A Gift for Dying Page 5

  ‘I think we both know that’s not true, Edmundo,’ Gabrielle replied. ‘We’ve got you for possession of a firearm, automobile theft, murder …’

  ‘Not me, man.’

  ‘That’s not what your buddy says. Pancho is being very co-operative.’

  But Edmundo just shook his head.

  ‘He ain’t sayin’ nuttin.’

  He was right, of course. Pancho had confessed to jacking the car, but nothing else. To do more than that would be suicide.

  ‘Look, it’s your funeral,’ Gabrielle continued doggedly. ‘But I’d suggest you start talking. You got a little sister, right? What’ll happen to her when you’re inside?’

  ‘She threatenin’ me?’

  Edmundo addressed this last question to his attorney, a beleaguered state official who looked thoroughly depressed by the whole affair.

  ‘She knows better than to do that,’ the attorney replied dolefully.

  ‘Good, cos she don’ wanna be steppin’ up to me –’

  ‘And nor should you,’ the attorney continued, staring down his client. ‘We’re just having a friendly conversation.’

  ‘About a murdered state’s attorney who was found in the trunk of the car you were driving,’ Gabrielle cut in.

  ‘I never saw the guy, don’ know who he is.’

  Unfortunately, Gabrielle did. Dental records had now confirmed that their victim as Jacob Jones, an attorney living in West Town.

  ‘You’re going to have to do better than that, Edmundo. Because the CPD, the Mayor, and the wider law enforcement community will not rest until someone is charged with this crime. Whoever did this can thank their lucky stars we don’t have the death penalty in this state.’

  If Gabrielle was hoping this would be a sobering thought for Edmundo, she was disappointed. The teenager continued to pick at his nails, avoiding eye contact.

  ‘Look, we can play this game today, tomorrow, the next day, the day after that,’ Gabrielle continued, deliberately dragging her words out. ‘But we’re going to keep coming back to the same problem. The victim was found in a car you were driving. There are no other suspects – it’s just you and Pancho – and sooner or later I’m going to have to charge someone. And when it comes to trial, who do you think the jury will believe? A decorated Chicago police detective? Or a couple of Cobras And the judge – do you think he’s going to be lenient? With the newspapers going crazy, the Mayor talking tough? Whoever did this is going away for the rest of his life.’

  Gabrielle stared intently at the young suspect, awaiting his response.

  ‘Ok, maybe I took the car. Maybe …’

  ‘’Course,’ Gabrielle responded genially, pleased to finally be making some progress. ‘It was taken from the southern border of Logan Park, a short stroll from your place in Humboldt Park.’

  ‘I said maybe …’

  ‘And that’s very sweet, but we have your prints on the driver’s door, on the dash, the steering wheel. I think auto theft is a gimme here, Edmundo, so let’s talk about the rest –’

  ‘Nah, man.’

  ‘Where d’you and Pancho take the car from?’

  ‘Lyndale,’ came the muttered response.

  ‘West Lyndale Street?’

  Edmundo nodded and Gabrielle scribbled a note on her pad. Pancho had also named West Lyndale Street as the pickup site.

  ‘Did you follow the owner there?’

  ‘Nah.’

  ‘Did you attack him?’

  ‘What you talkin’ about?’

  ‘The lock hasn’t been forced, the windows are intact. This looks a lot like a car-jacking to me.’

  ‘It wasn’t locked.’

  ‘Come on, Edmundo, this is a luxury vehicle. Do you really think the owner –’

  ‘It wasn’t locked. We’d tried some others first, skipped the ones that had alarms, but this one was easy.’

  ‘So you just jumped in and drove off?’

  ‘Sure. Sell that kind of car for ten grand.’

  ‘Keys in the ignition, were they?’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘It sounds nice and easy, Edmundo,’ Gabrielle replied, leaning back in her seat. ‘But I don’t like it. Who told you to do it? Who told you to kill him?’

  ‘Nobody. How many times you gotta be told? – I don’ know the guy.’

  ‘The victim was a federal prosecutor, Edmundo. He’s put several of your compadres in prison over the years. It’s all here in black and white.’

