The Chicago Way Page 4

  Maxie hooked Nicole by the back of the shirt. Just for fun. Kicked her to the ground. As Nicole got up, he caught her flush, a hard, flat hand across the face. I remember the sound of her head bouncing off a chunk of pavement. Nicole didn’t cry, didn’t run. Just picked herself up again, tried to get away. Maxie screwed himself close, screamed in her face. It wasn’t the first time I heard the word nigger. Nor the last. But it’s the one I remember. Then Maxie reached back again, a closed fist. Nicole went straight down. This time she didn’t get up.

  There was a group now, all white, all watching. I heard some snickers and felt the circle tighten as Nicole lay on the ground. They were excited. Waiting. Predatory.

  I don’t really remember considering, reflecting, or even moving. I was just there, inside the circle, reaching out my hand and helping the black girl stand up. There was blood at her temple and more dripping from her nose. She seemed oblivious to it. Instead, she just looked at me, curious. More like she wanted to sit down and talk, help me with problems I couldn’t yet understand. She seemed to hold this wisdom in a child’s look, and dropped it on me like a bomb.

  That’s what I remember. Me and Nicole, middle of the circle, surrounded by so much hatred and feeling none of it. That is, until Maxie crashed the party. He clubbed me with a forearm from behind and told me to fuck off. Apparently, I was ruining his fun. Even better, I was two years younger and a hell of a lot smaller.

  Twenty-six years later, I know for a fact that I can fight. I’ve boxed in a ring, not as an amateur, but for money. Not a lot of money, but enough to handle most anything that might come down the street. At nine years old, however, I didn’t realize what latent talent lay in my fists. That was, until I closed them and laid into Maxie. I blackened an eye, cracked a tooth, and busted his face pretty good. Then I slipped my hands underneath his chin and felt the give, the softness of his windpipe. Once I got there, Maxie stopped struggling and started worrying. I saw the whites of his eyes, oversized in their sockets, and felt the violence and the power within. Just a little more pressure, a bit more, and it would be over. For Maxie. And for me. So easy. So simple. So right.

  Seconds before I would have fractured Maxie’s windpipe, Phillip came down the street at a run and caught me with a boot across the head. I hit the ground, rolled, and got up. Smiling. It was the first time the blackness had ever thickened behind my eyes, ever misted them over. Not the last time. But the first. I was nine years old and I liked it. In time, I would learn to love it. Now, I only fear it.

  After Maxie, no one in the neighborhood messed with me very much. Or Nicole. No one ever played with us too much either, but that was okay. Nicole understood me, understood the world in a way that seemed beyond time. Two and a half decades later, we were here. In a coffee shop. Talking about a murder.

  “Known you a lifetime,” I said.

  “Best friends?” Nicole said.

  “Yes.”

  “Then why does my best friend get pulled in on a homicide beef, spend half the day in jail, and not pick up the phone to call me?”

  The DA’s office had finally kicked me loose at a little after noon. Such news apparently traveled well.

  “You heard about that?” I said.

  “Yes, Michael, I heard about that. I also knew John Gibbons. Now would you like to explain to me why the DA thinks you killed him?”

  “It’s a little complicated,” I said.

  “No kidding. You can start whenever.”

  Nicole leaned back on her stool, took a sip of her cap, and waited for a response. She could wait a long time. I knew that from experience. I took a deep breath. A cell phone buzzed in her handbag. Nicole held up a finger and checked the caller ID.

  “Hang on. I have to take this.”

  My friend walked away. I stirred my coffee. After a few minutes she returned.

  “Sorry about that. Listen, I know this is important, and believe me, I want to hear the story. Whatever it is. But right now I gotta run.”

  “No problem. What’s up?”

  Nicole pulled on her coat as she talked.

  “Did I tell you about the task force I’m on?”

  I shook my head.

  “Come on. I’ll give you a lift home. It’s on the way.”

  Nicole headed north on Broadway and took a left on Addison. She talked rapidly as she drove.

