by Vanessa Skye
“Same university as Maggie?”
“No, different, so no link there. She lived nearby in West Loop, another part of Chi-Town entirely, so no link there either. No boyfriend, lived on her own, which is why nobody reported her missing last night. Then the janitor found her body this morning.”
Berg nodded. “I interviewed him. He was shaken up by the discovery but added very little to the investigation. Said he came to work at the normal time and found her on the grass while he was emptying trashcans. The school couldn’t afford surveillance cameras. Apparently the janitor constantly warned Victoria about walking out to her car alone after dark.”
“Is he a suspect?” Arena asked.
Berg snorted. “No, he’s seventy-six years old.”
Arena chuckled. “Well, let’s hope that forensics has something for us that we can work with.”
Berg nodded.
“You heard from Jay today?” Arena asked gently.
Berg shook her head.
“Do you want to?”
Berg nodded.
“Can I have more from you than head movements, please?”
Berg sighed. “What do you want me to say? He broke up with me, the engagement is off, and he’s moving his stuff out. I haven’t heard anything to the contrary. In fact, I haven’t heard anything from him at all, and now he’s taken time off and appointed Smith to take his place. You don’t do that if you’re only taking a few days.”
“You’re still wearing his ring,” Arena said, pointing.
“I can’t bring myself to take it off.” Berg brushed the tear away with a shaking hand before replacing it and gripping the wheel tight, sniffling quietly.
Arena rubbed her shoulder. “He’ll come round. I mean, he loves you like crazy. I can’t imagine anything you could’ve done that he wouldn’t forgive you for.”
I could be me—the real me.
Berg shrugged and cleared her throat. “What about Maroney?”
It was Arena’s turn to shift in his seat uncomfortably. “She’s obsessed with her job. I was lucky if she found five minutes to fuck me once a week, and it was a boring fuck at that. I’m not going back there. Good riddance.”
“Good. Because, seriously, if I see her again, I’m going to break her nose,” Berg muttered.
Arena’s eyebrows shot up. “Did she have something to do with—”
“You could say that.”
“But she and Jay—”
“No.”
“Then wha—”
Berg raised a hand. “Drop it, Arena. If I have to talk about that cunt any more, I will crash the car.”
***
Berg arrived home later that night, hoping to find Jay waiting for her. Instead, she found an apartment stripped bare of him.
Berg walked around in disbelief. He had come home at some point during the day and cleaned out everything he owned and left his key on the kitchen bench. She stared at it.
Jesse trotted up to her and pushed his head into her hand, whining.
“I know, baby,” she whispered, fighting back tears. “I’m sorry Daddy’s gone, too.”
Berg figured Jay must’ve found movers on short notice, because even the large antique shipping trunk he’d insisted on bringing with him to use as a coffee table was gone. She had hated the old O’Loughlin family heirloom, as it hadn’t matched anything in her apartment at all.
I’d give anything to have it back now.
She wandered into the bedroom and looked in the closet.
Glaring holes in the neat rows where Jay’s clothes had hung now taunted her with their emptiness.
She opened the few drawers he had used and found them bare, too. There wasn’t a trace left of the man she loved left in their home.
She sat down on the floor of the closet, curled into a ball, and cried.
You knew this would happen, her mother said. He never really loved you. He never even saw you. But I’ve always known what you are.
Chapter Twelve
The next day, Berg’s stomach growled in protest as she walked into the Cook County morgue. She hadn’t eaten in over twenty-four hours and couldn’t even entertain the idea of filling her stomach with anything substantial. It had been Jay, after all, who had insisted that she eat at regular intervals. She had tried to learn to cook for him.
She pushed open the morgue’s swinging doors and set off in search of Dr. Steven Dwight, Cook County’s rotund chief medical examiner.
She found him, pen and file in hand, bent over the body of Victoria Lampert.
“Detective Raymond,” he said, looking up briefly from his notes. “You got my message, then? I’m just about to let an attendant close her up.”
