Booked for Murder

by C. M. Sutter

  “What do you know? Did she suffer? Where was she shot?”

  I held up my hand. “It’s early in the investigation, but we’ve collected statements, and we’ll follow up with each one. The only thing I can tell you with certainty is that Charlotte was shot in the head and likely died instantly. I know that’s hard to hear, but she didn’t suffer.” I wiped my eyes, rose from the chair, and went to the kitchen. I brought out a handful of napkins for Steve. He was inconsolable.

  Steve blew his nose and balled up the napkin then clenched it in his fist. “Mom was good to everyone. It had to be a random act by someone with an axe to grind against humankind.”

  “And that’s a possibility. Had she mentioned anybody who was angry with her or issues at the dentist office?”

  “No, never. She loved her job, and she was always upbeat about life. As a matter of fact, when I spoke to her Friday, she said she was going out last night with her coworkers.”

  That was something I could check into. “Did she say where they were going?”

  Steve squeezed his head as he tried to recall. “It’ll come to me. Just give me a minute.”

  “Did she say when they were going out?”

  “They had dinner reservations for nine. You know how weekends are, especially if it isn’t planned a month in advance.” Steve broke down again. “I know I’m a grown man, but Mom was my rock and my advocate. She was my mentor and advisor.”

  “I know, buddy, and I understand.”

  “Cherry’s.”

  “What?”

  “That’s the restaurant they went to—Cherry’s Chop Shop.”

  I did a quick internet search and found it. “On East Forty-Third and South Indiana?”

  “Yeah, I guess. I’ve never been there myself.”

  It made sense, and the shooting would have taken place as she drove home. I wondered if she’d actually had the bad luck of being in the wrong place at the wrong time or if someone had waited for her to leave the restaurant and made their move on her way home. I wrote down the restaurant’s name, address, and phone number.

  “Is there anyone you need to call? Extended family, your mom’s siblings, that sort of thing?”

  “Yeah, but I’ll do it later when they’re up. Most live in Arizona. I’ll call Bradley too.”

  “Bradley?”

  “Her boss, the dentist, Bradley Carter.” Steve raked his hair. “I need a drink.”

  I stood. “Hang tight. I’ll make coffee, and don’t call the dentist. We’ll take care of that.” As I made a fresh pot in the kitchen, I could hear Steve crying in the living room.

  After filling two cups, I sat them and the carafe on the table we’d just played poker at the night before.

  Who would have thought?

  I set the cream and sugar on the table, along with some napkins and two spoons, then called for him to join me in the kitchen.

  “I swear to you, we’ll get the person who did this. Your mom deserves justice.”

  “What she deserves is to be alive and happy!” Steve glanced up at me. “Sorry, I know none of this is your fault. Where did it happen?”

  “On Forty-Seventh and Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. Drive.”

  He nodded. “She must have been going home.”

  “I assumed so since the car was headed southbound. The far-right lane is closed going back to the previous block. We have units combing the area for a stray bullet or bullets. The shattered glass on the street shows where the shooting happened, so we’re focused primarily on that area.”

  “How about store cameras?”

  “They’ll definitely help, but it’s six a.m. on a Sunday. Nothing is open right now. We’ll check all possibilities, Steve.”

  “When can I see her?”

  “I’ll let you know, but probably this afternoon. I’ll either be at the station or chasing leads throughout the day. What I need right now is a list of your mom’s friends.”

  “I don’t have any names or numbers in my phone. Her neighbor, Janice Atwater, was a good friend, Mom was close to all the people at Dr. Carter’s office, and then her best friend for years was Rachel Meadows.”

  “Okay, that’ll help.” I wrote down the names and poured two more cups of coffee. I planned to stay with Steve until I knew he’d be okay on his own.

  Chapter 7

  I sat with Steve until seven thirty that morning and made eggs, bacon, and toast, and even though he said he didn’t have the stomach to eat, I insisted on cooking, anyway. I wasn’t about to let one of my oldest friends go off the deep end, and I was proof that no matter how much pain a loved one’s death could cause, in time, the days, weeks, and even months became more bearable.