  “Last month the state formed its first rape task force.”

  “Never heard of it.”

  “I’m telling you about it. It’s a SWAT team of specially trained nurses, detectives, forensic staff, and counselors. We get called in to deal with sexual assaults in the city.”

  “Why sexual assaults?”

  “Lot of reasons. Mostly, though, because evidence is not being collected properly. You know how it is. The victim is traumatized. The nurse is trying to comfort and take the rape kit.”

  “The cops are trying to get a statement….”

  “Exactly. Bad stuff happens.”

  Nicole cruised past Wrigley Field and took a left on Lakewood.

  “The SWAT team is different,” she continued. “Each person has a job he or she is trained for and nothing else.”

  “So the nurse does her rape kit….”

  “And that’s it. Doesn’t communicate with the victim in any way. That is left to the detective and counselors.”

  “Less for the defense to attack at trial,” I said.

  “You got it. Everything is controlled and documented. A clean record from the time we get on scene.”

  “Nice.”

  Nicole pulled up in front of my building and turned to face me.

  “I oversee collection of the forensic evidence. Start a chain of custody for our lab. Pretty easy stuff. The point is, though, we’re at the scene and create a record.”

  “You headed there now?”

  “Yeah. A break-in and assault on the Northwest Side. The victim’s still at her house.”

  Nicole checked her watch.

  “We’re meeting there in forty-five minutes.”

  “How about I tag along?”

  My friend cocked her head and pushed a look of curiosity across the car.

  “Tag along. Why?”

  “Sounds interesting. Besides, this murder thing I’m involved in … ”

  “I remember the murder thing.”

  “There might be a rape connection.”

  Nicole exhaled softly and looked out into the newly born night. The quiet was suddenly heavy between us and I felt the weight of years take hold. Not the careless intimacy of a lover. Much more than simply a friend. It was a connection that could only be forged between children. A connection you got maybe once in your life. More often, more likely, never. Then Nicole turned back my way and spoke.

  “I hear you, Michael. And I’d love to help. Thing is, I can’t just take you along.”

  “How about I follow?”

  Nicole shook her head once and shifted into drive.

  “Can’t stop you from doing that. But I won’t make it easy. And you won’t get into the crime scene. Now get out.”

  She pulled away almost as soon as I slid out the door. My car, however, was parked at the corner. I got behind the wheel and was on her bumper within a block. I flicked my headlights. She looked up at her rearview mirror. I still had my coffee, took a sip, and followed.

  Chapter 10

  The house was just south of Montrose and east of Cicero, at the wrong end of a street called Pensacola. It was a standard split-level, except gone to seed with green garbage bags stuffed in the windows and ruts of mud where a lawn should have been. A double set of railroad tracks ran past the back of the house. A single cruiser, flasher turning sadly, was parked in front. I caught up to Nicole as she popped open her trunk.

  “Just can’t help yourself, Michael. Here, take this.”

  She hefted a black leather case my way.

  “Don’t give your name to anyone and stay out of the way.”

  “No problem.”r />
  “And wear gloves. Double gloves and booties. You leave any DNA here and I’ll kill you.” Nicole slammed the trunk shut and we walked toward the house.

  A RAPE SCENE is a lot like a homicide except the victim is still alive. You might figure that to be a good thing. A lot of times, though, you’d be figuring wrong. The house on Pensacola was one of those times.

  A couple of uniforms stood on the front stoop, trying to stay warm and looking for a chance to get back in the cruiser. They waved at Nicole and didn’t take a second look at me.

  Inside, a couple of print guys worked on a small pane of window broken out of the kitchen door. Point of entry. A good bit of breeze blew through the hole but the house still smelled. Small and poor. Not an auspicious sort of up-and-coming poor. Poor with a desperate edge. A lifetime kind of poor. One handed down to kids as a coming-out-of-the-womb sort of prize.