“Less than a day to complete the autopsy? You’ve outdone yourself, doc. I’m impressed.”
“Yes, well, DNA in these cases can degrade quickly, particularly since she was exposed to the elements for at least twelve hours. But keep in mind, this is all barely more than speculation right now. I am nowhere near done with my reports. Where’s your partner?”
For a split second, Berg thought he meant Jay before she realized he was talking about Arena. Her head swam from a lack of sleep and grief. “He’s on his way. He doesn’t hit his desk as early as I do.”
Dr. Dwight nodded, his glasses perched precariously on the end of his red nose. “You were right—we’ve got serial gang rapists on our hands,” he said grimly, shoving the spectacles back in place with a short, chubby finger.
Berg sighed, looking down at the victim. “I was afraid of that. Victoria’s rape looked very similar to Maggie Robertson’s.”
“It is. Preliminary DNA results show the perpetrators are an exact match to those found on Maggie. We also found some of Maggie’s skin cells in the wrist and ankle wounds of this victim.”
“They used the same rope to bind her, then?”
“Yes.”
“What about the boot print?”
“The hexagonal pattern left by the sole matched the boot print left on Maggie Robertson’s back in all ways but size.”
Berg frowned. “So same boot, different size?”
“Yes. Maggie’s stomper was a size ten. Victoria’s wore a size nine.”
“Could there be a mistake?”
“No. I’m guessing that at least two of your rapists wear the same style boots. It may be a uniform, but it could just be guys who have the same taste in shoes.”
“Are they military issue?”
Dr. Dwight shook his head. “I’ve checked all the usual databases. This brand isn’t used by any large, organized group I can find.”
Berg tapped her finger against her bottom lip, twisting and turning the facts in her mind and searching for that connecting click. “Okay. Was it the head wound that killed her?”
Dr. Dwight nodded. “She would have been rendered unconscious instantly, and she died from a massive bleed on the brain a short time later. Blunt force trauma from a hard, smooth-edged object. Judging by the size and shape of the wound, I’d say a baseball bat or a length of pipe, maybe.”
“Jesus,” Arena said as he walked within earshot. “Serial?”
Berg nodded. “Yep. DNA samples match Maggie’s rapists.”
“And like that case, initial examination shows this victim was also likely raped vaginally and anally, as well as orally. There was so much DNA left behind that I suspect they don’t know what they are doing,” Dr. Dwight said. “But this time, we have an added bonus. Two of the attackers are related to each other—brothers, it appears.”
“And yet none of the DNA is on CODIS?” Berg asked.
“Exactly. This victim was also a virgin before the attack.”
Berg chewed the side of her bottom lip and then asked the one question she couldn’t answer. “Seems strange to me that a group of men with no prior convictions for sexual assault, or anything else for that matter, suddenly turn into gang rapists. Does that sound normal to either of you?”
Arena shrugged. “Gang rape isn’
t normal, period.”
“Couldn’t have said it better myself,” Dr. Dwight replied.
“Any way to tell if this victim was unconscious for the attack, like Maggie?” Berg asked.
“No way to know for sure. But there were no defensive wounds on her body, and she was definitely alive when they assaulted her, judging by the tissue trauma,” Dr. Dwight said.
“And yet they tied her up, like Maggie,” Berg said. “Almost like they were expecting her to wake up and try to get away. Like they had no idea how hard they’d hit either girl on the head.”
“That and the DNA—they clearly don’t know what they’re doing,” Arena replied.
“Do you think they meant to kill her?” Berg asked Dwight.
“Again, no way of knowing for sure. They only hit her on the head the one time. But you’re looking for a group of four men, two of whom have a familial relationship, with no prior criminal history or convictions. Good luck with that.”
“Thanks,” Berg said, cocking an eyebrow in Dr. D’s direction and taking the report.