  Edmundo shifted in his chair, darting a nervous look at his attorney.

  ‘So, you can see what I’m thinking,’ Gabrielle continued. ‘Payback time …’

  ‘This is fucked up.’

  ‘Did you think that we would just let this go? You don’t get to go around wasting state’s attorneys.’

  ‘You got it wrong.’

  ‘According to the forensics guys, the car had fresh mud on the tyres. Did you take him somewhere?’ Gabrielle persisted, keeping up her assault. ‘Somewhere out of the way where you could torture him, kill him?’

  ‘Do I gotta listen to this?’

  The question was once more directed at his attorney, but Gabrielle cut in.

  ‘Let me show you why this isn’t going to go away, Edmundo. Why this is going to play badly for you …’

  As she spoke, she pulled the crime scene photographs from a slim file.

  ‘Jacob Jones was a handsome, successful guy. He had a nice house, a beautiful fiancée … And this is what he looks like now.’

  She slid the first photo across the table, but Edmundo turned away.

  ‘Look at it.’

  Edmundo angled a glance at his lawyer, who shrugged uninterestedly.

  ‘LOOK AT IT!’

  Reluctantly, Edmundo dragged his gaze to the awful image in front of him.

  ‘This is from another angle,’ Gabrielle carried on, sliding another horrific photo across the battered plastic surface. She was watching Edmundo closely – he was sweating and shaking his head.

  ‘And this is a close-up …’

  Had she been expecting a confession? A fervent protestation of innocence? She got neither – for as she pushed the final image towards the suspect, Edmundo Ortiz fainted, sliding off his chair and tumbling on to the hard floor.

  Half an hour later, Gabrielle pulled up outside the Jones residence.

  The quiet suburban street was now a hive of activity. Crime scene officers traipsed in and out of the house carrying evidence bags, while uniformed officers continued their inquiries on the street. Jones’s broken fiancée, Nancy, would be arriving from San Francisco soon and Gabrielle fervently hoped that she would be able to shed some light on this strange and brutal crime.

  ‘How’d it go?’

  Jane Miller had broken away from the melee.

  ‘Early days,’ Gabrielle replied evasively. ‘What have you got?’

  ‘Nothing much in the house – no sign of a struggle, no obvious forensics – but it looks like someone cut the power – the external supply cable was cleanly severed at the rear of the property.’

  ‘Interesting.’

  ‘Plus, we have a witness with some potentially valuable information …’

  Miller gestured to an elderly woman, flanked by a couple of detectives, standing just across the road.

  ‘And?’

  ‘Well, it doesn’t exactly fit with the narrative.’

  ‘Meaning?’

  ‘Well, she says that she was watering her plants this morning,’ Miller continued quickly, ‘when she spotted someone leaving the Jones residence, dropping down from a back window before hurrying away.’

  She had Gabrielle’s attention now.

  ‘Can she describe this person? Clothes, hair, build …’

  ‘Sure, her eyesight’s pretty good … but you’re not going to like it.’

  Gabrielle stared at her, alarmed by her tone, as her deputy concluded:

  ‘She says the intruder was a tall, teenage girl with long, red hair.’ />
  19

  Adam Brandt looked up, as the door swung open. He’d been waiting in the relatives’ room for half an hour, his nerves increasing minute on minute, but finally they were here. Rising from the battered sofa, he hurried over.

  ‘Hi, Kassie. I’m Dr Brandt, we met yesterday.’

  The teenager nodded, but didn’t look up at him. She appeared cowed by her surroundings, a little scared even.

  ‘And you must be Mrs Wojcek,’ he continued, turning his attention to her mother. ‘I’m a forensic psychologist assisting the Chicago poli—’

  ‘I know who you are.’

  It was hard to tell who her hostility was aimed at. Him? The police? Her daughter? Possibly all three.

