by C. M. Sutter
“An oversight, maybe? Possibly in a hurry to get out of here and forgot it.”
I nodded. “Yeah, maybe. We’ll take it along when we leave, and hopefully, Todd can get into it. How’s the processing coming along?”
“Slow but sure. You do want us to go through the entire house, right?”
“Yeah, it’s protocol, even though I doubt that the killer went upstairs. I also doubt that he left prints anywhere, especially if this was a contract hit.”
“You think the husband had something to do with it?”
“Not sure what I think yet, but maybe the computer will tell us something.” I checked the time. More than an hour had passed, and I still hadn’t heard from the husband. The lack of a callback wasn’t shedding a favorable light on Mr. Colin Barstow. “I’m going to try the husband again.”
Mike gathered his equipment, and he and Danny headed for the stairs. Frank came around the corner just as I was about to make the call.
“Foxworthy said a neighbor gave him the contact information for the people across the street who have the doorbell camera. It shouldn’t be long before he gets them on the phone.”
“Good. Meanwhile, I’m going to try the husband again. Damn it, if only we had Renee’s phone. I’m sure all the numbers for her friends and acquaintances are on it. Check around and see if you can track down a physical address book.”
“Seriously? In this day and age?”
“She had a physical day planner, so you never know. Some people like to see and feel things on paper, just like some people prefer paperback and hardcover books to the digital variety.” I pointed at the bookcases surrounding us. “At least that’s how it looks from where I stand.”
“Humph. Okay, I’ll check around.”
Frank headed out through the arched doorway, and I focused on making a second call to Mr. Barstow. By now, he should have listened to the message I’d left nearly an hour and a half ago. I dialed the number I’d saved to my phone and waited as it rang on the other end—still no answer, and that fact was beginning to concern me.
No sooner had I disconnected from that call than my phone rang in my hand. I swiped the screen and answered. “Detective McCord speaking.”
“Jesse, it’s Foxworthy.”
“What have you got, Tim?”
“The woman who lives in the house across the street just got home. She was at a dentist appointment earlier, and she says we’re welcome to check her camera footage from yesterday. Want to come over and take a look for yourself?”
“You bet. Which house is it?”
“The yellow colonial with green shutters and dormers on the roof. House number 5313.”
“Got it. I’ll be right there.”
I located Frank and told him where I was going, and he said he would stay behind and continue searching for an address book. With my jacket on and my notepad and phone in my pocket, I headed across the street and rang the doorbell at the yellow colonial.
Foxworthy pulled open the door and ushered me in. “Right this way. Mrs. Cook is in her office, queuing up the footage from yesterday.”
I followed Foxworthy to what was likely a third bedroom that had been converted into an office, and he made the introductions when I entered.
“Detective Jesse McCord, this is Sandra Cook.”
Shaking her hand, I thanked her for helping us out.
“My pleasure. The police department certainly doesn’t get acknowledged enough for the work they do. It’s so upsetting to hear about Renee’s passing—she was far too young in my opinion.”
I shot a quick glance at Tim. He hadn’t told Sandra that Renee had been murdered and rightfully so. Our investigation was in the early stages, and that information needed to be kept to ourselves, at least until the husband was notified.
I told Sandra we wanted to see if Mrs. Barstow had had any company yesterday. If she did, maybe they would be able to tell us if she’d mentioned feeling ill or out of sorts since by all appearances she seemed to be a healthy woman. “Did you know Renee well, Mrs. Cook?”
Sandra sighed. “Not really. She didn’t seem to be the type who would stop by for a round of coffee and neighborhood gossip. She hung in a different social circle, and her husband, Colin, was never home.”
“Would you have any idea where he might be now?”
Her eyes bulged. “He doesn’t know yet? That’s horrible, but I wouldn’t have a clue where he’s at. He’s gone for weeks at a time.”
I nodded. “So we’ve heard. Isabel filled us in on as much as she could.”
“That poor dear. I imagine she’ll be looking for a new job now.”
I tipped my head toward the computer. “So is it ready to go?”
Sandra’s eyes returned to the laptop. “Yes, whenever you want to begin. I’m going to make a cup of tea. Would either of you like one?”
“No thanks, but we appreciate the offer. So I just press the forward arrow?”
“That’s it. The entire day is recorded, and you can speed through it or punch in a particular time to watch. Just holler if you need something.”
I took a seat at the desk, and Tim pulled in the chair that rested against the wall.
“Ready?”
“Yep. Let’s see if that person who passed by the house down the block comes into view. What time did you say they walked by?”
Tim took his notepad from his pocket and flipped the pages. “Here it is—two fifty.”
“Okay. I’ll set the time for two fifty and see who walks past, if anyone.”
After entering the time of day, I began the recording. Our eyes were glued to the computer screen as we waited for the person to show up, and if they did, it should take only a few minutes to reach the Barstow home from the end of the block.
“Come on, come on. It has to be the killer.”
Foxworthy pointed. “There!”
My eyes caught someone coming into view from our right. “Is that the same person?”
“Yep. Same clothes, stocking cap—everything.”
“Good, now let’s see if they go up to the porch or if they continue on.”
