End of the Line

by C. M. Sutter

I rushed to the bullpen and organized our day with the guys. Six detectives and two officers were ready to head out and pound the pavement.

  “Shawn and Henry, you take Tillson and Jefferson and go to Callie’s neighborhood. Knock on every door in a five-block radius and visit all the mom-and-pop stores again. We may get lucky by having the Hispanic guy’s picture in hand. Tony and Kip will start in the neighborhood where Leslie was killed and do the same. Frank and I need to make an appearance at RailGears to see if Mr. Ponytail works there and if the company will cough up his name. We’ll connect with Tony and Kip as soon as we’re done.” I tipped my head at Henry. “Call me at noon and tell me how it’s going.”

  “You got it.”

  In the parking lot, we split up, grabbed three cruisers, and headed in different directions. I was excited to reach RailGears to see if we could get information from them about the man in the picture. By learning his name, we’d be able to see if he had a criminal record. If he did, probable cause could come into play and hopefully land us a warrant to search his house.

  Frank and I reached RailGears shortly after nine thirty, and the receptionist was at the counter just beyond the main entrance. I told her we needed to speak with the person in charge of Human Resources.

  “Do you gentlemen have an appointment?”

  I lifted my badge from my belt and held it over the counter. “I was hoping this would work in lieu of an appointment.”

  Her expression appeared to be a mix of surprise and concern. She looked past us as if to make sure nobody else was within earshot, then she responded barely above a whisper. “Certainly, Officer. I’ll see what I can do.”

  We needed more than that, and it wasn’t the time to be embarrassed because two cops had passed through their company’s doors.

  Frank corrected her with a sense of urgency in his voice. “It’s Detectives Mills and McCord, and we’re from Homicide. It’s urgent that we speak with the person in charge, so if you wouldn’t mind giving it your best effort.”

  “Oh dear! Of course, give me just a second to reach Mr. Aragon. He’s the head of our human resources department.”

  I turned my back to the receptionist and gave Frank a subtle grin. “Nice work, buddy,” I whispered.

  Hanging up the phone, the woman said Mr. Aragon was on his way. We thanked her and took two seats in their small waiting area.

  Less than five minutes later, a man appeared from the hallway to our right. He looked to be over fifty, and judging from his weight, it was apparent he had a desk job. He wore his salt-and-pepper hair parted on the side, and eyeglasses hung from a lanyard around his neck. He looked around when he reached the lobby then headed our way. I assumed he had to be Mr. Aragon.

  Frank and I stood, took turns shaking his hand, and introduced ourselves.

  He spoke up. “I’m Carlos Aragon. Marilyn said you’re from Homicide? What on earth is this about?”

  A few people were milling around. “Sir, is there a private place we can talk?”

  “Of course, gentlemen. We’ll go in my office. It’s right this way.”

  We followed Mr. Aragon to a large room at the end of the hallway. Human Resources was engraved on a plaque centered on the door. We passed a handful of cubicles then continued on to his office, a glassed-in room about the size of a standard bedroom.

  “Have a seat, Detectives.” Mr. Aragon rounded his desk and sat facing us. Perspiration glistened in his hairline.

  I took the lead and got right to the point. “We need your help, sir. RailGears employs several hundred people, a good amount, but not enough not to know many people by name or at least recognize them as an employee. Wouldn’t you agree?”

  He furrowed his brows. “Yes, I suppose so.”

  “Good. Then you should be able to tell us if this man, wearing a RailGears company logo T-shirt, is one of your employees.”

  His glint of perspiration had turned into droplets, and they began to slide down his face in front of his ears. He loosened his tie and cleared his throat as I passed the photograph across the desk.

  “Um, it isn’t like I fraternize with people in Manufacturing. I don’t have a reason to go out onto the floor.”

  Frank took over. “How long have you been in charge of the human resources department, Mr. Aragon?”

  He sat up straight and responded proudly. “Sixteen years, Detective Mills.”

  “And you do the hiring and firing?”

  “Yes.”

