Booked for Murder

by C. M. Sutter

  “That sounds great. What should I bring?”

  “Just yourself and a bottle of wine. I’ll throw some steaks and potatoes on the grill.”

  “Okay, then I’ll bring the wine and dessert. I’m looking forward to it, but right now, I think I better let you get some sleep. It sounds like that case is consuming your brain, and you need to be able to think clearly if you’re going to catch that woman.”

  I had to agree, and I knew we both needed sleep—I was definitely overtired. I said good night and returned to my comfortable bed. Tomorrow was another day, and I hoped it would be a productive one.

  Chapter 49

  Our Friday morning roll call and updates were complete, and I was back at my desk, listening to the night shift boys go over the tip-line calls with us. We had only a handful of them left to follow up on that had an ounce of credibility. No calls had come in from the BOLO on Gloria’s black Civic. I wondered whether she had a garage in the place she now called home.

  On my computer, I pulled up the notes I had written during my sleepless hours the previous night. I added a note to check into her bank records and credit card usage since they could lead us to her new residence. I needed to contact Paul Hennison, Gloria’s old apartment manager, and ask if he knew what her occupation was since it should have been listed on her rental application. A trip to the post office was on my list as well. I would follow up with Patrol, even though I knew that would be a bust. If they’d seen her car during the overnight hours, we would have been contacted.

  Frank took a seat on my guest chair. “In your opinion, what’s the most important thing to start with?”

  “Why don’t you talk to Lutz about the bank records? They’ll require a warrant, and we need to get that checked out as soon as possible. There has to be a record of her moving to another apartment and paying a deposit.”

  “Unless she’s camping in her car.”

  I shook my head. “Patrol would have found her if she was. We should also find out who her next of kin is—she could be squatting with a relative. I’ll get Henry on that. We need that woman found today before she goes after someone else. We have no idea how many people are on her kill list.”

  At the sound of our bullpen door opening, I turned in my chair. Lutz had just walked in.

  “What’s on the agenda, guys?”

  “Plenty,” Frank said. “We need a warrant for Gloria’s bank records since that’ll take the longest.”

  “Consider it done. What else?”

  “I have some calls to make, and we need to find out who her relatives are. Henry and Shawn will work on that. We still have Patrol combing that neighborhood around the post office and library, right?”

  “Yep, and the BOLO will stay in effect until we find her and the car.”

  I tipped my wrist—8:43. The post office lobby was already open. I had no idea whether they could help me, but there was a chance Gloria picked up all her mail there now since she couldn’t use the apartment’s mailbox anymore. I would call Paul first then head out.

  With everyone working on their own tasks, I opened my notepad and dialed the number for Paul that I’d written down yesterday. I tapped my pen as the phone rang in my ear.

  “Hello.”

  “Paul, it’s Detective McCord from yesterday.”

  “Yep, how ya doing, Detective?”

  “Good enough, but I do have a question for you.”

  “Sure, shoot.”

  “When Gloria filled out her rental application, what did she write down as her occupation, and did she list any references?”

  “Sorry, but I don’t decide who gets an apartment. I just keep people in line, collect the rent after they’ve moved in, and make sure there aren’t any problems with the units. The main office handles all the applicant interviews, does the background checks, and so forth.”

  “Do you have any idea how long Gloria lived there?”

  “I’ve only been the manager for a year, but she was already living here when I took that position. I can give you the main office’s number if you like.”

  “Thanks, I’d appreciate it.” I hung up from the call and dialed the office number for FTR Rentals of Chicago. An automated recording mentioned all the complexes the company managed and their amenities. If I was interested in applying for a rental unit, I should leave my name and number and somebody would get back to me within twenty-four hours. I pressed the zero key, hoping a human would pick up, but nobody did.

  “Son of a bitch. I hate automated attendants. They’re taking over every job and putting living, breathing people out of work.” I slammed the phone down on the base and returned to my notes.

