Kill Them All (Drexel Pierce Book 2)

by Patrick Kanouse

  “What’cha thinking there, Lone Ranger?” She drawled out the sentence intentionally as if she were from Texas, or at least her idea of what a Texan sounded like.

  “You know I’m not fond of the nickname.”

  She nodded, winked, and smiled. “I think you should embrace it. Fuck Doggett.”

  He chuckled. “I think Doggett already thinks I embrace it.” He scratched his nose. His phone buzzed and he looked at the screen. An email from Sally Roche, Zora’s old boss at the Sun-Times. He tapped it open. She responded to his query by first saying how delighted she was to hear from him. And then she answered that Zora was working on photographing older buildings in Chicago where residents were being forced out—either by landlords who failed to maintain buildings on purpose or by developers using more aggressive tactics like vandalism. He scratched his chin and looked over at Daniela. “I’d like you to help me with something. Not this case.”

  She nodded but did not say anything.

  “There’s a building in Streeterville. New high-rise. Nice condos. Wasn’t there a few years ago. The address is 890 North Dewitt. Can you see what’s in the record about corruption?”

  “Police corruption?”

  “Yeah, but anyone or organization. But yeah, I’m interested in the cops. I can find it, I think, but you’ll be faster and more thorough.”

  “Sure, I can do that. Shouldn’t be a problem.” She looked over at him. “Well, not a problem with someone of my skills.” She winked again.

  “You’re in good spirits at,” he looked at his phone, “11:07 p.m.”

  “If you can’t have fun on a stakeout, then you can’t have fun anywhere.” She tapped the steering wheel. “So is this side thing about your wife?”

  He kept looking out the window. “It is.”

  “Mind me asking what happened with that?”

  He did not answer for a few moments, and when he did, he started slowly until he was more comfortable with it. Only Ton and Ryan knew the full details. “She was murdered, but her death was ruled natural. I wanted to accept that for a while until someone told me the truth. I went to work one day like it was any normal day and came home to find her collapsed on the kitchen floor. Hart guarding her. She was already gone. Had been for hours. It didn’t seem right then. She was young, healthy. Nothing that should’ve caused a natural death. But I was in a haze. Have been since, really. But when I got this information, when someone told me she had been murdered, something clicked in my head. So I started looking into it. I’ve hit dead end after dead end. All the trails are cold or were never warm to begin with. Then a few days ago, we stumble across one of her artistic photos in a restaurant. One I hadn’t adequately catalogued. Turns out, she took the photo just days before she was killed. And it’s of a building involved in a corruption scandal. At least according to the papers. And it’s a mixture of her photojournalism and artistic photography. She was always talking about this city needing to be cleaned up. She loved Chicago but did not love it’s top-tier ranking as most corrupt city in the U.S.” He breathed in deep and let it out. “I’m grasping at anything, anything at all that will give me some clue as to who killed her.”

  She said, “Thanks.” And they left it at that.

  Chapter 25

  Ton pulled up in the Mustang at 11:55 p.m. Drexel saw it in the passenger-side mirror of Daniela’s car. He said goodnight to her and ordered her home. As Drexel slid into the passenger seat of the Mustang, Ton handed him a large coffee.

  “Thanks.” He grabbed the coffee. He was jittery from the Monster drinks he had had but went ahead and drank coffee. “How’re you doing?”

  “Mmmm. Fine. I see the van’s still in the parking lot.”

  “Yep. Hasn’t been seen coming or going all day. And he hasn’t shown up to work.”

  “What do you think’s up?”

  “I wish I knew.” He let out a sigh through his nose that briefly fogged up the passenger-side window. “I wish I knew.”

  “I’ve got my snap gun in the trunk.” This was a tool a bit smaller than Drexel’s Glock, though lighter in weight and thinner. Police units around the country had them to gain entry to homes and locked items when a key was not available—no need for a person skilled in lockpicking.

  Drexel looked at his friend. “That’s convenient.”

  The smile that arched across Ton’s face brightened the interior. “I’ve always wanted to use it on something outside the pawn store stuff we get.” The smile did not fade.

