Deadly Consequences (15 page)

Sam didn’t have the heart to disagree. The things she’d seen and learned during her short time as part the major case unit were enough to sour a soul on humanity. She had firsthand knowledge of how swift and hard tragedy could strike. She thanked the Lord that she was made of strong stuff; otherwise, she’d never be able to stomach
the job
.

“I understand, sir, which is why I need you to tell me what you saw so we can catch the man who did this.” There was false bravado in her tone. She was making a promise she wasn’t certain she could keep.

“Let me tell you something, young lady.” He shifted in his seat. “I’ve been a bus driver since the early seventies. Long time ago now, when I think about it. Thought I’d seen it all, and been through it all…but
this
? This defies reason.”

Sam swallowed her impatience and decided to wait him out. The man had a story to tell and he would do it at his own pace. Pressing him at this point could cause him to skip over an important detail.

Franklin rubbed his face with his hands, shuddering as he recalled what happened. His eyes took on a hollow quality. Sam restrained the urge to look at her watch. In her former life, before her sister’s disappearance, she’d had a lucrative career as a psychologist. She prided herself on being able to read people. Often times what they didn’t say, they gave away with a gesture or expression. But the clock was ticking, with every passing minute they were that much further away from catching the assailant.

“You tell me, Detective Ma’am. How am I supposed to go home and look my grandbabies in the eye? Promise them a good life, and that the Good Lord is looking out for them?” His voice cracked on each word, desperate for reassurance.
“After I’ve seen this happen?
”

Sam sat down beside him, gathering his cold hands in hers. “Mr. Franklin, I want you to be able to make those promises to your grandbabies, that’s why I need your help.”

“Harry,” he sniffed, swiping at his nose with the back of his hand. “Call me Harry. Mr. Franklin was my daddy.”

“Okay, Harry.” She smiled, knowing she’d gained some ground. “Tell me everything, from start to finish, don’t leave anything out.”

He took a deep breath to steady his nerves. He ran his hand over close-cropped salt and pepper hair, leveling his gaze as if he were watching the events play out a second time. “It was nearing the end of my shift, I was thinking about getting back to the station and calling it a day. Up until this storm here hit, it was a real pretty night. I dropped off my last passenger two stops earlier.” His voice trailed off. He squeezed his eyes shut and took another breath, gathering the strength to continue. “I stopped at a red light, was getting anxious to go home. The wife made breaded pork chops tonight and I knew she fixed a plate for me and had it waiting for me to pop into the microwave. I wanted those damn pork chops, could just taste them, you know? Anyway, when the light turned green, I hit the gas slow because I couldn’t punch out early. That’s when I heard it, a frantic pounding on the door. Now that ain’t unusual so I didn’t make nothing of it. People a block or so down see a bus idling up ahead and they make a run for it. Normally I keep watch for them, but this time I wasn’t paying attention.

“It was bad, Detective Ma’am, real bad.” He shivered. “First thing I noticed was the bloodstains streaking across the door as it opened. Bloody handprints still trickling red. Lord help me, I froze — I just sat there for a good long minute on a count of I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. But then there was the odor, smelled like burnt meat. That poor boy, he’d been burned bad, I could smell it on him. And I knew what I was seeing was real.”

The big man broke down, balling like a baby. She didn’t blame him. The bus looked like the inside of a butcher shop. “So much blood spewing from every part of him so that he was slippery with it. Stab wounds all over his body, like someone had taken a meat cleaver to him. And the terror in that poor boys eyes, pure animal terror so bad, he couldn’t speak. But the worst of all, Jesus help me, when he fell onto the steps of my bus...in his hand…in his hand…he was clutching his privates. Someone severed them from his body, chopped them clean off. What kind of savage does that to a man, leaving him naked, burned, and castrated, running for his life? And nobody saw nothin’ or tried to help him? What the
hell
is this world coming to?”

