Violence (32 page)

“Like I said, it looks personal. That’s my take.” Davis offered again. “You guys might know different. I’ll copy you on everything, but let me know if you think you can clear it.”

Crotty squinted his eyes calculatingly at the business card and presented it to Peterson.

Peterson read it. A momentary silence. Then he gave his partner a surprised look.

Crotty didn’t have to say to Peterson:
“Told you so.”

CHAPTER 30

         A
nderson stopped at a traffic light in his Mercedes. It was mid-day and sunny. He looked about vaguely, but as he scanned his gaze became trancelike.

He suddenly saw:

A mother stepping into a toy store leaving her two young children to linger outside engrossed in the window displays. A filthy hunched over man grabbed the children, dragged them into a beat-up car and drove off…

As Anderson followed the departing car with his eyes he unexpectedly espied a youthful schoolgirl attempting to cross the street only to be dragged into an alley by two men…

At the same time, at a bank next to the alley, a robber ran out, his face covered by a stocking. The robber sprayed passersby with indiscriminate gunfire before jumping into the back of a waiting van that sped off…

Anderson was horrified at the unchecked acts of violence. He tried to blink away his tortured vision. Honking made him turn and look through the passenger side window where he saw… a car drift past containing Karen and Tristan. Karen looked at him and smiled from her place behind the wheel. Tristan waved excitedly from the front seat. They continued on, disappearing from his view.

Anderson was spooked, frozen. A car honked long and hard behind him.

It was back to reality. Anderson looked about and now saw… the mother hauling her skipping children into the toy store… the schoolgirl meeting a classmate… the bank guard nodding politely to customers… but Karen and Tristan were gone.

The traffic light was green.

Another hard honk from behind prompted Anderson onward.

The Roundhouse (or F House) at Stateville Prison was unusually noisy this spring day in mid-April. Every cell with a TV had its two inmate occupants glued to the screen. This was the day Derek’s prison interview with Noel Anderson was airing.

The guards in the center gun tower were especially vigilant, casting wary gazes in every direction.

A lieutenant of the guards was buzzed on to Derek’s gallery floor and held a short conference with another guard next to a holding cage. Whatever the lieutenant told the other guard was met with surprise and some satisfaction. Together they marched down to Derek’s cell where the door was electronically opened upon their arrival.

Derek, seated on his lower bunk, was annoyed at the intrusion but paid them scant notice. He was too busy watching himself on TV getting his feet washed by Anderson.

“You! Out!” The lieutenant summoned Derek’s cellmate out on to the gallery walkway. He was a pimply, mostly toothless kid who was watching the Byron Burke Show along with Derek from his upper bunk.

“What the fuck!” Derek spewed sidelong at the guards, irritated there could be a shakedown at his shining moment of stardom.

“Shut up!” The lieutenant snapped.

Derek’s cellmate reluctantly climbed down and exited the cell. He wanted to watch the Burke Show, too.

The lieutenant gave the signal to the control tower and Derek’s cell door was rolled shut as the other guard marched the pimply toothless kid off.

Byron Burke could be seen now on the TV screen in Derek’s cell calling Jeannie on to the stage. “…Jeannie, come on out!” The audience applauded wildly, the “ooohhs” and “aaahhhs” recorded earlier audible between the catcalls that erupted from the tiers of cells all around the F House:

“Nice bit ‘a pussy there!”

“Get me some of that!”

“Shake it, baby!” These were among the more discernible shouts.

Derek was eating up the attention. He beamed from ear to ear.

“Hey, superstar?” The lieutenant hissed at Derek, putting his face close to the bars of Derek’s cell.

“Fuck you want?” Derek fumed. “I’m watching this!”

“…Jeannie works at a vintage record and clothing store here in Chicago. She and Noel have been dating for some time. Let’s welcome her to the show!” Burke’s voice boomed on the TV as Jeannie, dressed in her jeans and white blouse, smiled at the audience, crossed the stage and sat down next to Anderson.

“Got some news for you.” The lieutenant stage-whispered to Derek with mock confidentiality. “Your brother was murdered last night.”

The grin disappeared from Derek’s face and he suddenly stared straight ahead, unblinking.

On the TV screen, Jeannie threw her arms around Anderson and kissed him which prompted more applause from the studio audience. “Awwww. Didn’t expect this, did you, Noel?” Burke fawned as Anderson turned bright red which everyone mistook for blushing.