  “Uh-huh.” Drexel tapped his cheek. “Let’s give it until three.”

  Ton nodded, still smiling.

  “Anything on Kevin Blair?”

  “I’m still working on that. Let’s say I’m making progress.”

  Drexel nodded. “Wake me at three.” He leaned back and closed his eyes.

  * * *

  Drexel looked up and down the hallway. He felt the twice-folded paper he had stuffed in his inside pocket after waving it in front of the night manager of the apartment complex. A Doggett trick. The tired man, whose glasses were smudged and crooked on his face, waved them through, never bothering to ask if it were a real warrant or not. Ton wore a spare Chicago PD jacket. Drexel had obtained it for him years ago when he needed Ton to look official. His friend had never given it back.

  The big man knelt down on the floor in front of Marshall’s apartment. Drexel had knocked and called for him, though not too loudly. A line of sweat appeared at Ton’s former hairline. He pulled out the snap gun. Originally pawned by the owner to Ton, the debt was never paid off, so Ton used it for opening items left at the pawn shop. He tightened the screw where the pick connected with the gun. He slid a tension wrench into the dead bolt and then the pick.

  Ton looked up at Drexel and raised his eyebrows. If they went in, the odds of using any potential evidence to build a case evaporated. Drexel nodded. Ton pulled the trigger rapidly four times as he applied pressure on the tension wrench, turning it and the locking mechanism counterclockwise. The snap gun’s clicks punctured the hallway’s early morning silence. The lock gave way. Ton pulled out the pick and the wrench and stepped aside as Drexel gripped his pistol in its belt holster, clicked on his flashlight, and clenched the doorknob to the apartment. He twisted the knob and pushed the door open, shining the light into the entryway.

  He stepped back and pulled out his phone. Ton twisted his head and looked at Drexel, who shook his head. The phone on the other end rang several times before it was answered. “Daniela? Sorry to wake you. Get down here to Marshall’s apartment and bring a forensics team.”

  * * *

  Drexel did not wait for the CSIs or Daniela to show up, but he told Ton to stay outside. Just inside the door was a pool of dried blood that had soaked into the carpet. Not a large volume but enough to know something had happened. The distinct coppery smell of the blood was overwhelmed by something rotting, though Drexel’s long experience with bodies informed him whatever was foul was not coming from a human or animal body.

  Drops of blood dotted the wall inside the door. A larger number on the right side. Drexel shined the light back toward the entrance and then back toward the blood pool on the floor. Whatever happened, it happened with the door closed. Just beyond the spatter on the wall on the left, he noted several scratch marks deep enough to expose the gypsum of dry wall. The scratches began at the corner of the kitchen. He looked sideways at the wall. Eight marks at the edge. Eight fingers holding on. A few inches closer to the door and the three scratches disappear. A few more inches and the scratches are gone. Three scratches appeared again near the baseboard several inches away from the blood pool.

  Drexel stood up and shined his flashlight down the hall and into the living room. He decided to not venture in any further without the CSIs and stepped back into the hallway.

  Ton leaned against the wall. “Not what you were expecting?”

/>   “I don’t know what I was expecting, but it was not a blood pool. That’s for sure.” He leaned against the wall himself. “Look, you better go. I can handle from here.”

  “Sure?”

  “Yeah. I think surveillance is over.”

  Ton nodded, gripped Drexel’s shoulder, and walked to the stairwell, clicking the snap gun’s trigger along the way.

  * * *

  Daniela arrived fifteen minutes before the CSIs. She donned the purple gloves, Tyvek suit, mask, and booties of forensic work and walked in as far as Drexel, using her flashlight. She stopped and shined the light down the hallway and then on the wall. She flipped on the hallway light in the apartment.

  “Why’d you go in?” Her tone was not accusatory.

  What it was, though, Drexel could not figure out. “I got tired of waiting to see. The guy is clearly AWOL.” He tilted his head and shrugged. “I was going to call it a welfare check.”

  “At three in the morning?”

