Wrong Exit: Nick Stryker Series, Book Four

by Vicki Graybosch

  One of the gallery interns leaned close to her and whispered, “I’ll stay ‘til closing. You can’t do this by yourself. You got a phone call from Mr. Woo. He asked that you call him when you get a moment.”

  Cynthia nearly squealed with excitement. She had been practically stalking Mr. Woo for almost a year to get his attention. He was a prestigious art dealer that could introduce her art to the Chinese market. She knew he was scheduled to be in Chicago this week. He was the whole reason she had decided to learn Mandarin. Cynthia practically skipped to her office to return the call. Just before dialing, she decided to sign into her Mandarin app on her phone and refresh her memory of some of the more important greetings and phrases. A soft knock on the door stopped her.

  One of the gallery interns stated that an art buyer had come into the gallery and had a question about one of her pieces. Cynthia’s heart began to pound. She needed a sale. Maybe today wouldn’t be a total loss after all.

  ******

  Dolly Weston walked out of the 107th precinct and just sat in her car watching the patrol officers rush in and out of the building. She felt as if she were coming back from an out-of-body experience of some sort. Whatever had possessed her to come here and confess to murder? She glanced at her reflection in the rear view mirror and asked, “What the hell is wrong with you?”

  Dolly dialed the library where she worked and told her manager she was taking a sick day. Then she called her best friend, Darla, and told her what she had done. Darla made her repeat herself twice. Dolly quickly realized that there was no way to explain what she had done in a logical fashion and told Darla she would talk to her later.

  Dolly drove to the local market before returning to her apartment. She glanced in her grocery bags as she unlocked the front door. Sixty dollars’ worth of junk food. It won’t erase the morning but it might comfort her for the afternoon. It wasn’t a total lie when she called in sick. Only a sicko would walk into a police station and confess to murdering someone they didn’t kill. Someone that wasn’t really dead, and of all people a homicide cop.

  She placed the bags on the kitchen counter and divided the groceries into two piles, sweet and salty. Then she picked out the items that needed to be refrigerated. Four containers of ice cream, a frozen cream cheese cake (which she put in the fridge side to thaw), a jar of dill pickles, a jar of olives, and chocolate milk. On the counter was a family sized bag of Doritos, some cheese puffs, three types of cookies, BBQ potato chips, a six pack of cola and a bag of semi-sweet chocolate chips.

  Dolly’s doorbell rang. Her friend Darla waited impatiently outside, pressing the buzzer every five seconds and squinting through the long side window next to the door. Dolly should have known that Darla would make the trip across town to get the details.

  Dolly opened the door a crack, “You don’t need to be here. I’m not feeling so good so I’m going to take a nap.”

  Darla pushed her way past. “Bull shit!” She tossed her purse on a chair and stopped in the doorway to the kitchen with her fists on her hips. “Not feeling good, huh?” Darla walked in the kitchen and pulled two large plastic bowls from the cupboard. “I know a stress binge when I see one. Let’s get our snacks and move on to the living room. I’ve got all day; told ‘em I was gettin’ sick.” Darla snapped open the bag of Doritos with the force of the Hulk. “You can tell me again how you ended up at the homicide department this morning.”

  ******

  Peter sat on the end of the couch and stared at his laptop on the table. He had no idea what to do with himself. His boss had been gracious about him staying home ill. It was unlike him to be nice. Maybe he had heard what had happened. Peter felt guilty. He had never lied to his boss before. He decided it was better to feel guilty about telling a lie than to have his boss know the truth. How could he ever explain what he did this morning? His mind wandered back to the homicide office. It seemed like a bad dream that wouldn’t go away.

  Someone, or something had made him do this. He closed his eyes and rested his head on the back couch cushion. Was he losing his mind? Is this how it starts? Kevin had looked at him with that pitiful expression on his face. The police certainly didn’t think he was normal. Those women, Dolly and Cynthia had done the same thing. He was sure he didn’t know them. In minutes he had drifted into a restless sleep. The sun bursting through the fold of the curtain made a tall vertical bar of light that slowly inched its way around the room.

