaned back in his chair. He looked at the framed picture on his desk of his daughter. “So what are your next steps with the case?”
“With the parents’ finances, we’ll find what I’m expecting. Debt. But they didn’t do it. The problem is our case on the husband is circumstantial. I don’t have anything directly tying him to being in the restaurant the night she was killed. His alibi doesn’t really stand up, but it’s also not one I can contradict. I’ve got his past beatings of her and his thousands of nasty texts. I’ve got his taking a loan shark’s money. And I’ve got her parents saying she was getting ready to leave him. But nothing on the noose. Nothing on the chair. Nothing physical. And he’d have a good chance of talking that away.” Drexel shrugged. “And he didn’t crack in the interview.”
“So you’re close to arresting him despite all the holes?”
“That’s what I’m thinking. I think he’s solid.”
“Carl will be fine with that. Happy to have another case closed.” In the Chicago police department as in nearly every such department across the country, case clearance rates were determined by arrests—not convictions.
Drexel nodded.
The captain cocked his head to the right. “What’s wrong? You don’t usually pass up such an opportunity on taking a shot at the commander.”
Drexel pursed his lips. “We’re close.” He stopped and ha
d to fight back a sudden urge to weep. “Close on Zora.” He held up a finger and took several deep breaths. “I got a call from a former ME.” The detective told him the story up to a few minutes ago with Daniela leaving to track down the license plate numbers.
Victor stood up during the story and walked to the windows of his office looking down on Dearborn Street. He rubbed the back of his right ear. When his detective had finished the story, successfully fighting back the tears, Victor turned and walked over to him, putting his hand on his shoulder. “You’re going to get him. This is it.”
Drexel looked up at him. “Yes. Yes, I am.”
“If you need me to, I can help with the arrest.”
Drexel understood the several implications of his captain’s statement. The first being that for the cleanest prosecution, having someone else other than the victim’s husband make the arrest would avoid any conflicts of interest. But Drexel had carried the investigation himself and had already considered this. The police had no reason to investigate, and any decent lawyer would use that in his client’s defense—exposing the fact the deceased’s husband had done all the work. Hence, he dismissed the concern. The second—and the more important one—was to have another police officer there to keep Drexel from killing the person who murdered Zora. “I’ll let you know.”
Victor patted him on the shoulder and then retreated to behind his desk.
Drexel started to stand up but then sat back down.
“Something else?” asked the captain.
“I need to fess up about something.” He turned his head away. How was he going to tell Victor he knew about the corruption—the taking money to help make apartment complexes unlivable?
Daniela opened the door and poked her head in. “Sorry. I’ve got it. Or the start of it.”
Victor waved her in. “Give it to us.”
“There are a few hundred cars with those ending numbers. Only a dozen Honda Accords. Only two in Chicago. Both are owned by Best Car Rental out by O’Hare. I haven’t called them yet. Thought you might want to visit in person.”
Drexel nodded his head. “Yes, I would very much like that.”
Victor stood up and walked around his desk. “Go.” He nudged Drexel toward the door. “Now.”
***
The line of haggard, dazed travelers at Best Car Rental was slow moving. Two booths were open, though at least two other employees wandered behind the counter, doing something on one of the four unused computers, scanning the line, and then walking away to the back.
Drexel had used the power of the badge to cut the line and request to see a manager. The clerk designated the two a seat with a view of the ever more annoyed customers until the manager could meet with him. After fifteen minutes—the line had advanced by two customers—a man in his thirties walked into the lobby. His long black hair was tied into a bun on top of his head. His black beard was closely trimmed, and he wore the green and blue colors of Best Car Rental’s signage. “You the detective?” he asked.
Drexel nodded. “And this is my partner, Daniela.”
The man, his name tag read Scott, smiled at Daniela. “Hello.”
Drexel stood up. “We need to know who rented a car from two years back. We have the make and a partial plate.”
“Sure.” Scott turned and walked to the door that led into the back of the lobby. As Drexel and Daniela started to follow him in, he stopped. “No.” He raised a finger and pointed to the desk. “That side. I’ll get on a computer there and look it up.” He closed the door.
He reappeared a few seconds later behind the counter. Drexel and Daniela walked up to it. Scott shook a mouse, typed in something, and said, “Okay. What’s the day?”
“The car would’ve been rented out August third or fourth in 2015. It was a Honda Accord and the plate number ended in 381. Illinois plate.”
Scott pecked at the keyboard with the index finger of each hand. He hit Enter and drummed his fingers on the counter. A few seconds later, he said, “Looks like we had six Accords rented out those days.” He looked more intently at the screen. “Huh. We had two at the time that ended in 381. Both rented out. One to a Josh Hayden and the other to a Nicholas Standby.”
“Do you have addresses and phone numbers for them?”
“We require them before renting to anyone.”
“Can you print out a record of those rentals?”
