by C. M. Sutter
Frank parked on East Twenty-First Street, and we headed out on foot. We turned left on Michigan and walked south. The first units to arrive stationed themselves on Cermak and on East Twenty-First in both directions. The rest were told to close off all exits she might try to take. A block down, I saw the parked Civic facing us. My eyes darted in every direction, and I saw people milling about, but none were her. A man pushing an empty dolly toward his newspaper van passed us, and two teenagers rode by on their bicycles. Joggers headed down the sidewalk. People at the corner kiosks purchased the morning’s paper, and others walked by with obvious destinations in mind. I didn’t see Gloria anywhere.
A sudden scream at our backs made us spin on our heels. The sound wasn’t far away—only a hundred feet or so. We didn’t see a commotion or signs of a struggle on the sidewalk, yet everyone stopped. A woman backed away from the area of the newspaper van and pointed toward it. Another call for help rang out. Frank and I sprang into action, our guns drawn. I waved toward the officers at the corner and yelled for backup. The distress cry came from inside the van—that much, we were sure of.
Officers cleared the area as Frank grabbed the left door and swung it open. Our eyes hadn’t adjusted to the blackness inside, and he called out. The van was silent.
“Careful, buddy,” I said when Frank stepped up on the bumper. As I reached for my flashlight, a commotion erupted out of nowhere. Frank yelled that he’d been hit with something, then all hell broke loose. From what I could see, Frank swung and knocked someone to the floor. I jumped inside with my gun aimed and my light on the attacker. Frank had Gloria Smythe pinned to the floor.
“This bitch stabbed me in the shoulder.”
“Is she disarmed?”
“Yep, she isn’t going anywhere.” Frank jerked his head to the right. “The box cutter is over there somewhere.”
I yelled to the officers to open the other door so we had some light. Farther in, near the front of the van, lay a man who looked seriously injured.
“Get a bus here now. This guy is bleeding badly!”
“Roll her over and cuff her, Frank. We need her out of the way so the paramedics can get to this man.”
Frank cuffed Gloria, pulled her to her feet, and pushed her outside. He yelled out to the officers. “Throw her ass in a patrol car and don’t take your eyes off of her.”
“Yes, sir, Detective Mills.”
I called out for help. “Somebody give me a hand. We have to assess this man’s injuries.”
Barron lifted one side under the man’s armpit, and I lifted the other. Pulling him to the back of the van where the daylight shown in made it easier for us to see him. He had been stabbed multiple times around his carotid artery. I scrunched up newspaper and pressed it against his wounds. He had drifted into unconsciousness, probably from the blood loss.
I craned my neck out the van and looked down the street. “Where are those EMTs?”
With a wad of newspaper pressed against his shoulder, Frank yelled back at me as he paced the sidewalk. “They’ll be here any minute, partner. I hear the sirens heading this way.”
Chapter 54
Gloria was read her rights and taken to our precinct’s jail. She would sit in a cell until I had time to deal with her, but I had more important concerns on my mind. I followed the ambulance to Mercy Hospital, where Frank sat in the back with the EMTs as they tried to stabilize the man on the gurney.
I parked in the visitors’ lot and walked in through the emergency entrance. After showing my badge, I was led to a waiting area while Frank’s shoulder was being stitched.
When a doctor passed by, I leapt from my chair. “Can’t I go in there? He’s my partner.”
“Hang on, Detective. I’ll see how it’s going.”
I paced the hallway until the doctor returned. “Your partner is almost done. He’ll be out in a minute.”
“How about the man with the multiple stab wounds?”
“Sorry, Detective McCord, but he didn’t make it. His carotid was punctured, and he lost too much blood.”
“Damn it.” I took a seat and breathed a sigh of regret—I hadn’t even learned the man’s name. I reached in my pocket, pulled out my phone, and dialed Lutz. “Boss, I’m at the hospital. Frank is getting stitched up, but the newspaper deliveryman didn’t survive. His van needs to be secured, and somebody has to contact his next of kin.”