  My thoughts took me back to the conversation with Hanna and how she’d compared Gloria’s using two names to authors using pen names.

  Could she actually be doing that very thing? Everyone Gloria has killed had a connection to books, reading, and the literary world in one form or another. Could Victor Smith actually be a pen name?

  I yelled over to Henry. “Johnson, what did you learn yesterday about those three guys named Victor Smith?”

  “Dead ends, Jesse, why?”

  “Dead ends how?”

  “One man is seventy-nine and lives in a retirement home, another has been married for thirty years, has a son that’s about to graduate college, and has worked for the IRS for nineteen years, and the third man has a bone disease and is confined to a wheelchair.”

  “Shit.” I logged onto the internet and confirmed what Henry had just told me. “What’s going on with finding her next of kin?”

  “Still working on it, Jesse.”

  I heaved a deep sigh and apologized. “Sorry, man, I’m just getting impatient.” I pressed my temples with my palms and tried to think.

  Wait! Hanna would know.

  I fired off a text to her and asked how I would find a particular author by their pen name and whether more than one author used the same name. Seconds later, her return text came in.

  “Log on to the big A and type the author’s name into the search bar. If the author actually has published works, their name should show up along with the books they’ve written. Also, most authors have a profile page that contains photos of themselves.”

  Hanna’s suggestion was a godsend. I sent off a quick thank-you text then pocketed my phone. On the book giant’s website, I typed Victor Smith into the search bar, and four books popped up. I was onto something. They looked to be crime fiction and in a series, all with similar titles. They had very few, and very poor, reviews.

  Could Gloria really be a disgruntled author?

  My eyes darted across the page as I searched for information about the author. Out of desperation, I began clicking on everything that could possibly lead me to more, and a new page finally popped up—her author page. The pictures of her were shrouded in shadows, likely to keep readers from knowing she was a woman, but her bio told me it was her. I pounded my fist against the desk. “I found you, and now I know that Victor Smith is nothing more than a pen name.”

  I spun my chair to face my colleagues. “Don’t waste any more time with Victor Smith. It’s an imaginary name for Gloria—her author name. Supposedly, she’s a writer and a very bad one at that.” I grabbed my jacket and stood, then I jerked my head toward the door. “Henry, update Lutz. Tell him Frank and I are headed to the post office. They must have a forwarding address for Gloria. Shawn, Kip, and Tony, keep looking for family members. See if there are social media pages for people with the last name Smythe in the Chicagoland area and find out if they’re related to Gloria. We have to track her down today. She’s off the grid, outraged, and could be going after people who don’t take her writing seriously.”

  Frank and I headed for the back exit so we would reach the parking lot and the cruiser much faster.

  “What’s the address again?”

  “It’s on Forty-Sixth and South Cottage Grove, and step on it.”

  Chapter 50

  Vic had been following
Mark Constantine from a few car lengths back. His big newspaper route took him as far north as South Michigan and East Cermak. With the number of stops in that area, he would be distracted with loading the dolly and walking the bundled papers to the kiosks on the street corners.

  That is where you’re going to die, Mark. You’ll be blindsided like the others without the slightest chance of a prayer for redemption. You’ll go straight to hell, and that’s where you’ll meet the ones who went before you. Each of you deserves the fate of that fiery pit, and I hope you burn in its flames for eternity.

  Vic glanced to her left as she drove north on South Indiana. The Michigan and Thirty-Fifth Street police station was only a block away. She chuckled as she thought about their inability to figure out her identity or her motive. “You’re all a bunch of dimwits, and I’ll get away with this since none of you have a clue who I am.”

  She knew from watching Mark’s moves yesterday that he would soon pull over, turn on his hazard lights, and begin unloading the back of the van. She had to be ready to jump in as soon as he cleared the front of his vehicle.

