Final shot, p.6
Final Shot, page 6
Disgusted by her lack of concern, I ended the interview. At least it had been recorded. “Come on. We’re going to your house now.”
Chapter 13
I had to give Tammy fair warning when we reached the house. Frank parked along the curb, and before we got out, I explained that there was a bloodstain just inside the living room.
“I can go in first and cover it with a towel for now if you’re uncomfortable seeing it. You can have that area bleached or the carpet replaced before you put the house up for sale, whatever works. We can recommend companies that specialize in that.”
Tammy said she’d appreciate it if I covered the spot before she entered. I told Frank to give me a few minutes and then I’d wave them in.
Being inside the house brought back the image Gaines had described of Dwayne lying on the floor with the hole in his forehead, and I’d seen bodies like that far too many times in my career. I glanced at the stain as I passed it on the way to the hall closet, where I hoped to find something to cover it with. Inside, shelves were filled with towels and bedding. I grabbed a bath towel and walked to the bloodstain. After placing the towel over it, I returned to the door and waved for them to come in.
After they exited the car, Tammy turned down the driveway, and I yelled out, “Where do you think you’re going?”
“To get the mail. It isn’t like the mailman knows Dwayne is dead.” She grabbed the few letters from the box and returned to Frank’s side.
As they entered the house, Tammy tossed the mail on the side table, and with her in tow, Frank followed me into the hallway.
From being there before, I knew a desk, a small file cabinet, and an upholstered chair were inside the last room on the left.
“Where are we going?” Tammy asked.
“Into the room that most likely has the paperwork we need to see. Have a seat.” I jerked my chin toward the chair, and Tammy sat down.
“Now, where do you keep the bank statements?”
She glanced at the file cabinet.
“In there?”
“Yes.”
“Where’s the life insurance policy Dwayne has from work?”
“Probably in there too. This room was usually off limits to me, but of course I snooped when he wasn’t home.”
I pulled open the top drawer, and instead of seeing hanging file folders, neatly marked with tabs, I found haphazard piles of paper inside. I turned and frowned at Tammy. “You do know the definition of a file cabinet don’t you? It’s something a person keeps file folders in so they can access said files easily and quickly.”
She groused. “Am I supposed to answer that, or were you just being mean to me?”
“Whatever.” I pulled out a stack of paper several inches thick and handed it to Frank then pulled out another stack for myself. “Let’s sit at the kitchen table so we can organize this mess.”
With Tammy beside us so she wouldn’t have the ability to destroy paperwork still in the room—if that was her intention—we sorted through unpaid bills and monthly bank statements that went back years. Putting them in yearly and monthly order was the only way to see if a certain dollar amount had been withdrawn consistently or a large amount in one or two withdrawals.
Frank took all the monthly bills and set them aside, and I organized the bank statements. I found the life insurance policy issued from Illinois Life and Casualty through the high school Dwayne worked at.
“Check this out.” I smoothed the trifolded sheets of paper. “Looks like Dwayne’s policy was worth fifteen thousand dollars.”
Tammy huffed. “Told you it wasn’t worth much.”
I furrowed my brows. “It’s still something to start your new life with, Tammy.”
“Well, I meant it wasn’t enough money to use to hire somebody to kill Dwayne.”
Rolling my eyes, I shook my head at her. “You’re better off keeping quiet since all you do is shoot yourself in the foot every time you speak.”
Frank wagged his finger at me. “Great way with words, McCord.”
I pointed at the stacks of paper. “Yeah, yeah. Let’s get back to work.”
By two o’clock, we’d cleaned out the file cabinet and desk. With three years of organized bank statements, the bills, and the life insurance policy in a paper bag, I suggested going to the precinct with it.
After getting Tammy’s attention, I tipped my chin toward the front door. “Okay, we’re heading out now if you want to pay Coby a visit. You’ll ride with me, and Frank will follow in your car. When we get to the shelter, we’ll have to find out what the rules are for coming and going in your own vehicle.”
“Why? Dwayne isn’t a threat to me anymore.”
“Right, but you do have to abide by the shelter’s rules as long as you live there, and I thought you were concerned about somebody coming after you for Dwayne’s debt.”
Tammy nodded. “Yeah, there is that.”
We reached the animal shelter, and after allowing Tammy a half hour with her pup, I said it was time to go. We needed to get back to A New Life and talk to the administrator about Tammy having a car.
After arriving at A New Life, Frank parked Tammy’s car in the lot adjacent to the building. Then we went inside and asked to speak with Marie Booth, that time in person.
Moments later, we were directed to her office, where she invited us in. A slender pleasant-looking woman, likely in her fifties and with a tint of gray in her dark hair, offered us seats in the guest chairs facing her desk. After thanking her, I reiterated the fact that Tammy’s car was in the lot outside and asked about her ability to come and go, given the fact that her husband’s killer was still at large.
“Tammy will have to sign in and out whenever she leaves with an explanation of where she’s going and when she expects to return. We don’t want to be held responsible if she goes missing while living under our roof. That said, she can leave the premises three times a week between the hours of ten a.m. and four p.m. Of course, when the time comes that Tammy moves out, she’ll be free to do whatever she pleases.”