  ******

  Jason watched Derrick leave the video room and lock some files in his lower desk drawer. Jason thought Derrick looked pale and distracted. Maybe he was ill.

  “Are you done with the video room?” Jason waited for an answer. “Derrick! You done in there?”

  “Oh. Sorry, yes I’m through. Look, I’ll be out of the office for a few hours. You needed something…. oh yes, the extender code.” Derrick typed a few keystrokes on his computer and the printer spit out a single page. Derrick walked over and handed the page to Jason. “I can forward the file to you if you’d prefer?”

  Jason looked at the code. “This should be fine. What are you working on anyway?”

  Derrick was stunned by the question and stammered something unintelligible. He went back to his desk, slipped his cell phone in his pocket and said, “I’ll be out all day. Maybe, I don’t know. If you need me, call.” Derrick rushed from the room and Jason watched as Derrick hit the elevator button twice. He couldn’t leave the office fast enough.

  Maybe Heather wasn’t doing well. That would explain Derrick’s flustered demeanor. Jason went into the video room with the page of code to complete his project. His curiosity got the better of him and he searched the computer’s history. He saw that Derrick had made a sixty second video. That couldn’t be right. What good is a sixty second video? Jason used Derrick’s security code and ordered the video to play.

  The screen filled with Chinese symbols and then a digital voice said. “You will shoot the first person that annoys you.”

  The video stopped. Jason stared at the screen in disbelief. He played the video again. What in the hell was going on?

  ******

  Derrick sat in his car in the office parking garage. He put his phone on the charger and slumped down in the seat. He needed a few minutes alone to think. Jason was asking questions. He’d have to make up something to tell him. The last thing he needed was Jason finding out about the program. He would want a split of the sale, or worse, he would steal the program for himself.

  Derrick didn’t know where to go. This was definitely a problem with this kind of program, he had no idea when one of his subjects would log back on first. He checked his breast pocket to make sure he had J.T.’s cell number. The minute he could confirm that one of his subjects had shot someone he was going to call J.T. and demand that J.T. purchase the program immediately.

  If J.T. stalled again he would hint that he had another buyer waiting. Derrick’s thoughts turned to Heather. She would be horrified if she knew what he was doing. He not only was going to purchase the organs she needed through a black market supplier, but he was paying for it all with blood money. His own program was shortly going to mean the end of someone’s life and an innocent person going to jail. He could only imagine the destruction the program would have in the hands of someone like J.T. Barrimore.

  Derrick felt a momentary flash of guilt that was quickly replaced with his own dialogue of justifications. Heather was his daughter, he had to save her.

  C H A P T E R 5

  Kevin spotted the flashing red and blue lights of the patrol cars a block away from the brewery. Traffic was being redirected down the street. He twisted his head to see what was happening as an officer waved him to drive on. The hazmat van was parked next to the coroner’s van and yellow crime scene tape blanketed the front of the building twisted around a fire hydrant and continued around the corner. Kevin parked as close as he could to the scene, grabbed his camera and sprinted up closer, searching the crowd for an officer he knew.

&n
bsp; “Ray! Over here!” Kevin waved as Officer Raymond Platt turned toward Kevin’s voice.

  Officer Platt slowly walked over. The buttons on his uniform shirt strained to keep the basketball sized belly covered. “Didn’t take you long to get here.”

  Kevin leaned in, notebook ready and asked, “What’s up?”

  Ray glanced around and then answered, “Two kids broke into that old brewery building and found some dead people. Three, I think.”

  Kevin started taking notes, “Shooting? Stabbing?”

  Ray shrugged, “Can’t tell. They’re all in pieces; been bagged up and dumped in those medical hazard bags.”

  Kevin stopped writing and looked around at the vacated neighborhood. “Here? You mean it’s human medical waste dumped here instead of being disposed of properly?”

