End of the Line

by C. M. Sutter

  “Thanks, Detective McCord.”

  “Sounds like somebody is heading our way.” I opened the door fully and looked out. Debra and Tory were walking the hallway toward us. I extended my hand and shook Tory’s when they got to the conference room, then I thanked Debra before she left.

  Frank made the introductions between Tim Grimes and Tory Daniels, the best sketch artist our police force had working with us.

  “Okay, we’re going to leave you to it. We’ll check back in an hour.”

  Frank and I returned to the bullpen with cautious optimism. Hopefully, by the five o’clock news, we’d have the suspects’ faces on every channel in Chicago.

  I pulled up Leslie’s bank account statement and her tax return from last year. There were definitely discrepancies between the two. I groaned and fisted my eyes.

  Frank noticed. “That didn’t sound good.” He pushed back his chair, walked to my desk, then peered over my shoulder. “What have you got?”

  I pointed at the checking and savings accounts. “Between the two, she had ninety-seven thousand dollars in the bank.”

  “Hefty sum. Even though it was illegally gained, at least she was responsible with it.”

  “Not as much as you think.” I opened the tab for her last tax return and showed Frank the amount on the line for her adjusted gross income.

  “Thirty-one thousand dollars as a part-time massage therapist?” He rubbed his chin. “So she fudged her income?”

  “Why not? I’m sure she was paid in cash, so there wasn’t a paper trail.”

  “She’s dead now, so who’s going to complain? She didn’t have a spouse who would be liable for her accounting mistakes.”

  I smirked. “That’s what cheating on your taxes is called—accounting mistakes?”

  Frank swatted the air. “See if Gina is a secondary signer on her bank accounts. That makes it her money now, and she sure as hell can use it. Without a forensic accountant going through every deposit and withdrawal, nobody knows how long Leslie was saving that money. Maybe it was under her mattress until last year and then she thought it wiser to park it in a bank.”

  I shook my head. “You have an answer for everything.”

  “No, just a soft spot for a kid with shitty parents and a dead sister. Cut Gina a break. She needs that money.”

  “Yeah, I know.” I closed out the accounts and shut down my computer. “Lutz sent Kip and Tony out to interview Leslie’s neighbors, right?”

  “Yep, shortly after we got back. They should know something by now.”

  “We have to go back to the scene as soon as Tory finishes the sketches. Now that we’re relatively confident Leslie was leaving her appointment instead of going to it, that man has to live between the spot where she was stabbed and the end of the street at Ohio. We need to knock on every door and interview all the men who live in those units.”

  “And Tim might know some of those neighbors. We’ll ask him before he leaves.”

  Chapter 19

  I pushed back my chair and stood. “I’m going to check on their progress. It’s after one o’clock already.”

  Frank gave me a head tip and returned his attention to the paperwork in front of him.

  Giving the conference room door a rap with my knuckles, I waited until I heard Tory say to come in.

  I twisted the knob and looked around the door. “How’s it going?”

  Tory waved me through. “Have a seat, Jesse. We’re just finishing up.”

  I sat across the table from her and Tim. What seemed to be a look of relief swept across Tim’s face, and I was sure the entire process had set his nerves on edge. Tory turned the drawings toward me and slid them my way.

  “Here’s what Tim came up with.”

  I studied each composite. “How close are these images to what you remember, Tim?”

  “Very close, and Tory did a great job of bringing what I saw to life.”

  “Good, and we certainly appreciate both of you.”

  Tory stood and packed up her gear then shook both my and Tim’s hands. “It was a pleasure working with you, Mr. Grimes.” She nodded at me. “Jesse, I hope you catch your criminals.”

  “Thanks, I hope so too.” I watched as she walked out, then I addressed Tim. “That wasn’t too bad, was it?”

  “Not quite as bad as I thought it would be.”

  “Yep, she’s our best sketch artist.”

  “Now what?”

