Booked for Murder

by C. M. Sutter

  I returned to the sheet of paper on the table. Charlotte had died first, then Jill, and finally Jeff. The killer wasn’t focused on a particular gender or age.

  If the murders have something to do with reading or books in general, why choose those three people? There are thousands of individuals in Chicago he could have targeted, so that means something about those three in particular angered the killer enough to murder them. They didn’t know each other, and each was killed in a different way, so the only commonality is the interest in books.

  I raked my hair in frustration. I couldn’t pinpoint the exact connection and knew we needed a brainstorming session first thing in the morning. We had to dig deeper to get to the nexus, and once we realized what it was, we would be one step closer to the killer.

  Chapter 38

  It was after eight o’clock by the time Hanna arrived. I put away my paper and pen and tried to turn off my mind so I could enjoy our time together.

  She frowned at me as we sat down to eat. “You look mentally exhausted. Are you getting any sleep?”

  “Some, maybe five hours a night. This case is really tough to crack, and unfortunately, my mind has a hard time shutting down when it’s bedtime.” She poured wine into our glasses as I scooped a forkful of lasagna into my mouth. “This is really good. Thanks, babe.”

  “My pleasure.” She took a sip of wine. “So what’s the problem?”

  I waved off her question. “I don’t want to burden you with my work problems.”

  Hanna smiled. “I find your cases really interesting, and hearing about them isn’t a burden. A set of ears that isn’t connected to the PD might help, so go ahead. You said you couldn’t turn off your mind, anyway, and I know deep down, you’re thinking about the case even though I’m here.”

  I shook my head. “Shit. It’s that obvious? I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t worry about it. Like I said, I find it really interesting.”

  “You’re sure?”

  She pinched a piece of pasta between her fingers and fed it to Bandit.

  I rolled my eyes. “Little beggar. He has you wrapped around his paw.”

  Hanna chuckled. “He sure does, and I’m fine with that.” She cocked her head. “Let’s hear what has you baffled.”

  Over the next half hour, I summarized the parts of the case that we couldn’t seem to figure out. The victims weren’t known to each other, we didn’t have any credible witnesses to the murders, and each person had been killed in a different way. “There are missing puzzle pieces, but once we find them, we should be able to put everything together.”

  “Sounds daunting. So you believe books are the common denominator? That’s really odd.”

  I nodded. “You’re right, but books, bookstores, reading, reviewing books, and everything related to that seems to be the only thing the victims had in common. The killer actually called the tip line from a library, for God’s sake. He’s either taunting the police department, or he’s confident we won’t put the pieces together.” Hanna’s expression was one I’d seen many times during my career as a cop. “Your wheels are turning, so what’s on your mind?”

  “Maybe he couldn’t care less about the police department. His focus might be entirely on revenge against the people he’s killing. He’s carrying out a vendetta against them, and worrying about getting caught is the last thing on his mind.”

  “Anything is possible, but why call the tip line, then?”

  Hanna shrugged. “Just to keep you off balance while he plans his next attack.”

  That was a sobering thought, and time wasn’t on our side. We had to catch him before anyone else died. I rose from my chair and began clearing the table.

  “I didn’t mean to upset you, Jesse.”

  I kissed Hanna on the forehead. “You could never upset me, and your insight really helps.”

  She followed me into the kitchen and opened the dishwasher. “I’ll clean up the dishes, and then I should head out. You need a good night’s sleep. Who knows? Tomorrow everything could change.”

  Tomorrow everything could change, but with years of experience under my belt, I knew that the change might very well be another body discovered.

  After walking Hanna out, I went directly to bed, knowing that if I tried hard enough and turned off my thoughts, there was a chance I’d fall asleep before midnight. Fortunately, I did.

  The next morning, I woke at seven o’clock. I had actually slept through the night without too much effort.

  Maybe the wine helped, or maybe I was just that tired.

