Booked for Murder Page 5

  Continuing on, I met Frank in the parking lot five minutes later, and we were on our way. We needed to speak to the dentist as well, but Karen Black would definitely come first.

  Chapter 12

  After sleeping until one o’clock, Vic rose and made a pot of coffee. Hours of planning lay ahead to ensure that the next elimination took the police by surprise and created uneasiness with the fine citizens of Chicago.

  A little research revealed that Jill Blass had a weekend job at the neighborhood MaxMart, and her hours were three until ten when the store closed. That gave Vic plenty of opportunity to follow her around the building and strike when the time was right.

  Luckily, the temperatures in January often fell into the single digits, and the cold bite in the air warranted a heavy coat, hat, and gloves. Being bundled up wasn’t an unusual look for that time of year and the perfect way to hide one’s identity.

  Waiting until nine thirty is smart. The crowd will be thinning, the employees will be scrambling around to finish their end-of-the-night duties, and for all I know, Jill could be stocking shelves or emptying dressing rooms of clothes left behind. I’ll have the opportunity to find her alone one way or another, but right now, I have to decide which person will be victim number three.

  After pouring a cup of coffee and stirring in a splash of creamer, Vic settled in and got to work.

  Chapter 13

  Forty-five minutes later, we arrived at Karen Black’s home. The two-story house with a walk-out basement looked to be a recent remodel and had new tan siding that was accented with a brick-colored covered porch and matching window trim. The yard held a light dusting of snow and, although small, looked professionally landscaped. The entire property was wrapped with a black wrought-iron fence. The gate that led directly to the steps and the second-floor entry was locked and had an intercom mounted to a pillar on its right.

  “Guess we aren’t going to surprise anyone.” Frank slowed at the curb. “We won’t be able to bang on the door unannounced.”

  “There’s one more thing that’s an obvious fact.” I checked my pocket for my notepad and pen then grabbed the door handle.

  Frank looked my way as he shifted into Park and killed the engine. “Yeah, what’s that?”

  “Somebody living here makes big bucks. This neighborhood is full of houses in the million-dollar price range.”

  We stepped out of the cruiser, and Frank clicked the fob and pocketed the keys. “We’ll find out soon enough who the breadwinner is.”

  When we reached the gate, I pressed the button on the intercom. It was a Sunday, and we would be lucky to find somebody home, but I was hopeful. Seconds later, the curtain fluttered, and I nudged Frank.

  “Somebody is inside and checking us out. They’re likely deciding if they’re going to ignore us or ask who we are.”

  Frank smirked. “Well, we aren’t here to sell them snowblowers. You know damn well we look like cops.”

  After waiting for nearly a minute, the intercom came to life. “This is a no-solicitation community, gentlemen. I’d suggest you move on to another neighborhood.”

  I assumed the female voice belonged to Karen Black and took the lead. “Ma’am, we’re Detectives McCord and Mills from the homicide division of the Chicago PD. We’re looking for Karen Black. Is that you?”

  “Yes. What do you want with me?”

  “We have questions for you, Mrs. Black, and need you to buzz us in.”

  A good fifteen seconds passed before the buzzer sounded, and Frank pulled the gate toward us. We walked up the seven wooden steps to the porch and knocked on the brick-colored door. She moved the curtain aside again and asked to see our IDs. Frank and I obliged. A second later, she opened the door with one hand on her hip and the other still on the handle.

  “I have plans this afternoon, so you get ten minutes of my time.”

  Little did Karen know that she wouldn’t be the one calling the shots. We could hold her for forty-eight hours in our lockup if we had reason to believe she was involved in a crime.

  Karen entered the first room, which had likely been a parlor at the turn of the century. Now it appeared to be a cozy den.

  “Have a seat, Detectives, and I’d appreciate it if you’d cut to the chase. Like I said, I have plans.” She let out what sounded like an annoyed huff as she sat.

  “I take it you aren’t a fan of the Chicago PD. Is there a reason?”