“It’s possible they’re young,” Arena said as they walked out of the morgue together. “That could be one explanation why none of their DNA is in CODIS despite the viciousness of the attacks. And the fact that they are tying up victims who obviously aren’t going to wake up. They’ve only just started.”
“They aren’t bothering to use condoms, and they’ve escalated quickly. I also don’t think they meant to render their victims unconscious for the whole attack. Otherwise, why bother tying them up at all?”
Arena nodded. “Let’s go get the Lampert interview over with. This week sucks already and it’s only Wednesday.”
Berg snorted. “You’re telling me.”
***
Con and Miranda Lampert were a sweet couple who clutched each other for dear life as Berg and Arena interviewed them about the death of their oldest daughter. They lived in a small, cluttered apartment just south of Greektown on South Miller Street.
Berg looked at a small bureau off to the side of the living area crammed with crosses and numerous pictures of at least four different children, including Victoria.
“We’d grown apart recently,” Con said in his thick Chicagoan accent, his dark eyes shining with tears. “But we were hopeful she would come back to us, given enough time.”
“Why had you grown apart, Mr. Lampert?” Berg asked, double-checking that her phone was recording their conversation as she sat down on the floral couch decorated with lace doilies on the head- and armrests.
“We had hoped she would undertake her student teaching at the local Christian school, in line with our beliefs, but she said she wanted to establish a life separate from the church. So when she got the job, she moved out.” He looked down at his hands and stifled a sob.
Berg snapped her head up. “Church? Do you mean Fullerton Community Church in Lincoln Park with Reverend Michael Robertson?”
Miranda Lampert shook her head. “No, Detective Raymond. We attend First Community in Greektown. We have heard that Reverend Robertson has an excellent reputation, though, and is very traditional in his teachings. We keep meaning to attend one of his sermons, but we haven’t gotten around to it.”
“Did Victoria ever attend Fullerton Community?” Arena asked.
“Not that we know of. She hadn’t attended any church for several months and was quite adamant that she wouldn’t,” Con answered. “Why?”
Berg slid to the edge of the couch as she detoured from the standard questions and on to specifics. “Do you know if Victoria knew a woman by the name of Maggie Robertson?”
“That name doesn’t ring a bell,” Miranda replied. “I know—knew most of Victoria’s friends.” She frowned. “Why are you asking us this?”
“What about boyfriends?”
The couple both looked annoyed that their questions weren’t being answered, but shook their heads.
“She had none that we knew about,” Miranda said stiffly.
Berg nodded.
Makes sense—busy girl, finishing up her degree—doesn’t have time for dating.
“We had tried setting her up with a few boys from the church, but she wasn’t interested, so nothing ever came of it,” Con said.
“When did she move out?” Arena asked.
“About five months ago,” Con replied.
Looking around the place, Berg sensed it was as small as it looked, and she couldn’t blame Victoria for wanting to get out on her own.
They wrapped up the interview quickly, trying to spare the devastated parents as much as they could.
Berg was sure the motive for the crime did not lie with the Lamperts anyway.
“No matter how many parents we interview after a murder, it never gets any easier.” Arena had been griping the entire drive.
“When it starts getting easier, you’ve stopped caring,” Berg said, staring out the window. “Be glad you still do. The victims are.”
Arena nodded. “So that church thing was promising for about a second, huh?”
Berg sighed. “Yeah. Surely it’s more than a coincidence, though.”
“Maybe. But apart from moving away from their Christian religions, there’s nothing linking the two girls together at all. Different churches, different schools, and different locations.”
She shrugged. “I think the link is there. We’re going to have to start attending church more regularly,” Berg said, peering at Arena.
He sighed. “Fuck. You just sound just like Nonna Arena. Put a kerchief on your head and shrink about a foot and a half, and you could be her twin.”
Chapter Thirteen
Halfway through the following week, Berg knelt down to get a better look at the mutilated corpse of the dorm-room dealer, Toby Diggs.
