End of the Line

by C. M. Sutter

  I turned back before walking out the door. “I won’t let you down, Boss.”

  When I plopped down at my desk, the air hissed in the seat of my vinyl chair. It reminded me that I needed to order something more comfortable. I reached for my phone and dialed our forensic department, and Mike picked up right away.

  “Crime lab, Mike speaking.”

  “Hey, pal, it’s Jesse. Get anything on the prints from our vic yet?”

  “The system is still running it. Hold on. It looks like there’s a hit.” I held my breath while Mike checked. He was back at the phone a few seconds later. “Yep, she’s in the system. Two arrests for solicitation just this year.”

  I grabbed paper and a pen from my center drawer. “Okay, give me the details.”

  “Her name is Leslie Adams, age twenty-four, and she lived in Dearborn Park.”

  “Dearborn Park? What was she doing walking at that time of night near Grand and North Peoria?”

  “Well—”

  “Never mind. I forgot what her occupation was for a minute. So we have no way to know who she was going to visit or had just visited since she didn’t have a purse or a phone with her.”

  “Was that a question?”

  “What? No, sorry. I was just thinking out loud.” I made a note to ask Mr. Grimes if the woman was walking toward his headlights or away from them. That could tell us if she was heading to the subway or had just left it. No matter what, it wouldn’t tell us who her client was or where he lived along that alley.

  “Okay, I’ll pull up her jacket. Thanks, buddy.”

  “You bet.”

  I hung up and called Frank over.

  “What have we got?” He took a seat alongside my desk.

  “A working girl a few blocks west of the Blue Line at Halstead and Grand. Name is Leslie Adams, and she lives in Dearborn Park on South State Street.”

  “Humph. So she could have taken the Red Line and transferred to the Blue Line to get there, or possibly had a private driver.”

  I shook my head. “Nope, the driver theory won’t work. He would have dropped her off at the front door of the client and waited outside. My bet is that she rode the L from stop to stop and then walked the rest of the way. Plus, the subway is cheap, and she wouldn’t have to give the driver a cut of her earnings.”

  Frank huffed his response. “Don’t people understand that Chicago is a dangerous city, especially in the middle of the night?”

  “If it wasn’t dangerous, we homicide detectives would be out of work. Let’s check out where she lived and talk to the neighbors.”

  Chapter 17

  We reached the address in Dearborn Park at ten thirty. I pointed at the gray-clapboard-and-brick walk-up on my side of the street. “This is it.”

  Frank parked, and we got out. There was nothing remarkable about the duplex, but it appeared clean and well taken care of. I glanced at the address on my phone again. Leslie’s was the second floor unit. We took the seven wooden steps to the porch, and I rang what looked to be a camera doorbell for the upstairs apartment.

  I was surprised when somebody actually answered. “Hello, can I help you?”

  “This is the Chicago police. Is this Leslie Adams’s residence?”

  “It is, and mine too. I’m her sister. What can I do for you?”

  “We need a minute of your time.” We held our badges up to the camera and waited.

  “I’ll be right down.”

  I gave Frank a side-eyed glance. “I wasn’t expecting that.”

  “Me neither, but you did ring the bell.”

  Seconds later, a fresh-faced girl who couldn’t have been over twenty, her black hair twisted into a topknot, pulled open the door. She wore a baseball shirt and denim shorts.

  “Leslie would kill me if she knew I opened the door to cops, but I’m worried about her. She didn’t come home last night.” She tipped her head. “Come on up.”

  After we were seated in the living room that was cramped with too much furniture, I pulled out my notepad. “What is your name?”

  “Gina.” She noticed me looking around the room. “Sorry about the apartment. I just moved in with Leslie last month, and it’s kind of tight quarters. I had enough of my abusive boyfriend, and Les offered her place.”

  “That was nice of her, but where are your parents?” Frank asked. “You can’t be very old.”

  She smiled. “Well, thanks, and I’m nineteen. Our useless folks are crack addicts who live from hand to mouth. They kicked Leslie out when she turned eighteen and me at seventeen.”

