Leaning down, she yanked open the cupboard under the sink, searching frantically for the small tin. If she couldn’t be at peace, she could at least be numb. With her mother gone, she was now at liberty to smoke whenever, wherever she chose and she grasped the tin eagerly. Some things are too ingrained, however, and Kassie now found herself directing her steps to the back door. Smoking in the house had always been strictly forbidden, even for her father, who smoked forty a day, and she couldn’t bring herself to pollute her mother’s prized curtains. Whenever things got too much, Kassie had always sneaked out into the backyard, hiding the telltale butts in a broken flowerpot.
The yard was a small, scrappy affair, having fallen into neglect since her father’s death. Kassie had some fragmentary memory of a strip of grass, of rolling on it as a child, but it was a dirt square now, full of the junk that could not be squeezed into the house. Even so, Kassie wanted to be out there at this moment, medicating herself against the anxiety that was steadily growing inside her.
But, as she approached the back door, she suddenly slowed. It appeared to be closed, but actually was slightly ajar. Kassie stood still, casting a quick look behind her, then ventured forward. Her eyes were fixed on the lock, which she now saw had been forced. She paused, easing the door open carefully, scanning the yard feverishly for signs of an intruder, but could see nothing but darkness and shadows.
Creak.
Kassie spun round. The room was empty, but her ears had not deceived her. Someone was in the house with her. It could be a burglar of course, or a junkie seeking ready cash, but she dismissed these thoughts instantly. The stealth of his entry, his ability to blend into the fabric of the house, provided a pretty clear steer as to who the intruder was. Suddenly fear ripped through her. This wasn’t the way it was meant to be. This wasn’t how it was supposed to end …
She took a step forward, but the ageing floorboards groaned, announcing her progress. Sweating, she considered her options. She could slip out the back, make a break for it, but that didn’t appeal. The high chain link fence that enclosed the backyard was padlocked shut – the key hanging on a hook in the kitchen – and beyond it lay a large expanse of scrubby wasteland. No, she needed to get out the front, on to the street, where there was a chance someone might spot them and raise the alarm.
She could rely on stealth or speed. The former was fraught with peril and she wasn’t sure her nerves would take it, so she opted for the latter, bursting forward and sprinting down the hallway as fast as she could.
If he wasn’t expecting this move, if she took him by surprise, then she stood a chance of getting to the front door. She pounded down the hallway, careless of the noise she was creating. She passed the door to her mother’s bedroom, then her own, powering forward. She was nearly at the end of the hallway, could see the living room. She accelerated, speeding on, on, on …
Then suddenly she lurched sideways. Something had cannoned into her – bursting from the closet – and she slammed into the corner of the hallway wall. Bouncing off it, she fell into the living room, her head hitting the exposed boards hard. She tried to scramble to her feet, but now a large weight bore down on her. She was knocked on to her hands and knees and, even as she tried to lever herself upwards, she felt an arm slide around her throat. Now, it was pulling tight, choking her, starving her of oxygen.
She was already starting to feel faint, to lose focus, so in desperation she pivoted, driving an elbow backwards into her attacker’s groin. It connected and her attacker emitted a deep, low groan. Momentarily his grip loosened and Kassie shrugged him off. Scrambling to her feet, she sprinted towards the front door, screaming for all she was worth.
She made it there in seconds and yanked the latch. Thanking her lucky stars that she hadn’t double-locked it, she threw the door open. The cool air caressed her face, but as she stepped outside, a savage blow hit her in the kidneys. Her screaming was immediately stifled, as the breath was knocked out of her and a searing pain flared up her torso. Vomit rose in her windpipe and she felt horribly dizzy. She wanted to keep going, but that was impossible and now she felt herself being yanked back inside. The door was slammed shut and her legs were suddenly swept from under her. She had no time to brace herself and crashed to the ground like a sack of potatoes.
Disoriented, breathless, she tried to fight back, but it was hopeless. The man in the ski mask bent down and, clutching a fistful of auburn hair, dragged her towards the back of the house.