  With an embrace and condolences at the door, I left Steve alone and headed to the precinct. I’d see him later and would definitely keep close tabs on him and his mental well-being.

  Arriving at work just before roll call, I saw Frank exit the break room with a cup of coffee in hand. He stopped and waited for me.

  “Lutz told us the news. I’m so sorry, Jesse. Steve must be beside himself.”

  I sighed. My mind was drained, and my body was sleep-deprived. “That’s putting it lightly. His mom was a huge part of his life, and now she’s been ripped away. It wasn’t like she had an illness. Someone murdered a well-respected, friendly woman for no reason, and we need to find out why.”

  Frank patted my back. “Let’s head to roll call and see if there’s any news.”

  We took our usual seats in the rows of folding chairs and waited for Lutz to address our group. He took a drink of water, put his fist to his mouth, and began.

  “We had a senseless fatality overnight. I can’t call it a senseless murder because all murders are senseless, yet a sixty-one-year-old female was shot in the head through the driver’s-side window as she slowed for a light, likely on her way home from somewhere.”

  I would wait until Lutz finished speaking before offering my own updates.

  “She happened to be the mother of a close friend of Jesse’s, so even though we investigate all murders thoroughly, this one is personal. Not only that, but to shoot a harmless, well-liked woman through her car window is quite unusual. It’s one of two things—a random shooting, or it was deliberate and personal. There are units combing the area and conducting knock and talks and have been since the PD reached the scene last night at around eleven thirty. Jesse, myself, and a handful of officers were there all night, and we need people to start following up on the witness statements that we’ve collected. Granted, it’s Sunday, and some of those mom-and-pop shops aren’t open today, but I need a couple of detectives back there to find camera locations and to see if any of the stores that do have cameras are open. If not, find out who owns those establishments, call them, and get them there.” Lutz looked at Henry and Shawn. “You two take care of that.”

  Henry tipped his head. “You bet, Boss.”

  Lutz called me to the podium. “Jesse, you spent the last few hours with Steve. Anything you care to add?”

  I walked to the front of the room and addressed my colleagues.

  “Last night, an eyewitness mentioned seeing a red VW Tiguan that was directly to the left of Mrs. Sanders’s vehicle when it began to veer toward the curb. So if you do find camera footage, look for that vehicle in particular. Another eyewitness mentioned seeing a man on foot, running from the scene to a nearby building, but that lead didn’t pan out. Also, Steve gave me names of people to speak with and, most importantly, where Charlotte likely was prior to the shooting. I’ll follow up on that today. The rest of you should work the leads from the bystander interviews.” I patted the podium. “That’s all I have.”

  Lutz slapped his hands together. “Okay, let’s get busy, people.”

  The room cleared, but Frank, Lutz, and I stayed behind. Bob pointed at the table next to the podium. “Have a seat, guys.”

  We did.

  Bob sat facing us and directed his question to me. “So, where did Steve say Char
lotte was last night?”

  “Having dinner with her coworkers at Cherry’s Chop Shop on East Forty-Third and South Indiana.”

  Lutz nodded. “I’m familiar with the place—good food. What did he say?”

  “Steve talked to Charlotte on Friday. She mentioned in regular conversation that their reservations were at nine o’clock—late—but par for the course on a Saturday night in Chicago. What I’m thinking is that she could have been followed there and then the perp struck when the time was right.”

  “Or—”

  Lutz and I turned to Frank.

  “Or what?” Bob asked.

  “Or the killer was one of her colleagues who knew she was heading home afterward. Maybe they chose the best location to make their move.”

  “On a busy street with people out and about walking to and from the bar?”

  Frank huffed. “Yeah, a hundred different accounts from people who were likely tipsy already. The perfect way to keep us chasing our tails.”