“Okay, that sounds fair to us.” I turned to Tammy. “Understand the rules?”
“Yeah, I understand.”
We thanked the administrator and left. We wished Tammy luck, suggested she file the life insurance claim as soon as she received the death certificates, and told her to stay out of trouble.
“We’ll keep you updated about the case, and please call if you have questions about anything.”
With that task complete, Frank and I headed back to the precinct to review the bank statements.
In the bullpen a half hour later, we sat at the table in the back of the room and divided the statements, which went back several years.
Before we got too deep into our search for suspicious activity, I asked about people who had been or needed to be interviewed. “What about some of those names the night crew dug into?”
Henry said they’d interviewed two men so far, a Robert Torres and a Nick Damon.
“Neither of them knew Dwayne was dead, and both had solid alibis for the time in question.”
I rubbed my chin. “Did you find out who Moe P. was?”
Henry continued. “Todd gave us the transcripts from the texts, and we tracked him down by the phone number. His name is Morris Price, and he lives in Pilsen.”
“Good. Has anyone spoken with him yet?”
Henry and Shawn headed to the door. “We were about to leave right when you came in.”
“Okay, and what about Nancy and Duke Bingham?”
Tony said he and Kip were waiting for us to return before leaving. “Lutz told us not to leave the bullpen without a detective here.”
“Then go ahead. Frank and I will hold down the fort since we have plenty to keep us busy. I’ll let Lutz know we’re back.”
The guys left, and I picked up the phone and called my commander. “Hey, Boss, just wanted to say we’re back with the bank statements from Tammy’s house.”
“Good. I got the warrants, too, if they’re needed for the Guthrie documents.”
“Okay. The guys just left, and Frank and I are about to start going through the bank records.”
“Keep me posted.”
I hung up and jangled the change in my pocket as I looked at Frank. “Need a coffee?”
“Hell yeah. Thanks, pal.”
Back in the bullpen minutes later, I slid one cup to Frank and took my seat with the other cup in front of me. “Look for recurring withdrawals for the same amount of money or several large withdrawals over a few months.”
“Yep, should be easy enough to track.”
We studied each document carefully and took note of all the deposits, withdrawals, and cleared checks. An hour passed.
“Humph.”
Frank raised his brows. “What?”
“I just realized there aren’t any bills on autopay, and as a matter of fact, none of their monthly bills show up on any of these statements at all.”
“Right, because the bills are all past due.”
“That means everything is sent through the mail.”
Frank cocked his head. “Uh-huh. So what’s your point?”
“I’m still not one hundred percent on Team Tammy yet, and now that she has the car, she can check her mail at least three times a week.”
“Because it’s her mail. You do realize that mail tampering is a felony, right?”
“Yeah, yeah, I know, but snail mail is so old-fashioned that nobody even thinks of it as something to check into. The world is so wrapped up in tracking everything digitally these days—”
“And?”
“And what if Dwayne communicated with some less than desirable people through regular mail? Or what if Tammy hired somebody to kill Dwayne and used mail as a means of corresponding with the killer rather than by email or her phone at the shelter? It’s a damn good way to eliminate a trail that anyone would actually think of. She or Dwayne could have sent a letter, or received a letter, and then burned it. Literally, no paper trail and no way to track it even with the best technology.”
Frank huffed. “Back to the illegal part of mail tampering.”
“We’ll check the mail that comes in, leave it in the box, and walk away, that is, unless something looks suspicious. She tossed at least five envelopes on that side table by the front door just today.”
“But she didn’t hide it.”
“You’re right, so that takes us back to Dwayne. Maybe he did some of his shady deals through the mail. It could be a way to track his killer.”
“So you’re saying you want to go back and see what was in today’s mail?”
“That’s exactly what I’m saying. Let’s do it as soon as the night shift crew comes in so the bullpen is covered. It won’t take that long.”
“Yeah, okay, I’m game”—he tapped the statements with his index finger—“but in the meantime, we haven’t found a single suspicious withdrawal in any of these bank statements.”
Chapter 14
Dusk had overtaken the sky, and only shadows from the setting sun remained. Quinlan, donned a tracksuit to avoid looking suspicious and jogged down the mansion-lined street near the Newberry Library. Teddy Hunt would drive by any minute and turn in at the coach house that had been converted into a garage many years back. He’d pull in and park then walk the brick path through the opulent gardens to the double oak front doors of the mansion.
For over a week, Quinlan had been researching Teddy’s route and what time he arrived at home every night. The man was as predictable as they came, and he had a beautiful, gold-digging wife half his age that he couldn’t wait to get home to.
Teddy, the Chicago liquor store tycoon, was about to meet his maker.
Quinlan jogged slowly in the direction that Teddy would be coming from. When his headlights were in view, Quinlan planned to wave him down as if something was wrong, and when the unsuspecting Mr. Hunt rolled down his window to ask if he could help, he would get a bullet to the forehead, just like the others.
After pressing the button to illuminate the watch dial, Quinlan knew it was time.
I have to put the silencer on the gun so I’m ready. He’ll be coming down the street any minute.