  ‘Let’s sit down, shall we? I’ve got coffee, water, cookies …’

  He ushered them towards the faded green sofa and coffee table which dominated the room. He had taken the call from Detective Grey an hour ago, just as he was saying goodbye to his last client. Grey sounded agitated, explaining that a teenage girl Adam had interviewed yesterday was now the prime suspect in a murder case, having been seen by police officers as she was confronting the victim shortly before his death. She’d asked if Adam could attend CPD headquarters asap, and Adam had agreed to help out, but he’d made it clear that he wanted to meet Kassie and her mother in the relatives’ room, which was less austere, less intimidating than the interrogation suite.

  ‘Now, I know you’ve already had a long chat with Detective Grey …’ Refreshments had been declined, and Adam got straight to the point. ‘… So I won’t keep you long. But I would like to unpack a couple of things you mentioned to Detective Grey during the course of your questioning.’

  Still Kassie didn’t look up, but the narrowing of Natalia Wojcek’s expression was unmistakable.

  ‘I believe you told the detective that you visited Mr Jones’s house this morning.’

  Kassie nodded.

  ‘How did you know where he lived?’

  ‘I saw his name and address on the paperwork when I was being booked yesterday. The desk sergeant wanted me to know that this guy worked in law enforcement, that I was in deep shit.’

  ‘And why did you go there? Can you tell me that?’

  ‘We’ve been through this already,’ Kassie’s mom interjected impatiently.

  ‘I understand your frustration,’ Adam replied. ‘But it’s really important, so, please …’

  He turned his gaze to Kassie. The teenage girl took a deep breath, then mumbled:

  ‘I wanted to see if he was ok.’

  ‘You thought he might have come to some harm?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What did you think might have happened to him?’

  ‘For God’s sake, we’ve just been through this charade. Why must you make us do it again?’

  All pretence at politeness was now gone.

  ‘We need to get home,’ Mrs Wojcek continued urgently. ‘Kassie has homework to do. All this disruption, all these questions, they only make things –’

  ‘I wonder whether it might be better if you waited outside, Mrs Wojcek?’ Adam replied, politely but firmly. ‘If that’s ok with Kassie, of course?’

  He turned to Kassie. Her mother did likewise, just in time to see her daughter give a small nod.

  ‘Kassandra …’

  ‘I’m fine,’ her daughter whispered back, her voice shaking a little.

  A look of shock, then angry resignation passed over the middle-aged woman’s face, then she rose stiffly and walked to the door. Adam waited until she’d departed before turning to Kassie once more.

  ‘In your own words, Kassie, tell me what you were concerned about.’

  Another long pause. Still the teenager refused to look at him – Adam was reminded of her reaction to him on their first meeting.

  ‘Kassie?’ he prompted gently.

  ‘I was worried,’ she replied, haltingly, ‘… that he’d been attacked. Killed …’

  ‘I see. And why did you think that?’

  Again, the teenager paused.

  ‘You told me before that you didn’t know Jacob,’ Adam offered. ‘So, had someone said something to you? Had you heard about some threat to him?’

  ‘I saw it.’

  ‘Saw what?’

  ‘His death.’

  Now it was Adam’s turn to hesitate, Kassie’s answer taking him completely by surprise. Was this the start of a confession? Was this slight teenager somehow involved in this man’s murder? Adam’s heart was beating fast now, but he kept his voice as calm as he could, as he replied:

  ‘When was this?’

  ‘When I bumped into him on North Michigan Avenue,’ she replied, as if this was obvious.

  ‘I’m sorry, I don’t understand. He was fine when you left him there, so how could you have –’

  ‘I can see death … before it happens.’

  Adam remained silent, wondering if he’d misheard. But Kassie showed no inclination to elaborate.

  ‘I’m sorry, you say that you can …?’

  ‘I look at someone,’ Kassie continued quickly, ‘and I see how their life will end. When it will end …’

  Adam stared at her for a moment, before he eventually replied:

  ‘And this happened with Jacob Jones?’

  Kassie nodded, staring at the floor as she continued:

  ‘I looked into his eyes and I saw it.’

  ‘Describe it to me,’ Adam responded calmly.

