“They’re working their way towards Lakeshore,” he said.
Crowley radioed the change of direction. Officers from other districts would begin anticipating the direction of the chase in an effort to thwart the fleeing suspects.
Dowd glanced at the speedometer. He was keeping pace with the Porsche by hovering close to eighty miles an hour. In the adrenalin-soaked moment, he became aware of his intense grip on the steering-wheel and the pounding of his heart.
The suspects tapped the brakes again, slowing considerably before turning right onto Lakeshore, just as Dowd had anticipated. The thieves and the pursuing officers were heading south.
Crowley relayed the new information, yelling over the whine of the siren and the wind whipping through the open windows.
The Porsche shot across the southbound lanes to the far left, increasing the speed of the chase. Dowd’s speedometer climbed to 100.
The dispatcher radioed Crowley, telling her the name and owner of the stolen car. He was a local.
“Probably working late,” Dowd said.
“Trying to pay for that car.”
The chase continued until they reached the Hyde Park area, south of the city, where a new roadblock had been formed by other officers who were laying Stop Sticks across the roadway. Again anticipating the suspects’ next move, Dowd slowed his speed. The Porsche broke to the far-right lane and raced along the shoulder of the road, in an attempt to circumvent the officer’s efforts, but failed when the Boxster rolled over a Stick, shredding all four tires. Dowd followed the Boxster, maintaining his speed and distance, occasionally swerving to avoid the flying debris that came at him from the Porsche’s disintegrating tires. But as they reached East 57th, the sports car’s brake lights suddenly glowed and the Boxster veered sharply to the right, sparks flying, as the suspects fought to maintain speed on bare wheel-rims while exiting Lake Shore Drive.
“They could be heading for the Museum,” Crowley said. The Chicago Museum of Science and Industry had a surrounding park and underground garage in which the thieves could abandon the car.
Dowd shook his head. “They’re not heading anywhere. They’re looking for a place to land. I’ll bet it’s going to be Washington Park.”
The Porsche sped past the Museum with the cruiser in tow, working its way in a haphazard fashion westward, before confirming Dowd’s prediction by entering the park. The thieves reduced their speed but on the bare rims were unable to navigate the sharp turn and flipped the car end over end several times before coming to rest upside down against a tree. Dowd stood on the brake, spinning the cruiser sideways and coming to a stop twenty yards from the overturned sports car.
Steam rolled from the crumpled Porsche as one of the suspects climbed from the driver’s side of the car and began running.
“I’ve got him,” Dowd said, leaping from the squad with his pistol and flashlight in hand.
Crowley radioed the dispatcher with their location and requested an ambulance.
As Dowd increased the distance between himself and his partner, the sound of arriving units grew increasingly faint, replaced by his own labored breathing and the jingling of the keys on his belt. Although he kept in shape, running and lifting weights several times a week, he was nearing fifty. It wasn’t long before the thief was out of view.
Dowd stopped running and leaned against a tree, resting his hands on his knees. He gasped for air. Beads of sweat formed on his forehead and perspiration trickled down his spine under his shirt and bullet-proof vest. He had lost the suspect, so he extinguished the flashlight to prevent the thief from locating him. Fighting to subdue his breathing, he strained to listen. hearing nothing, he slid the flashlight into the ring on his belt and tucked the Sig Sauer pistol in its holster, retracing his steps. The accident scene was now awash with the blue light of emergency vehicles.
Jessica was standing near the overturned Porsche, talking to another officer. She motioned for Dowd to join her as he came into the clearing.
“You OK?”
“I’m fine. What’ve you got?”
“Take a look at this,” she said, kneeling alongside the demolished car.
Dowd knelt, resting one hand on the car and one hand on the ground as he peered into the vehicle. The suspect they had seen with the crowbar was lying askew on the passenger’s side, his eyes open and fixed.
“He’s just a kid,” Dowd said.
The Sons of Jude Page 28