  “So during that sixteen years, there’s a very good chance that the man in this picture sat across from you just like we are now.”

  He wrung his hands. “I see what you’re getting at.”

  I tipped my chin toward the picture. “Have another look, sir.”

  He lifted the glasses, perched them on the bridge of his nose, and studied the photograph. “He is wearing our company T-shirt.”

  That was obvious.

  “I can’t say that I recognize him, though.”

  I raised my brows. “You can’t say or you won’t say?”

  “I think I need to consult with our company attorney. We do have confidentiality agreements with our employees.”

  “Don’t you mean non-compete clauses? Why would you have confidentiality agreements with your employees? If they had a criminal background, you surely wouldn’t have hired them, would you?”

  “Um, I still think I need to consult with our attorney before I say anything else.”

  I put the photograph back in my pocket as we stood to leave. “Just a reminder, sir. We’re homicide detectives, and I’m sure you can put two and two together. I’d think it would concern you to have a possible murderer working at your company. Thanks for your time, and we’ll be back tomorrow with a warrant for your employee records.”

  Before we walked out, he pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his brow.

  I glanced at Frank when we left. “Think he’s hiding something?”

  “Damn straight I do.”

  Chapter 28

  I made the call to Lutz as Frank headed to North Peoria and Grand. “Hey, Boss, the human resource manager won’t give us the guy’s name. He says he needs to speak with the company attorney—more or less—to cover his ass.”

  “Figured as much. What did he say about the T-shirt?”

  “That it’s one of theirs. I’d say that’s probable cause to get a warrant. He seemed overly nervous at our presence. Who knows, maybe the company is hiding more than a suspected killer.”

  “I’ll call Judge Hendricks for a warrant, and it’ll be in your hands by the time RailGears opens for business tomorrow.”

  “Thanks, Boss. Frank and I are on our way to meet up with Tony and Kip in the neighborhood where Leslie was killed. Hopefully, somebody recognizes the guy in the picture.”

  “Good enough, and check in with me when you get back.”

  I clicked off the call, and within ten minutes, we were at the intersection of North Peoria Street and West Grand Avenue. I called Tony’s phone to find out where they were.

  “We started at the subway station and are making our way south on Halstead. So far, nobody has recognized the guy in the picture.”

  “Okay, we’ll hit every residence on North Peoria. Let’s meet in an hour at the intersection of North Green and West Hubbard and see what we have.” I pocketed my phone and knocked on the first door.

  We spoke with every resident on North Peoria, most of them for the second or third time, but never before with a picture of one of the perps in hand. Nobody, including Tim Grimes or Miles Greenly, knew the man in the photograph or had seen him prior to Leslie’s murder.

  I rubbed my chin as we headed south back to West Grand. We would take that east to North Green then turn south.

  Frank nudged me. “Something on your mind?”

  “Just wondering what those two were doing around here if nobody who lives on Peoria recognizes them.”

  “Good question. The Hispanic guy did exit the subway station at
midnight, so what the hell was he up to until three a.m.?”

  “Probably nothing good, but I know one thing.”

  “Yeah, what’s that?” Frank asked.

  “We find him and we’ll likely find that buddy of his who actually stabbed Leslie.”

  “True enough.”

  We took the sidewalk up to the first apartment building on the west side of North Green, and I rang the buzzer for apartment number one. As I stared at the residents panel, I realized we had seven more to go in the building—and an entire block of apartment buildings that were exactly like the one where we were standing.

  I made the call to Tony as we waited for someone to answer. “Come to North Green as soon as you finish Halstead. We’ve got a row of apartment buildings as far as I can see.”

  “We got a lead just minutes ago, Jesse.”

  “Really?” I waved at Frank not to ring the buzzer at the second apartment. “What is it?”

  “One of the employees at the sandwich shop along Halstead said she recognized the guy. Says he comes in once or twice a week on his way to the subway station, orders a meatball hoagie to go, and leaves.”

  “Does that piece of shit have a name?”

  “Says he goes by Manny. That’s all she knows.”

  “Great work, Tony. Meet us on North Green. We’ll finish up that street and ask about him by name.”