  “Not particularly. I’m just indifferent.”

  Frank chuckled. “Funny how we hear that a lot until somebody needs our help.”

  I pulled out my notepad, and Frank continued.

  “So, since you’d like me to cut to the chase, I’ll get right to it, then. Where were you between eight and eleven thirty last night?”

  “Here at home, why?”

  Frank raised his brows at me, then we both looked at her.

  “We are the police, and Cherry’s Chop Shop does have security cameras, so unless you loaned your Tiguan to somebody else, I’ll ask that question again. Where were you last night between eight and eleven thirty?”

  The color drained from her face. “Is my husband having me followed?”

  Her question took me by surprise. “Were you there, and does your husband have a reason to follow you?”

  “Fine, I was there.”

  Frank furrowed his brows. “I’ve heard they have good food, but there are plenty of places closer to your home with a far better menu. Is the distance from here relevant?”

  Karen stammered. “I have a boyfriend, okay? We had dinner there last night since it’s in his neighborhood. After that, I followed him to a motel, and we were there until one a.m.” She glared at us. “Don’t judge me either. My husband has had girlfriends during our entire twenty-five-year marriage.”

  “What’s your boyfriend’s name, address, phone number, and his type of car?”

  She slapped the coffee table. “You have to be kidding me!”

  “Not on your life,” Frank said. “Your car was described last night as a vehicle of interest in a drive-by shooting on Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. Drive.”

  “That’s impossible!”

  “And is it also impossible that the murder victim just happened to be at Cherry’s Chop Shop prior to being killed? Because she was. Coincidental, don’t you think? Now give us your boyfriend’s name and number if you hope to establish an alibi. By the way, where’s your husband?”

  She spewed her response. “Probably at a bug-infested motel and in bed with a woman half his age.”

  I stepped outside and made the call with the information Karen reluctantly gave me, while Frank kept his eyes on her. We didn’t need her tipping off the boyfriend to establish a false alibi for last night. The phone rang in my ear five times before a man answered. “Is this Blake Listrom?”

  “Speaking. Who’s this?”

  “This is Detective McCord from the Chicago PD calling. I need to know your whereabouts last night. It involves a case our department is working on.”

  “Where I was? Why is that important?”

  “Sir, if you’d just answer my question.” I waited silently and was sure his head was spinning with the right answer to come up with. “Mr. Listrom?”

  “Yeah, yeah, um, I was out with the guys.”

  “Where were you? We can easily check that out to see if you’re being truthful, and then we’d have to get the ‘guys’ involved too.”

  “Fine. I was with my girlfriend.”

  “What’s her name? I also need to know where you went and how long you were together.”

  “May I ask what this is about?”

  “Just answer the question, Mr. Listrom.”

  I heard his groan through the phone line. “We ate at Cherry’s Chop Shop and then went to the Amber House on East Pershing and South Michigan.”

  I grimaced at the image, and with the money Karen Black probably had, I was sure they could have found a better motel.

  “Were you at any time on Dr. Mar
tin Luther King Jr. Drive?”

  “No.”

  “Thanks for your time, Mr. Listrom. We may be in touch with you again.” With that, I hung up and realized Karen’s alibi was legit.

  I returned to the house and asked Karen the same question. Had she driven down Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. Drive at any time last night? Her response was the same as Blake’s—an emphatic no.

  Chapter 14

  The gate clanked as I closed it behind me. Getting in the cruiser, I let out a disappointed huff. “Damn it, I was sure this case would be wrapped up with Karen as the shooter.”

  Frank shook his head. “You wanted it too much. Besides that, what would her motive have been? She didn’t even know Charlotte.”

  I waved Frank off. “Yeah, I know. We have to follow the facts, not what our hearts and minds want to believe.” I clicked my seat belt across my hip and looked at Karen’s house. The curtain fluttered again. “She’s damn lucky her husband wasn’t home. There would probably be a lot of yelling behind that red door about now.” I tipped my wrist—2:42. We still had the dentist to speak with, as well as Charlotte’s neighbor and best friend, if time allowed. “Head to the dentist’s house next. The best friend lives south of him, so we’ll hit her place afterward.”