Sam closed her eyes, wondering for the umpteenth time if anyone had tried to help her sister. Knowing it was a useless question, she pushed the thought aside. There wasn’t time to dwell on that now. “Did you see anything else, Harry? Anything that would help us identify his attacker?”

“I wish I could help, but the truth is, I didn’t see nothing besides that poor boy. You see something like that, it wipes everything else clean from your mind. But I did get a good look at his face just before he fell and I swear I’ve seen that boy before tonight. With a woman. A real looker too.” He shook his head, brown eyes filled with grief. “I just can’t remember when or where.”

Chapter Two

Her feet pumped a thousand miles an hour. Chest heaving, she gulped down precious mouthfuls of air, afraid to look back.

What if he was following her?
This might be her only chance to get away from the monster.

She’d been planning this for years. Ever since the night he’d taken her.

The stitch in her side felt like a knife slicing through her. She gripped the painful area and kept on running, blinded by the wind and rain.

Low hanging tree branches, heavy with rain, tore across her face, leaving narrow bloody lines on her cheeks and forehead. She swiped at them with her hands and pressed forward, hoping the trees would help keep her hidden. She couldn’t give up, couldn’t fail. An anguished cry ripped from her lungs — she’d rather die than go back. Rather be dead than be forced to endure one more day of his cruelty.

Damn it, why did it have to be storming? She’d prayed someone would see her and recognize her, someone who could have called the police and get her the help she needed. Tears ran down her cheeks. That wasn’t going to happen. She was on her own.

Gathering her resolve, she struggled to get her bearings. Lake Shore Drive was straight ahead. All she had to do was make it that far. With any luck, she’d be able to flag down a passing motorist. And then she’d be free.

She wiped the rain from her eyes and sobbed in relief. The nightmare would be over soon. Using her last ounce of strength, she ran towards the drive, crying out in disbelief. The road was flooded.
Lake Shore Drive was closed to traffic.

She collapsed to her knees, pounding the ground in anguish.
Please God, don’t let this be happening.
By now, he’d know she was missing. He’d be out looking for her, tracking her down like a runaway dog.

A bolt of lightning sliced through the air followed by an explosion of thunder. She pushed herself up from the ground, still winded from running.
I have to keep going,
she thought, frantic.
Have to find somewhere safe.

A hand clamped around her ankle, dragging her backwards. She screamed, kicking out at her captor. He slapped her hard across the face, dazing her. Her back slammed into the ground. He was on top of her in an instant. Before she could resist, she felt the needle pierce her arm, saw him lower the sac over her head, dragging it down her chest, over her hips, stuffing her inside it. Her limbs refused to move. Eyes wide with terror, she knew had no chance of fighting him. Her body had gone numb.

Tears squeezed out of the corners of her eyes. She was powerless. Again.

Just the way the monster liked it.

Chapter Three

The story made the news before Sam finished typing her report. That was the last thing she needed. She slammed her laptop shut and yanked the paper out of the typewriter feeling a jab of frustration. The storm managed to dump over five inches of rain on downtown Chicago in just under an hour, washing away all but a minuet chance of trace evidence at the scene. The exclusive shops on The Magnificent Mile closed hours before the attack, and the heat and rain contrived to pull double whammy on the city, keeping the night owls home for once.

The precinct was empty. She was pulling a double shift and missed dinner with her parents because half the squad was out with a case of food poisoning courtesy of Bill Hartman’s retirement party the night before. She’d planned to attend until…

Until Greer. And discovering the secrets he’d been keeping.

Just thinking about him made her blood boil. Sam sighed, swiped the heavy damp blonde hair from her eyes, and tapped her pen it on the old wooden desk. There was no denying it. Her life was turning into a red-hot mess.

She wasn’t going to think about that now. Personal issues had no place in the squad room. Sam shot a wistful glance at the empty desk across from hers wishing Alec was here. Right about now, they’d be bouncing ideas off each other inching one-step closer to solving a particularly ugly crime. She and Alec worked pretty damn well together despite getting off to a rocky start. Smiling at the memories of her early days on the force, she opened a drawer and pulled out a legal pad to jot down some notes.

