At Large

by C. M. Sutter

“Tina is deceased, ma’am.”

  “That much I was told.”

  “Although we’ve just arrived on the scene ourselves, it looks like a pretty brutal attack. How was Tina and Hal’s relationship?”

  “Strained, and Tina just recently filed for divorce, but Hal is out of town. There’s no way—”

  “That he’s responsible?”

  She nodded.

  “Was there physical abuse in the family?” Frank asked.

  She looked startled. “How would I know that?”

  “It’s a standard question, ma’am, and oftentimes the victim confides in others.”

  “I doubt if Tina would confide in me. I’m Hal’s sister, not hers. Maybe you should ask her family those questions.”

  Frank raised a brow. “So you weren’t close?”

  “Tina was a difficult woman to please, Hal said. Honestly, that’s all I know.”

  I pulled out my notepad and handed it to her. “We’ll need your full name, address, and phone number. As soon as Mr. Morton arrives back in Chicago, we’ll have to detain him for questioning. Are you able to take care of the kids for a few days? If not, they’ll have to be placed temporarily in foster care.”

  “Of course I’ll watch them. I’ll take vacation time until this situation is ironed out.”

  I slipped my notepad into my inner pocket then handed my card to her. “Here’s my contact information. Please call if anything else comes to mind. We’ll be in touch, and we’ll contact Mr. Morton.”

  “I have his number right on my phone.”

  “Thanks, that helps.” I copied the number to my phone and waved Bentley over. “You have statements from both boys?”

  “I do, sir.”

  “Okay, go ahead and walk Mrs. Reed to her car and then email those statements to me. Find Mrs. Morton’s cell phone, have Forensics bag it, then drop it off on my desk when you get back to the station. I’m sure there will be numbers on there we can use.”

  Frank and I returned to the house and stood at the entrance to the kitchen. “What’s your best guess, Don?”

  The coroner looked over his shoulder at us. “TOD was likely a couple of hours ago. Core temperature is ninety-four degrees. This poor woman has at least twenty stab wounds that are visible, but I’ll have a firm count after she’s cleaned up.”

  I turned to Mike Nordgren, our lead forensic tech. “Go through each room thoroughly. With the amount of damage to Mrs. Morton and the house, the perp had to have left DNA, blood, or possibly a shred of fabric somewhere.”

  “Sure thing, Jesse, and we’ll probably be here all day.”

  I patted Mike’s shoulder. “Thanks, buddy. Keep us posted.”

  Frank and I headed to our Second District station. Lutz said he would be there for a few hours and wanted us to check in with an update before going home. I’d notify the husband and record his comments about the murder once we were seated in Lutz’s office.

  It was pushing four o’clock by the time I’d parked and crossed the lot to the front entrance of our building. Frank beat me there by a few minutes, took the last drag off his cigarette, and squashed it under his foot.

  “You’re just going to leave that butt there?” I stared at it smoldering on our sidewalk.

  “Jeez, you the cigarette police or something?” He picked up the butt and pocketed it.

  We entered the building and turned left after checking through our security gate. Lutz’s office was only a few doors down. Frank and I poked our heads through the half-opened door.

  “We’re here, Boss,” Frank said.

  Bob leaned back in his chair and stretched, then waved us in. “Have a seat, guys, and tell me about the scene at the Morton house.”

  I began with a groan. “Mrs. Morton was brutally murdered, and the house shows that she fought for her life. Don saw at least twenty knife wounds on her body.”

  “Damn. I heard the kids found her?”

  “Unfortunately, yes,” Frank said. “The old man is out of town, and the kids were at a birthday party at the bowling alley. They found her dead when they got home.”

  Lutz rapped his knuckles against the desk. “Husband been notified yet?”

  “I thought it best to do it here so we can record his reaction.”

  “Good idea, Jesse. Okay, give me the number.” Lutz set the adapter on the desk phone to record, then he dialed Hal Morton’s cell phone. With his hand over the receiver, Lutz mentioned that he hoped Hal answered restricted calls.

  “Hello?” Hal’s voice sounded more irritated than curious.

