The police department is taking a lot of heat from both the mayor and the press. Guys voice sounded tense, as if he might be catching some of the flak himself. Clare wants to make sure this one is handled strictly by the book. No mistakes. No one walks on a technicality. Shes asked for an ASA on the scene to advise.
He paused. Im assigning you as lead prosecutor, Fiona. Youve got credibility with the press right now, and they like you. Plus, another capital murder conviction under your belt could make certain people sit up and take notice.
Fiona wondered if he was throwing her a bone after the DeMarco case debacle, or if he had an ulterior motive up his sleeve. You said Radney and Bleaker, right? Thats Area Three. Frank Quinlans territory.
Youre not afraid of Frank Quinlan, are you, Fiona? His voice held the merest hint of a challenge, one he knew she wouldnt be able to resist.
She scowled. Hardly. Shed proved that, hadnt she?
Then get over there and make sure his detectives dont screw up the investigation before they even make an arrest. Take Milo with you.
Milo Cherry was Fionas second chair. He was a young, eager prosecutor with a quirky sense of humor and a nearly photographic memory.
After several tries, Fiona finally managed to reach him on his cell phone. She could hear music and laughter in the background, and assumed he was at a late-night party or nightclub, which surprised her, considering they were due in court at nine that morning. But as long as he did his job, came through in a crunch, his social life was none of Fionas concern. And he certainly didnt seem to mind being summoned at such an ungodly hour. He readily agreed to pick her up in ten minutes.
Fiona hurried to get dressed, and in the flurry of activity, she completely forgot about the nightmare that had awakened her earlier. But on her way out, the dream came back to her suddenly and she paused at the door, the uneasy notion that David Mackenzies ghost might be lurking on the other side niggling at her confidence.
For one brief moment, she couldnt bring herself to turn the dead bolt, to step into the dimly lit hallway, to go downstairs and wait for Milo by the front door. She couldnt seem to move at all.
This was crazy, she told herself firmly. David Mackenzie was dead. It wasnt his cologne she smelled in her apartment. He wasnt the killer who had dumped that poor womans body in an alley. David was dead and buried, and he wasnt coming back.
But as Fiona mustered her resolve and stepped out into the hallway, something made the hair on the back of her neck stand on end.
For one split second, she could have sworn she felt an invisible presence in that hallway. A ghost from her past that had risen from the grave to demand justice.
CHAPTER TWO
THE MURDER OF RAY DOGGETTS first wife had haunted him for twenty years, but it had been on his mind more than ever lately. Shed been on his mind. He didnt know why, but hed been remembering little things about Ruby that he hadnt thought of in years. Things shed said. The way she dressed. Her smile. Hed been dreaming about her, too, and obsessing about the murder.
That was why Frank Quinlans call earlier had hit him so hard. ...a body found in the north alley of Bleaker and Radney. Young, female Caucasian. Get your ass over there, Doggett. Sounds like a bad one.
In all the years Doggett had been with the Chicago PD, hed seen his share of homicides. Hed seen some he knew he would never forget. But it wasnt another young womans death that was eating at him tonight so much as the fact that her body had been found in an alley. That brought back memories.
Rubys body had been left in an alley, too. Shed been missing for three days when they found her.
The call had come in from dispatch just after midnight, Doggett remembered. He and his partner, Joe Murphy, had the third watch that night and they responded to the call immediately. But by the time they arrived, another squad car was already on the scene. Murphy got out and headed down the alley, but instead of following him, Doggett walked slowly toward the street. Hed spotted something beneath one of the streetlights.
He recognized the shoe at once. A red high heel trimmed with ruby rhinestones. The kind of shoe an unsophisticated farm girl from Indiana might think was glamorous.
Look, Ray! Arent they beautiful? Dont you just love them? Theyre my ruby slippers. Get it? Rubys slippers...
Doggett turned and started running toward the alley. Murphy met him halfway down, grabbed his arm, threw him up against the wall when Doggett fought him.
Take it easy, kid.
Let go of me, Murphy. Let go of me, damn you. Its Ruby.
I know.
Doggett closed his eyes. Hed been praying he was wrong, but Murphys words confirmed his darkest fear. I have to see her. I have to see for myself
No, you dont. You dont need to see her like that.