  “These sketches are going to be aired on the news, and hopefully, some of Chicago’s fine citizens will recognize their faces and call the hotline.”

  “My name won’t be mentioned on the news as the witness who called 911, will it?”

  “Nope. Nothing about you will be aired. Only the images, the men’s approximate height and weight, what they were wearing, and the general neighborhood where they were last seen will go on the news. We would never put you in harm’s way, Tim, especially since you live on that street. Any other questions before I turn you loose?”

  He rubbed his forehead as if in thought. “I hope those killers didn’t get a good look at my car.”

  “If you were behind them the entire time and all they saw were your headlights, there’d be no way to make out your vehicle.”

  “Yeah, I guess.”

  I patted Tim’s shoulder for reassurance and walked him to the bullpen. “Detective Mills wants a few words with you before you leave, and I need to get these sketches over to my boss right away.”

  I left Tim in Frank’s capable hands and continued down the hallway.

  When I reached his office, Lutz waved me in. “Got the sketches?”

  I held them up. “Right here, and we have plenty of time to get them on every news channel.”

  Bob stared at the faces of Leslie’s killers and shook his head. “Pieces of shit. Let’s nail these lowlifes and give Leslie the justice she deserves.”

  I wondered if that same justice would extend to Callie. I was still on the fence about whether the men Tim saw were her killers too.

  “I’ll get these images and their descriptions on every TV station so they air on the early news. Who knows? These two men may very well be Callie’s killers, too, and once they’re apprehended, the murders may stop.”

  “That’s the hope.” I started for the door. “Frank is talking to Tim before he heads out. He may know if any of his neighbors are single men, or men whose wives were out of town last night. Frank and I are going back there to have a talk with every resident that lived beyond the spot where Leslie was attacked. Our focus will be mainly on the single men.”

  “Good plan, and keep me posted.”

  After getting the names and apartment numbers of the single men that Tim knew, I walked him to the exit and thanked him for his help. “You’re a brave man who did the right thing. The PD sure appreciates you taking your time to work with Tory, and the sooner we get those killers off the street, the safer everyone will be.”

  Tim seemed apprehensive as he shook my hand and left, and I couldn’t blame him for being nervous. The man Leslie went to see lived in the same complex as Tim, and as soon as their faces were aired, the killers would know that somebody in the neighborhood saw them well enough to give their description to a sketch artist. I returned to the bullpen and took a seat on Frank’s guest chair.

  “Let’s have a look at those names and run them for priors before we leave.”

  “Yep, I’m one step ahead of you. So far, there’s only one name, Adam Forman, who has a criminal record, but it’s from an offense that goes back nine years.”

  “Which was?”

  “Two counts of theft at big-box stores. He served three months in jail and had to pay restitution and do community service.”

  I frowned. “Value?”

  “Each offense was around two hundred bucks in merchandise. Not considered felony theft, so no prison time.”

  “Okay, let’s pay him and the other four tenants at the end of that street a more thorough visit. Just bec
ause the officers banged on doors last night and asked if anyone saw anything doesn’t mean the people were actually interviewed.”

  Frank and I left the precinct at two o’clock and headed north.

  As Frank drove, I stared out the window. “Hopefully, we’ll find most everyone at home.”

  “On a Sunday afternoon? That sounds like a good possibility to me.”

  We arrived on scene twenty minutes later and stepped out of the cruiser, then we took to the sidewalk at the front of the condos.

  “May as well start at the beginning and work our way down.” I pointed at the condo that lined up with the area in the back where Leslie was attacked. “She came from this unit or the three beyond it.”

  “Which one does Forman live in?” Frank asked.

  “Looks like the second one in.”

  We took the sidewalk to the front door of the first unit and knocked. The man who answered looked to be in his late sixties.

  “Can I help you?” He pulled the door inward.

  We couldn’t assume anything, and I imagined even a man his age would enjoy the company of someone like Leslie. We showed our badges and asked for a few minutes of his time.