  I saw Lutz’s wheels turning. “Do you know if she had a volatile relationship with any of her coworkers?”

  “Not according to Steve. They get together after work now and then because they’re all friends.”

  “Interview every one of them.”

  I had intended to, anyway, but Frank’s suggestion had merit. We don’t always know what festers in a person’s mind, and when they blow, they blow. Perhaps Charlotte had an old disagreement with a coworker and thought it was water under the bridge, but it actually wasn’t, and the perp finally acted. The person had reached their breaking point and killed her. That presented many different scenarios—infidelity with a coworker’s spouse, embezzlement, or carrying on an inappropriate work relationship with Dr. Carter. They were all possibilities.

  Lutz continued. “Check the restaurant’s parking lot cameras to see what vehicles were there during the time the group was having dinner. Try to capture plate numbers and vehicle types.”

  I nodded. “Maybe our best evidence will be found prior to the shooting and not at the crime scene at all.”

  With that, Lutz stood and gave each of us a shoulder pat. “You have your work cut out for you today, so make it count and keep me posted.”

  We crossed the parking lot’s asphalt minutes later and Frank climbed in behind the wheel of the first available cruiser. I mindlessly got in, fastened my seat belt, and tapped keys on my phone. I needed to see when Cherry’s opened on Sundays.

  “Damn it.”

  “What?”

  “They don’t open until eleven o’clock, when their brunch begins.” I tipped my wrist for a time check—it was a few minutes after nine. Our drive to the restaurant would take less than ten minutes, even with red lights. “Let’s head over to the crime scene and ask if anything new has come to light.”

  Once we arrived, Frank parked at the curb just before the intersection, and I pointed at the red spray paint dot on the street. “That’s where the shooting took place. Glass sprayed everywhere from the bullets entering and exiting the side windows.”

  “So one hit her and one missed?”

  “Exactly, and the consensus from bystanders was that most of them only heard two shots.”

  I looked up and down the block. In the daylight, everything seemed different, but last night, I was running on adrenaline. Now I could take my time and give the street a closer look. Multifamily complexes were plentiful, but they lay farther back on the frontage roads. Corners consisted of a few bars, bodegas, and several mom-and-pop stores. I wasn’t confident that we’d get lucky with cameras. If anything, the few that might be set up above doorways could be nothing more than artificial deterrents. As I stood on the sidewalk, I lined up with the red dot and looked across the street. In front of me was an empty building with a For Sale sign in the window. No camera there, and the hopes of seeing that red Tiguan on any recording devices were quickly slipping away.

  “Our chances of finding anything useful seem far more dismal in the daylight,” I said.

  “And that could have been what the shooter was counting on.” Frank tipped his head toward two officers who were walking along the curb. “They might know the neighborhood better than we do.”

  I approached the officers, who were still scouring the area. “Find anything?”

  Paulson spoke up. “Not a damn thing related to the shooting, Detective.”

  Frank turned toward the housing complexes. “How about tenants?”

  “Nothing. Nobody saw or heard anything. All we have is the shattered glass on the street from the car windows, and that only tells us where the shooting took place. We haven’t found any shell casings or stray bullets lodged in buildings.” Paulson looked around. “Doesn’t seem like much more to do here, Jesse.”

  “Yeah, I know. Call Lutz and see what he wants you to do. We have other places to check out and people to interview. From the lack of forensic evidence here, it tells me the shooter was definitely in a car.”

  Frank and I headed north. We would arrive at the restaurant before they officially opened, but I was sure they’d let us in after we explained why we were there.

  Pulling into the customer lot, we saw that six cars were already parked on the far-left side of the building. Employees had arrived and were likely inside, preparing the brunch menu that would be served in just over an hour. We walked to the front door, expecting it to be locked, and it was. Turning to our left, we headed to the side door, and Frank stomped out the cigarette he’d lit just as we stepped out of the cruiser. Finding that door open, we knocked, called out, and entered. After passing the garbage and recycling stations, we pulled open another door, where freezers and storage shelves took up both sides of the walkway. We finally arrived at the kitchen prep area, where four people busied themselves cutting, chopping, cooking, and filling stainless steel warming pans.

