Beverly Long - Dead by Wednesday

The killer hadn’t bothered to remove the bandanna once the kids were dead.

Robert checked the notes. Yep. Victim had been found with his nostrils taped shut and a red bandanna stuffed in his mouth. He clicked on the pictures that had already been uploaded and started scanning them. They were gruesome and made his empty stomach twist.

When he heard Sawyer’s footsteps, he was grateful for the interruption. His partner shrugged off his heavy coat, pulled out his desk chair and sank into it.

“You look like hell,” Robert said.

“It’s amazing the trouble one little tooth can cause,” Sawyer said, his lazy drawl more pronounced than usual. “Catherine was up several times during the night. That doesn’t happen very often.”

“How’s Liz?” Robert asked.

“Fabulous,” Sawyer answered, sounding like a very happy man. “Although she wasn’t too crazy about me giving Catherine my leather belt to chew on. That is, until she saw how well it worked.”

“Southern tradition?” Robert asked.

Sawyer shook his head. “Midwest desperation.”

Robert stood up. “Well, we got another kind of tradition going on here and quite frankly, it sucks.” He pointed at his computer. Sawyer got up, rounded the desk, stood behind Robert, and quickly read through the information.

“Henry Wright,” Sawyer said, resting his eyes on the text that had been added just an hour or so ago once the body had been identified.

“Alderman Franconi’s nephew,” Robert added. That wasn’t in the notes.

“This is going to get interesting fast,” Sawyer said.

“I know the area,” Robert said. “Residential, mostly multiunit apartments. Some commercial.”

Sawyer picked up the gloves that he’d tossed on his desk. He pulled them on. “Let’s go knock on some doors. But take pity on me, for God’s sake, and stop and get some coffee on the way. It’s freezing out there.”

“It’s January in Chicago. What do you expect?”

“It would be nice if it got cold enough that all the killing stopped.”

“It’s cold,” Robert said, “but I don’t think hell has frozen over yet.”

The two men piled into their unmarked car, with Robert driving. He pulled out of the police lot and five minutes later, found street parking in front of their favorite coffee shop. Once inside, he waited patiently while Sawyer had to flash a picture of six-month-old Catherine after the woman behind the counter asked for an update on the little girl.

Robert was damn happy for his friend. Liz was a great woman, and given how much she and Sawyer were enjoying their adopted daughter, Robert figured they’d be adding to their family in no time.

He wasn’t jealous.

Hell, no. He had the kind of freedom that married men dreamed about.

Back in the car, he sipped his coffee, grateful for the warmth. It hadn’t been above twenty degrees for two weeks, which meant that the four inches of snow that had fallen three weeks ago lingered on. Most of the roads were clear, but the sidewalks that hadn’t been shoveled right away now had a thick layer of hard-packed snow, making walking dangerous.

It was dirty and grimy and very non-postcard-worthy. Even in the high-rent area known as the Magnificent Mile, things were looking a little shabby.

Ten minutes later, Robert left the car in a no-parking zone. Five feet away, the alley entrance was still blocked off with police tape. He looked around. When he’d been a kid, he’d lived just a few blocks from here. For a couple years, he and his mom and husband number three had shared an apartment in one of the low-income high-rise buildings. His mom still lived less than ten blocks away.

He’d spent a fair amount of time on these streets. The area still looked much the same. There were a couple small restaurants, a dry cleaner, a tanning salon and one of those paycheck advance places where the interest started doubling the minute your loan payment was late. There was a church a block down, and the neighborhood school was just around the corner.

Buses ran up and down these streets in the daytime, leaving the snow-packed sidewalks tinged with black exhaust.

Sawyer crushed his empty coffee cup. “Ready?” he asked, pulling the collar of his heavy coat tighter.

“Sure,” Robert said. He tossed his empty cup over his shoulder into the backseat.

It wasn’t hard to see where the body had been found. The hard-packed snow was an ugly combination of black soot and fresh blood. Detective Charlene Blaze was talking to one of the evidence techs, who was still scraping the snow for something. He didn’t see her partner, Milo Wasimole.

“Hey, Charlene,” Robert said. “How’s it going?”

She was a small woman, maybe mid-fifties. Her first grandchild had been born the previous week. Her face was red from the cold. “Okay, I guess. I lost feeling in my toes about a half hour ago.”

“Lieutenant Fischer asked us to swing by.”

She nodded. “Yeah, all hands on deck when an alderman’s nephew gets it,” she said, her tone sarcastic.

Robert understood. Hell, there were teenagers killed almost every night in Chicago. Most of the killings were gang-related. And nobody seemed to get all that excited about it.

But after week two, when it had become apparent that they might have a serial killer on their hands, the cases had started to get attention.

Week three, local newspapers had gotten hold of the story, noting the similarities in the killings. Two days later, they got television exposure, when the twenty-four-hour news channels picked it up. Then the dancing had started. Because nobody in the police department wanted it widely known that three kids were dead and they didn’t have a clue who was responsible.

“Press been here yet?” Robert asked.

Charlene nodded. “Oh, yeah. Can’t wait to see tomorrow’s headline.” She nodded goodbye to the evidence tech, who was putting away his things. “I know you guys already have your own caseload but I have to admit, I’m appreciative of every set of eyes I can get. This is getting really creepy. Based on what we know at this point, this was a good kid. Fourteen. Just made the eighth-grade honor roll. Played the trumpet in the middle-school band.”

Robert had read the files of the other three dead kids and knew they had similar stories. First victim had been thirteen. Second, fifteen. Third, fourteen. All male. All good students. All without known gang ties. “Any connection to the previous three victims?”

“No. All four lived in different parts of the city and went to different schools. We don’t have any reason to believe they knew each other or had common friends.”

Robert shook his head. “Nobody ever said it was going to be easy.” He pulled his gloves out of his pocket. “Sawyer and I’ll start knocking on some neighbors’ doors. Maybe we’ll get lucky and somebody saw something.”

* * *

CARMEN JIMENEZ SWAYED back and forth with six-month-old Catherine on her hip. “I can’t believe how big she’s getting,” she said to Liz, who was busy making coffee. “I saw her just a few weeks ago and she already looks different.”

“I know. I’m almost grateful that her regular babysitter got sick. It’s nice to bring her to work with me.” Liz pushed the button on the coffee machine.

“Did Sawyer get her room finished?” Carmen asked.

Liz smiled. “It’s gorgeous. I can’t believe he had the patience to stencil all those teddy bears. You should come see it. We’re getting pizza tonight. You and Raoul could join us.”

“Raoul has band practice tonight. Even so...” She stopped.

Liz frowned at her. “What’s wrong? You look really troubled.”

“Nothing,” Carmen denied automatically. Then remembered this was Liz, her best friend. “I was going to say that even so, he probably wouldn’t want to come with me. I haven’t said much, but I’m worried about Raoul.”