A Gift for Dying
Page 3
‘Please don’t do this,’ he begged, tears pricking his eyes. ‘I’m going to be married …’
A firm hand gripped his shoulder. Jacob bucked again, desperately trying to move his chair, but he could make no progress. And now he felt that awful sensation once more … cold steel caressing his skin.
9
Kassie crept down the hallway, casting a nervous glance behind her.
She had endured her mother’s stony silence for a couple of hours, but eventually exhaustion had come to her aid. Natalia worked three jobs to pay the bills and often fell asleep in front of the TV. On a couple of occasions, Kassie thought she’d gone – her mother’s eyelids flickering, then drooping to a close – only for Natalia to rouse herself, casting around the room suspiciously, as if expecting foul play. Eventually, however, she’d given up the fight, the low sound of her snoring filling the spartan room.
Easing herself out of her armchair, Kassie had hurried towards the back of the house. A short walk down the gloomy hallway, avoiding the floorboards that creaked, then she was in the back room, a small utility area containing a sink, a washing machine and numerous boxes of cheap detergent. Hurrying over to the sink, Kassie yanked open the cupboard doors beneath it. Crouching down, she delved inside, pushing aside bottles of bleach and industrial cleaner, to reveal an ancient tin of silver polish. Turning the lid, she removed it, before retrieving a small package from inside. Sliding the package into her pocket, she sealed the tin once more, carefully returning all the bottles to their original positions. Then, checking that nothing was out of place, she closed the cupboard doors and moved away.
Darting a look at the ancient clock – it was already past eleven – Kassie unlocked the back door. Cold air rushed in to greet her and she pulled her hood up, concealing her features from the night. In the distance, a dog barked and Kassie turned to check if her mother had been disturbed. But there was no sign of movement and Kassie could still make out her gentle snores.
Relieved, Kassie hurried outside, disappearing into the darkness.
10
Detective Gabrielle Grey marched up to the giant, red-tiled building and pushed inside. It was early morning, but already the Chicago Police Department’s headquarters on South Michigan Avenue was busy – police officers, analysts, media liaison and support staff criss-crossing Gabrielle’s path as she strode towards the security barriers. Some she recognized, some she didn’t, but there was one face that was almost as familiar as her own – Norm, the duty officer who had manned the front desk for as long as she could remember. The CPD had moved into its new offices in Bronzeville in 2000 and since that time Gabrielle had never once seen Norm on his feet, a characteristic which formed the basis of many station jokes. Justice never sleeps, her team were fond of saying of Norm, it sits.
‘Morning, Norm. What’s up?’
‘Nothing much. Hoskins is chairing a crisis meeting in the Command Center –’
‘Another one?’
‘Same old, same old. Other than that, the sun is shining, the sky is blue and the Cubs are the greatest –’
‘– team in the world,’ Gabrielle concluded, to Norm’s evident pleasure.
Buzzing herself through, Gabrielle took the elevator to the eighth floor. From there it was a short walk to the Bureau of Detectives, the most prestigious department in the building and her personal fiefdom for the last three years.
‘Morning, boss.’
A number of junior officers greeted her as she strode towards her corner office. She returned their greetings, retrieving her bagel from her bag as she did so. She was ravenous, having skipped breakfast to get the boys to school on time, and was keen to sink her teeth into her BLT, but the sight of three new photographs on the incident board made her pause. Her deputy, Detective Jane Miller, was already out on a job, so Detective Suarez now hurried over to her. Suarez had worked with Gabrielle for over five years and was a dependable, effective detective.
‘What’ve we got?’ Gabrielle asked, casting an eye over the faces.
‘One fatality in South Shore,’ Suarez replied, indicating the Caucasian male in the first photo. ‘Gang murder. Three gunshot wounds to the head and neck while sitting in his car. Shooter took off on a motorbike.’
Nodding grimly, Gabrielle gestured to the others.
‘And the others?’