  “Roger that. We’re on our way.”

  We connected with Tony and Kip and continued to ring doorbells and show the photo of Manny to the residents. Another hour of canvassing passed, then we finally got a hit. A woman told us that her son knew Manny and the guy he was always with. She said they lived in the area but she had no idea where or on what street.

  “Ma’am, do you know the other guy’s name?”

  “No, but he’s even tougher than Manny. He scares me, actually, and I make sure to keep my distance from him.”

  “How old is your son?” Frank asked.

  She shook her head. “He’s only seventeen, hasn’t gone to school in six months, and is as feral as a wild cat. He runs the streets day and night and only comes home when he needs a shower, a change of clothes, or food, and that’s usually when I’m at work. I have to work two jobs to make ends meet. His dad bailed on us three years back, and since I’m barely home, I can’t control my son anymore.”

  “We understand, and being a single parent to a teenage boy has to be tough. Do you have any idea where he’s at now?”

  “No, and he doesn’t answer my calls either. God knows I’ve tried reasoning with him. I know he’s on drugs too.”

  “Your son’s name?” I reached in my pocket and pulled out my notepad.

  She sighed. “Kevin Tibbs.”

  “Does Kevin have a vehicle?”

  “Yes, an old clunker Dodge truck. It’s black.”

  “How about a job?”

  “Nope, so I don’t know how he paid for the truck. I have no idea how he affords gas or the weed I’ve found under his mattress, unless he sells that too.”

  With thoughts of Kevin and robbery going through my mind, I glanced at Frank. “Do you know the vehicle’s plate number?”

  “The renewal notice has been sitting on the counter for weeks. Hang on, I’ll get it.”

  Frank spoke up when Mrs. Tibbs was out of earshot. “Maybe those guys, including Kevin, are all part of a robbery gang. Leslie may have gotten killed only because Tim Grimes turned in to the alley just as the robbery was taking place.”

  I let out a deep breath. “Sounds logical to me.”

  We stopped talking when she returned with the plate renewal slip in hand. “Here you go. The plates are set to expire in two weeks if he doesn’t pay the renewal fee.”

  I took a picture of the bill, gave her my card, and thanked her for the information.

  “Come on. We have enough to work with for now. Let’s round up Tony and Kip and head back to the station. We’ll have Patrol track down Kevin, haul him in for truancy since he hasn’t attended school since before he turned seventeen, and we might have a chance that he’ll tell us where Manny and his buddy live. If we’re lucky, he’ll even have illegal drugs in his truck.”

  Frank agreed. “It’s worth a shot.”

  Chapter 29

  Several police cruisers passed Richard as he left the Grand Avenue station and walked south on Halstead. He recognized the two detectives in the lead car as the ones he’d seen yesterday on the subway platform.

  Hmm… those two sure like this area of the city. I better finish my task and wipe those killers off the earth so I can get back to the business at hand, and I sure as hell don’t need any cops getting in my way.

  Richard had arrived at the Blue Line station early that morning and saw the guy he followed home the day before board the outbound train. The man would likely be gone until that afternoon just like he was yesterday. The Hispanic guy had already left, too, and wouldn’t be an issue until later that night. Richard continued on to North Sangamon Street, where he planned to sneak into the house and lie in wait.

  Reaching the last house before the street ended, Richard checked his surroundings before walking up to the porch. The risk factor was high since the home was an upper and lower duplex, but the likelihood of someone just staring out the front window upstairs was probably low. He turned left on the sidewalk, stepped up to the porch, and rang the bell. He wasn’t expecting anyone, and nobody answered. With the makeshift lock-picking tools he’d brought along, Richard knelt and got to work on the doorknob, which was far from new. He pressed the thin metal tool against the locking mechanism, jiggled it a few times, and turned the knob—the door opened. He looked over his shoulder with a grin to make sure the coast was still clear.

  That was a lot easier than I thought it would be.