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She fought him with everything she’d got, kicking and screaming as he hauled her along the hallway. Her arms flailed desperately, smacking into the walls, searching for purchase. She was nearly at the end of the hallway now, but suddenly her fingers found the radiator pipe and she wrapped them around it, arresting their progress. Instantly, a heavy boot slammed down on them. Howling in pain, she loosened her grip and was yanked unceremoniously into the back room.
She landed in a heap, but as she tried to rise a fist connected with her stomach. Gasping, she bent double, then felt his fat hand on the back of her neck. She heard a chair being dragged across the floor and moments later she was deposited on to it, her backside connecting sharply with the seat. Another hard slap stunned her – she was seeing stars now – then her arms were jerked behind her. Her resistance was feeble and she was soon bound to the chair. With her last vestiges of energy, she tried to scream, but a rag was shoved forcefully into her mouth. She gagged, but didn’t vomit, the dirty fabric tickling her larynx.
Her attacker paused for breath, his chest rising and falling, clearly exhausted by his efforts. He took a moment to gather himself, then hurried out of the room. She heard his progress, as he returned to the closet. Moments later, he re-entered the room carrying a shabby duffelbag.
Ignoring her, he put the bag down and unzipped it. From it, he removed a large cleaver. Turning, he walked over to Kassie, the weapon gripped in his fist. Having been a bundle of nervous, adrenalized energy, he now paused, catching his breath once more, looking at the helpless girl in front of him. Kassie thought he was about to speak, to taunt her, but instead he walked straight up to her, grasping the sleeve of her shirt. Raising the blade, he slit along the seam, until the fabric parted, revealing her bare arm beneath. Kassie started to struggle, to rock backward and forward in the chair, but White ignored her, opening up her other sleeve in similar fashion. Now he teased the point of his blade between the buttons on the front of her shirt, before suddenly ripping sharply upwards. Buttons flew everywhere, then the devastated shirt fell open, revealing her bra and the bare flesh of her torso.
Exhaling heavily, White surveyed his victim.
‘Ready to play?’
Kassie said nothing, glaring at him defiantly. To her surprise, her captor pulled off his mask, revealing his sweaty, pink face. With a gleam of triumph in his eyes, he stared at her, a thin smile creasing his lips. She had seen his face before of course, but now in close-up it seemed even more repellent. The pale, flaccid skin where the goatee used to be, the cold, dead eyes, the thin folds of fat on his forehead and chin. He looked like a slavering hog, one who was looking forward to a good feed. Lowering himself to her level, he looked her in the eye and whispered:
‘On the count of three. One –’
He ripped the blade fast across her stomach. Immediately Kassie was gripped by an awful, burning sensation. Looking down, she expected to see her guts tumbling out … but it was just a nasty flesh wound. Was this it then? The beginning of a prolonged, abominable desecration?
Sensing her anxiety, her attacker locked his eyes on to hers.
‘I’m going to make you beg, girlie. I’m going to make you beg for mercy …’
His tiny eyes blazed at the prospect, the veins on his neck bulging.
‘I’m going to make you wish you’d never been born.’
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‘Talk to me, people. Where is he?’
Gabrielle tried to keep her voice calm, but the anxiety punched through. Doz
ens of officers had descended on McKinley Park, fanning out and sweeping the blocks. White might still be on the street, but he might also have gone to ground, finding a derelict house or empty commercial property to lie low in. So every doorway and alleyway had to be checked. But a quarter of an hour had elapsed since Esme’s sighting and with every passing minute White’s chances of eluding them increased.
‘Nothing here, boss. We’ll keep at it.’
The voice of Detective Suarez clicked off. He was to the north of McKinley Park, with the majority of the officers. If he was going to hide out anywhere, Gabrielle reasoned, it was around there. He could try to hide out in the shadow of Interstate 55, disappear into the Lower West Side or even, if he was really desperate, plunge into the river. Yet still there had been no sightings of him.
‘How about you, Robins?’
There was a moment’s silence. Detective Robins and his group were to the east, cutting off the route to Bronzeville and, beyond that, Burnham Park.