  His smile was thin and tired. “Let’s deal with what we’ve got, eh?”

  She nodded. “What do you think happened?”

  “Someone got into Marshall’s apartment. Invited? Invaded? Not sure. Could have been either. Regardless, Marshall is attacked. I’m thinking the perp grabs Marshall. I think he’s pulling him. Marshall grabs at the corner at the kitchen. The perp pulls and pulls. Drags Marshall a few more feet. Marshall still struggles. Some marks just above the baseboard.” He shined his flashlight at the spot. “The perp gives up and whacks Marshall a couple of times. Don’t ask why, but I think it’s with a club of some sort. Not enough blood for a knife wound unless Marshall was moved out of there fast. I think he was knocked unconscious and taken. But I didn’t search the rest of the apartment to see if there’s anything else.”

  The remaining members of the forensics team trundled down the hallway of the building toward Drexel with their kits, small rollable luggage on wheels with collapsible handles. One of the forensics team, Juanita Diego according to her name tag, stopped outside the apartment and opened her kit. Drexel pulled out a blue paper boilersuit, booties, and nitrile gloves. He stuffed two more gloves in the pockets. He then entered the apartment, passed Daniela, and used the flashlight to guide his way into the darkness beyond the hallway. Daniela and the CSIs waited in the hallway for him to signal that it was okay to enter farther. When the signal came, Daniela led the way and turned into the kitchen. “Ugh. That’s where the smell is coming from.”

  “What is it?” Drexel had passed the kitchen entrance and was looking into the living room.

  “Mashed potatoes?”

  “He left them in the pot and put water in them?”

  “That’s what it looks like.”

  “Yeah, that’s it then. Smells as bad as that. Happens quickly, too. A day or two.” The entire apartment was set up like so many of the apartments they saw a few days ago. Marshall’s tastes in furniture were for faux, deep brown leather and dark, almost black wood. The couch sat alone between two end tables and a squat coffee table. A flat-screen TV that seemed too small for the wall opposite the sofa, its cords dangling down to a small entertainment center, its wood less dark. The edges of the tables and center all had nicks from use and time. Drexel popped open the entertainment center. A cable box, an Xbox, a stack of games, and a few Blu-Ray discs. On either side of the TV were two thin bookshelves. The shelf on the right was chock full of philosophy and theology texts. Aquinas. Augustine. The early Church Fathers. Barth. Histories of Christianity and Christian theology. Plato. Plotinus. Heidegger. A list of authors familiar and unfamiliar. Stuck at the bottom: Ultimate Guide: Plumbing, Third Edition.

  The opposite bookshelf held several framed photographs. One looked like a family portrait from some years past. A teenage Marshall holding a fishing pole from which dangled an undersized sunfish. Behind him, with a hand on his shoulder was an older man. An older woman stood just to the right of the man, though with a clear separation between them. Marshall’s parents? All were dressed in jeans and lightweight long-sleeved plaid shirts. A pop-up camper was deployed behind them.

  Daniela walked into the living room. “Looks like he heated up some mashed potatoes and had them for dinner. Dirty pot, plate, glass, and fork. Everything else is clean.”

  They explored the apartment’s bathroom and single bedroom together, but found nothing odd. Marshall lived, by all appearances, a neat and ordered existence. The bed was made. He had arranged the clothes in the closet by type and color. A triple hamper’s slots contained clothes separated by color. Even his four pairs of shoes were on a rack.

  Daniela and Drexel stood where the halls to the rooms and to the front door met. Drexel raised his finger and pointed to the door. “Marshall opened the door for the perp. I think it turned bad fast. Struggle.” Drexel turned and faced away from the apartment. He walked and talked. “Marshall fled back in to the apartment, but he was clubbed with something. Struggles as he’s being dragged.” He held his hand up a few inches from the scratches on the wall, thumb pointing down to the floor. “Dragged face down. Probably clubbed again. Then he’s out the door.”

  They gave instructions to the CSIs about what to fingerprint and collect, focusing on the entrance and hallway, but for good measure some additional dusting in likely areas.