  ‘It was a rush of images, of feelings. A terrible coldness at first, then the most awful pain …’

  Her hand drifted up to her throat, but she seemed not to notice.

  ‘And then this … this horrible, suffocating fear – like he knew he was about to die – and then … nothing.’

  Kassie shuddered, wrapping her arms around herself. It was almost as if she had been the one suffering, such was the effect of her testimony on her.

  ‘And that’s why you went after him?’

  ‘Yes.’

  She gasped the word gratefully through her distress, as if relieved that finally somebody understood.

  ‘That’s why I followed him. I needed to warn him …’ She gulped, drawing breath, before concluding: ‘… that he only had hours left to live.’

  20

  ‘So, is she nuts? Or is she playing us?’

  Adam Brandt was alone with Gabrielle Grey in her office. The door was firmly shut, cocooning the pair of them inside.

  ‘Is she a genuine suspect?’ Adam replied, turning the question back on Grey.

  ‘No, we haven’t got enough to hold her. Yes, she’s a person of interest.’

  ‘What about the others? The two guys who were driving the –’

  ‘We’ve been over the trunk three times, same with the plastic sheeting, can’t find their prints on either. Plus, it looks like their alibi’s going to check out. A security guard coming home from work saw Jacob Jones’s car drive away from his house at around nine p.m. Edmundo and his sidekick were still at a pizza joint in Humboldt Park at midnight. We’re pretty sure Jones was abducted from his house – his phone, his wallet, his ID were there – so unless they’ve learned to time-travel, we’re going to have a hard time making the charges stick. So how about you answer my question, doc?’

  It was said with humour, but Adam could feel the tension underneath.

  ‘Kassie is clearly troubled.’

  ‘No shit.’

  ‘She’s vulnerable, isolated, lonely. It may be that she’s a confused child trying to get some attention.’

  ‘But …’ Gabrielle replied, sensing there was more coming.

  ‘But it may be more complicated than that. She’s a drug user – her records suggest that she’s been smoking skunk since the age of eleven. Prolonged exposure to the harder forms of skunk can make you paranoid, delusional even. If you factor in clear evidence of a history of mental illness in the family –’

  ‘So, she is crazy?’

  ‘I said she’s tr
oubled. But she is also lucid and precise. She doesn’t seem to be in the middle of a mental health crisis – she’s aware of where she is, why she’s being questioned, understands why you’re suspicious of her. That level of comprehension is unusual in someone who’s experiencing psychosis.’

  ‘Could she be faking it?’

  ‘It’s possible, but, if so, it’s an impressive performance.’

  ‘Did you detect any animosity towards Jones? Any reason why she might have wanted to harm him?’

  ‘Quite the opposite, she says she wanted to protect him.’

  ‘And you buy that?’

  ‘I don’t know yet.’

  ‘She confronts the guy the day he goes missing. A day later, after his body’s been dumped, she’s seen leaving his house. She knows something …’

  ‘She says she went there to find out if her fears were justified.’

  ‘Come off it.’

  ‘Why would she need to break into the house? If she’d abducted him the night before?’

  ‘Maybe she went back to clean up the scene, make things right.’

  ‘Meaning what? That Jones willingly let her in the night before? Did they know each other?’

  ‘We’re still chasing down potential connections, but never say never …’

  Adam let this slide. It was unconvincing, but in truth neither of them really knew what they were dealing with.

  ‘You said the victim was driven somewhere,’ he eventually continued. ‘Then mutilated, killed …’

  ‘Right. There was black mud on the car’s tyres.’

  ‘Do you really think Kassie’s capable of all that?’

  ‘So maybe she’s got an accomplice? Maybe it’s … what do you shrinks call it? … a folie à deux?’

  ‘And you’ve got evidence to support that?’

  ‘Do I detect sympathy for our suspect?’ Grey replied, a little riled now.

  ‘I’m concerned about her.’

  ‘You going to see her again?’

  ‘I’ve offered to help her and she’s promised to think about it. I have managed to get her to agree to enrol in a teen NA programme, which is something. There are some good ones locally, specifically designed for teenage drug users.’