“Shit. She’s killed five people that we know of, and I guarantee she’ll pay dearly for it. I’ll take care of everything, Jesse. Just come back to the station as soon as Frank is released.”
“We will, and I’ll be questioning Gloria Smythe as soon as I have a free minute. That maniac better talk if she hopes to ever see the light of day again.”
Frank and I returned to the station at one o’clock. Lutz insisted he go home and sleep off the pain medication, but Frank wasn’t having it.
“That bitch stabs me and I don’t get the chance to interrogate her? I don’t think so.”
“Frank.”
Frank held up his palm. “Sorry, Boss, but I deserve this. If you insist, I’ll go home after we question her.”
Lutz let out a long puff of air and gave us a look of defeat. “All right, all right. Just go.”
Taking the back stairway down, I stopped Frank on the landing. “You sure you’re up for this, buddy? You just got nine stitches in your shoulder.”
“I’m fine. Nine stitches ain’t shit.”
I grinned. “There’s that rough and tough partner I know and love.”
Frank rolled his eyes. “Don’t get carried away. Come on. Let’s make this the worst day of her life.”
Bill had already placed Gloria in the first interrogation room. We looked in through the one-way glass before entering. Her hands were cuffed around the table’s steel bar, and she wore a look of satisfaction.
“Is it the pain meds the doc gave me, or is she smirking?”
I huffed. “She’s definitely smirking.”
“What’s that bitch’s problem, anyway?”
I cocked my head toward the door. “We’re about to find out.”
She grinned and addressed Frank when we walked in. “Sorry about the shoulder, Detective. I was trying to stab you in the throat.”
I gave Frank a quick glance. He was holding it together better than I would have expected.
He took a seat across from her and leaned in. “You’re a real piece of work, Gloria. No wonder everyone hates your books.”
Her face went red, and she leapt from the chair, but she had nowhere to go with her wrists cuffed to the bar.
“Did I hit a nerve?” Now it was Frank’s turn to grin.
“My name isn’t Gloria. It’s Vic, Victor Smith.”
Frank shook his head. “Wrong again. You’re a wannabe writer with no talent whatsoever, and Victor Smith is just a foolish pen name. Not even a creative one at that.” Frank turned to me. “She can’t even make up a good pen name. Jeez, woman, you’re bad at everything. Here’s the deal, Gloria. Nobody gives a shit about you. Never did, never will, and you’ll never be in the leagues with accomplished writers.”
“Wanna bet?” She rubbed her hands together. “Did Mark Constantine die?”
“That’s none of your concern,” I said.
“Sure it is. He’s part of my overall plan. Marketing, one might say.”
I frowned at her choice of words. “Marketing? Don’t you mean murder?”
She laughed. “Caught you, Detective. So he is dead. That’s great news.”
I stood, excused myself, and stepped into the hallway. I needed to regain my composure. That psycho had one-upped me, and I was pissed. We had to be careful with our words, and I realized that Gloria was more cunning than I had thought. I returned to the interrogation room and sat down.
“Where’d you go, Detective?”
I ignored her question. “How did you know that the red Tiguan was at Cherry’s Chop Shop at the same time Charlotte was?”
She
swiped the air. “Child’s play. I was there waiting for Charlotte to leave so I could follow her. You can’t put two and two together, Detective? Using the Tiguan was a great ploy. After all, you fell for it when I gave you my witness statement.” She grinned.
“So you parked your car and walked back to the scene?”
“Of course. How else could I watch the aftermath? Plus, I had to be that concerned citizen who was there at the right time and wanted to help. Don’t forget, your night shift detective also fell for the sighting of Mitch Blass’s car at MaxMart. I’m obviously a better storyteller than you give me credit for.”
“And you’re obviously some kind of crazy, that’s a fact. You do realize you’re being booked for murder, right? You seem awful cavalier about it. Why did you kill those people, Gloria? You said Mark—but I assume you meant all of them—was part of your marketing plan.”
