Max Collins - Girl Most Likely

He shook his head more than was necessary. “No. Mom and Dad came home shortly after eight. You can check with them.”

“Your parents are your alibi.”

Keith smiled to himself. Using the word “alibi” would rattle Jerry’s cage. Innocent or guilty, Jerry squirming a little was fine with him.

“Yes,” Jerry said, exasperated. “My parents. Do I have to tell you they’re honest, upstanding people? A banker? A librarian?”

“No. But you have an apartment downstairs at their house. An entrance of your own. After they got home, you could have borrowed their car without asking. Slipped out. Slipped back.”

Jerry’s expression was so pained Keith almost felt sorry for him. “You can’t think this of me! That I would... Jasmine’s a sweet girl... I would never... she doesn’t deserve...”

He covered his face. He was crying.

This Keith didn’t enjoy at all.

Krista pushed a box of tissues across the table to Jerry. He used several, to wipe his eyes and blow his nose. His embarrassment embarrassed Keith.

His voice came back softer. Less shrill. “My folks came home around eight, eight fifteen. I was just finishing up a movie — Red Sparrow . Jennifer Lawrence? They yelled down and said they were home. I answered. I yelled up that if they wanted to watch something with me, all it would cost was Mom making some popcorn.”

“Did they take you up on that?”

He nodded. Swallowed. “Yes. They’ll tell you as much. You won’t have to prompt them in any way. It’s the truth and that’s how they’ll tell it.”

“What did you watch together?”

“ Game Night . It’s... really funny.”

“Netflix?”

“Blu-ray. I can’t prove that last night’s when we watched it, or even that we watched it together. But that’s the truth, too.”

Keith exited and asked Maggie to get him the numbers of Jerry’s parents at their various places of work. She provided that, Keith made the calls, and when Krista emerged from the interview room, leaving Jerry behind, Keith told her he’d verified Jerry’s alibi.

She shrugged. “I believe him. Let him sit awhile. He was crying again.”

“For himself or Jasmine?”

“I’d like to think for Jasmine.”

“But you don’t really.”

“No.”

Maggie, at her window, called over to Krista, “The Illinois crime scene investigator is waiting in your office, dear! Hope it was all right to just send him in like that.”

“Thank you, Maggie,” Krista said. “That was fine.” Then she motioned to Keith to join her.

He did, saying, “You let Maggie call you ‘dear’? Aren’t you the chief?”

“Yes. And at least I’ve broken her of calling me ‘honeybunch,’ if you’re wondering about my ability to maintain discipline.”

Deitch was the only officer in the bullpen. Keith nodded to him and he nodded back, looking frazzled.

Keith asked her, “Everybody else at the crime scene?”

“Or home grabbing a couple hours’ sleep,” she said. “I worked everybody all night, canvassing South Main. Needed to catch the apartment dwellers before they went to work, and see if anybody heard or saw anything.”

“And?”

“Nothing.”

“Nice to know you can scream on Main Street and nobody notices.” Or maybe cares, he thought.

In the office, just inside, Eli Wallace was seated at the mini conference table at right, his arms folded, his body leaned back, eyes closed. The African American CSI in the blue jumpsuit was snoring softly, his thick mustache riffling in the self-created breeze.

Keith said, “Kind of a shame to wake the little darling.”

Eli’s eyes popped open and he shook his head, clearing it, and said something rude to Keith that should never be spoken in front of a man’s daughter, especially if she is chief of police. Keith and Krista laughed and sat at the table, her opposite the CSI, Keith next to him.

“Put in a long night, did you?” Keith said.

“Might say that,” Eli said. “Anyway I wasn’t relaxing in a hospital bed being waited on, like some people I know. How you feeling?”

“Not bad. Excellent drugs. Wrapped up like this, I look twenty years slimmer. Your team about done?”

He nodded. “Rest of the work’ll be at the lab back in Rockford. We’ve recovered some items that might be useful.”

“Oh?”

Eli nodded. “We checked the trash bins. Plenty of those to go through.” He gave Krista half a smile. “You guys keep your little town nice and clean for the tourists.”

“Part of why they keep coming back,” she said. “Find something interesting?”

“Two somethings. A hooded raincoat, black, with plenty of blood spatter. Not much doubt the source of the latter. Also a butcher knife. Blood-smeared. Almost certainly the murder weapon.” Eli shifted in his seat. “You’ve got a problem, Chief.”

Krista said, “You think?”

“I think. This appears, strongly — as if I have to say it — to be the same perpetrator. The stab wounds this time are mostly on the back. The previous homicide, of course, the blows came from the front. Same is true of the Clearwater homicide.”

Keith said, “A shift in MO?”

“Not really. Blood trail on the stairs — wrought iron and wood, alongside the corner building — indicate the incident began at the landing. The killer was waiting outside the victim’s apartment, tucked in the recession of the doorway. The first blow caught her in the left arm.”

Krista said, “She saw him and reacted.”

The CSI nodded. “And fled, running down the steps. The killer pursued and caught up with her and the attack came from behind. Knife plunged deep, half a dozen times. A savage assault, like the Lund woman.”

“Right there on Main Street,” Keith said. “With a high risk of potential witnesses.”

Eli tapped his nose — the “on the nose” gesture. “That’s the other obvious aspect here.”

Krista frowned. “What is?”

Keith sighed and said, “The killer is devolving. Accelerating. Six months between the first and second kill. Three days between the second and third kill. Precision planning for the first two kills, more on the fly for this one.”

The CSI was nodding. “There’s a real danger to the community. You need to call in the state police investigators. And Major Case Assistance. ASAP.”

Krista said nothing.

Keith said, “We’ll give that serious consideration, Eli. Thanks. You heading back to Rockford now?”

Eli frowned a little. “You changing the subject on me, Keith?”

“Maybe. Where we go from here is the chief’s call, and I’ll consult, of course, which is my job. You’ve done yours and we appreciate it.”

Keith stood, smiled, extended his hand and Eli, his expression wary, shook Keith’s hand, then stood himself.

“Oh-kay,” Eli said. “And, yes. I’ll be in Rockford. I hope you don’t need me... I’ll let you know our results.”

Eli closed the door behind him.

Keith said to Krista, “You should eat. I’ll take you to lunch.”

She was studying him. “You want to talk, don’t you?”

“I want to talk.”

But they didn’t talk on the way to Otto’s Place, which would still be open for lunch for another twenty minutes. He was thinking and so was she. In the few days since Astrid’s murder, the number of things they had to consider had accumulated into a dizzying spire of suspects, suspect alibis, and an increasingly out of control madman.

Otto’s wasn’t busy. They hung their coats up, found a corner table, then ordered bowls of turkey-and-black-bean chili and glasses of iced tea. Now they talked.

Keith asked, “What does Jasmine’s murder mean to this investigation?”