  The refrigerator had a flyer for a singles night at the Wells Street Social Club affixed to it. Beside that were a few pictures. School photos of young kids and a couple of wedding snaps. Up high on the fridge was a high school prom shot, circa 1987. An overweight girl stuffed into a dress with plastic red roses on it. Her date was cut out of the picture. Beside that, a magazine shot of Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie on the beach, except Angelina’s head was gone and the overweight high school girl, now an overweight woman, had taken her place. Someone had written STUD with an arrow pointing to Brad’s smiling face. I took it all in as we walked by and decided I didn’t miss being a cop.

  “Down here.”

  Nicole pointed. Smears of what looked like blood led down a short, cheap hallway to a single room jammed into the end. We already had booties and gloves on. Nicole skirted the blood and led the way into the room.

  “Hi, Vince.”

  Vince was everything today’s cop should be. Hispanic, thirty to thirty-five, curly black hair cut close, white shirt and blue suit that hung lean and long off a well-tapered build. He had a laptop open on a nightstand and a PDA clipped to his belt, right in front of his gun and shield.

  “Nicole.”

  Vince took a look at me and back to Nicole. We all stepped back down the hallway and into the living room.

  “This is?”

  “Michael Kelly. An old friend and former cop.”

  I held out a hand.

  “Nice to meet you.”

  Vince reflexively stuck out a gloved hand. I figured he would.

  “Vince Rodriguez.”

  “Michael is just along to observe. He has a strong interest in the program.”

  “I’m sure he has a lot of interest, Nicole, but this is a crime scene.”

  My friend reached out and brushed the sleeve of Vince’s suit. I could see him flinch, then relent. Nicole caught my eye and then the two moved a few feet away. I waited as they whispered, tried not to watch, and made a mental note to ask Nicole about her personal relationship with one Vince the Cop. A few minutes later, both came back happy. Or at least relatively so. Vince took the lead.

  “You can come on in. But just observe. No talking, no touching, nothing. And if the victim has a problem … ”

  “I’m gone.”

  “Right. Okay, Nicole, let me catch you up real quick. Point of entry was the kitchen. Victim’s name is Miriam Hope. Had a brother visiting from Indiana. They were watching TV in the living room, didn’t hear a thing. Guy used a knife to subdue. Tied the brother up and threw him in the second bedroom. Then our guy went into the kitchen and got some dishes.”

  “Dishes?”

  “He puts the brother on the floor and lays the dishes on his legs and body. Says if he hears the dishes move, the sister is dead. Brother is next.”

  “That’s a new one.”

  “Yeah. Then he goes back into the living room where he has Miriam tied up. Rapes her repeatedly.”

  “How long?”

  “Maybe a half hour in the living room. Then he took her into the laundry room. Made her jump up on the washer.”

  “Raped her there?”

  “Yep. Vaginal in the living room, anal and oral in the laundry room. Then back to the living room. Kept running the knife up and down her body. Then he cut her throat. ‘Just enough to scare her,’ he said.”

  “That’s it?” Nicole said.

  “Yeah, she says he wore a mask and gloves the entire time.”

  Vince’s PDA beeped. He stepped away to make a call as Nicole opened up her laptop and began to tap away. After a minute or so, Vince returned. Nicole spoke without looking up from her screen.

  “Did he use a condom?”

  “She says he did.”

  “We’ll find out pretty quick when we do the kit. Did she struggle with him when he cut her?”

  “A little,” Vince said. “You’re thinking he might have cut himself?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I already asked her. She doesn’t think so.”

  “Where’s the brother?”

  “Sent him downtown. He never moved a muscle until the police showed up. Dishes still in place. They got him medicated.”

  “Who’s handling the rape kit?”

  “Christine Sullivan is your nurse.”

  “She here?”

  “Just arrived. She wants to do the examination back at the hospital.”

  “I’ll need a few minutes with the victim first.”

  “That’s fine. I was just finishing up her statement.”