  Our presence clearly startled them, and after we’d passed through two closed doors, I thought it was safe to assume they hadn’t heard us call out.

  “Sir,” I said, “please lower that knife. We’re detectives with the Chicago PD.” We immediately pulled out our badges to put them at ease. “Is there a manager present?”

  A woman entered from a side room, carrying a bin of fresh vegetables. “That would be me.” She set the bin on a stainless steel workspace and reached out and shook our hands. “Kathryn Stout, day shift operations manager.”

  Chapter 8

  “We’d appreciate a few minutes of your time, ma’am,” Frank said.

  She chuckled. “I’m thirty, a bit young to be called ‘ma’am.’”

  Frank shrugged. “Miss Stout, then?”

  “Kathryn will do. Let’s head to the office, where we can talk privately.”

  Frank and I followed Kathryn down two hallways to a nicely decorated and well-organized office where everything seemed to have its place. It was a far cry from many of the restaurant offices we’d spent time in, some of them sharing a space with the mop closet.

  Kathryn pointed at the guest chairs. “Please, make yourselves comfortable.”

  We did, and she took a seat behind the desk.

  “Now, what can I do for you?”

  I pulled out the notes I’d written down from Steve’s account of his conversation with Charlotte on Friday.

  “There was a group of six here for dinner last night with reservations at nine. I don’t know who made the reservations, so I have no idea whose name it was under.”

  “Okay, that shouldn’t be hard to figure out. Just give me a second to log on to our reservations calendar.” With a few keyboard taps, Kathryn pulled up the sheet. “Here we go. Party of six for nine o’clock, and the reservation was made by Lynette Gibson.” She looked from Frank to me. “Doesn’t ring a bell?”

  “No, and it wouldn’t,” I said as I wrote the name and phone number down. “At this point, we’re only gathering information.” I was certain Lynette was one of the dentist office employees, and I would confirm that as soon as we interviewed them
.

  Kathryn wore a puzzled expression. “Gathering information about what?”

  I sidestepped that question. It was far too early to make a connection between the restaurant and Charlotte’s murder. “What we need to see now is the parking lot camera footage from last night between eight thirty and eleven thirty.”

  “That lot isn’t brightly lit. It’s just a patron parking lot, nothing fancy. Is there something in particular you’re looking for?”

  “Unfortunately, we won’t know until we see it. We have to document the vehicles parked at that time, and we’ll also need a copy of your reservations sheet between those same times.”

  She began to protest, and I held up my hand.

  “Please work with us. This discovery is very time sensitive, and it isn’t like restaurants have a confidentiality clause with customers.”

  “I suppose you’re right, Detective McCord. Give me a minute to print the guest reservations list, and then I’ll email you a copy of last night’s parking lot footage.”

  “We’d really appreciate that, and thanks.”

  Frank and I headed to the precinct with the reservations sheet in hand and the parking lot footage sent to my email address. Hopefully, we would be able to gather something from the video. The dental office was closed on weekends, but I’d pull up their website and possibly get a list of employee names. If not, we’d be knocking on Dr. Carter’s door to get information on his entire staff. We also needed to interview Charlotte’s neighbor, Janice Atwater, and her best friend, Rachel Meadows. I was sure that by now, Charlotte’s absence had been noticed.

  We were back at the bullpen by eleven o’clock. Henry, Shawn, Tony, and Kip were knee-deep in reviewing witness statements when we walked in. Henry leaned back in his chair and stretched.

  “Anything worthwhile at the restaurant?”

  “That’s yet to be seen. The daytime manager sent me the parking lot footage from last night.”

  Frank piped in. “We also have the reservations list, and the person who made those nine o’clock reservations was a Lynette Gibson, most likely a coworker, whom I’m about to call.”