After removing the gun from one pocket and the silencer from the other, Quinlan screwed them together, bagged the gun so the casing couldn’t fly away, and waited. A set of headlights was heading that way. The scenario had been rehearsed several times, and Teddy’s was the only car that drove down that street between seven fifteen and seven thirty every night.
Quinlan checked the hood emblem as the car neared, saw that it was the Mercedes, then flagged down the vehicle as if there was an emergency. The car slowed to a stop, and the tinted driver’s-side window came down.
“What’s going on? What seems to be the problem?” Teddy asked.
“Mr. Hunt?” Quinlan moved in closer.
“Yes, that’s me. What’s wrong?”
Once at the car window, Quinlan pulled out the gun and fired. “Nothing anymore. As of this second, the world is a much better place.”
The force caused Teddy’s head to slam against the headrest. Blood and brain matter coated the car’s tan leather interior, and his body slumped to the side. Quinlan watched the car roll forward then jogged on and turned down the next side street.
Chapter 15
The lack of any suspicious letter in Tammy’s mail made me question myself. I doubted that anyone spent time writing letters anymore, and I had to admit that the idea I’d thrown out was far-fetched and unrealistic.
Once we returned to the precinct, Frank and I parted ways in the parking lot. As I was about to drive away, I noticed that Lutz’s car was still in his spot. I waffled between postponing the quiet night I had planned at home with my pup and going back inside for another hour of brainstorming about the cases with my commander.
It was hard to turn off the cop inside me, even when I had the opportunity. I promised myself I’d stay for only an hour, and a one-on-one with my boss—in the privacy of his office, without interruptions—might give me the clarity I needed. If there was an opinion or insight I trusted more than anyone else’s, it belonged to Lutz.
With a sigh, I shut down my truck, climbed out, and returned to the building. I looked back as Frank’s taillights disappeared down the street.
Up on our floor, I walked the hallway to my boss’s office and gave the door two knuckle thumps. He called out to come in.
“What the hell are you still doing here? I thought you and Mills left when the night crew started.”
I shrugged. “I never heard back about the interviews with Moe or the Binghams.”
Lutz raised a brow. “Last time I checked, the team reported to me. So why are you really here?”
I pointed at a guest chair, and he nodded.
“Take a load off, McCord, and tell me what’s on your mind.”
“I can’t quite put my finger on it. Tammy has an alibi, the guard says she never left the shelter the night Dwayne was murdered, yet as much as she’s a victim of his abuse, I just don’t trust her one hundred percent.”
“Why? A gut feeling?”
“Not sure, other than she flat-out said she wanted Dwayne dead.”
“What?”
I swatted the air. “I’m sure she was just spouting off, and who would blame her? He was a horrible man from everyone’s description of him. Still, she didn’t tell us about the Binghams, and she swears she doesn’t know Moe Price from Pilsen.” I looked at Lutz. “Speaking of—”
“Moe and the Binghams were dead ends. They had alibis that were confirmed.”
“Damn it. Moe might still go after Tammy for the debt Dwayne owed, though. Did he say if he’d ever met Tammy or not?”
Lutz shook his head. “He said he hadn’t, and if Moe was involved, he would have shot Dwayne himself. He would have tossed the house looking for cash, or drugs that he could have sold.”
I squeezed my temples. “Yeah, you’re right. What’s going on with the Guthrie case?”
“Don said the slugs taken from the skulls of both men weighed approximately the same. They were completely misshapen, but because of the weight and composition, he’s going with a nine millimeter as the bullet both men were killed with.”
“Nothing unusual about a nine-millimeter gun since everyone has one, so the only commonality would be the way the men were killed. Execution-style murders send a definite message, and that’s revenge or justification on a personal, moral, or political level.”
“Humph, that is true unless they were mob hits. Dwayne was a heavy gambler, and Brice was a casino manager. That in itself puts them on common ground, and this is Chicago. The last time I looked, the Windy City still had some mob influence.”
I frowned. “I don’t know about Dwayne since he was a low-level gambler. Hell, he had to borrow money to gamble with, which makes me think we should see if Morris Price has any mob connections. Maybe he was Dwayne’s bookie.”
“That’s worth checking into. First thing in the morning, we’re going to use the warrant on the Guthries bank accounts, insurance policies, and all financial documents. We need to either make a connection between the killings or conclude that there are two killers with a fondness for execution-style murders roaming the streets.” Lutz pushed back his desk chair and stood.
“You kicking me out?” I asked.
“Yeah, because I’m leaving too. It’s still early enough to justify driving home rather than camping out on the couch here in my office. I’ll admit, it wouldn’t be hard to get used to that.”
I chuckled. “First, you’d have to have a shower installed in the bathroom, and second, you’d have to keep several days’ worth of clean clothes in the closet.”
“I doubt that there’s money in the budget for installing a shower.” Lutz grunted, walked out, and closed the door behind us. “I’ll bring a few outfits along with me tomorrow.” He scratched his forehead. “I guess you just never know when spending the night here makes more sense than going home.”
We crossed the parking lot together, and before parting ways, Lutz said he wanted to check out my truck. A smile lit up his face once he took a seat behind the wheel.