  Frank merged onto I-90 and headed south. Fifteen minutes later, he turned left into the parking lot of the three-story condo complex Dr. Carter lived in on Langley Avenue.

  I pulled the folded sheet of paper from my pocket and read off his address. Before we left the precinct, I had printed the addresses of each person we needed to visit that day. “His unit is 307, obviously on the top floor.”

  Passing through the glass double doors, we entered a large, marble-floored vestibule with a decorative bench sitting against the wall opposite the residents’ intercom. Frank took a seat while I pressed the buzzer for number 307.

  “Hello.”

  “Is this Dr. Bradley Carter?”

  “Speaking.”

  “Dr. Carter, this is Detective McCord with the Chicago PD. I’m here with my partner, Detective Mills, and we’d like a few minutes of your time.”

  “Regarding?”

  “Regarding one of your employees.”

  “I’ll be right down.”

  A click sounded, and the intercom went dead. I took a seat next to Frank, and we waited. A minute later, the elevator dinged, and I assumed it was the dentist heading our way. A man who looked to be in his forties, with wavy black hair and wearing sweats, appeared from around the corner. He nodded when he saw us, and he asked to see our badges before opening the second set of glass doors.

  We stood and exposed our badges, and he allowed us in.

  “Sorry, a person can never be too careful,” he said.

  Frank spoke up. “And that’s the right attitude to have.”

  “Right this way, Detectives. There’s a social room at the end of the hallway that seldom gets used. Let’s talk in there.”

  After we were seated, we gave Dr. Carter the bad news—Charlotte had been shot last night while driving home from dinner. We made sure to leave out our suspicions of murder as opposed to a random drive-by shooting. At that point, we had no proof of either scenario. He appeared to be shocked.

  “Charlotte has worked by my side for years. I can’t even begin to process this horrible news.”

  “I knew Charlotte, too, Dr. Carter, and her son, Steve, is a close friend of mine. I promise you, we’ll get to the bottom of this. Does anyone come to mind who might have taken issue with Charlotte?”

  “Not at all.” He stared at me. “Do you think she was singled out? Was it a deliberate shooting?”

  “Well, it was obviously deliberate but not necessarily done with her as the actual target. It could have been someone who was extremely angry and went off the deep end or even a road rage situation. It’s too early to know anything definitive. Just a heads-up, we’ve already told Lynette, and the rest of your employees who went to dinner last night with Charlotte are being interviewed at our precinct.”

  He rubbed his watering eyes. “I understand your need to do that, and thank you for informing me, Detectives.”

  Frank and I stood. “We have a few more people to speak with, so we better head out.” I gave him one of my cards, we exchanged handshakes, then Frank and I left.

  Rachel Meadows wasn’t home when we knocked, so we continued on to the home of Charlotte’s neighbor, Janice Atwater. The large turn-of-the-century building, constructed mostly of red brick and accented with limestone trim, held twelve units. According to Steve, Janice lived two doors down on the same floor as Charlotte—the second. We walked up the flight of stairs to apartment seven. Frank knocked, and we heard footsteps approaching. The door opened six inches—a chain lock stopped it at that point. Peeking out from behind the opening was a woman holding a tabby cat in her arms.

  “Can I help you?”

  Our badges were already in our hands and facing her.

  “We’re Detectives McCord and Mills from the Chicago PD. May we have a moment of your time?”

  “Yes, of course. Sorry about Copper. He’ll run if I let him get one foot out the door.”

  “Understood.”

  Janice welcomed us in and pointed at the kitchen table. “Have a seat, Detectives. What can I do for you?”

  “It’s about Charlotte Sanders.”

  “Oh no. Please tell me she’s okay. I haven’t seen her car outside, and I’ve knocked on her door several times today without a response. We usually have coffee together on weekend mornings, but she hasn’t answered.”