The person made a sudden right in front of the Barstow house and took the paver sidewalk to the front door. I glanced at the time on the screen—2:57.
Foxworthy pointed. “See what I mean about not being able to make out much about the person? The stocking cap, pulled-up collar, and the brisk stride make it tough to identify anything other than the clothes the assailant wore.”
The perp stood on the porch for a few seconds, then we saw the door swing open. The person inside had to be Renee, although she was too obstructed to see. A second later, the killer stepped inside, and the door closed.
I shook my head. “If only people had that sixth sense they need when danger is imminent. So I guess that’s it until he walks out. Jot down the time, Tim.”
Foxworthy did, and we continued staring at the screen.
Sandra popped her head in the doorway. “Need anything, Detectives?”
“We’re good,” I said, “and sure appreciate your help. Is there a way to forward yesterday’s footage to my email address?”
“Of course. I can send over the link anytime you want.”
“Okay, we’re almost done.”
I sped up the footage until we saw movement again, then I hit Pause and backed it up by a few minutes.
“I can only imagine what took place behind those doors,” Tim said.
I groaned. “You don’t have to imagine. We saw the end result first-hand.”
I checked the time again, and twenty minutes had passed. That was how long it took the killer to gain Renee’s confidence, blindside her, stick the needle in her arm, administer the drug, then push the bookcase over on top of her. Another few minutes was added to scoop up her cell phone and leave the statue on the living room’s mantel before walking out.
I raised a questioning brow. “It looks like the perp has something in his hand, doesn’t it?”
T
im leaned in closer. “Yeah, a folder, maybe, but he definitely didn’t walk in with it.”
I slid the zoom bar to the right as far as it would go, but that caused the image to pixel.
“Damn it. We’ll have to see if Todd can sharpen up the perp’s face as he’s walking out since it’ll probably be our only opportunity to catch him straight on.”
We thanked Sandra, I gave her my card with my email address, and we returned to the Barstow house. With Don gone and Mike and Danny still printing each room, I gave Lutz a call and told him we were returning to the station. I said we had an image of the perp and had documented the time he arrived and left. Now all we needed was for Todd to work his technical magic and give us a face that was clear enough to plug into the system. With any luck, the perp would be in the database, and the facial recognition software would give us his name.
Chapter 42
Vic spent most of the day following Mark Constantine around on his bulk newspaper delivery route. His large cube van would work perfectly as a hiding spot and a good place to crush him beneath the heavy bundled papers and magazines, just like Renee had been crushed beneath the bookcase full of novels.
Vic would find the perfect time to slip inside the van while Mark wheeled the dolly filled with newspapers to the kiosks on the street corners. That would give Vic a good five minutes to hide, and when Mark returned, Vic would slit his throat with the utility knife that Mark kept in the back of the van. It would serve a far more fitting purpose than cutting plastic strapping from the bundles.
One more day of following him should confirm where the best opportunity is and how much time he spends at each location. After he’s dead, my mission will be complete, and I can move on to my final plan. The best will be saved for last, and the entire world will finally know my name.
Chapter 43
After dropping off the laptop and emailing a copy of the doorbell video to Todd, Frank and I returned to the bullpen. Frank wasn’t able to locate an address book at the Barstow home, and without that, or a callback from the husband, we were in a holding pattern.
Lutz entered the bullpen and gave me a nod. “Got that video ready?”
“Yep, crowd around.”
The commander and my colleagues took spots behind me as I opened the video attachment that Sandra had sent. They watched with me as the assailant took the sidewalk to the Barstow home, knocked, and was welcomed in.
Lutz let out what seemed to be an involuntary groan then rubbed his forehead. “Mrs. Barstow had no idea she only had minutes to live.”
“Maybe that’s a blessing in disguise,” Henry said.
I had to agree with Henry, yet his comment took me back to the previous murders. None of the other three victims had seen it coming either. Their murders were the true definition of blindsides, and from interviews we’d conducted with friends and family, not one of those victims had a mean bone in their bodies, and none had mentioned anyone having a beef with them.
“We didn’t see the killer’s face,” Lutz said.
“Give it a minute.” I fast-forwarded through the twenty minutes that the perp was inside, then began the footage again and hit Pause when the killer exited the house.
“This is why I emailed the video to Todd. He’s doing his best to sharpen the image and bring it in closer, and with any luck, we’ll be able to make out his features well enough to get a match from the database.”
“If he’s in the database,” Frank added.
“Yeah, there’s that too.”
As our commander walked out, he told me to call him the second Todd had the best enhancement he could get of the footage. I assured him that I would. I watched the video two more times even though I had no reason to expect an aha moment. I didn’t know the person, and even if I did, at that distance, without the image sharpened, I wouldn’t recognize them, anyway.
I jotted down notes so I wouldn’t forget what was most important in each case, and I set down my pen when my cell phone rang. Checking the screen before answering, I saw it was the number for Colin Barstow that I had programmed into my phone three hours earlier.
“It’s about damn time.” I hadn’t realized I’d said that aloud until I looked at the faces staring a hole through me. “It’s Mr. Barstow,” I said as I slid the green phone icon to the right. “Hello, Detective McCord speaking.”