  “Mr. Hal Morton?”

  “Yeah, I’m busy, so what are you pitching?”

  “This is Commander Bob Lutz with the Second District Police Station in Chicago. There’s been an incident.”

  “What the hell does that mean? Are my kids okay?”

  We frowned. He hadn’t asked about his wife.

  “Your kids are fine, sir, but your wife isn’t. She was attacked during a home invasion.”

  “Is she all right?”

  “No, she isn’t, Mr. Morton. I’m sorry to tell you that your wife is deceased.”

  Silence filled the phone line. Either Hal was processing the shocking news or trying to pull a concerned reaction out of his hat.

  “Mr. Morton?”

  “Yes, I’m, um—Jesus Christ!”

  “Sir, we’re going to need you back in Chicago as soon as possible, but the New York PD wants to have a word with you first. You can expect detectives at your hotel room within the hour, so we need to know where you’re staying.”

  “At the Omni Manhattan.”

  I wrote that down, and Lutz continued. “I’d suggest booking a flight home soon. Your sons need you.”

  “Yes, of course. Where are they?”

  “With your sister, Carla. The house is being processed, and you can’t enter it without an officer escorting you. We’ll release it back to you as soon as possible.”

  “Okay. Am I supposed to sit here and wait?”

  “Yes, that’s exactly what you’re supposed to do. I’m contacting the New York PD as soon as we hang up.”

  Lutz gave Hal Morton his contact information and told him we’d need to know what flight he was coming back on. Two officers would be waiting for him at the airport. Bob ended the call and looked at Frank and me. “He’s involved.”

  I nodded. “You think?”

  Lutz waved us off. “I have to call the Manhattan Police Department now, so go home, both of you, and spend what little Sunday you have left doing what you want. The shit storm will be in full swing come tomorrow.”

  Chapter 4

  It was eleven o’clock at night by the time Curt rolled up to one of several security gates at the arsenal on the eastern shores of the Mississippi River between Rock Island, Illinois, and Davenport, Iowa. Curt was second in charge behind John and would do all the talking. Nubby and Lon were there to assist in grunt work and to provide some intimidation if necessary.

  The van’s headlights illuminated Marques as he exited the guard shack and waved his arms at the upcoming vehicle.

  Curt lowered the window as he slowed to a stop. He gave Marques a nod then noticed Darian standing alongside the gate. “Gentlemen. Is my order ready?”

  Marques pointed over his shoulder. “It’s behind that tactical vehicle on the other side of the fence.”

  “We’ll need to see everything before we load it.”

  Marques peered inside the van. “Who are those two?”

  “Helpers, that’s all. I’m sure the merchandise is heavy.”

  Marques jerked his chin at Darian. “Open the gate.” He turned to Curt. “Drive over to the truck, and I’ll open the container.”

  Two buttons mounted to the guard shack controlled the gates. Darian pressed the first one, which raised the barrier bar, then the second one, which parted the chain-link gate. He motioned for Curt to pull through.

  “Keep your eyes on those two,” Curt told his men. “They’re jus
t as shady as we are, and I’m not taking any chances.”

  Nubby grunted an okay and watched for signs of sudden movement out the passenger-side window of the van. “We are armed, Mr. Vance. Just so you know.”

  “And you do realize we’re at an arsenal, don’t you? I’m sure those two jokers are armed too. They’re guards, for God’s sake. Just don’t do anything stupid. I’ve already paid them, so everything needs to go according to plan.”

  “We’re going to check the contents, make sure the supplies we ordered are there, and leave, right?”

  Curt backed up to the tactical vehicle and killed the engine. “That’s correct, Lon, so get out and grab the flashlight.” Outside, with one pole-mounted parking lot light shining overhead, Curt opened the back doors of the van then walked toward the guards. “Got a crowbar to open that crate?”

  Darian held up a claw hammer. “This should do the trick.” He jammed the claw under the plywood lid and jerked upward. The nails squeaked and gave way as he rounded the container. Once the lid was detached, Curt gave the okay for his men to lift it.