  I arrived at the precinct at 7:50 with intentions of stopping in Lutz’s office on my way to the bullpen. Hearing him through the door, obviously speaking to someone on the phone, I continued on. I would bring up my concerns during the morning update.

  We settled into our seats at eight thirty. Lutz conducted roll call then began the updates, none of which were earth-shattering. No new leads had come in overnight, but no new homicides related to our case had been discovered either. I suggested a conference room brainstorming session with Lutz and the detectives as soon as everyone had the time. Bob said he’d schedule it and let us know. The room cleared, and he called out to us as we were leaving.

  “Jesse and Frank, hang back a minute.”

  We waited until the last officer had walked out and closed the door behind him.

  “What’s up, Boss?” I asked.

  “Don called me a half hour ago from a home that has a deceased female inside. The maid entered the premises and discovered her employer lying under a bookcase that had apparently toppled over and crushed her to death.”

  “That’s odd. How does a bookcase just fall over? It isn’t like earthquakes are commonplace here. Was she up on a chair, trying to reach for something?”

  “Doesn’t sound that way. Don said she had a needle in her vein, too, a possible overdose, but the maid swears the woman didn’t use drugs.”

  I shook my head. “Could be a closet abuser. Heroin, maybe?”

  “Don won’t know until he does the tox and urinalysis tests.”

  “So why are you telling us?”

  Lutz raised his palms. “Don says it looks fishy. He asked if I’d send someone out to take a look before he moves the body and disrupts the scene.”

  “Okay, no problem. We’ll head out now.”

  “Thanks, guys. I’ll text you the address.”

  Frank and I left immediately. Once the address came into my phone via text, I realized we didn’t have far to go. The residence, on a tree-lined street filled with Tudor-style condos and single-family homes, was just east of Washington Park. We arrived in under ten minutes. One squad car and Don’s van sat along the curb. I imagined they wanted to keep the police presence light until we knew whether the scene was an accident or foul play.

  Frank and I took the sidewalk to the heavy wooden door with oversized decorative hinges. Officer Hendricks from Patrol opened it just as I reached for the knocker.

  “I saw you pull up, Detectives. Right this way.”

  Hendricks led us through the arched entry into the spacious library, where bookcases lined the entire left and right walls. A desk, several chairs, and a matching velvet-covered love seat sat on a large Persian rug centered in the room. A Palladian window, which overlooked the backyard, filled the wall directly behind the desk. The bookcase nearest us was face down on the floor with books scattered in every direction, and partially exposed from beneath the rubble was a woman’s body with a needle protruding from her arm and a scarf tied tightly above that.

  Don, clearly waiting for our arrival, rose from his seat on one of the guest chairs. He nodded hello.

  “Guys.”

  “Don. How about walking us through what you know up to this point,” I said as I stood within several feet of the scene, making sure not to disturb anything.

  “From what I can see from this distance, she’s been dead for some time.” He pointed at her exposed arm, and we craned our necks in that directio
n. “Lividity has darkened the underside of that arm as well as her fingertips, indicating she died in that spot. If she shot up and was alone, then for whatever reason, she pulled that bookcase over on herself and was crushed by it. I can’t actually say the drug was an overdose until I perform a tox screen.”

  “So until you get the tox screen back, you won’t know if she injected too much of whatever is in her system or if she was just shooting up with no intentions of dying.”

  “That’s correct. From the exposed parts of her body showing from under that bookcase, she looks to be slender and a bit over five feet tall. Judging by the matching bookcases still standing, they have to weigh two hundred pounds each without the additional weight of the books. I can’t believe a woman of that stature could pull it over on herself.”

  Frank piped in. “What about time of death?”

  “I can’t give you a time frame until I check for rigor.”

  I shrugged. “Okay, let’s get Forensics out here before we contaminate the scene. I’ll take a few pictures right now as things stand, we’ll interview the maid again, and then we’ll let the crime lab do their thing. You can determine a TOD without disrupting too much, right?”