  “Sure. Come on in, Detectives.” The man, a Gerald Spotts, pointed at the couch. “Have a seat.” He took the chair to our right and lowered himself with a grunt. “Damn arthritis. Now, what’s this about?”

  Frank took the lead, meaning I would interview Adam Forman in the next unit. I pulled my notepad from my pocket as Frank began the questioning.

  “Mr. Spotts, did you see or hear any ruckus during the middle of the night?”

  “Last night?”

  “That’s correct, last night.”

  “Nope, but Miles, two doors down, mentioned something about a lot of commotion in the alley behind the buildings.”

  “Miles? Does he have a last name?”

  “Yep, sure does. It’s Greenly. I saw him this morning when we were both outside getting our morning papers. He asked me the same thing. Told him I didn’t see or hear anything.” Gerald chuckled. “My hearing isn’t what it used to be, though, and I take a melatonin tablet every night to help me sleep.”

  Frank tapped his phone and brought up Leslie’s ID photograph. “Have you ever seen this woman in the neighborhood?”

  Gerald put on his glasses and squinted at the picture. “Sure. That’s Maddy, our mail carrier, right?”

  “No, sir, it isn’t.”

  Gerald lowered the glasses and shrugged. “Then I guess I don’t know her.”

  We stood to leave, and Frank reached out to shake his hand. “One more thing, Mr. Spotts.”

  “Shoot.”

  “Can you think of any man in particular who lives in this complex who has several girlfriends?”

  Gerald rubbed his chin and grinned. “Couldn’t say, but wouldn’t that be every man’s dream?”

  “I suppose so,” Frank said as he handed over his card.

  We thanked Gerald for his time and continued on to Mr. Forman’s unit.

  “Good thing there’s only four tenants we need to interview.” We waited as I pressed the bell at Adam Forman’s door.

  We heard him approach, and a few seconds passed before he opened the door.

  I stared at the peephole. “Think he’s checking us out?”

  “Definitely,” Frank said.

  The door opened just enough for us to see his face and the left side of his body. “This complex doesn’t permit solicitation.” He looked us up and down and likely made an assumption since we were dressed in sport jackets. “And I’m not religious.”

  “And we aren’t here to convert you.” I moved my jacket aside and exposed my belt-mounted badge. “I’m Detective McCord”—I pointed at Frank—“and he’s Detective Mills. We need a few minutes of your time if you don’t mind.”

  “What if I do?”

  My forehead creased into a frown. “Is there a reason why you don’t want to speak to the police?”

  “Don’t particularly care for cops much, that’s all. So unless you have a warrant, then—”

  I waved him off. “Not a problem. We’ll just write you down as uncooperative and move on.”

  Frank and I took to the sidewalk.

  “Hold on. What’s this about, anyway?”

  “We’re well aware of your background, Mr. Forman, and we aren’t here about that. We wanted to know if you heard any commotion behind the building last night.”

  “You mean the sirens?”

  “Possibly before that,” I said.

  Adam jerked his head toward his foyer. “Come on in. I did hear shouting in the alley and tires screeching a little after three o’clock, but I didn’t get out of bed.”

  “So you woke up when you heard the noise and looked at the clock?”

  “Yep. I’d assume most people do.”

  “And you weren’t curious enough to look out a window?”

  “My bedroom window faces the street, not the alley.”

  “Sure.” I paused as Frank caught up with his notes. “Then can you describe what you heard?”

  Adam raked his mop of black hair. “It did sound like a woman’s scream, and within a second, I heard an engine rev and tires squeal.”

  His recollection matched what Tim had told us to a T.

  “How well do you know your neighbors, Mr. Forman?”

  “I only know the people to either side of me.” He pointed his thumb to the left. “Gerald the widower lives over there, and to my right is Miles and Rita Greenly.”

  “So Miles is married?”