No ID on the vic. Hell,
no clothes on the victim.
Fingerprints burned off. No fibers on the body and no idea where he’d come from. Michigan Ave wasn’t exactly residential, not in this part of town. They’d spent the better part of the night questioning employees of near-by hotels coming up empty each time. The shops and restaurants would have to wait until tomorrow, when they re-opened for business.

Her first major case flying solo and she had squat.

Unless she could find the mystery woman Harold Franklin remembered seeing their John Doe with— a “looker” with either strawberry blonde, red, or light brown hair. Yeah, Sam rolled her eyes; his description gave them a lot to go on.

She threw her pen across the desk and pushed back her chair. There was nothing more she could do here tonight. Between the heat related deaths and the rise in violent crimes every time a major heat wave hit the city it would be at least forty-eight hours before Mark Matsuda turned in the autopsy report. There was no point in sticking around. She gathered her things and ripped off the sheet of notes from the legal pad, freezing in place.

What if the victim had been attacked somewhere else, and the killer had
driven
to the corner of Chicago and Michigan, shoved John Doe out of the car, and left him to bleed out on the side of the road? There were cameras mounted on every traffic light in the area. With any luck, they may have gotten a picture of the vehicle. It was a long shot but worth checking out.

Most killers weren’t very smart. They’d formulate an elaborate plan to get away with murder and nine times out of ten; they tripped themselves up over the simplest of details. Feeling a rush of excitement, Sam popped a Hersey’s kiss in her mouth, grabbed her bag, and raced out the door.

This could be the break she needed.

She sucked on the candy, hoping those weren’t her famous last words.

Chapter Four

Saturday, July 24

It was too damn late. Sam rubbed the blur from her eyes, took one last swig of cold coffee, and left her car in the no parking zone. A crowd gathered outside the hotel. She ignored them, brushing past the swarm of reporters and thrill seekers. It was going to be another long night.

She rode the elevator in silence, tapping her foot in annoyance.
What the hell was wrong with this city? How was it people kept discovering dead bodies in the middle of the night? Didn’t anybody sleep?

The stench hit her as soon as the elevator doors opened. At least she had her answer. It would be hard to doze off with the noxious odor of death permeating the hallway. Sam pulled a tube of Mentholatum out of her pocket, and dabbed some under her nose. It made her eyes water, played havoc with her sinuses, and didn’t do near enough to mask the stench.

A uniform stood guard outside the hotel room door. She flashed her badge and noticed the color drained from his face, leaving him a pasty shade of white. “Brace yourself, Detective,” he warned in a wobbly voice. “It’s a bad one.”

She looked him up and down. He had peach fuzz where a five o’clock shadow should have been. Sam dropped the purse strap from her shoulder and peered inside, searching for something. The young officer kept his gaze trained on the wall to avoid looking into the hotel suite. She felt a stab of sympathy. It wasn’t so long ago that she’d been in his shoes; she could tell by his gulping Adams apple that this was his first murder scene.

“Ah ha.” She smiled in triumph as her fingers closed around a Hersey’s kiss.

“Thank you, Officer… Murphy.” She peered at his nameplate. Pressing the chocolate in his hand, she winked. “It will make you feel better.”

He glanced down at the candy in confusion. “Ummm…Thank you?”

She waved. “You’re very welcome.”

Sam ducked beneath the crime scene tap and stepped over the threshold, coming to a dead stop. A prickle at the base of her spine warned that she’d landed in a trifecta of trouble.

“Oh. Good. Lord,” she breathed, damning Alec to hell for not being here with her. Sam reached for a pair of booties by rout, slipped them over her shoes, and snapped on a pair of gloves. There was a dead body inside, demanding her attention, but it was impossible to tear her gaze away from the view.