“Yeah, marketing plan, master plan, overall plan, and long-term plan. It’s all the same thing, more or less.”
Frank shook his head. “Not to us since we can’t understand your screwed-up mind. Why don’t you explain it?”
“Nope, not happening. You’ll figure it out sooner or later when my name is on the tip of everyone’s tongue.”
I laughed. “Still delusional, I see. Apparently, you don’t understand the judicial system. You’re going to prison no matter what. Your sentence will be decided by a jury, but I guarantee you’ll be looking at life. Your only chance of seeing the outside world again is if that life sentence includes the possibility of parole.”
Frank grinned. “But don’t hold your breath.”
She picked at her fingernails then looked up at both of us. “Whatever. Like I said, I have a master plan, and I’m not sharing it with you yet.”
I stood, and Frank followed suit. “You’ll be here until you have an arraignment. Then you’ll be transferred to the county lockup. You’ll stay there until a trial date is set for you, which could be months or years. Who knows?”
She shrugged and kept quiet.
Frank and I walked out, and I told Bill to toss Gloria back in her cell. “Don’t turn your back on her. She’s a certain kind of crazy that you don’t see very often.”
“Roger that, Jesse. I’ll be careful.”
Chapter 55
Saturday night finally arrived, and I couldn’t have been happier. The front door opened and closed, then I heard Bandit yelping and Hanna’s laughter. I smiled and walked in from the patio.
“Hey, babe.” I planted a kiss on her lips. “I just put the potatoes on the grill. The steak goes on in twenty minutes.” I reached for the bag in her arms. “I’ll take that.” Once I was in the kitchen, I pulled the items out of the bag. “Tiramisu and Chianti? Great choice.” I placed the dessert in the refrigerator and opened the wine then poured two glasses. “Let’s get comfortable and catch up.” We took our seats on the couch, and I handed her a glass.
Hanna took a sip. “So, the crazy woman is in custody?”
“Yep. She’s in custody, and she’s definitely crazy.”
“Did you find out why she killed those poor people, or did she lawyer up?”
“She didn’t, but she’s keeping tight-lipped. She said something about us figuring it out later.”
“What does that even mean?”
I shook my head. “I have no idea, but crazy is crazy. Trying to decipher the screwed-up things in her mind is way above my pay grade.”
Hanna gave me a thoughtful smile. “So, how are the family members doing?”
“It’s been a hard week for everyone. I don’t know a lot about Jeff or Mark’s families, but Colin is doing his best. He has the support of Renee’s followers. Mitch was released from jail and spending time with his kids before they go back to college. Steve is coping, but the funeral on Wednesday will be really tough. I’ll probably take the whole day off and spend it with him. I have time now that the killer is in custody.”
Hanna cringed. “Don’t jinx yourself.”
I chuckled. “I’ll get the steaks started.”
“And I’ll find Dark Destiny on the premium channel.”
Thirty minutes later, we sat at the table and enjoyed a great meal together. I tried to keep the conversation off work, unless it was about Hanna’s job at the animal hospital. I never grew tired of listening to the passion in her voice when she talked about being a vet. We both were passionate about our careers, but hers usually resulted in happy endings—mine, not nearly as much.
With the wine bottle in front of us on the coffee table, Hanna, Bandit, and I snuggled on the couch and finally watched Dark Destiny, the crime thriller we had planned to see at the theater six months ago. As it got scarier, Hanna snuggled closer.
“Is that really the kind of stuff you deal with every day?”
I laughed. “I am a homicide detective, and yeah, unfortunately, it’s pretty accurate. Why, are you afraid to go home tonight? I’m happy to have you stay over if you are.”
She grinned. “Nice segue, and thanks for the offer, but I have a pup surgery in the morning. I’m not afraid, just asking, and the alarm system you bought for me helps ease my mind.”
We finished the wine and the movie, then I walked Hanna out to her car. “Call me after you’re done working tomorrow. We’ll plan something for later in the week.”