Let go of me, damn it!
When Doggett tried to fight his way free, Murphy strong-armed him again. You cant go down there. You hear me? Its bad, kid. Blood all over the place. You dont want to look. Thats not the way you want to remember her.
But that was exactly the way Doggett had remembered her for months after her death. He couldnt seem to remember her any other way. He hadnt viewed the body at the crime scene, or even later at the morgue, but hed witnessed enough crime scenes to imagine the blood-splattered clothing, the vacant, staring eyes.
Twenty years later, that image was still with him, at every crime scene, in every investigation. The knowledge that her killer was out there, unpunished and unrepentant, still kept him awake at night.
Maybe he was getting old, Doggett reflected. Dwelling on the past because his life hadnt turned out the way he wanted. But to hell with it, because now he had another murder to worry about, another killer to find. That was one thing about being a cop. Always plenty of bad guys out there to occupy his mind.
He pulled to the curb and parked behind one of the squad cars. The dense fog softened the flashing lights, and at such an early hour, the scene was still relatively quiet. No spectators to be kept at bay. No news cameras, yet. It was an almost surreal calm, as if he were still caught in one of his dreams, Doggett thought. But when he got out of his car, the scratchy transmission of a squad unit radio grounded him firmly back in reality.
He followed voices down the alley, showing his identification to the young patrolman manning the perimeter. Then he stepped under the crime scene tape and glanced around.
The buildings that rose on either side of the alley were several stories high, stark and graffiti-tagged, with only a few windows that overlooked the alley. Several blocks over on Rush Street, bars and clubs would still be rocking with the young and the hip who were looking to have a good time or score a few drugs, but the immediate crime scene vicinity was a no-mans-land, an area trapped between the affluence and glamour of the Gold Coast and the misery and desperation of the projects.
Most of the buildings housed small offices and mom-and-pop businesses that had closed up shop hours ago. Even the cleaning crews had long since gone home. The potential for witnesses was pretty much nil. Doggett wondered if the killer was familiar enough with the area to have planned it that way, or if hed just gotten lucky.
Most of the buildings housed small offices and mom-and-pop businesses that had closed up shop hours ago. Even the cleaning crews had long since gone home. The potential for witnesses was pretty much nil. Doggett wondered if the killer was familiar enough with the area to have planned it that way, or if hed just gotten lucky.
A few feet from where he stood, a crime scene tech photographed the body from several different angles while another narrated as he videotaped. Deeper inside the alley, flashlight beams bobbed up and down as officers searched the ground for evidence.
The victim laying in front of a trash bin, but in the semicircle of officers and detectives that had formed around the dead woman, Doggett could see nothing but a spill of blond hair. He felt his gut tighten as he mentally braced himself for what else he might see.
Meredith Sweeney, a petite, dark-haired assistant medical examiner, glanced up as he approached, and when she nodded, two detectives from Doggetts unit, Jay Krychek and Skip Vreeland, glanced over their shoulders. Krychek immediately turned back to the body, but Skip nodded and spoke. He was a tall, thin man with a grim expression and stooped, narrow shoulders that made his rumpled suit jackets constantly ride up in the back.
Krychek was partial to the gangster lookdark shirts, light ties, and in the daytime, he was never seen without his badass cop sunglasses.
Yo, Doggett, hows it going? Skip greeted him.
Not too bad.
Krychek turned back around to Doggett. Took your sweet time getting here.
Doggett shrugged. Fogs a bitch out there.
Tell me about it. Playing hell with Forensics. They wont be able to find shit out here. Krychek stepped back, making room for Doggett. Take a look.
Its bad, kid. Blood all over the place. You dont want to look.
The woman was lying on her back, eyes closed, her expression almost peaceful. To Doggetts surprise, there really wasnt much blood. On first glance, she appeared to be sleeping, but someone who looked like her wouldnt be snoozing in an alley. She was beautiful, a real knockout. Blond. Young. No more than twenty, if that.
Damn shame, Doggett thought.