  Ray looked thoughtful, “Yeah, something like that. Oh, they think it’s a family. Man, woman and a kid. All their organs are gone.”

  Kevin’s stomach clenched. “Gone as in surgically removed? All of them? Is this a homicide or littering?”

  Ray frowned. “The coroner called Stryker. That tells me homicide. He and Jen are around here somewhere. If you hang around, you might catch ‘em.”

  Kevin’s instincts told him that this could be a big story. He thanked Ray, dialed the paper and selected the extension for the customer service desk.

  Sharon answered, “Chicago Tribune, can I help you?”

  The sound of her voice made his heart leap to his throat. “Do you really want to be a reporter?” Kevin knew he faced the wrath of his bosses if she said yes. He didn’t care.

  “Is that you, Kevin?”

  “Yeah. I’m on a tip that might be a good story. If you want to join in, I’ll share my byline.”

  Sharon was in shock. Nobody ever shared their byline. This was her big break. “Where are you? I’ll be there as fast as I can get there!”

  Kevin smiled and gave her the address. “Say, give me your cell number in case I need you.”

  Sharon gave him the number. “Thanks, Kevin. I can’t believe you’re doing this. I won’t let you down.”

  Sharon jumped from her desk and ran to her supervisor’s office. Charley Kane was bent over a pile of papers and startled when she charged into his office.

  “Yes?” He smiled.

  “Charley, I have a fabulous opportunity! I have to leave work immediately.”

  Charley frowned. “You can’t just leave unless you’re sick.”

  Sharon shook her head. “I’m not sick. I wouldn’t lie to you. Please, Charley?”

  Charley grabbed a folder and spoke as he wrote, “Sharon Perez left Monday, 11:00 a.m., due to illness.”

  He looked at her surprised expression and said, “H.R. only excuses illnesses. If you’re not sick, you’re fired.” Charley returned the folder to the corner of his desk. “What kind of opportunity?”

  “I’m getting my first chance to be a crime reporter! With Kevin.”

  Charley leaned back in his chair and chuckled. “Our Kevin? He’s good. Got a nose like a bloodhound.” Charley pointed at the door, “You best move it. Reporters have to move fast and pick up every detail along the way. You don’t want to be left behind on your first assignment.”

  Sharon waved and ran out of the room. She stopped at her desk just long enough to pick up her gym bag that had her walking shoes packed inside. If this worked out she’d never have to wear high heels to work again.

  In the parking garage she entered the address Kevin had given her into her GPS, changed into her walking shoes and drove out of the building.

  ******

  Kevin walked along the crime scene tape until he was directly across from the front door of the brewery. He didn’t see Nick or Jen anywhere. He followed the yellow crime tape around to the back of the building in hopes that they were there. Detective Wayne Dunfee was talking to a crime scene unit tech and glanced over. Kevin waved his fingers. Wayne looked to the sky and shook his head. After a couple of minutes talking to the tech he walked over to Kevin.

  “Stryker left already.”

  Kevin sighed and pointed to a small car pulling up across the street. “My competition just pulled up. Any chance you can give me something you won’t give him?”

  Wayne liked Kevin. “We don’t really know much yet.”

  Kevin sighed, “Give me something man. I’ve got a gal coming here that I want to impress.” Kevin’s impish grin made Wayne smile.

  Wayne asked, “You’ve got a gal coming here? You’re pretty screwed up if you’re turning this into a date.”

  “She works at the paper and wants to be a reporter.” Kevin grinned again. “But I’m hoping she’ll be so impressed with me that we start dating.”

  Wayne looked away from Kevin and said, “I’m just thinkin’ out loud here, not talking to the press. I’d sure like to know more about this building. People won’t talk to cops. Those kids over there broke into the building.” Wayne pointed. “A good reporter might get them to remember a little more. Someone has been using the building lately. That’s for you, not the paper. Delivery door off the alley. Find somebody that can ID a vehicle for us.”