“Sure thing.” He clicked a few times with the mouse. A printer spun up behind him and printed two pages, which Scott stepped away to pick up and hand to Drexel.
“Thank you.”
“Any time. Ever need a car, Best Car Rental is here to help.”
Drexel smiled and looked at the line, which had only increased in size. As Daniela drove them back into the city, Drexel looked at the sheets. She said, “Anything there?”
“So Hayden rented the car on the date the ME was blackmailed. Returned it the day after. Address in Houston. Phone number.” He licked his thumb and flipped to the next page. “Standby, rented his a few days before that, returned it a couple of days after. Address in San Francisco. Phone number. Neither got the insurance.” Drexel pulled out his phone and dialed the number for Hayden.
“Hello?”
“Is this Josh Hayden?”
“Huh? Who?”
“Hay—”
“You’ve got the wrong number.” The person hung up.
Drexel re-dialed.
The same voice said, “Hello?”
“I’m a detective with the Chicago police. Is this Josh Hayden?”
“You just called?”
“Yes.”
“Oh, sorry. No, this is Steven Courtier.”
“Do you know a Josh Hayden?”
“Can’t say that I do.”
“Where are you?”
“I’m in Palo Alto.” He paused. “South of San Francisco.”
“How long have you had this phone number?”
“Ummm.” He paused. “I guess it’s a year now since I moved here. Got a new iPhone and switched up my number. Damn telemarketers. Didn’t help.”
“Okay. Thanks.”
“Anytime.” He hung up.
Drexel dialed the number for Nicholas Standby. It went to a voice mail message, “This is Nick. Leave a message.” Drexel did, telling him he was a Chicago detective and needed to speak to him, leaving his number. He shoved the phone into his pocket.
“I’ll do some research on both of these guys. Get you some background.”
Drexel nodded and looked out onto Chicago. He realized he might have heard the voice of Zora’s killer. He turned away from Daniela and stared hard at the city, hoping to contain the tears of sadness and rage.
Chapter 28
Lily and Ryan both texted Drexel as he yawned while watching his computer shut down. They insisted they wanted a game of euchre that night and would not take “No” for an answer. He replied with a simple “Sure” before sliding closed the desk drawer that held the Sammy Sosa baseball and the electronic photo frame with dozens of pictures of him and Zora. Ryan texted back to not eat—they were getting deep dish.
As he walked out, Victor poked his head out the door. “What happened?”
Drexel paused, but Victor held up a finger. “Shit, it’s Carl. Fourth time he’s called in ten minutes.” Drexel waved his hand at him and turned to the stairwell next the elevators. Victor’s door closed behind him.
Drexel stepped out into the humid Chicago night, sucked in a deep breath, and then walked to the LaSalle station to hop the Blue line heading to Polonia Triangle. Once on the train, he texted Ton he was stopping by the pawn shop. As he stood holding the hand grip, he pulled out of his messenger bag a still picture of the man at the ME’s office. He stared hard at the photo, hoping for some clarity not in the photo itself to become apparent. He slipped the image back
into his bag. He called Nicholas Standby and left another message.
At the Division station, Drexel left the train and emerged from beneath the city. He heard the train, a block more northwest do the same as it continued on to the stops between Division and O’Hare. The air still was thick with humidity—forehead and back sweating as he walked the sidewalk toward Pawn Corner. Ton was waiting for him, leaving the closing of his store to another part-time teenage student employee. Drexel had asked him many times if he worried about teenagers stealing anything. Ton had shrugged and said it was less common than shoplifting. And no student had stolen anything of significant value.
“I can tell. You need a beer.” Ton threw his arms around Drexel’s shoulder, patted him, and then pulled his arm away. They walked the rest of the way in silence to Old Towne Pub. They sat at the bar, where two Goose Islands appeared before them.
Drexel pulled out the photograph of Zora’s killer. “That’s him.”
Ton snapped up the picture and looked at it, hunting for details. “Did you get anything from this?”
He filled him in on the license plate and on Josh Hayden and Nicholas Standby. He called Standby again. Voice mail.
“So it’s one of those two guys?” Ton said it, but he did not expect an answer. He slid the picture back to Drexel. “Is that Daniela hunting down information on them?”
“Yes.” He took a long drink from the beer. “I’m so close. So close, and I fear now—more than I ever have—that he’ll escape me.”
“One thing I know about you, the closer you get to something, the higher the certainty you’ll get what you want.” Ton scratched his neck. “What will you do when you find this cocksucker?” He raised his beer to his lips and gave Drexel a look as he took a drink.
Drexel knew what he meant. The desire for revenge was cliché for a reason. He smirked and looked at his giant of a friend. “I’ve seen enough of prisons to know that is a far worse fate than anything I could do.” He let out a breath. “Not that I don’t want to kill him.”
Justice in Slow Motion (Drexel Pierce Book 3) Page 21