  “And Leslie is five years older than you?”

  “Yeah. My existence was a mistake, and I was reminded of that my entire life.” She frowned. “So, why are you here? I really am worried about Leslie since she always comes home.”

  “What kind of work does Leslie do so late at night?” I waited with my pen suspended.

  Gina stared at her folded hands. “Um. She’s an entertainer, I guess.”

  “Entertaining men?”

  Gina nodded. “She’s going to kill me for telling you that.”

  I gave Frank a quick glance. Explaining the reason for our visit was becoming harder as the minutes passed. “Gina, does Leslie use drugs?”

  “Of course not! Leslie is as clean as it comes. We know firsthand what that stuff does to people.” Gina sighed. “I know her occupation is illegal, but it’s purely because of financial need. She saves everything she earns, and it wasn’t like our folks were going to put us through college.”

  Frank gave me a head tip, meaning he’d make the death announcement. “Gina, Leslie died last night. We’re so sorry to have to tell you that, and we’re sorry for your loss.”

  Gina’s face contorted. “What—Leslie is dead? No, that’s impossible. We talked and hung out before she left for her appointments last night!”

  Frank gave her a shoulder pat. “And when was that?”

  Gina squeezed her head between her hands. “I don’t know. Ten o’clock, maybe.”

  “Did she say what areas of town she was going to?”

  “No, and I don’t have a reason to know that. Leslie was protective of me, and she said the less I knew, the better.”

  Frank let out a sigh. “We need your help to find out why she was killed.”

  “You mean someone deliberately killed her? Was it the man she went to visit?”

  My shrug told her I didn’t have all the answers. “We have no idea who she went to see since her purse and phone were missing. A passerby saw her in an altercation with two men behind a group of condos and called 911. When the officers arrived, the men were gone, and Leslie was dead at the front of one of the units on North Peoria. Do you know the man’s name she was going to see?”

  Visibly shaken, Gina was nearly inconsolable. “No, I don’t.” She stared at the ring on her finger then sobbed openly as she spun it. “We have matching heart rings because we’re always in each other’s heart. Now I have nobody. What am I supposed to do? Leslie was my only sibling and like a substitute mother to me. Where do I go? How do I live? I don’t have an education. I need my sister!” Panic was consuming Gina. “I may as well be dead too.”

  Frank took over. “Shh, don’t say things like that. You have a lot to live for, and you can help us find her killer. Did Leslie keep an appointment book?”

  “No.” Gina reached for a tissue from the dispenser on the side table and blew her nose. “Everything was on her phone.”

  “How about a computer?” Frank asked.

  The tears slid down her cheeks and dripped to her shirt. “No.”

  I took my turn. “Did she work for somebody, or did she make her own appointments?”

  “She knew ladies from the Lone Stallion, and they introduced her to guys for a cut of her hourly rate.”

  I assumed I could find out more from my fellow officers in the prostitution and vice unit.

  “Okay, that’ll help. Had Leslie ever mentioned a john who was angry or threatening toward he
r?”

  “Of course, but she brushed it off. She said it was a risk of being in her profession. She never mentioned names, though. Leslie was tough, but it wasn’t like she was going to make that her lifelong occupation. She just wanted a financial cushion.”

  “Do you know how many appointments she had last night?”

  “Two or three. That was the usual, anyway.”

  “Do you have a job, Gina?” Frank asked.

  “No.”

  “Do you have a clean record?”

  “Yes. I can’t afford to live here, though. I don’t know what to do.”

  We stood. “You hang tight and stay safe. We’ll look into Leslie’s financials. Maybe she had a savings account. Can you get us her bank information?”

  Gina left the room for a minute and returned with Leslie’s bank account number. “She did all her banking on the phone, but here’s her account number.”

  “Thanks.” I put the slip of paper in my jacket pocket. “I’ll see what she has in her account and look into free programs that can help you get work skills. One last thing. I need names of people Leslie knew. Last names, too, if you know them.”