‘Nothing yet, boss,’ Robins crackled back.
‘Shit,’ Gabrielle muttered, realizing too late that she was still transmitting.
She radioed Albright, who was to the west in Brighton Park, but the result was the same. That left one possibility – that White had headed south. That route would have led him to Back of the Yards and to the South Side. But surely he wouldn’t have gone there? To head there at this time of night would be dangerous, possibly suicidal. Even though White was probably armed, the numbers counted against him – he would be the gangs’ plaything within minutes of entering their territory. Even CPD patrols only ventured down there when they really had to. No, it was crazy to think he would have headed that way, however desperate he was. And yet … unless he had been extraordinarily lucky, or they extraordinarily careless, he must have headed south. But why? Why on earth would he be willing to head through Back of the Yards to the South Side into certain danger and …
And now a thought started to take hold of her. An insidious, insistent thought that rocked her back on her heels.
Suddenly, Gabrielle knew exactly where he’d gone.
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Adam marched down the road, his eyes set dead ahead. Back of the Yards was unfamiliar to him, but Kassie’s house lay in the shadows of the Union Stock Yard and everybody knew where that was. It loomed over this part of Chicago like a shadowy phantom, a faded monument to the old Chicago when life was good and work was plentiful.
As he walked, his hand strayed to his jacket, sliding inside to grip the butt of the Beretta. It was solid and powerful in his hand and Adam felt a surge of adrenaline, powering him forward. Even if he had wanted to stop himself now, he wasn’t sure he could. This journey – perhaps the last he would ever make – seemed to have a momentum of its own now.
‘First, do no harm.’ How easily that oath was forgotten. Adam had never hurt anyone in his life – had never wanted to – but now it seemed logical, even inevitable. Someone had to pay for all this misery, all this suffering. And that someone had to be Kassie. He would be deaf to her pleas, to his own conscience – all he wanted to do now was obliterate the contagion that had destroyed his life.
He pulled the handgun from his jacket, flicking the safety catch off before dropping it to his side, careless of detection. He was only a few minutes from Kassie’s house and something told him that nothing would impede him.
Kassie had been right all along. He laughed bitterly at the thought, but it was true. Kassie had foreseen how this would end, she had foreseen everything. Despite all his doubts, all his alternative theories, she had been telling the truth from the start. She was at home right now, waiting for him, waiting for the promised end. He could see himself raising the gun, pulling the trigger. It was as if a higher force was guiding him, propelling him towards the final act. Perhaps this was why his stride was so confident, his nerve so strong. Kassie had foreseen that he would kill her.
And that was precisely what he intended to do.
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She howled in pain, the gag muffling her agony, but still he didn’t relent. She was at his mercy now and he was determined to enjoy himself. Raising the blood-stained cleaver, he dragged it over her exposed shoulder, once, twice, in a neat criss-cross pattern.
Her body reacted, bucking vigorously, as a low moan stole from her lips. Pausing to catch his breath, White surveyed his victim, pliant and bloodied on the chair in front of him. Her torso, shoulders and arms were covered in deep cuts, yet to her credit she had never hung her head, nor asked for mercy. This one had a bit of steel, for sure, which both excited and unnerved him.
Casting his eyes down, he gripped the fabric of her pants, pulling it up to get a bit of air above flesh, then slid his blade through. The fabric tore easily and her left thigh was now exposed. He ran the blade over her pale, freckled skin, then placing the tip of the blade on top of her thigh, he slammed his fist down on the butt of handle. The wide blade slid two inches into her flesh and then, using all his strength, he started to drag the cleaver towards him, slowly splitting her thigh open from top to bottom. A muffled gasp, followed by a howl, then the girl’s body seemed to spasm with pain. Wiping the sweat from his forehead, White took a step backwards, keen to admire his handiwork, to revel in her anguish.
The girl had her eyes tight shut, trying desperately to swallow down the pain, but now to his surprise she opened them again. Instead of imploring him to stop, she gathered herself, looking calmly at him, as she ignored the waves of agony still rippling through her body.