There was a dark stain on the pavement beneath her head, and her hair was matted with dried blood. She wore a light dusting of makeupeye shadow, mascara, pale pink lip glossthat didnt detract from her natural beauty. The black dress she wore was short and slinky, her shoes spiked and sexy. Expensive and seductive clothing designed to attract the attention of the opposite sex.
By contrast her jewelry was simple and unpretentioustiny diamond studs in her earlobes and a pearl ring on the third finger of her right hand. The presence of the jewelry seemed to rule out robbery as a motive.
She was shot in the back of the head, Krychek told him.
Do we know who she is? Doggett asked.
Krychek shook his head. Not yet. CSU found an evening bag in the Dumpster that we think belonged to her. The wallet was missing, but they found a phone number scribbled on a piece of paper inside a gold compact. Were checking the cross directory now to see if we can come up with a name.
Doggetts gaze was still on the body. Who found her?
Wino by the name of Teddy Scranton. Says this alley is on his regular beat. He hangs around Restaurant Row until midnight or so, then heads over here where its quieter. When he spotted her, he walked down to the corner store and had the night clerk call 911. Weve got him in one of the squads right now, trying to sober him up with coffee and food, but I dont think hes going to be much help. Claims he didnt see anything.
Could he have been the one who stole her wallet? Meredith asked. Somebody turned her over. Maybe he was looking for her purse.
Dont think so. Krychek ran his hand down his tie. If he lifted the wallet, why hang around and call 911? He would have hightailed it out of here ASAP. He got what he wanted for his good deeda free meal and a little attention.
A cynical observation, but Doggett figured Krychek was probably right on the money.
Doggett stood with his hands behind his back, a habit hed picked up at the academy so as not to inadvertently contaminate the crime scene. When the tech gave him the go ahead, he donned surgical gloves and squatted beside the body, still careful not to touch anything as he examined the wound in her head.
Looks like a .45, he murmured.
She was kneeling when he plugged her, Meredith said.
Any other injuries?
Ligature marks around her wrists. He had her tied up at some point.
What about the exit wound?
Meredith shook her head. The bullets still lodged somewhere in the body cavity. Ill find it when I open her up.
Any idea about time of death?
Liver temp would be more accurate, but judging from the thermal scan, Id say two hours, tops. But thats just an educated guess.
It always was. Even with modern forensics, the most reliable way of pinpointing time of death was still to find the last person whod seen the victim alive, other than the killer, of course, but that wasnt always possible. Doggett glanced at his watch. If Merediths guess was accurate, that would put time of death around midnight.
He bent over a tiny mark on the womans left shoulder. You see this?
Meredith nodded. Looks like one of those fake tattoos. I thought it was the real thing at first, but if you look closely you can see where the edges are blurred into the pores.
You used to work in Gang Crimes, Doggett. Krycheks tone held an edge of resentment. You recognize that symbol?
Its a trident, Doggett said. The Gangster Disciples use it, but they mostly operate on the South Side. This is a long way from their home turf. Besides, I dont think this is a gang hit.
I agree, Skip Vreeland put in. Look at the hoochie-mama threads shes wearing. That girl was out for a good time.
Hoochie-mama threads with a Michigan Avenue price tag, Krychek, the fashion expert, muttered.
We need to get a picture over to Rush Street and start canvassing as many of the nightclubs as we can hit. Doggett stood and walked back over to the other two detectives. If she was there tonight, someones bound to remember a girl like that.
Krychek stuck his hands in his pockets, jingling his change. So whats the deal here, Doggett?
Doggett frowned. What do you mean, whats the deal?
Krychek shrugged. Skip and I were the first detectives on the scene so that makes this our case.
Quinlan called me at home and told me to get over here ASAP, Doggett said. Its my understanding this is my case.
Krychek gave a nervous laugh. No way.
Then looks like weve got a problem.
The two men eyed each other warily until Meredith muttered behind them, Oh, great. A pissing contest between two cops. How unusual.
Skip said gruffly, Hell with this shit. Lets just get on with what needs to be done and let the boss figure out whose case it is later. Right now, somebody needs to go check on that phone number. He started to walk away, then turned back to his partner. You coming?
Krychek held his ground for a moment longer, his gaze faintly menacing, before he stalked off behind Vreeland.