  After pushing off his knee, Richard stood and crept inside then locked the door at his back. The house was dark and quiet. He passed through the living room and entered the kitchen on his right, then he pulled the curtain aside and peered through the glass. Nobody was on the sidewalk, and the house directly across the street had the blinds drawn.

  “Perfect.”

  He would make sure to keep the lights off in the street-facing rooms. The unit wasn’t large, and he went through it in a matter of minutes as he looked for the best place to hide. He flipped the switch in the first bedroom and looked around. That had to be the white guy’s room. Richard walked to the small corner desk and took a seat, then he opened the drawers. Mail sent to a Bradley Risack sat inside.

  So, you finally have a name to go with that face. Brad, huh?

  Richard opened the closet. Cramped quarters, and for his size, Richard knew that wouldn’t work. He continued down the hallway to the only other bedroom. It had to belong to the Hispanic guy. Notes addressed to “Manny,” with hearts and lipstick kisses drawn on them, were taped to his mirror.

  “Pretty juvenile, Manny. How old are you, fourteen?” Richard chuckled and continued his search of the room. He pulled the dresser knob and found a purse inside. “Hmm, what’s this?” Taking a seat on the bed, Richard unzipped it and lifted out the wallet. He stared through the plastic sleeve at the ID card. “Leslie Adams? You’re the girl that those assholes just killed a few blocks from here. Looks like I’m on the right path.” He pulled the wallet’s zipper and found a wad of cash. He lifted it out and counted it. “Eight hundred bucks? Nice haul. Chances are, there’s other things of value in her apartment. She’s dead and doesn’t need the shit, anyway. Guess this wallet is going with me.” He found her cell phone at the bottom of the purse and pressed the button to turn it on. The screen saver showed someone who was likely Leslie embracing a dark-haired younger girl. “I wonder who you are, little lady? I’ll be taking this phone too.”

  Richard returned the purse to the drawer and pulled open the closet door. It was roomier than Brad’s closet and might work well as a hiding spot. A box on the floor inside contained a dozen or more purses. He knelt down and looked—about half w
ere empty.

  Looks like you two have a thriving side hustle, and following hookers around makes sense. They probably have plenty of cash on them as the night gets later and later. I’ll admit, not a bad gig, and something I can easily do too. Spot them on the subway late at night when their purses are full of money, follow them, kill them, and take the cash. I’d kill the women, anyway, so why not target hookers instead and make extra money in the process?

  Richard pushed the box out of the way with his foot and climbed inside the closet. It was roomy enough and would work perfectly as a place to lie in wait. He would surprise Brad when he was most vulnerable—in the shower or on the toilet. The bathroom was across from Manny’s room. Richard opened the door and peeked in.

  Good. It’s small, and there’s a shower curtain instead of a glass door. He won’t see or hear me coming, and he won’t have room to fight back.

  After returning to the living room, Richard continued straight and into the kitchen again. The largest knife in the butcher block might be missed if Brad planned to use it for anything. Richard pulled open the drawers and found a steel mallet and a boxed carving-knife-and-fork set.

  Perfect. These can go in the closet with me. It’s doubtful they’ll be missed, and I do have my own knife as backup if I need it, but I’d rather use something that’ll be left behind, anyway. No forensic evidence to compare his injuries to Callie’s.

  Richard placed the weapons in Manny’s closet on top of the box of purses, along with his own knife. He wanted it ready to use if necessary. He removed his shoes and put them in the closet too. As he returned to the living room, he pushed up his sleeve and checked the time—5:52. Brad would be arriving home within a half hour. Richard checked the door again, and it was locked. He gave each room a glance to make sure nothing appeared out of place and then waited. From Manny’s bedroom window, he could see to the end of the block, where Sangamon and West Hubbard met. That was the route Brad had to take to get home.

  To kill time, Richard stared at the pictures on his phone. They inspired him and made him want to murder. A rush washed over him every time he looked at them, and the most recent pictures—of Callie’s murder—replayed in his mind like the crime had happened only seconds earlier. The images aroused him, and he looked forward to killing that redhead as soon as he got Brad and Manny out of the way and long gone from his turf.