  Shining the flashlight inside and pushing the packing material away, Curt found exactly what they’d ordered. Nubby let out a low whistle. “Damn, take a look at that.”

  “Everything to your satisfaction, Mr. Vance?”

  “Looks good. Move it to the van, boys.” After shaking the hands of both men, Curt climbed in behind the wheel. “Pleasure doing business with you, gentlemen.”

  Darian pressed the button one more time and released the gate. With a wave out the window, Curt drove away.

  “Now what?” Lon asked as Curt merged onto the freeway.

  “Now we go back home, get everything ready for tomorrow, and wait until morning for that phone call. This time next week, both of those guards will be dead.”

  Chapter 5

  The call Curt was expecting from Trent Harvey came at nine fifteen Monday morning. He picked up on the fifth ring. Waiting that long to answer would let the caller know he wasn’t some overexcited amateur. With a “get to the point and no nonsense” voice, he spoke up. “Tell me what you have.”

  “The latest update.”

  “Go ahead.”

  “The transport is in motion, everything is right on schedule, and no changes to the route have been noted. The bus with one chase car is headed south on Interstate 94. They’ll exit onto State Road 30 and go west until they reach Illinois Route 1 in Chicago Heights. They’ll take that south, where you’ll intercept the bus between Crete and Beecher in Goodenow. It’s an unincorporated area and heavily wooded. That should be the best place to make your move. Any questions?”

  “No. We’re waiting south of the city and will head in that direction now. We’ll be ready and waiting for their arrival.” Curt clicked off the call, pulled out of the gas station he’d turned in to, and continued on. The van was disposable and would be left behind once John was secure and everyone else was dead. Nubby and Lon, in a stolen and unassuming Honda Odyssey, followed John. That Honda would be their temporary transportation while traveling through Illinois, but they would change vehicles a few more times, with three states still to go. Matamoros would be their point of entry and home base in Mexico, and they would get there through their connections in Brownsville, Texas.

  Curt called Nubby and gave him the latest updates. “It’s going to go down in Goodenow. Just follow closely behind me and watch where I pull off. We should be there in about twenty minutes, and I’ll know the perfect place when I see it. The bus will be passing through in about forty-five minutes, so we need to find the right spot and get set up.”

  Curt ended the call and continued on. He was excited. Soon, his brother would be back at the helm in person, and their empire would grow exponentially. They’d discuss what the future had in store for Detective McCord once their feet were safely planted on Mexican soil.

  Three miles south of Crete, a one-lane gravel road caught Curt’s eye. He turned in and waved at Nubby to pull in alongside him. Curt exited the van and went to the driver’s window of the Odyssey.

  “Hurry up and get out. Unload the van so I can ditch it farther in.” With the van wiped clean the previous night, that was one less thing Curt needed to worry about. “Put your gloves on before you touch the back doors.”

  The men did as told, and the weaponry was unloaded. The van’s tires kicked up gravel as Curt sped down the path another quarter mile in. He drove into the overgrown brush and exited the rear doors then ran back to join the others.

  “How’s it coming?” he asked as he glanced down the road then at his watch.

  “It’s all good. Everything is ready to go. We’ve got the grenade launcher loaded, and both M24 rifles are ready to fire.”

  “Good. I’ll take care of the bus with the grenade since it’s my brother’s life that’s on the line. You two take out the chase car and anyone that steps out of the bus that isn’t John. Understand? If you have any questions, you better ask them now, because we’ve got about seven minutes before that bus shows up.”

  Both men shrugged, then Lon responded. “We’ve got this, Mr. Vance. I’ve been shooting guns since I was seven. It’ll go as smooth as silk.”

  “It better, or you two will be the next ones to die.”

  Curt pressed the binoculars against his eyes. The long stretch of straight road would make it much easier to see the approaching prison bus. He waited and watched. Ten after ten came and went and then ten fifteen. He paced. Anxiety was creeping in. “Where the hell are they?”

  “Freeway traffic could have slowed them down,” Nubby said.