“Detective McCord, this is Colin Barstow. I just listened to a message you left on my voicemail. What’s going on?”
“Sir, I left that message hours ago. Why did it take so long for you to respond?”
“I’ve been on an overseas flight, Detective. My plane just touched down at O’Hare, and I turned my phone back on. Now please, tell me why you called.”
“Mr. Barstow, there’s been a situation. I’m going to need you to come to the Wentworth police station right away.”
“What? My wife is expecting me home.”
“I assure you that can wait. It’s imperative that you come directly to our station and ask for me, Detective McCord. I’ll be expecting your arrival within the hour.” I ended the call and rubbed my brow. After hearing his explanation for why he hadn’t returned my call, I understood, but I wasn’t about to exclude him from being a suspect. Mr. Barstow could have orchestrated the hit from anywhere in the world.
I was sure that after hanging up, he would try Renee’s phone numerous times, unless he was the killer and already knew she wouldn’t answer. If he was innocent, he would likely arrive at the precinct upset that he hadn’t been able to reach her, but we would cross that bridge once he arrived. Between Frank and me, we were pretty good at reading people to see if they seemed guilty of something or if they were genuinely concerned.
A few minutes after four, my desk phone rang. Debra was calling to say Mr. Barstow had arrived.
“Bring him upstairs to the conference room. I’ll meet you there.”
Mr. Barstow hadn’t wasted any time getting here, and that was a plus in my eyes. It made me lean toward him being a man who genuinely had no idea why I’d called him.
I gave Lutz a quick update that Mr. Barstow had arrived and Debra was bringing him to the conference room.
“Good, I’ll join in on that interview. Any word from Todd yet?”
“Nope, but I’ll check in with him as soon as the interview is over. Frank and I are heading to the conference room now.”
Chapter 44
With a legal pad tucked under my arm and a pen in my hand, I took a seat in the conference room. Frank sat at my side, and we waited for Mr. Barstow to be escorted in. The familiar sound of Lutz’s shoes clacking down the hallway told me he was the next person to enter, and he was.
I gave him a nod. “Boss.” Tipping my wrist, I checked the time—4:07. “They should be here any second.”
“What does he know?” Lutz pulled out the chair at the head of the table and took a seat.
“Nothing yet, but I’m sure he’s wondering why he can’t get ahold of Renee.” Seconds later, the sound of two sets of footsteps caught my ear. “Sounds like they’re on their way.”
Debra opened the half-closed door, allowed Mr. Barstow through, then made the introductions before leaving.
Lutz stood. “Please have a seat, Mr. Barstow. We have serious matters to discuss with you.”
“What’s going on?” His question was directed at me. “Detective McCord, you’re the one who called, and this is the homicide department. Tell me why I can’t track down my wife. Did something happen to Renee?”
“I’m so sorry to have to tell you this, sir, but Renee has been murdered.”
Colin slammed his fist on the table. “No, that’s impossible! I spoke to her yesterday around two o’clock Chicago time but—”
“But you haven’t spoken to her since? According to our medical examiner, Renee was killed yesterday afternoon.”
Colin dropped his head to the table. “This can’t be. What? Why? How?”
Lutz took over. “We don’t have those answers yet, sir
, but we’re hoping you can shed some light. Renee’s phone is missing, and we couldn’t find an address book in the house. We were hoping to speak to her friends and relatives, but we had no way of contacting anyone. Our detectives took the liberty of searching your home and found your phone number with the cell phone bill.”
“She was killed in our own house? We have an alarm system that’s hooked up to the police department, for God’s sake.”
Frank spoke up. “The alarm wasn’t triggered, meaning she let her killer in. Did anyone have it out for Renee?”
“No!” He squeezed his temples. “I mean I don’t know! I’m gone a lot, and Renee just does her own thing in my absence. She does get grating at times, but I wouldn’t know with whom other than me. I’m not acquainted with her followers. We have a small group of friends that we go out to eat with as couples on occasion, but other than that, I don’t know who she associates with.”
I let out a deep sigh. “Mr. Barstow, how was your relationship with Renee?”
He waved away my comment. “We were just fine. Ask anybody.”
“I did, and Isabel said you’ve been married for nearly ten years but there were arguments at times.”
“Right, and I’m sure every other married couple has arguments too. That doesn’t mean I had her killed. Check my bank records, my phone calls, my emails.”
“We intend to, sir, and as of now, your house is off limits until our investigation there is complete. Our forensic team is still on site.”
“Where’s my wife, and how was she killed?”
Lutz nodded. “I can take you to our medical examiner’s office downstairs when we’re finished here. As far as manner of death, that hasn’t been established yet, but she did have a needle in her arm and a bookcase tipped over on her. Either she was given a drug overdose or the weight of the bookcase killed her, but we won’t know that for sure until the tox screen comes back.”
“Renee wasn’t a drug user, that I’m sure of.”
“We’ve determined that it was forced on her by the assailant,” I said. “We have a video clip of the killer, and our tech department is trying to enhance the quality so we can get a clearer image of his face. When we have that”—I looked at the clock—“which should be very soon, we’d like you to take a look to see if you recognize the person.”