  Chapter 51

  The cruiser’s radio squawked to life at ten o’clock, just as we turned in to the post office parking lot. Patrol had spotted a car matching the description of Gloria Smythe’s Civic four miles away from us, heading north on South Michigan Avenue. Responding to the dispatch call, I asked if they had confirmed the license plate number. I was told that Patrol was gaining on the vehicle, and they were ninety-nine percent sure the plates matched.

  Frank spun the steering wheel, jumped the curb, and was back on the street within two seconds.

  “Use the lights and siren. It’ll take less than ten minutes to get there.” I returned to the radio, told Dispatch that we were en route, and asked for an update.

  “Patrol lost the vehicle, Detective McCord. The light went red, and the cross traffic blocked their pursuit.”

  I slammed my fist on the dash. “Damn it, get more units on the streets. The Michigan Avenue station is only a few blocks from there. We’re on our way and will be there in five minutes. Run squad cars parallel on the side streets and get ahead of that vehicle on Michigan. Don’t let anyone who’s in a black Civic leave the area. Confirm my request with Commander Abrams, and I’ll update Lutz.” I jerked my head at Frank. “Speed up!”

  “I can’t risk going any faster. These are city streets with a lot of cross traffic, and I don’t feel like getting sideswiped. I have to slow down at intersections.”

  I dialed Lutz’s office. “Boss, there’s been a probable sighting of Gloria’s car heading north on South Michigan. Frank and I are en route, and I’ve updated Patrol to get more units on the streets. Dispatch is alerting Abrams now.”

  “How soon before you reach the area?”

  I glanced at the cruiser’s dash. “We’re three minutes out.”

  “Make sure Patrol checks parking garages too. If it is her, right now would be our best chance of an apprehension. Don’t let her get away, Jesse.”

  “Roger that.” I hung up and used the radio to have Dispatch connect me with an officer on South Michigan. “What have we got?” I asked as soon as Patrol Officer Lance Barron came on the line. “Any more sightings?”

  “Not yet, Detective, but we’re blocking all the main arteries out of the area and combing every side street.”

  “Check the parking garages too. Detective Mills and I are turning north on South Michigan right now.”

  “We’ve cleared the area up to East Thirty-First where South Michigan becomes a two-way street.”

  “Then we’ll head there. Stop all the through traffic on South Michigan up to the Stevenson Expressway overpass and block the northbound lanes. We have to box her in.” I hung up and told Frank to continue driving north.

  We’d caught up with several patrol cars that inched their way north on South Michigan, and I called out over the radio. “How many patrol units are on the side streets, and how far out?”

  Barron replied to my broadcast. “Units are checking the northbound streets three out on either side of Michigan, Detective McCord. So far, there hasn’t been another sighting.”

  “Okay, but keep your eyes peeled. She may have darted off into an alley.” I clicked off the radio and pulled my phone from my pocket.

  “Who are you calling?”

  “Lutz. We need eyes in the sky. It’s the fastest way to track down that car. If we don’t find her in the next half hour, we may lose her for good.”

  Minutes later, I hung up from the call. Lutz had said it would take ten minutes to get a police chopper to our area.

  “Son of a bitch. By then, she could have ditched the car and jumped on the L. We’ll never find her if she does that.”

  “She doesn’t know we’re after her—unless she saw last night’s broadcast.”

  “And she might have. For all we know, she could have left the car behind with the keys in the ignition as a decoy. The person behind the wheel could be nothing more than an opportunist who saw an easy car to steal.”

  Frank sped through the yellow light. “Then we need that chopper here, and we need it now.”

  Chapter 52

  Vic slowed at the intersection of South Michigan and Cermak. Mark had a half dozen deliveries along the stretch between Cermak and East Roosevelt Road and would be stopping soon. Seeing a vehicle ahead with its left blinker engaged and waiting to pull out, Vic stopped and indicated with her right directional that she would take the parking spot. Snagging that space more than guaranteed she’d be ready to pounce on Mark when he reentered the back of the van.