‘Double fatality in South Lawndale. Two shooters, we think, with semi-automatic weapons. Took place in a popular late-night burger joint, but, guess what, nobody saw a thing.’
‘Get extra officers down there anyway,’ Gabrielle replied. ‘See if we can find somebody with a conscience –’
‘Someone with cojones,’ Suarez corrected her.
‘And speak to local religious leaders and social workers,’ Gabrielle continued. ‘They’re bound to know something …’
Suarez headed off to do her bidding, pulling in a couple of fellow detectives to join him. Gabrielle watched them go, casting her eye around the denuded office. Gabrielle had a large team – the largest in the CPD – but even so they were constantly short-staffed, given the sheer volume of gun-related homicides they had to deal with. The Mayor had promised to crack down on the gangs – providing extra state cash for police officers, as well as social and youth initiatives – but there was little sign of progress so far.
Gabrielle stared up at the photos. Three men gunned down in cold blood – for what? Belonging to a rival gang? Straying into the wrong territory? Disrespecting someone on Twitter? People had been killed for less. It was Gabrielle’s duty and that of her team to bring their killers to justice, but she knew the odds were stacked against them. Communities too scared to talk. Drugs lords willing to do anything to survive. Police officers and detectives ground down by the constant bloodshed. Nevertheless, they would do – she would do everything in her power to see that justice was done for the families, fired only by her sense of duty, her resolve and a cold BLT. As Gabrielle continued to gaze at the photos, she was reminded of something Superintendent Bernard Hoskins had said to her on her first day in the job.
Nobody becomes a detective in Chicago for an easy life.
11
Adam awoke to the smell of pancakes. Faith was a good cook, when she could be bothered, but mornings were never her best time, and the aroma of crisping batter meant only one thing. Christine.
Unlike many men, Adam was quite fond of his mother-in-law. She was warm-hearted, thoughtful and foolishly generous. However, her habit of letting herself into their house was a little unnerving, however pleasant the end results might be. As Faith’s due date drew nearer, Christine’s unexpected appearances had increased in frequency and now not a day went by when Adam didn’t encounter his mother-in-law – usually when he was half dressed or dog-tired. If she had a fault it was that she was too attentive, but even this could be forgiven. She lived alone – her worthless husband now a distant memory – and the birth of her first grandchild was always going to be a big deal.
Rolling over, Adam was surprised to find the bed empty. Faith often hid from her mother, feigning sleep, until she was ready to be quizzed about her plans for the birth. Grabbing his dressing gown, he stumbled into the kitchen and was surprised to find his wife dressed and ready to go, finishing off a healthy breakfast under the watchful eye of her approving mother.
‘Have I forgotten something?’ Adam murmured, as he poured himself some coffee. ‘The baby’s not due today, is he?’
‘She’s not due for another couple of days,’ Faith countered. ‘But Mum’s going to help me finish painting the nursery.’
‘The clock’s ticking,’ her mother chimed in, scarcely able to contain her excitement.
‘Unless you’d like to help out?’ Faith continued.
‘Love to, but I’ve got a full diary …’
It was true. One of the great things about America was that there were always people in need of a shrink. With a final, jovial insult about his lack of practical skills, Faith departed with her mother,
leaving Adam to consult his diary, as he wolfed down his pancakes. It was a full roster with some fairly challenging cases. Yet, in all honesty, Adam’s mind was elsewhere. He had spent a disturbed night, his mind endlessly replaying his interview at the Juvenile Detention Center. You work in one field long enough and any job becomes routine. He was as familiar a visitor to the Juvenile Center as he was to Cook County Jail, but Kassie had surprised him. He couldn’t shake the image of that look on her face when she saw him – was it shock? Horror? Fear? – nor what she’d said to him afterwards. He’d expected the teenager to make excuses for attacking her victim – perhaps even blame him for attacking her, as so many of them did. But she’d said she was trying to warn him and, even though she’d subsequently refused to elaborate, she’d said it with such conviction that Adam couldn’t help but be intrigued. What had she meant? Why did she feel he was in danger? More importantly, was that danger real?