  “I’ll examine her arm to see if it’s in rigor or not. After Mike and Danny complete their part, I’ll take her internal temperature to get a more accurate time of death. That’ll give us a good enough estimate.”

  Frank and I backed away, giving Don space to do an initial field exam. I made the call to our forensic team, gave Mike the condensed version of what we had, and he said they were on their way. Frank rounded up the maid, and we followed her to the kitchen, where we intended to conduct a detailed interview with her.

  “Have a seat, ma’am,” I said. “We’re Detectives Mills and McCord from Homicide, and we’re here because of the statement you gave Officer Hendricks about your employer. Let’s begin with your name.”

  “Isabel Gomez.”

  “Thank you, Isabel. Officer Hendricks said you told him that your employer wasn’t a drug user?”

  “No, she wasn’t.”

  “Okay, we’ll dig into that in a minute, but let’s take care of basics first. What is your employer’s name, and how long have you worked for her?”

  “She’s Mrs. Renee Barstow, and I’ve worked here for seven years.”

  “You called her Mrs. Barstow. Where’s the husband?”

  “He’s away on business. He’s usually gone for weeks at a time, often in other countries.”

  “And he does what?” Frank asked.

  “He’s in finance. That’s all I really know.”

  “Sure.” I wrote that down. “His name?”

  “Colin Barstow.”

  “And they’ve been married how long?”

  “This year, they’d be celebrating their tenth anniversary. They never had children, though.”

  “Okay,” Frank said. “That would have been my next question.”

  “How do you know Mrs. Barstow wasn’t a drug user?”

  Isabel shrugged. “I just know. She was always coherent, she insisted on healthy meals, took vitamins, and exercised regularly. Renee was in great shape for a forty-eight-year-old woman, and her arms never showed evidence of needle marks.” Isabel reached for a tissue off the counter at her back. “She was also very active in the community and had tons of followers.”

  “Followers? Meaning what?”

  “In social media. She was on her computer for hours at a time.”

  “Did Mrs. Barstow have a job?”

  “No, but she had a huge local presence. She attended all the fundraisers and benefit galas.”

  I thought about the library and the hundreds of books on the shelves and wondered if that was another connection to our case. “Was she an avid reader?”

  “Yes, and she belonged to and raised money for some well-known book clubs. Because Mr. Barstow was out of town so much, I believe the clubs, her activity on social media, and her community presence filled his absence. She was even interviewing people to be her personal assistant.”

  My ears perked at that comment. “Why would she need a personal assistant?”

  “I have my own opinion, but I don’t want to speak poorly of the dead.”

  “Go ahead. What you tell us will help determine if there was foul play or if Mrs. Barstow’s death was a horrible accident.”

  Isabel stared at her folded hands. “Mrs. Barstow was all about appearances. Not only physical but social as well. She wanted people to know she had money and influence, and having a personal assistant would help solidify that. I’m sure she didn’t have a legitimate reason to need one, but she wanted her followers to envy her, and they did. Most would do anything to be included in her social circle and walk in her shoes.”

  “Were you here yesterday, Isabel?”

  She sighed as she shook her head. “I have Wednesdays and Sundays off.”

  “Can somebody substantiate your whereabouts?”

  “My sister can. We went grocery shopping together and then made four dozen cookies at my house. I brought a dozen here this morning—they’re in the kitchen.”

  I handed Isabel my notepad. “I’ll need your sister’s name and phone number.”

  Frank looked around. “Isn’t there a security system here? Wouldn’t a home as luxurious as this one generally have something like that?”

  “There is an alarm system that’s linked to the police department but no cameras on site. Mrs. Barstow demanded privacy and didn’t want cameras capturing her every move.”

  I frowned. “That in itself seems odd.”

  Isabel shrugged. “That’s how she was.”

  “And the alarms weren’t triggered, so that means Mrs. Barstow let somebody in—that’s if her death was indeed caused by foul play.”