  Kevin glanced at the boys and nodded. “Done. What else? I hear the body parts were in medical disposal bags. Can I see one? The bag. Not the body parts.”

  Wayne opened his phone, clicked on a picture and showed Kevin. “Red, no markings other than the bio-hazard, about four feet long. That’s all you get for now.”

  Kevin dialed Sharon’s cell number. He wanted her involved with his interviews of the two boys. “How far are you?”

  Sharon answered, “I’m turning on the Exit right now. My GPS says ten minutes.”

  Kevin smiled as he hung up the phone. If nothing else, he would be spending the entire afternoon with Sharon. Ten minutes was too much time to waste waiting, however. Kevin thanked Wayne and walked over to the two boys.

  ******

  Sharon could hardly contain her excitement as she weaved her car through the highway traffic to meet Kevin. She was determined to impress him by doing a good job. Her GPS had announced that her exit was directly ahead. Kevin had just called asking how long it would be before she got there. He had said it was going to be a good story. She glanced in the rearview mirror to change lanes and noticed she had a wide smile on her face. People had told her for years that ‘luck’ was the determining factor for success as a journalist. Finally, she was the one getting lucky.

  She slowed for the extreme curve of the exit off ramp and grimaced at the dilapidated neighborhood that was unfolding ahead of her. It was a vivid reminder that being a reporter meant she would be going places most people avoided.

  At the end of the ramp, two men in florescent orange vests were waving cars to stop. Signs that read ‘men working’ and ‘detour’ were held in place with sand bags preventing cars from driving straight through. Sharon watched as one of the men approached the car in front of her. After a brief conversation, that car carefully inched past the blockade and continued forward.

  Sharon glanced at her watch as the man approached her driver’s window. Kevin was waiting. The last thing she needed was to get tangled up in Chicago’s unending road construction.

  The man glanced inside her car and pointed to the right. “You’re going to have to turn right and follow the signs.”

  Sharon protested. “Why? That other car went through.”

  The man frowned. “They live down the block. I had to let them through. Just follow the signs.”

  She didn’t have time to argue. Road construction in Chicago was a never ending curse.

  Sharon said, “Fine.”

  She steered her car to the right and followed the rough pavement to the next corner where another detour arrow pointed to the right once again. This road was in even worse condition. She slowed to nearly a crawl to navigate around the monstrous potholes. She glanced ahead and saw the road became even worse. The homes along the street were in poor repair and some were even bo
arded up. Someone had obviously misplaced one of the signs. She decided to turn around and head back toward the exit. Maybe she could charm her way past the men.

  She put the car in reverse and backed into the driveway of a boarded up bungalow. As she started forward a large grey van cut in front of her and slammed to a stop. She was blocked. The van had a medical insignia painted on its side. Maybe it was an ambulance of some sort? Sharon blasted her horn, she was sure they hadn’t seen her.

  The passenger door of the van flew open and a man began running toward her. A second man came running from around the opposite side of the van. Sharon glanced behind her. Maybe they were responding to an emergency at the bungalow. She lowered her window to ask them to unblock her car.

  One man ran up to her window and leveled a pistol at her head.

  “Get out.”

  Sharon froze in terror. She was being carjacked. All she could see was the barrel of the gun inches from her temple.

  “Put the car in park and get out!” The man pressed the pistol to her temple.

  Sharon felt tears stinging her eyes and her mind swarmed in a desperate search for some idea to save herself. The man reached his other arm through the window and unlocked her doors. He opened the driver’s door, grabbed Sharon’s arm and pulled her outside of the car.

  Sharon finally was able to scream. She twisted as hard as she could to break free of the man’s grasp on her arm. He was ungodly strong. Suddenly she felt him twist the arm with the gun and she watched as he slammed the pistol to her head. A searing pain shot through her body as the world went black.

  The two men tossed her body into the back of the van. One of the men injected her as her car sped away. They retrieved their sign and sandbags and threw them into the back next to her lifeless body.