  Frank took the lead. “Janice, Charlotte was shot last night as she was driving home from Cherry’s Chop Shop.”

  Tears sprang up in Janice’s eyes. “Tell me she’ll be okay. Please.”

  “We’re sorry, but Charlotte has passed away.”

  Janice lay her head on the table and cried. “She was my dearest friend. We enjoyed each other’s company so much. Why Charlotte? What happened?”

  I spoke up. “We aren’t sure yet, but can you think of anyone who disliked her? Even someone from the building here.”

  “No, not at all. Everyone on this floor got along really well. I can’t think of a single person who ever said anything bad about her. My heart is broken.”

  I squeezed her hand then stood. “We understand.” I left a card with my contact information in case a name popped up in Janice’s mind. With a thanks and our condolences, we headed out.

  Back in the cruiser, I was filled with doubt. We’d talked to three people, one of whom I thought might have been a suspect but wasn’t even at the scene, and two who were close friends and said Charlotte didn’t have an enemy in the world. We returned to the station without answers. It was looking more like Steve would have to be interviewed in depth. If anyone knew Charlotte Sanders better than the others, it would be her own son.

  We were back at our precinct by four o’clock. I scratched out a note to myself to try the best friend again before calling it a day.

  I turned in my chair at the sound of the bullpen door opening. Lutz was there likely to check on our progress.

  “What’s the word?” He dropped down on my guest chair.

  “It’s actually two words—dead end. The Tiguan being at the restaurant was a coincidence, and there’s a good chance that the eyewitness was mistaken about the type of vehicle she saw. Karen Black had an alibi that was substantiated, and she wasn’t near the crime scene at all.”

  Frank picked up where I left off. “The dentist was informed, and so was Charlotte’s neighbor. Neither could think of anyone who had a beef with her. The best friend wasn’t home, but we’ll try her again later.”

  I asked Lutz about the employee interviews.

  “According to Henry, they’re about to wrap them up. Everyone seemed shocked, and nobody disliked Charlotte.”

  “So they’ve hit a dead end too.”

  Lutz slapped my desk. “Yep, they sure as hell have. Go on home, guys, and w
e’ll pick it up again in the morning with fresh eyes and fresh minds. I’ll have the night crew follow up with the best friend.”

  I rolled the kinks out of my neck. “You sure?”

  “We’ve exhausted our opportunities for people to interview, and the Tiguan lead went nowhere. We’ll put our heads together tomorrow and see what pops. Get out of here and try to enjoy what’s left of your Sunday.”

  I invited Hanna over for pizza, beer, and a movie—although I would rather watch the playoff game—but I’d record it and watch it tomorrow night. Hanna and I were in a good place, and I considered her my girlfriend. It was a bonus that she and Bandit were best of friends too.

  Chapter 15

  Sitting in the parking lot of MaxMart, Vic watched as customers exited the store and the lot began to thin out. It wouldn’t be long now.

  I’ll go inside, take a walk through the store, and see if I can spot Jill from a distance. When I do, I’ll follow her until she’s alone, and that’s when I’ll strike.

  With the coat collar pulled up and the stocking cap snugged down, Vic exited the car and headed to the main entrance. Giving the parking lot a left-to-right scan, Vic heard the shopping carts being gathered from the corral at the far end of the lot.

  It’s worth a look to see who’s over there.

  After stepping away from the entrance, Vic slipped into the shadows and made sure to stay a safe distance from the enormous overhead parking lot lights.

  Vic quietly approached the preoccupied employee, who obviously had no idea that somebody was only feet away.

  That red coat looks just like Jill’s. Can I really be that lucky?

  It took only a second to confirm her identity. Vic called out her name, and Jill spun around.

  “You scared the shit out of me. The store is closing in twenty minutes, so if—”

  “Let me give you a hand.”

  Jill stared. “Do I know you? I don’t recognize you in the dark, especially when you’re bundled up.”

  “I was counting on that.”