  “I imagine so.”

  I continued. “Did she have an interview set up yesterday with a potential assistant?”

  “If she did, I wasn’t aware of it.”

  “Does she keep a daily planner?”

  “Yes, on her desk.”

  “Okay. Hang tight in here. We’ll have Officer Hendricks sit with you. One last thing, when is Mr. Barstow expected back from wherever he’s at?”

  “I don’t know, but that might be written in her planner as well.”

  I nodded a thanks to Isabel and called Hendricks in to sit with her, then Frank and I returned to the library.

  Chapter 39

  A knock sounded, and the front door opened. Mike and Danny had arrived and entered with their bags of gear.

  Poking my head around the doorway, I waved them toward us. “In here, guys.”

  They walked in and set their forensic bags on the floor, then Don pushed off his knee and approached them.

  “I conducted a basic TOD. The rigor seems to be subsiding, so I’d say she’s been dead since sometime yesterday afternoon. I’ll step away and let you get the pictures you need.”

  Mike turned toward Frank and me. “Are we assuming this is a homicide case?”

  “Possibly,” I said. “She’s of average size, and according to the maid, Mrs. Barstow is forty-eight years old. I’d say that bookcase is too heavy for her to pull down on top of herself while having a needle sticking out of her vein.”

  Mike leaned in and looked at the arm protruding from under the pile of books. “Good point, and the needle would have fallen out if she was yanking on the bookcase.”

  Frank added his two cents. “Also, the maid said she didn’t use drugs of any kind.”

  “So, we should do everything we’d normally do for a homicide?”

  “Yep, I’d say so. First, let’s snap a few pictures of the desktop. The maid thought Mrs. Barstow’s daily planner might be on it. She said it was a pale-blue leather-bound planner.”

  “Old school instead of using the calendar on the computer?”

  I shrugged. “Just going by what the maid told me. We’ll need gloves too.”

  “Sure,” Mike said. “I hav
e extras in my case.”

  Gloved up, we walked to the desk, where Danny took a half dozen pictures. The desk surface held the typical items—a laptop computer, a cup of pens, stationery, a letter opener, the desk pad, and miscellaneous knickknacks but no daily planner.

  I took a seat. “Guess we’ll be going through the drawers.”

  After I opened the center drawer, I found a calculator, stapler, more pens and pencils, an eraser, and a pencil sharpener. I closed it and began with the row of three drawers on the right side. Frank took the drawers on the left.

  “Here it is,” he said when he opened the second drawer. He pulled out the book and placed it on the desk.

  I flipped the pages to yesterday’s date and checked the entries, but nothing was written about interviewing somebody for the personal assistant position.

  “Damn it. That’s a bust. The only reminder she wrote to herself was to send in the RSVP to a party she planned to attend. We’ll have to take the computer back to the station with us and see if Todd can get into it.” I rose from the desk and pulled my phone from my pocket. Lutz needed to be updated, and we needed help. “Boss, we could use a few officers out here to start canvassing the neighborhood for doorbell cameras. Yep, thanks, and I’ll let you know what Don thinks as soon as he takes a closer look at the vic.” I hung up and jerked my head at Frank and then at one of the matching bookcases against the opposite wall. “Come on, big guy. Let’s see how heavy one of these things really is.”

  Frank held one side, and I took the other. Scooting it was nearly impossible, but we were able to rock it back and forth. Tipping it forward was doable but a lot of work, especially for one person unless they had pulled out the books first.

  I scratched my cheek as I gave the scenario some thought. “Even though it’s possible, why would somebody do that to themselves? If she did overdose on purpose, wouldn’t the drug be enough to do her in? Seems like the bookcase part of it is overkill.”

  “Okay, then let’s run the murder scenario. She allowed somebody in, possibly a potential assistant she planned to interview, they subdued her somehow, jammed a lethal dose of drugs into her vein, tipped the bookcase over on her, and left without missing a beat.”