“Just thought you’d like to know.” The lieutenant added contemptuously to Derek before heading off down the gallery.

Derek’s mind raced. He looked hard at the TV screen where Anderson was still being hugged by Jeannie. Derek had heard that Ruben Roney had died, the information coming to him soon after the discovery of Roney’s asphyxiated body in the car. That piece of news didn’t particularly come as a shock and wasn’t met with anguish. This, however, was cataclysmic. This was his brother. And it couldn’t be a random murder. Derek more than wondered if Anderson was responsible. Did Anderson actually kill Roney
and
Gabriel?

“Jeannie, how do you feel?” Burke asked, seen now on the TV screen standing right in front of Jeannie.

“Fine. Really excited.” Jeannie squealed.

“That’s great.” Burke said. “Now, you work at a vintage record and clothing store. Is that where you met?”

“No, we met through our church…” Jeannie answered.

The lieutenant had almost reached the end of the gallery when he heard Derek’s tortured, howling lament keen through the clamor of the Roundhouse. The lieutenant glanced back in the direction of Derek’s cell and smirked.

* * *

Anderson drove into the interior courtyard of the Heart O’Mine Motel and immediately took notice of the police squad car and detective’s Crown Victoria parked askew in the area right at the foot of the staircase leading to his second-story room.

A uniformed policeman stood guard outside the door to his room.

Anderson swung his Mercedes into a parking spot, shut the engine off, got out, and climbed the stairs.

Gene Peterson sealed an evidence bag containing a pair of tennis shoes collected from Anderson’s motel room floor.

“I don’t think these are the shoes…” Peterson commented to Crotty who was standing in the doorway. “…but they should provide a good match. They’re pretty worn.” Peterson looked past Crotty. “Ah, here comes the man of the hour.”

Crotty turned to see Anderson as he reached the top of the staircase outside his room.

There were some long looks all around before Anderson broke the silence.

“What’s this all about?” Anderson asked with a peeved edge to his voice.

“You don’t know?” Crotty sneered, holding out a warrant.

“I wouldn’t be waiting for an answer if I did.” Anderson told him, taking hold of the warrant and scrutinizing it.

“You ran a stop sign.” Crotty facetiously taunted him.

“Then is this all legal?” Anderson evenly inquired, handing back the warrant.

“Gabriel Lysander was murdered.” Crotty informed him, hating to have to play the game.

“God no.” Anderson responded, wincing with apparent genuineness.

“Like you give a shit.” Peterson chimed in, not buying Anderson’s reaction at all.

“Believe it or not, I’m saddened.” Anderson sighed.

“Where were you last night?” Crotty wanted to know, not believing Anderson’s sorrowful response either.

“I was at my girlfriend’s place.” Anderson answered.

“All night?” Peterson asked, gazing skeptically at Anderson.

“Yeah.” Anderson stared right back at him.

Crotty took a business card out of the inside pocket of his suit jacket. It was from the Heart O’Mine Motel. “We also found one of these in Gabriel Lysander’s hotel room.”

“Yes.” Anderson answered straightforwardly. “So?”

“That’s where he was murdered.” Crotty declared, holding the card out triumphantly, fully expecting Anderson to show some kind of guilty reaction.

But Anderson just looked evenly and unemotionally back at him.

“It had your room number here on it.” Crotty said, gesturing to the “26” on Anderson’s room door.

“I was working with him.” Anderson explained. “Trying to get him back on his feet. Help him spiritually. I gave him some money.”

“You gave Gabriel Lysander money?” Peterson asked, incredulous.

“Yes.” Anderson answered, moving into his room past them and retrieving a folder out of a closet. Anderson opened the folder in front of them, sorted through some envelopes, eventually producing a bank statement. “These are the cancelled checks.” Anderson said as he fanned the checks out in front of them.

Crotty and Peterson looked at the cancelled checks. Then they looked at each other. They both knew they had their work cut out for them now.

CHAPTER 31

         L
yndsey, biting the edge of a nail, nervously escorted Detective Crotty to the back of the Rave Record Store where Jeannie was busy rearranging a display.

“Jeannie?” Lyndsey interrupted her, and introduced Crotty, completely intimidated by his presence. “This man would like to speak to you.”

Lyndsey smiled tightly and quickly shuffled off.