  Daniela followed Drexel back out to the hall, where she leaned against the wall. He rubbed his head. A number of the tenants from the other apartments were poking their heads out and watching them. He recognized several of them from the earlier interviews. The clergyman, Malcolm Jersey, walked out. He paused. “What happened?”

  “Not sure,” said Drexel.

  “Can I offer anyone tea?”

  Daniela said, “No thanks. I think we’re good.”

  The elevator doors slid open and Detectives Natalie Connor and Martin Doggett walked to the apartment entrance. No matter the time of day or night, Natalie looked freshly showered and unwrinkled. Doggett, however, might as well have been drug from bed by the color blind. His blue tie clashed with the green shirt and brown pants. Drexel had to bite back a leprechaun joke.

  “Hmmm,” muttered Doggett. “The cap says this is our case.”

  Daniela snapped her eyes up at him. “What do you mean?”

  Drexel lifted his hand a bit in the air to ask her to calm down. “Victor wants us focused on Simon, right?” Turning to Daniela, “Marshall’s a suspect in the case, but he’s a victim here.”

  Doggett nodded.

  “Well, if Marshall was Simon, at least no one else will be killed—by him at least. Still leaves the other perp. At the very least, he’s been cleared.” Drexel and Daniela told Doggett the entire story and the senior detective did not question the welfare-check story. He promised to type it all up as well.

  “Now what?” she asked.

  “Now? Now we get some shut-eye and go to work later this morning and start checking out those dozen places you found. We assume Simon is still alive and well. That or the warrants are approved, and we head back north.”

  Chapter 26

  Daniela and Drexel arrived at the first location in the midmorning. A mere six blocks northwest of the Days’ home in Hyde Park, James Madison Elementary had closed up two years prior and had remained so since. Yesterday’s rain had moved east, and they were bathed again in bright sunlight. He drank the last of his coffee from the Dunkin’ Donuts cup and set it in the cup holder in the Taurus. They had pulled into the one-way drop-off and pickup circle at the front of the two-story, brick elementary school.

  Built in the midthirties as part of the Works Progress Administration efforts to put people to work, the school had served the Hyde Park area well for decades. Now, however, it was a testament to different times, different priorities. The first-floor windows were boarded over. Drexel walked up the front steps to the main entrance. A large chain with a lock was strapped through the
handles. They circled the building, testing all the entry doors, but all were locked. The grass was growing tall around the edge of the building. Thick and healthy with the cool night time temperatures. His shoes and lower pants legs got increasingly wet as he tested the boards blocking the windows. He found what he was looking for at the back of the building. A board lifted up at the corner and provided easy access to the interior. He climbed in and helped Daniela in.

  He clicked on his flashlight and shined it around the classroom they entered. “The problem with these abandoned buildings is if our killer used them, he had to keep out vagrants, addicts, and dealers. These things make for pretty good hideouts for them.” The student desks were piled against the long wall opposite the windows. Blackboards held the faint markings of years of use. They walked into the hallway and shined their lights down both ways, catching the bright metal reflections of the locker handles like reflectors in the middle of the road. They turned left and began exploring.

  He had developed a short list of criteria for what would be a good location for Simon to conduct his brutality. First, the place had to have a gym or something close to it with gym mats. That much was obvious. Second, it needed some distance from the surrounding houses or apartments. This made sense unless he kept them drugged constantly. The tox screens were still in process with forensics, but Drexel did not think they would find anything. The perp got off on his power and control over the victims. The non-corpse photos, with the looks of terror on the victims’ faces, argued against constant drugging. So Simon needed some way to keep their screams from disturbing the neighbors. Third, the place had to be secured against the homeless and the desperate. At least long enough for him to do his work, which raised the possibility he shifted his location. This did not sit right, however, with Drexel. No, the setup was too elaborate. The details needed to be managed, and this killer did that well. So if he and Daniela found evidence of frequent use, people strolling in or out and living there, he would cross the location off and move on to the next. He could be wrong, but in detective work just as in life priorities were necessary.