  “Yep.” Adam smiled. “He doesn’t always act like it, though.”

  I raised my right brow. “Meaning?”

  “Let’s just say Miles likes to party when Rita is gone.”

  “Is she gone now?”

  “Funny you asked, because she is. As a matter of fact, I do recall hearing music and voices coming from next door when I woke up and took a leak last night.”

  “Did you happen to check the time then?”

  Adam scratched his neck. “Yeah, and I think it was around two a.m.”

  Frank showed Adam the picture of Leslie. “Have you ever seen this woman before?”

  “Nope. If you’re asking if she’s one of the guests Miles has when he’s alone, I couldn’t say. They never show up until long after dark—at least, that’s when I normally hear them.”

  “They?”

  “It isn’t like he hides the fact, Detectives. He’s even invited me to party with him and his lady friends, but I’ve never taken him up on his offers.”

  I nodded. “Wise decision, and best to stay out of trouble.” We left Adam with a thanks and our cards and moved on to the unit belonging to Miles Greenly.

  “Think he’s our guy?” Frank asked as I knocked on the door.

  I smirked. “Does the sun rise every morning?”

  Frank shielded his eyes and looked to the sky. “Guess he’s our guy.”

  Chapter 20

  A man in shorts and a T-shirt, who had clearly forgotten to comb his hair that day, pulled open the door. He stared at us and said nothing.

  “Miles Greenly?” I asked.

  “Apparently, you already know that. And you are?” He looked from me to Frank then back at me.

  “We’re police detectives from the Chicago homicide unit.” I pointed at my badge.

  “Homicide?” He patted his body and huffed. “Funny, it feels like I’m still alive. You must have the wrong apartment. There’s nobody dead in here.”

  He began to close the door, but with my foot conveniently over the threshold, he couldn’t. Within that five-second encounter, I already knew the guy was a jerk.

  “We have questions about the guest you had here last night.”

  “Sorry, I don’t follow. You must have me mistaken for someone else.”

  Frank intervened. “You can answer questions here or at the station—it’s your choice—but you’re going to talk to us. Do you want it ha
rd or easy?”

  After giving us both the once-over, he chuckled and waved us in. “Guess what they say is true—cops don’t have a sense of humor.”

  “Not when it comes to murder,” Frank said.

  “Whoa, I don’t know shit about a murder. I was here all night, I swear.” He walked to the kitchen, poured a glass of water, and shook aspirin into his hand.

  Frank and I followed. “Rough night?” I asked.

  He washed down the aspirin without responding then took a seat at the table.

  “Like we said, we have questions for you.”

  He jerked his head at the chairs across from him. “Then I guess you should have a seat.”

  I pulled out my notepad, and Frank began. “Where’s Rita?”

  We needed to establish pecking order before we began, and letting Miles know that we were well aware of his marital status would establish that. We’d let him chew on the consequences of lying to us, and I could see on his face that Frank’s question had already rattled his cage.

  “Rita?”

  “Yeah, your wife.”

  He chuckled nervously. “She’s in Milwaukee, visiting her mom.”

  “When will she be back?” I asked.

  “Tonight. Why?”

  I ignored his question, and Frank continued. “Who was with you last night, and how long did she stay?”

  “Um.”

  I locked eyes with Miles as he stammered.

  “Charity. She and I partied for a while.”

  “Is this Charity?” Frank turned his phone toward Miles.

  Miles looked away.

  “Was that a yes?”

  “Yes. Did something happen to her?”

  Frank gave me a side-eyed glance. “Is there something you want to tell us, Miles? I believe our officers knocked on every door on this block, and word was, nobody knew anything.”

  “All I’m saying is I don’t know why you’d have her picture on your phone unless something happened to her.”

  “What time did she leave?”

  Miles squeezed his head between his palms and sighed. “I don’t remember. Late. Really late. I drank too much, and my recall sucks. She said she had to go, and I heard the door close—that’s about it.”