“Hi.” Crotty greeted Jeannie, displaying his detective’s shield. “Lieutenant Wayne Crotty. I’m a homicide investigator.”

Jeannie’s eyes instantly grew wide with dread.

Jack Trax could even see the clear worry on her face as he stood outside and stared at Crotty and Jeannie surreptitiously through the store windows.

“You know Noel Anderson?” Crotty gravely asked Jeannie.

“Oh, please no…” Jeannie blurted, her knees buckling. “…is he dead? Please don’t…”

“No, no, he’s fine. He’s okay.” Crotty reassured her.

Jeannie flopped against a sturdy wooden record rack, took a deep breath, braced herself and recovered.

“Are you all right?” Crotty asked, concerned she was still somewhat in shock.

Yes.” Jeannie nodded. “Thank you.”

“But I am here to talk about a man who was involved in the death of Noel Anderson’s wife…” Crotty continued. “…a man who was found murdered this morning. Looks like he was killed last night. Between midnight and three. We’ve spoken with Mr. Anderson and he tells us he was with you last night.”

“Yes, he was.” Jeannie remembered after a moment, only taking seconds to check back in her memory,

“Was he with you all night?” Crotty followed up.

“Yes.” Jeannie answered emphatically.

Jack Trax watched Jeannie nod affirmatively and have some more conversation with the man. It was only several minutes or so later when the man shook Jeannie’s hand, gave her his business card and exited the store.

Trax drifted behind a lamppost as Crotty got in his Crown Victoria, started the engine and drove away. Trax looked back in the Rave store window and saw Jeannie perusing Crotty’s card. She handed it to a curious Lyndsey like the card was infected.

Trax clomped into the store and moved up to them.

“What the fuck! Get away from me, Jack!” Jeannie seethed wearily upon sighting him, instantly antagonized.

“Who’s that guy you were just talking to?” Trax inquired jauntily, stepping up and snapping Crotty’s business card out of Lyndsey’s fingers.

“He’s a cop and I’ll call him to arrest you if you don’t leave me alone!” Jeannie hissed loudly since there was no one else in the store.

“What did he want with you?” Trax asked, eyeing Crotty’s card intently, reading aloud, “’Criminal Investigations’?”

“Yeah, did I hear him say something about a murder?” Lyndsey impatiently pressed Jeannie.

Jeannie stared with irritation at Lyndsey, then spewed at Trax. “It’s none of your fucking business!”

“Chill, huh. Is this how you treat all your customers?” Trax scowled, and turned to leave, but not before he added to Jeannie with a toss of his straw-like mane. “Just to let you know, I’m still available.”

“What a surprise.” Jeannie harrumphed.

“That goes for you, too, sweet cakes.” Trax said as he handed Crotty’s card back and extended the offer to Lyndsey.

“Gag me.” Lyndsey sneered, curling her upper lip with disgust. She knew enough about Trax from her discussions with Jeannie to know he was a total turdball.

“I’m open to everything.” Trax offered, undaunted by her derision.

He marched proudly out of the store, shaking his ass in his tight jeans thinking they were watching him as he strode off.

But they just wanted to make sure he left.

Max Franks, a droopy-eyed young detective from Crotty’s station house, had been assigned the task of making sure they got copies of the forensic evidence reports in a timely manner from the other Area detectives who were handling the Gabriel Lysander murder. Max, like any detective, hated to be the bearer of bad news but he finished explaining the contents of a recent report to Detective Gene Peterson straightforwardly, just the same.

Peterson nodded with appreciation and walked the report into Crotty’s office.

Wayne Crotty was poring over some other papers on the Anderson case at his desk when Peterson dropped the newly arrived packet in front of him.

“Preliminaries came back on Anderson’s shoe impressions.” Peterson announced sourly, leaning against a file cabinet and resting an elbow atop it. “They’re nothing like the partials that were lifted from the dirt around Roney’s car. And they aren’t even close to the bloody shoe impressions left at Lysander’s place. They only match the latents. And we know Anderson has an explanation for that because he can prove he was with Lysander in his hotel room well before the murder. So, there goes shoes and using any hair and fingerprint evidence to link him to that crime. There were a lot of partials at the Roney death scene, that alley had its share of foot traffic, but the fresh ones still don’t match up with anything else. If you went by this…” Peterson indicated the report. “…it looks like it was done by two different guys. And I still say Roney was a suicide, just how it appears. So now what?”