by Rick Polad
“Set up a trap. Find a girl with the same name and see if he bites.”
Laura’s look was not encouraging. “First, other than my sister, good luck finding someone with the right name. Second, pretty dangerous.”
“Agreed on both. The killer is probably having the same trouble with the names.”
“I assume you’ve shared this with your police friends. What do they think?”
“They think it’s interesting, but don’t have the money or the personnel.”
She nodded. “Of course. So, back to my question.”
“We could talk to girls on the street and ask if anyone has been asking their names.”
Stretch interrupted. “Don’t know for sure, but I may have seen someone doing exactly that.” Spencer and Laura turned to him. “There’s this big fellow who has talked to several girls and not bought anything.”
“Can you describe him?” asked Spencer, wondering if it might be Charles.
“Not very well. Just big. Pretty far away and dark.”
“I have someone in mind. I’ll bring a picture for you to look at.”
“Has he talked to me?” asked Laura.
Stretch shook his head. “No. I’ve been watching him and wondering if he would.”
Laura sighed. “Well, even if he does, my name isn’t Katherine or Elizabeth. If Spencer’s theory is correct, if he doesn’t find a girl with the right name he won’t do anything.”
Spencer took a deep breath. “So, let’s help him out.” He explained his plan and they agreed to meet back in this room at seven before Laura again headed to Broadway.
Chapter 74
After lunch, Rosie and Steele started running down the clients of Amanda Brock. The ledger contained thirty-six obvious aliases, some with phone numbers that they cross-referenced, but they didn’t recognize any of the names. Steele would look into the names they could identify for priors. Rosie decided to go and have a chat with Margaret.
Before she left, Rosie called Lights Out. The night bartender wouldn’t be in until nine. Another long day.
* * *
Margaret’s house was in a block of neat, well-maintained row houses on the near-north side of the city. Garages were in the back off the alley. Rosie parked on the street and rang the bell.
A tired-looking Margaret answered and invited Rosie into the kitchen. The inside of the house matched the outside. Simple, but clean and well-kept. Margaret offered tea.
As Margaret poured, she said, “I see you arrested Mr. Lamb. I am so glad.”
“Yes, but I’m here to ask some questions.”
Margaret looked at Rosie without emotion. Rosie was sure Margaret had nothing to do with the murder, but she had to ask.
“Margaret, we need to interview everyone who had a key to the house.”
Still no emotion.
“One of those people was you.”
Margaret’s eyes welled up with tears.
“You think I would hurt Miss Brock?” she asked haltingly.
Rosie reached out and touched her arm. “I have to ask, Margaret.” Sure that she already knew the answer, Rosie asked Margaret where she was Saturday morning between four and six.
Margaret looked surprised. “Why, here, asleep. I woke up a little before seven.”
“Do you have anyone who can verify that?”
“What do you mean? How would anyone verify that?”
“Well, a husband or children who were here.”
Margaret shook her head slowly. “No. No. My children are both grown and my husband died three years ago. Miss Brock was a savior for me. I did not know what to do for a job.”
“How did you get the job with Miss Brock?”
“She was sent from heaven.” She took a sip of tea.
Rosie smiled. “Could you be a bit more specific?”
“Well, I was applying for jobs at hotels as a maid. I applied at eight hotels downtown. They all put my name on a list. But I did not have any experience and they were not really interested. I was coming out of the Broadlee when someone running by grabbed my bag and ripped the strap. It spilled all over the sidewalk. Miss Brock was just getting out of a limousine at the curb. She rushed over and helped me pick up my things. I was very upset. She asked what I was doing there. I told her. She said she needed a housekeeper and asked if I could travel to the north side. She gave me her address and asked for me to start the next day. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. I told her I had no experience. I did not want to make her think something else. She said that was okay. She said she could tell I was a nice person. Then she asked how I was getting home. I told her I was taking a bus. She offered for me to take the limousine. I tried to say no, but she insisted. Then, when I went to work on the first day, Miss Brock gave me a key to her house because she was not home sometimes. That is how I worked for Miss Brock.”
“She sounds like a wonderful person, Margaret.”
Margaret nodded with tears in her eyes.
“What are you going to do now, Margaret?”
“I am not sure. I could try hotels again. I have experience now, but I have no one to recommend me.”
Rosie sighed and finished her tea before asking, “Margaret, why do you think Mr. Lamb killed Miss Brock?” Rosie couldn’t read what was on Margaret’s face. She seemed scared and sad.
“I do not know,” Margaret said softly. “It is just a feeling.” She shrugged. “He was the only one with a key. I told Miss Brock that was not a good idea.”
Still watching her carefully, Rosie continued. “So you have nothing specific. There was nothing that happened to make you think that?”
Margaret looked down and slowly shook her head.
“Okay, Margaret. Good luck and thanks for the tea.”
* * *
Rosie drove back to the station feeling depressed. Acts of violence touch so many lives besides the victim’s.