  “Maybe.” Curt lowered the glasses and wiped the perspiration off his forehead with his sleeve. He raised the glasses again and peered through. “I think this is them. It looks like a gray bus.” Curt lowered the binoculars and lifted the launcher to his shoulder. “Get those rifles ready and take out that car as soon as I hit the bus. Damn it, John. You better be sitting in the back.”

  Curt held his position until the bus was just under a football field’s length away then fired. Hitting the driver’s-side engine area caused the front of the bus to explode and sent it careening out of control. It tipped on its side, rolled, and slid several hundred feet closer to them before it came to a stop.

  “Take out the car now!”

  Gunfire pelted the chase car, making it look like a sieve. Surviving that hit was next to impossible, and nobody attempted to exit the vehicle.

  “Head for the bus but stay behind cover. There’s supposed to be two guards and a driver inside. I want to see three uniformed bodies, and don’t forget that John is wearing orange coveralls.” Curt yelled out John’s name as they cautiously approached the bus. “John, John, call out if you’re okay!”

  Movement inside caught Curt’s eye. One of the guards, near a blown-out window, was crawling toward the back. “Shoot him, Lon.”

  Rifle fire cracked, and the guard went down. Seconds later, a hand waved wildly near the back of the bus. “It’s me, John. Help me out of here. I’m pretty sure everyone is dead.”

  Curt jerked his head toward the back of the bus. “Get him out and kill anyone else that moves. Hurry up! I’ll get the Odyssey.” Curt bolted for the vehicle, jumped in, and gunned it. He locked the brakes along the rear door of the overturned bus. “Get him into the back of the van.”

  With John’s arms slung over their shoulders, Nubby and Lon helped him into the back seat of the Odyssey and loaded the weapons through the rear doors. Lon tossed a blanket over the weapons, and Curt dove into the driver’s seat. A quick look over his shoulder confirmed that a few bloody scrapes were John’s only injuries.

  “You okay?”

  John managed a grin. “Hell yeah. That was a wild ride!”

  Curt slapped the steering wheel and laughed as he sped off. “We did it, bro. You’re free.”

  Chapter 6

  Lutz was the first from our department to hear the news just after the lunch hour, and it came directly from
MCC Chicago. He was told a passerby driving north out of Beecher saw the carnage on the roadway that morning and called 911. After police and paramedics arrived, it was confirmed that two guards, four convicts, and the driver were found dead inside the overturned bus, and two more guards had lost their lives in the bullet-ridden chase car. An empty set of handcuffs—which should have been secured to the fifth convict, John Vance—dangled from the bar bolted to the seat in front of the one he’d been sitting in. After it leaked that John had escaped, word spread like wildfire.

  According to the information relayed to MCC from the scene, the deputies said it appeared that none of the guards had a chance to draw their weapons since every gun was still holstered.

  Until the state police arrived, Illinois Highway 1 was closed to through traffic. After a search of the immediate area, a van that had been driven into the brush was discovered on a gravel side road a quarter mile away. The Will County coroner was on site, along with a half dozen deputies and the state forensic team.

  Lutz appeared to be rubbing the wrinkles out of his forehead as he told us everything he knew at that point. From the glances shot in my direction, he seemed to be talking directly to me. He jerked his head. “In my office, McCord.”

  After pushing back my chair, I gave my fellow detectives a headshake and followed Lutz down the hallway. I knew I was being singled out because of my history with the Vance brothers. Nothing about John’s daring escape was good news, and the only person with the financial means and connections to pull it off was John’s only remaining brother, Curt, who was as cold, cunning, and dangerous as John himself. They made the perfect team.

  “Have a seat,” Lutz said as he closed his office door behind me.

  I did as told and waited for my commander to share what was on his mind.

  “I’m worried about your safety, Jesse.”

  I waved off his comment. “Think about it, Bob. John was still running his drug empire from behind prison walls, so he had plenty of pull, whether he was incarcerated or not. He’s had the last three years to send someone after me, if that’s what you were thinking, but he hasn’t. None of his goons, including Curt, have chased me down. Right now, I’m pretty sure the only thing they care about is getting as far away from here as possible. They’re probably already in the air, flying off to a country that doesn’t have extradition laws with the United States.”