Adam was worried about her. Was she hallucinating? Gripped by some form of ‘magical thinking’, in which her fantasies somehow became manifest? Or did she know something about this guy, about some unseen threat to his well-being? These were the questions that continued to spin around Adam’s head, even though he knew they were pointless, idle thoughts.
In all probability, he would never see the intriguing Kassandra Wojcek again.
12
Kassie marched along the road, ignoring the curious looks of the stroller moms. She was tall for her age, but still looked too young to be out of school this early in the day. Lowering her face to the floor, she pressed on. The curiosity and censure of middle-class moms she could handle – running into a police officer would be a different matter entirely. Besides, she only had a brief window before the school secretary called her mother, so she had to work fast.
West Town was busy as usual, the sidewalk clogged with affluent shoppers and smartly dressed toddlers and their carers. Kassie had to keep her wits about her as she wound her way through this well-heeled human traffic, but her progress was swift and soon she was standing outside Jacob Jones’s modest home.
The suburban villa in front of Kassie was lifeless – the curtains drawn, lights extinguished, the front door shut and locked. This popular, upmarket street was the kind of place where you were likely to encounter security-conscious curtain-twitchers, so Kassie didn’t linger, heading down the passageway at the side of the house. She tried the French windows at the back, then the side entrance to the utility room, but both were secured.
On further investigation, however, she found a side window that would suit her purpose. It had only a single, flimsy latch – no bolt lock – so Kassie didn’t hesitate, ramming her elbow through the glass. She had done this before and knew that a short, sharp blow lessened the chance of injury. Removing her arm and dusting off the glass, she was pleased to see a large hole in the window. Sliding on a pair of woollen gloves – inappropriate given the warm, spring weather – she slipped her hand through the hole and gently lifted the latch, before opening the window and clambering inside.
Moments later, she was standing alone in the hallway. Her heart was beating nineteen to the dozen and once again she questioned the wisdom of coming here. She had nearly turned back a number of times, given the trouble she risked landing herself in, yet here she was.
She passed through the ground floor rooms quickly – she didn’t expect to find anything here – then moved upstairs. She had entered the house as quietly as possible, hadn’t wanted to announced her presence, but still she half expected Jones’s fiancée to come hurrying down the stairs, demanding to know what she was doing there. But the house was as quiet as the grave, the lonely creak, creak, creak of the floorboards Kassie’s only companion as she crept along the upper landing.
Teasing open the door to the master bedroom, she peered inside. It appeared to be empty, so she walked briskly through it, running her hand over the satin coverlet on the king-size bed, before passing into the walk-in closet. This too was uninhabited, so she passed on to the guest bedroom. This was undisturbed, as was the study, and as Kassie descended the stairs to the hallway, she began to worry. Had she risked a whole heap of trouble for nothing?
She stood stock still, perplexed and angry, pondering her next move, when her eyes alighted on another door. A door which was slightly ajar. Crossing the hallway, she tentatively took hold of the handle and inched the door open. Immediately a draft of cold air hit her, as she took in the dusty flight of stairs leading down.
Kassie arrowed a look back down the hallway, as if fearing ambush, but all was still, so she returned her attention to the staircase. Feeling on the side of the wall, she located a hook, which had presumably once had a flashlight or similar hanging from it, but there was nothing there now, so pulling out her iPhone Kassie hit the flashlight app and stepped inside.
The first thing that hit her was the smell. Musty, rotting, unpleasant. Putting her sleeve over her mouth and nose, she took in her surroundings, her eyes becoming accustomed to the gloom. The dust on the stairs had been disturbed recently, but it was hard to tell when. Should she tread on the faint footprints to conceal her presence here, or should she leave them be? Opting for the latter, she started to descend, keeping her feet as close to the edge of the stairs as possible, to minimize her trail.