After a hug and a kiss, I watched as she drove away, then I went back inside. Tomorrow would be a leisurely Sunday as long as every Chicagoland murderer took the day off too.
Chapter 56
Monday morning came sooner than I would have liked. I enjoyed my quiet Sunday and could get used to more of them.
As I passed Lutz’s office on my way to the bullpen, he barked out for me to come in. I stuck my head in through the half-open door. “What’s up, Boss?”
He pointed at the first chair. “Have a seat, McCord. We’ve got a brand-new problem.”
I felt a frown forming as I sat in the guest chair nearest to the door. “What’s wrong?”
“Gloria Smythe has a visitor. That’s what’s wrong.”
I scratched my cheek. “So, who is it?”
“An attorney.”
My forehead creased again. “We already know that she killed five people. She’s never denied that, and she’s never asked for an attorney. We’re working on building an irrefutable case against her for all five murders, so it’s a little late to lawyer up, isn’t it?”
“Yes, but that’s not the issue. It appears she’s citing her first amendment rights to freedom of speech. That attorney brought in a computer for her to use.”
“What the hell for?”
“To write her story.”
“I don’t get it. What story? She’s a nobody.”
“She’s writing her murder book.”
I was dumbfounded. “I’m not understanding what that actually means, Boss.”
“That’s what I want you to find out. You can ask her whatever you want as long as her attorney is present. She isn’t looking for a deal.”
I was pissed. Gloria was still playing games and acting like she was calling the shots. “I’ll get to the bottom of this right now.” I stormed down the hallway to the back stairs and took them to our lower level. Bill was sitting behind his desk as I entered our jail wing. “Where the hell is Gloria Smythe?”
“In her cell with her attorney.”
I parked my service weapon in a locker. “Take me to her.”
“Sure thing, Jesse.”
Bill led the way to the fifth cell on the right, and I peered through the small rectangular window. Gloria sat on the narrow bed, and her attorney faced her on a chair.
“Open it.”
Bill unlocked the door and pulled it open.
“What the hell is going on?” The attorney rose to his feet and held up his hands. “You have no right being here.”
“Sure I do. You don’t have inmate attorney privilege. She’s as much as admitted her guilt.” I dismissed him and faced Gloria. “What are
you doing with that computer? You aren’t getting special treatment in here.”
The attorney interrupted. “Freedom of speech, just in written form. You can’t deny her that.”
“What are you writing, Gloria?”
She grinned and looked away from the laptop. “My story. What else?”
“You’re a nobody. You don’t have a story.”
“Of course I do. Everyone, including you and the detective I stabbed, said I was a nobody. Those five idiots didn’t know good writing when they read it. They were beta readers for my latest book, and they all said my content was too dull. They dismissed me like yesterday’s garbage, so I decided to show them a thing or two.”
“By killing them? Isn’t that a little extreme?”
She shook her head. “You truly are clueless, aren’t you, Detective McCord?”
“I guess I am, so why don’t you enlighten me?”
“Fine. You should consider yourself lucky that you’re hearing it straight from the horse’s mouth.”
“Just get to it. I have better things to do than listen to a narcissist go on about herself.”
“Sure. I didn’t kill them as a form of payback—maybe originally I did—but not anymore. I consider them the true-life, or should I say death, characters in the book I’m about to write.”
“What?”
Gloria laughed. “It’s pure genius. The people who put me down and told me I had no business writing are going to be the actual characters in my next book. It’ll be a nonfiction thriller—true-crime accounts this time instead of crime fiction. The book lovers will go crazy when they read the sickening details of how I killed each person. Hollywood will want to make a movie of my work. Psychiatrists who deal with how murderers think will beg for interviews with me. I told you my name will be on the tip of everyone’s tongue.”
“You can’t do that. We won’t allow you to profit from your crimes.”
Gloria’s attorney spoke up. “Sorry, Detective McCord, but she certainly can do it. Clearly, you’ve forgotten all of the notoriety and interviews that murderers like Ted Bundy have had with the press.”