Chapter 75
Laura was on the street by eight after checking in with the hot dog man. Spencer stood near Stretch. This time he was part of the team. And this time he did have a gun. He had done the paperwork to transfer his dad’s .357 Magnum but had also bought a new .38 Special.
The other difference was that Laura had agreed to implement Spencer’s plan. Laura had changed her name to Katherine. Stretch had replaced the name tag in her apartment in case someone followed her home, but Spencer hadn’t thought the guy would go to that much trouble.
They decided Laura could still talk to girls on the street about her sister, but just show her picture. Odds were her name had been changed anyway.
They watched for three hours. Laura talked with several girls and showed them Katherine’s picture. One of them was more talkative than the others. She was older and perhaps wiser in her chosen occupation. She was also sympathetic.
“Listen, honey, I understand what you’re trying to do, but this is no place for you. It’s bad enough with just the nature of the job, but then you have this maniac killing girls.”
Laura didn’t tell her about her team.
“And I hear you had a chat with Ramon.”
“I did?” Laura had no idea who Ramon was.
“Yes, the bastard who thinks he owns the girls on this street. He is pimping for a few of them, but this isn’t a franchise deal. If he bothers you again, tell him to come and have a chat with Sunshine.”
Laura smiled. “Sunshine?”
Sunshine smiled also. “Well, not my given name. But this is a pretty dark business. Thought I’d add a little ray of hope.”
“I like it,” said Laura.
Sunshine looked up and down the street. “Here’s something else to think about, honey. Your sister could be private goods.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“Not put on the street. Just kept for private occasions and personal pleasure.”
Laura’s stomach turned and she hoped she wouldn’t throw up.
“Maybe this Ramon would know something.”
S
unshine laughed. “Ramon doesn’t know crap. Surprised he remembers his name.”
“But he might recognize her picture,” Laura said hopefully.
Sunshine shrugged. “Maybe. But probably not.”
Laura described the guy who had taken Katherine. Didn’t sound familiar to Sunshine. Maybe the lead that brought Laura to this part of Chicago was dead. She thanked Sunshine and wished her well.
“Watch your back, honey.”
* * *
Just before ten, Stretch watched a drunk chatting with one of the other girls. He pointed him out to Spencer.
“The guy’s a regular,” said Stretch. “Seems to be some sort of prostitute evangelist. I’ve wandered over when he has approached Laura. Wants to save them from the evil sinning of their ways.”
Spencer watched the show. “Everybody needs a hobby.”
The girl the drunk was talking to just walked away and he teetered up the sidewalk toward Laura. Stretch told Spencer to stay and keep his eyes open and started across the street. Laura had told him she could handle the guy but he wanted to be close just in case. He noticed the other man on the team wasn’t far away.
The man leaned against a street light near Laura and said, “The heathen yield to the temptation of Satan.”
Laura just ignored him.
“I can see into your soul and I know you are not a sinner. I can help you change your sinful ways.” He moved away from the pole and almost tipped over as he moved toward Laura. “Come with me and you will be saved.”
He reached out and grabbed her top. As he pulled her toward him, he fell down, pulling Laura down on top of him. He rolled over, pinning her on the bottom.
Stretch was there in seconds and pulled the drunk off of Laura. She stood up and straightened her clothes.
“You okay?” Stretch asked.
She nodded. “I could have handled him. He’s just drunk.”
“Maybe. But I’m not taking a chance. There’s a guy out here with a knife. Let’s call it a night.”
They left the drunk lying on the sidewalk.
The man Stretch was looking for hadn’t showed. Maybe the guy was just in the wrong place at the wrong time and had nothing to do with the killings. They all met back at the surveillance apartment and decided to try again on Wednesday.
Chapter 76
Wednesday morning Ben met with Charles in the interview room of the station house.
Charles was sitting with his head bowed, slumped in the chair. He was scheduled to be transferred to County in the afternoon. Ben hated to think what affect that would have on Charles if he was already so depressed.
“Good morning, Charles. I hope you got some sleep.”
Charles just stared.
Ben set his briefcase on the table and pulled out a pad with a list of notes and questions.
“I want to help you, Charles. To do that, I need to go over the evidence and ask you some questions. Is that okay?”
“Sure, I guess,” said a very dejected Charles. “I didn’t kill Miss Brock.”
Ben had never had a client who admitted he was guilty. “Good,” he said with little energy. “I have to find a way of proving that, and I need your help.”
Charles nodded.
Ben picked up his pencil.
“Okay, let’s start with how she hired you. Please tell me exactly how that happened.”
Charles told the same story that was in the file. When Charles was finished, Ben tried to restrain his skepticism. “I’m not questioning you, but do you see the problem here? Does it make sense to you that someone would hire you at a chance meeting and then give you a key to her house?”
Charles looked confused. “I don’t understand.”
“Don’t understand what?”