One step, then another, then another. Kassie’s heart was in her mouth and she had to will her legs forward. Her flashlight was powerful, but its range limited. She could only pick out parts of the cellar and was unnerved by the eerie shadows that the flashlight’s beam threw on to the walls. On she went, convinced that at any moment she would discover a scene of butchery, hoping her nerve would hold when she did.
She had reached the final step and carefully stepped down on to the cellar floor. Her chest felt so tight now that she almost couldn’t breathe. She knew exactly what she would find here and part of her wanted to turn and run. But Kassie was no coward. She had come this far, so now with a sudden movement she swung her flashlight beam across the cellar floor. She gasped, put her hand to her chest … but there was nothing there. The room was deserted, devoid of human presence, a quiet repository for high-school yearbooks and aged sports gear.
Crunch.
As she stepped forward to investigate further, her foot crushed something. Bending down, she was surprised to see small shards of glass littering the floor, sparkling like diamonds as her light swept over them. Confused, Kassie widened the range of her beam and now she spotted a flashlight lying partly concealed under the lip of a cardboard box. Using the toe of her sneaker, she rolled it out of its hiding place. As she’d suspected, the glass face was broken, the bulb too.
Her heart skipped a beat. Obviously, there were innocent explanations for the presence of the broken flashlight – Jacob had dropped it perhaps and been unable to find it in the darkness – but Kassie instantly dismissed them. Suddenly, for reasons she couldn’t fully explain, Kassie knew that this was where it had happened.
This was where Jacob Jones’s fate was sealed.
13
Patrolman Dwayne Reid let out a rich belch, as he watched the cars roar by. His partner – a tight-assed vegetarian called Lesley – sighed heavily but he ignored her, letting the flavours of his snack roll around his mouth. Every morning he visited Taco Bell for a sausage and cheese biscuit. This was partly to satisfy his growling stomach and partly to annoy his partner. Even if he hadn’t loved the greasy, spiced sausage and thick, rubbery cheese, he’d still have bought one just to get a reaction. With any luck, her patience would soon snap and she would apply for a change of partner.
Nothing would please him more. Patrol work was boring – hour after hour cruising the traffic hotspots, looking for incidents – and a good wingman was essential. Patrolman Michael Garvey had been just that – funny, noisy, politically incorrect – but they’d been separated after some unfounded reports of them abandoning their posts during work hours. Which is why he now found himself in the company of Miss Goody Two Shoes.
‘Don’t be a jerk, Dwayne. You know I’m married.’
‘Don’t knock it till you’ve tried it. How else you s’posed to keep things fresh in the bedroom?’
Lesley shook her head wearily, but said nothing.
‘Tell me,’ Dwayne continued. ‘Have you always liked guys? Or did you ever go with a girl?’
‘For God’s sake.’ She turned to him, visibly annoyed now. ‘Do you really think I’m going to share my sexual history with you?’
Dwayne was about to respond, encouragingly and in the affirmative, when something caught his eye. A black Lincoln Continental had just sped across the junction in front of them, running a red light and narrowly missing a truck.
‘Wagons roll,’ Dwayne shouted cheerily, firing up the sirens and pulling away from the kerb.
The chatter ceased now, as both officers focused on the car in front of them. Most pursuits ended quickly, the horrified middle-class motorists or terrified teens pulling over as soon as they saw the blue flashing lights. But the Lincoln showed no signs of stopping – in fact it was speeding up, running another red light as it raced away from them.
‘Officers in pursuit of a black Lincoln Continental, heading south on the Dan Ryan Expressway. Registration plate H23 3308. Request backup and intercept.’
Lesley’s voice was clear and crisp – even Dwayne had to admit she was good in a situation like this.
‘See if they can scramble the chopper,’ he tossed in. ‘These guys aren’t playing around.’
Lesley radioed in her request, which was answered in the affirmative. There had been too many hit-and-runs recently, too many fatal pursuits, not to deploy all available resources.