“Jesus. What a mess,” Arena commented, grimacing as he crouched beside her.
Berg nodded.
The pair had caught the case when Diggs’ body was dumped on the front lawn of his parents’ exclusive apartment building, which fell within their jurisdiction in the Near West Side. The call to visit the West Jackson Boulevard scene had cut into the few hours of sleep she had managed to grab on her couch, and judging by Arena’s mussed hair and sleep-creased face, he had also been rudely roused from his slumber.
She and Arena had waited patiently, interviewing Diggs’ parents and taking in the rich surrounds of the gated apartment building as forensics finished photographing and processing the body lying face up on the crisp, green front lawn.
Berg’s breath was visible in the chilly morning air as she examined the shockingly disfigured body. “He really pissed someone off. Eyes gouged out, fingers broken, and it looks like . . .” She wedged the student’s bloody mouth open with her gloved hand and shone her flashlight, peering inside. “Yep, tongue cut out, too. This is recent. No rigor yet.”
“His father reported him missing twelve hours ago after his fancy SUV was found burnt out near an abandoned industrial site in South Chicago yesterday morning. No one had heard from Diggs junior in two days. The body was found this morning when Daddy Diggs came out to collect the newspaper,” Arena said. “Kid was recently tried for—”
Berg nodded. “I know. He’s a dorm-room dealer without a dorm room because he was kicked out of college for dealing. Did they find any drugs in the car?”
“No. If he was still dealing—which his parents swear he wasn’t—then the drugs were taken before the car was torched, according to the preliminary report I had sent to my cell. He had custom panels in the doors, but they were empty.”
Berg checked the pockets of Diggs’ designer plaid shirt and jeans. “Not so much as an aspirin on him now.”
“What do you think this is?”
“Do you mean apart from a murder?” Berg said with a raised eyebrow.
“Fuck you, it’s early. You know what I mean.”
Berg leaned back on her heels and looked at the body. “I think Judge Oliver just let this guy go. I think a suspended
sentence is no deterrent. I think Diggs was making thousands of dollars a week dealing at his college, and despite his brush with the law, I think that kind of money is hard to give up.”
Arena scoffed. “Take a look around, Berg. He clearly didn’t need the money.”
“Since when has that stopped anyone? How many people do you know that say, ‘Oh, I’ve made enough money now, I’ll stop and let someone else make some.’ ”
Arena rolled his eyes. “You’re especially irritating today. More than usual. So you think he was still dealing and the murder is related to that?”
She nodded. “I’d bet money on it. Guys like this don’t just stop. Except, he was banned from campus, so he had to find new turf to sell his pills.”
Arena inclined his head in agreement. “Retaliation for dealing on someone else’s turf would certainly explain the violence of his death. Gangs, in particular, take that kind of shit pretty seriously. Whoever did this has taken it to a new and even more fucked up level, though.”
Berg squinted and looked at the immediate area surrounding the body. “The eyes and tongue haven’t been found, have they?”
Arena checked his notes. “Patrol says no. And forensics combed the area pretty well and came up with nothing.”
Berg sighed. “Not surprising. He certainly wasn’t killed here. Apart from the fact that the screaming would have woken up the rich neighbors, there’s not much blood around the body, and the eyes and tongue would have bled significantly as they were removed,” she said, standing up.
“You think he was alive when this psycho did this to him?” Arena paled as he also stood.
Berg shrugged. “Almost certainly. Not only is the tissue trauma obvious, but it wouldn’t be much of a warning to other dealers poaching turf if he weren’t.”
“That’s fucked up.”
“Like I said, there is so much money involved in the illegal drug trade that murder is second nature. What’s a human life when you could make some extra cash? To them, a turf war justifies murder.” She indicated to patrol that the body could be loaded into the medical examiner’s van. “No need to leave him out here for the neighbors to see. Dr. D will tell us everything else we need to know.”