“That it doesn’t make sense. It’s the truth.”
“But it’s not normal behavior. A jury or a judge is going to think something else happened.”
“But something else didn’t happen. It’s the truth.”
This was not going to be easy. Charles didn’t think like your average human being, much less a jury.
Ben took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Okay. I’m going to ask you some more questions.”
No response.
“What kind of work were you doing?”
Charles shrugged. “You know, just normal house repairs.”
Ben wished he didn’t have to drag everything out of him. “Like what?”
“You know, new baseboard, painting, new cabinets, fixing holes. Things like that. And I finished some work that wasn’t done.”
That caught Ben’s attention. “What do you mean?”
“Things weren’t finished. Baseboard, trim around windows. She was angry at me about it.”
“Angry at you? Did you do a bad job?”
He shook his head and was upset. “I do good work!”
“I’m sure you do. So why was she angry?”
“Because I asked her if the work was started by the man who used to own the house. She got angry and just said no.”
“And you didn’t ask any more?”
He shook his head. “I didn’t want her to be angry.”
“I can understand that. You said she gave you a key. Were you ever alone in the house?”
“Sometimes.”
“Did you ever see anyone else there?”
“The maid.”
Ben tried not to act as exasperated as he felt. “I know about the maid. Was there anyone besides her?”
Charles shook his head and then his face brightened. Excitedly, he said, “There was the bum!”
“What bum?” Ben wished Charles would start making sense.
“The bum out by the rocks. I would go early to sit on the rocks and watch the waves. There was a bum asleep by the rocks. He had a bag.”
“Okay, but I mean someone else in the house.”
The excited reaction disappeared and Charles looked down. “No.”
“Did you know about the safe in Miss Brock’s desk?”
“Yes, it was open many times. That’s where she got the money to pay me.”
“And she paid you in cash?”
“Yes.”
“Did she pay you every day?”
“Yes.”
“How much cash was in the safe?”
“I don’t know.”
“But there was more than what she paid you?”
“Yes, a lot more.”
“Did you ever think of taking that money?”
“I would never take Miss Brock’s money.”
But Ben noticed that Charles did hesitate.
“What did you do with the money she gave you?”
Charles looked worried and rubbed his hands together. “I put it in the bushes.”
“Weren’t you worried it would get wet if it rained?”
Charles sat up in the chair and looked almost proud. “I thought of that!” he said with excitement. “I put it in an envelope and put that in a plastic baggie.”
Ben was getting insights into Charles that worried him. He wasn’t very smart—seemed simple-minded. Thinking of the baggie was a big accomplishment.
“That was smart. Where did you get the baggie and the envelope?”
The excitement disappeared and Charles again lowered his head.
“Charles? Where did you get them?”
“I got the envelope from Miss Brock.”
“Good. How about the baggie?”
Silence.
“Charles. That’s a simple question.”
Staring down at the table, Charles said, “I took it from the kitchen.”
“Okay. Why was that so hard?”
He didn’t look up. “Because—I didn’t ask. I just took it.”
Ben started to think about a psychological evaluation. This guy, who was accused of stealing thousands of dollars and committing murder, seemed remorseful about taking a baggie.
“That’s okay, Charles. I’m sure Miss Brock wouldn’t have minded.
People take things like that every day.”
Charles looked a bit relieved.
“Let’s talk about the time Miss Brock was killed,” said Ben. “It was Saturday morning between four and six.” Assuming Charles would say he was home in bed, Ben asked, “Would you tell me what you were doing then?”
Charles shrugged. “I don’t know.”
Ben was confused. “How do you not know?”
“I was out drinking at a bar. I don’t remember.”
“Well, what time did you leave the bar?”
“I don’t remember.”
“What time did you get home?”
He just shook his head.
Ben looked amazed. “Are you telling me you have no memory of Friday night and Saturday morning?”
“Yes.”
“What time did you leave your house Friday night?”
“About nine, like usual.”
“And what is the next thing you remember?”
“Waking up at home.”
“And what time was that?”
“Around noon.”
Ben stood up and walked to the door and turned around. “You have no memory of what happened between nine and noon?”
Charles nodded. “Not after I started drinking.”
“Does this happen often?”
“It happens sometimes.”
“For how long?”
“A long time.”
Ben walked back to the table. “How long? Weeks? Months?”
Another shrug. “Years.”
Ben needed to talk with the bartender. “What’s the name of the bar?”
“Lights Out.”
“Do you know the address?”
“Not exactly. It’s on Western north of Diversey.”
Ben made a note.
“Why do you want to know?” asked Charles.
“I’m trying to help you by finding out where you were, and when. Is your wife home on Friday nights?”
Charles immediately tensed. “Why do you want to know about her?”
“You need an alibi. If she said you got home at two and were asleep the rest of the night, that would help a lot.”
Charles didn’t look happy. “I don’t know if she was home or not. I don’t wake up till noon.”