  Vince led us back into the room. The woman from the refrigerator was half sitting on the bed, talking quietly to a counselor who was holding the woman’s hand. I could see red and purple welts on the woman’s wrists where the rope had cut her skin. She was wearing a long nightshirt that said NORTH SIDE CHICAGO GIRL on the front. It was ripped up the side and stained with blood. She had fuzzy slippers on. One foot was tucked up under her. The other dangled and shook lightly. A bandage covered her neck. The wound didn’t seem serious. Then again, it wasn’t my neck. Vince crouched down so he was eye-level with the victim before he spoke.

  “Miriam, these people need to collect some forensic evidence. I’m not going to introduce you because I don’t want you talking to them. As I explained before, I want you only to talk to me or the counselor here. Makes it a lot easier when we catch this guy. Okay?”

  I could see why Vince was on the team. His voice was soft, smooth, and reassuring. Miriam’s eyes rolled around a bit in their sockets and settled back on the detective.

  Nicole opened up her case and set out some small envelopes and tweezers. She began with the victim herself, collecting small bits of evidence off her clothes and bedding. Meanwhile, Vince and Miriam continued to talk.

  “Let’s go back to the attack, Miriam. Why do you think he used the knife? Was there something you said, maybe, that got him angry?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “You remember what he was saying at the time?”

  “No. Like I told you, I think he felt like he was losing control.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know. I just think he needed to scare me, to show me he could use the knife. I think he could have killed me.”

  “Why didn’t he?”

  “I talked him out of it.”

  Miriam’s voice firmed up a bit. She looked around the room and returned to Vince.

  “I read about it in People magazine. If you’re being raped, the best way to survive is to talk to your rapist. Make him see you as a person. So that’s what I did. Told him about my life. About my brother’s visit. About T-Kat. Where is T-Kat?”

  “I don’t know, Miriam. We have an officer looking around the neighborhood.”

  “Oh no, T-Kat is here. He never leaves the house. Neither one of us likes to leave the house very much. Anyway, I told him about T-Kat and about my job. About the shows I watch at night. American Idol. Anything I could think of. After a while he put down the knife and just listened. Then he took me down the hall and into the bedroom.”

  “What did he do then?”
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  “Well, he didn’t rape me anymore. He just lay down beside me.”

  Nicole touched Vince’s arm.

  “Hold on a second, Miriam.”

  Nicole and Vince conferred for a moment, then Vince returned to the victim.

  “Can you show me exactly where he was lying?”

  “Sure. Right here on the left side. I think he might have been crying at one point. That’s when I knew he wouldn’t kill me.”

  Vince’s PDA beeped again.

  “That’s the ambulance, Miriam. We’re going to take you to the hospital for the examination I told you about.”

  “Will I spend the night at the hospital?”

  “Probably.”

  “Where’s my brother?”

  “He’ll be at the hospital, too.”

  “Okay. But you guys have to find my cat. His food is in the kitchen.”

  “You got it, Miriam.”

  The ambulance rolled out five minutes later. Vince came back into the bedroom. Nicole was just finishing up.

  “I called in a couple more techs,” she said. “They’re going to process both bedrooms, living room, kitchen, and laundry room. They’re also going to take that carpet up.”

  “What do you think?” Vince said.

  “I think he probably used a condom. If he was wearing gloves, he probably didn’t cut himself. But it’s worth a shot.”

  “Yeah.”

  Nicole pointed to a set of rolled-up bedsheets.

  “The victim thinks he was crying. If so, we might have some tears.”

  Vince smiled.

  “And some DNA?”

  “Maybe. I’ll let you know. Okay, I gotta run. I’ll call you.”

  “Thanks, Nicole.”

  The two shook hands. Very proper and professional. Too much so. Vince turned my way.

  “Thanks for staying out of the way. Find it interesting?”

  “Very much. For what it’s worth, your guy’s a killer.”

  Nicole glanced up at that. Vince cocked his head and gave me a funny look.

  “What makes you say that?”

  “The way she described him. The guy was on his way. Almost there.”

  “You think he was going to kill her?” Nicole said.

  I looked at Vince.