  Gina wrote down several names, but none included last names. “All I know is that most of those people work at the Lone Stallion.”

  “Okay, thanks.” I handed her two cards. “Keep one for yourself and write your number on the other one for me. You can call me anytime, understand?”

  “I do.”

  I pocketed the card she wrote her number on. “I’ll keep you updated on our progress.”

  She thanked us, and Frank and I reluctantly left.

  “Damn, that wasn’t easy.” I fastened my seat belt and glanced at the second-story window. Gina was looking out and lifted her hand with a slight wave as we drove away. “Poor kid.”

  “So now what? Are we going to talk to ladies at the Lone Stallion or check the camera footage at the Halstead and Grand Avenue subway exit?”

  I tipped my wrist and checked the time. “Neither right now. Mr. Grimes is scheduled to show up in a half hour for that interview with us. Hopefully, he remembers a more detailed description of the perps. After we get that, we’ll compare our notes with the subway footage.”

  Chapter 18

  We sat with Tim Grimes in the small conference room on our first floor. It was clear that he was still upset by the events from earlier that morning. His hands shook as he cradled the coffee cup between them.

  “I’ve never been involved in a murder investigation before.” His voice was barely above a whisper. “One minute, that woman was alive, and the next, she wasn’t.”

  I wrote the time and date on the top of the blank sheet of paper in front of me. “Life is a fragile and fleeting thing, Mr. Grimes, and we need your help. You’re the only person who saw the men who killed Leslie Adams.”

  “Leslie? That was her name?”

  “Yes, and she was only twenty-four and left behind a younger sister who lived with her. She had a lot of life to go, but it got cut short by two murderers.” I tapped the paper with my pen. “Let’s start with the moment you turned down the alley.”

  “Okay. Like I told your officer, I was driving home from a symposium I was at in Indianapolis. I suppose I could have gotten a hotel room, but they’re over two hundred dollars a night in the downtown area. The event ended before midnight, and I took off then.”

  Frank nodded. “Go on.”

  “Sorry, I guess that bit of information wasn’t important.” Tim took a deep breath. “Once I got home, I turned in at the alley behind the group of buildings on my street. Each unit has one or two parking spots and a back door that enters into their mudroom. My unit is almost at the end, near Ohio Street. I still can’t get that image out of my mind.”

  I was thankful he said that, at least for now, since we needed a clear recollection of what he saw.

  “What exactly do you remember, Mr. Grimes? In as much detail as you can recall.”

  “Sure.” He set down his cup, closed his eyes, and pressed his temples. “They were facing me in the beginning.”

  I wrote that down since it told us Leslie was likely finished with her appointment and had a purse full of cash.

  “The woman looked to be pulling away from the men. I revved the engine and sped up, hoping to scare them away so they’d leave her alone. It was obvious that she was in distress and fighting back. The men spun away from my headlights when I accelerated. The lady screamed and stumbled, and then they grabbed her purse and ran. I chased them with my car, but they darted off between the buildings, and when I came back, the woman was gone, but I saw blood and called 911, anyway.”

  “And that was at what time?”

  “Ten after three, I think.”

  “Sure. So how many minutes passed between the time you saw them and when you made the 911 call?”

  “Five minutes at the most.”

  “Okay, good. So when you caught them in your headlights, you were able to see them briefly, correct?”

  “Yeah, but with the adrenaline racing through me, I don’t know how much I can recall.”

  Frank suggested a calming breath and told Tim to take his time. “You’ll be fine, Tim. Just close your eyes and relive what you saw through the windshield.”

  Tim did as instructed. “Okay, I see them. One was a white guy, and the other had darker skin, maybe Hispanic. The white guy was wiry and tall and wore a dark stocking cap, a light-colored T-shirt, maybe tan or yellow, and jeans.”

  “What about the Hispanic guy?” Frank asked.

  “He was stockier and had a ponytail. He was also wearing jeans and a black T-shirt with writing on it.”