  He’s stopped a few hundred feet ahead of me, but I’ll be ready and waiting by the time he has the dolly loaded.

  Vic took a seat in a nearby bus shelter and watched as Mark lifted the bundled newspapers and dropped them to the ground next to the dolly. He was only fifty feet away but clearly preoccupied with the task at hand. She stood and began the slow walk toward his van.

  Any second now, the dolly will be full, and he’ll head out on foot. I’ll have plenty of time to jump inside and wait for him to return.

  Mark pulled the strap tight, secured the six-high bundles, then closed the back of the van and jerked the dolly up over the curb to the sidewalk. From a twenty-foot distance, Vic watched him walk away.

  Good job, buddy. Now it’s showtime.

  Vic glanced around the van to make sure Mark was halfway up the block. Then she pulled open the back doors just wide enough to slip inside. She closed them at her back, engaged the flashlight on her phone, and found several utility knives in a tray on the built-in shelving units.

  One should do the trick.

  She chose a spot near the front, where she wouldn’t easily be seen, and crouched down. The stacked bundles hid her well. Vic waited and envisioned her next move. A surprise attack, a quick knife jab to the carotid artery, and within minutes, Mark Constantine would bleed out all over the floor. She would drop the bundles on top of him and slip out as easily as she had slipped in.

  Chapter 53

  When I heard the familiar sound of the chopper’s rotors, I lowered my window and looked to the sky.

  “Yes! The helicopter is right above us.” I grabbed the radio’s mic and called Dispatch. “Who’s flying the chopper?”

  “It’s Dan Orey, Detective McCord.”

  “Good, patch me through.”

  A second later, his voice came over the radio. “Jesse, it’s Dan. What can you tell me?”

  “She’s in the wind, but she couldn’t have gotten far. Look for a late-model black Civic. She was last seen heading north on South Michigan, and Patrol is running parallel on the side streets in a northbound route. We have to find her before she ditches the car. Get ahead of us and turn back this way, and then we’ll meet in the middle.”

  “Roger that. Orey out.”

  I breathed a sigh of relief. If anyone could spot the right vehicle, it was Dan. He had an eagle eye, a sharp, unwavering focus, and
if the Civic was in the general vicinity, he would find it. Frank continued north on Michigan Avenue, and we passed Thirty-First, where Michigan turned into a two-way street. Through the windshield, I saw the chopper flying north ahead of us. I radioed Barron. “How’s it looking on the side streets?”

  “Quiet. Nobody has reported seeing the car.”

  I clicked off and watched out the windows. It felt like my head was on a swivel. The radio squawked again, and this time, it was Dan.

  “I have a sighting of a black Civic parked just north of the intersection of Michigan and Cermak.”

  “Got it. Thanks, buddy.” I jerked my head toward Frank. “She’s north of the Stevenson Expressway.” I double-checked with Dispatch. “Make sure everyone heard about that sighting, but Patrol needs to maintain their northbound progress. Gloria isn’t the only person in Chicago with a black Civic, so we’ll have to confirm the plates, but it’ll take us another five minutes to get there. Is anyone in that area?”

  “Give me a minute, Jesse. Yes, Officer Dillon is two blocks from that location.”

  “Send him to do a visual but not to alert. If she’s on foot in the area, we don’t want to spook her, or she’ll head for the nearest L. Tell Dillon not to engage his lights or siren. Just a casual drive-by.”

  “Roger that.”

  “Gun it, Frank, and I’ll watch the traffic.”

  Soon a confirmation came in. The plates matched Gloria Smythe’s car.

  “We’ve got her dead to rights,” Frank said.

  “Hold your horses, pal. She still could have ditched the car. Park on a side street, and we’ll walk in. We need to squeeze her to the middle with Patrol cars setting up a five-block perimeter.” I had Dispatch send out the instructions. All units needed to head to Cermak and Michigan and set a perimeter around the area. We’d squeeze her to the middle and take her into custody. I just hoped to God it was really her.