Marching forward, he held the blade up to her face, smearing her cheeks with her own gore. She blinked back at him, repelled, but defiant. Without warning, he pulled the gag from her mouth. The girl gasped, opening and closing her mouth like a fish, as she desperately drank in fresh oxygen. But he gave her no respite, holding the sticky cleaver up to her throat, resting the steel on her carotid artery.
‘I was going to take my time, but maybe I should just end it now. What do you say?’
Her eyelids flickered, as he dug the blade into her flesh.
‘One cut and that’s it. You’ll bleed out in front of me, like a stuck pig …’
He ran a finger across his own throat.
‘What do you think? Should I do it now? Should I?’ he continued, raising his voice steadily. ‘Or do you want to live?’
He let his words hang in the air.
‘I am prepared to let you live a little longer. But you are going to have to beg. Can you beg, Kassie?’
This was it. The moment he craved. Despite the trauma of their ordeal, all his victims pleaded at the finish – desperate to live, regardless of how deformed and bloodied they were. That was when he let them know that there was no hope, that they were going to die. It was the most delicious sensation, one he had fast become addicted to.
To his surprise, the girl continued to stare at him.
‘What’s the matter, honey? Cat got your tongue?’
Still she didn’t respond, her eyelashes barely moving as she raised her gaze to meet his.
‘Fine, have it your way,’ he raged, making as if to slit her throat.
She didn’t move. Didn’t react in any way. And now he noticed that the girl seemed to be looking beyond him, within him almost, as she stared into his eyes. Even as she did so, a faint smile seemed to crease her face.
Confused, enraged, White roared his displeasure, brandishing the cleaver above him. But still she refused to be cowed. And now, for the first time since he’d started his campaign of violence, Joseph White was suddenly lost as to what to do. This girl clearly felt pain – she was sickened by the sight of her own body and disgusted by him – but there was one emotion she seemed incapable of. The one emotion he craved above all others.
Fear.
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Gabrielle flung open the car door and leaped inside. She had left it parked on a side street in Bronzeville, some distance from her search zone, and had sprinted there, cursing her stupidity every step of the wa
y. She had radioed in and squad cars were now racing to Kassie’s house, but they were approaching from the north and west, fighting their way through traffic. If she was quick, there was a chance she’d get there first and every second counted now.
She slammed the driver’s door shut, just as Montgomery slid into the passenger seat. Without a word, she punched the sirens and slid the flashing light on to the roof, as Gabrielle fired up the ignition. The car leaped forward, both driver and passenger deftly clicking their belts in with one hand, as they roared off into the night.
‘He’s heading for the Wojcek house,’ Gabrielle breathed.
Montgomery didn’t need to respond, she seemed to get her line of thinking instantly. There was no reason for White to head through Back of the Yards unless he had a visit to make. And Kassie was the obvious target. Though it shamed them to admit it, nobody had done more to stymie White’s reign of terror than the fifteen-year-old girl. Perhaps White wanted to revenge himself on her, to commit one last orgy of violence before he fled Chicago for good?
‘You ready?’ Gabrielle continued, shooting a look at the junior officer.
She nodded, sliding her firearm from its holster and resting her finger on the safety catch.
‘Obviously, I’d prefer to take White alive, but if there is any danger to us, to the girl, we take him down.’
‘Sure,’ Montgomery responded, gripping her weapon a little tighter.
‘This has to end tonight. We may not get another chance.’
They fell back into silence, both reflecting on what lay ahead. Up in front of them, Gabrielle could see roadworks and a long line of traffic snaking back towards them. Assessing her options, she ordered Montgomery to raise the volume of the siren, then mounted the kerb, driving up on to the sidewalk. Cruising along, she gestured frantically at the pedestrians to move aside, and they obliged, ducking into doorways and leaping off into the gutter. Moments later, Gabrielle and Montgomery passed the roadworks and, wrenching the steering wheel to the left, Gabrielle guided the car back on to the tarmac.
A Gift for Dying Page 34