  “Could you read what it said?”

  “No, sorry. He moved too fast, but the words were centered across the chest in white lettering.”

  “That’s okay. I’m sure you were focused on him and not what was written on his shirt. How old did they look?” I asked.

  Tim shook his head. “Hard to say—young, mid-twenties, maybe.”

  “Who had the knife?”

  “I didn’t see a knife, but the white guy was pressed against the woman when she screamed, and then the other guy ripped the purse off her shoulder and ran with it. The white guy pushed the woman away, caught up with the Hispanic guy, and they ran between the buildings. That’s where I lost them.”

  “Do you think you could work with a sketch artist and give us an image of both?”

  Tim grimaced. “I don’t know, Detective McCord. It happened pretty quickly, but I’ll try if you think it could help.”

  “At this point, anything will help. We’ll be able to get the composites on the evening news, and if someone recognizes them, they could be in custody by nightfall.” I excused myself, stepped out of the conference room, and called Lutz. “Boss, we need Tory Daniels down here as soon as possible.”

  Lutz sounded surprised. “Mr. Grimes got a good enough look at the killers?”

  “He gave us enough to work with. If those two perps are buddies and people have seen them together, it could ring a bell.”

  “Sure, I’ll call Tory immediately, and if we’re lucky, we can get something up on the evening news.”

  “Exactly what I was thinking.” I returned to the conference room and told Tim we needed him to stick around. It would probably be an hour before Tory arrived, coming from the northern suburbs. “How about lunch? Frank said he’d treat.” I glanced at Frank and chuckled to myself. His surprised expression was priceless.

  “Sure. It’s all about my civic duty, and if I have to wait for an hour or so to help out, I’m fine with that.”

  “Good. Right this way, then. The cafeteria we use is on the second floor.”

  I led the way up the back staircase to our floor, where we turned down the first hallway on our right. Several officers sat in the cafeteria and took their half-hour lunch rotation. I gave the table of men and women a nod as we passed, then we continued to the vending machines, where we looked throug
h our lunch choices for the day.

  With the standard fare in hand—sandwiches, chips, and sodas—we sat near the door at a table for four and ate our lunch. Lutz said he would text me as soon as Tory arrived.

  While waiting, we’d learned that Tim was a railway infrastructure engineer whose job focused on stations. The job sounded intriguing, and I wondered if anything he did could help in our investigation.

  “What exactly do you do?” I pulled my notepad from my pocket.

  Frank frowned. “Eat your lunch, McCord. We’ll talk about that later.”

  “Yeah, sorry. I can’t help myself. It’s in my DNA.” I pocketed my notepad, bit into my turkey sub, and took advantage of the fact that we actually had time to eat lunch.

  As I took the last bite and balled up the napkin, a text came in from Lutz. Tory was ten minutes out. “The sketch artist will be here in a few minutes. We’ll have her come to our conference room up here.” I texted that information to Lutz and said we were just leaving the cafeteria.

  We tossed our food wrappers in the trash can and headed to the conference room. When we entered, I noticed that Tim appeared nervous.

  “Something on your mind, Tim?”

  He took a seat and fidgeted. “What if the images I describe are wrong?”

  I brushed invisible crumbs from the table. “Don’t worry about it. It’s Tory’s job to make the sketches look the way you remember those men.”

  Frank added his two cents. “No harm, no foul. If we don’t get reliable leads from the sketches, it’ll be on us, not you. We have to do the legwork no matter what. We do get bad tips every time we air people of interest on the news stations, so it isn’t uncommon. I will say, though, it should be easier for a caller to remember seeing both men together than just one of them. Let’s get the sketches squared away, put them on the news, and see what shakes out. Deal?”

  “Deal, and thanks for easing my mind.”

  “No sweat.”

  I pulled two bottles of water from our mini fridge and placed them on the table along with paper and several pens, then I tipped my head at Tim. “Sometimes, it helps to write down everything you remember about the suspects before describing them to the sketch artist. That way, nothing gets overlooked.”