Dead by Wednesday

Hector would have understood how hard it was to be the smallest kid in the class. He’d have known how humiliating it was to have someone jam your head into a toilet. He’d have known how ridiculous it felt to be tripped going down the hall and have your books fly everywhere.

He’d have known how much it hurt when everyone laughed.

“What’s your favorite song?” the man asked, giving Raoul’s shoulder a light punch.

Raoul didn’t want to talk music. Even though this guy had been a friend of Hector’s, he sort of gave him the creeps. “What’s your name?” he asked again.

The man shook his head. “We’ll talk soon, Raoul. I know what your brother wanted for you. I’m here to make sure you get it. Now, go home. Practice your music like a good boy.”

* * *

BY THE END of the day, the police knew just a little more than they had that morning. The boy had not been killed on site. No, somewhere else, and then brought into the alley. One of the neighbors said that he’d left the neighborhood bar and walked home, cutting through the alley shortly before two in the morning. He swore that the body hadn’t been there. If he was right, then the drop-off had occurred sometime between two and four, which was earlier than the other three killings. Those bodies had been found late in the day, and the coroner had estimated time of death to be late afternoon, early evening.

Was the killer getting more anxious?

That thought kept Robert and Sawyer and a half dozen other detectives knocking on doors, for six blocks in every direction, in the hopes that somebody had seen something. Maybe they’d also walked through the alley, maybe they’d seen a car idling nearby, maybe they’d heard something unusual.

It was the proverbial looking for a needle in a haystack, but dead kids got feet on the street.

Early evening, Robert and Sawyer returned to the parking lot behind their police station. They parked the department-issued cruiser and walked toward their own cars. “I’m starting to really hate Wednesdays,” Robert said.

Sawyer nodded. “Yeah, me, too. At least I have dinner to look forward to. I’m picking up pizza at Toni’s. Liz invited Carmen over to look at Catherine’s room. I painted it this weekend.”

All damn day Carmen Jimenez had been on his mind. “I’ve been thinking of doing some painting,” Robert said.

Sawyer smiled. “Yeah. But for some reason, I doubt you’re thinking pink.”

Robert shrugged. “What did you use? A gloss, semigloss or a flat?”

Sawyer waved a hand. “I have no idea. I used the paint in the can that Liz brought home from the paint store.”

“Oh, good grief. Now I’ve got to see this paint job. If you get the pizza, I’ll get a couple bottles of wine on my way. As long as you think it will be okay with Liz.”

“Liz adores you. Why, I’m not a hundred percent sure.”

Robert shoved his friend, then had to grab him to keep him from slipping on the snow, which was gathering a top layer of ice as the temperature continued to drop.

“Be careful,” Robert said.

“Be on time,” Sawyer said, getting into his car. “I’m hungry.”

Less than forty-five minutes later, Robert knocked on his partner’s door. He’d had time to run home, take a five-minute shower and grab a couple of bottles of wine off the rack in his kitchen.

While he was perfectly happy in his ultramodern high-rise, he had to admit that he loved Sawyer’s house. A month before Liz and Sawyer had gotten married, Liz and Catherine had moved into the eighty-year-old brownstone. Now the family occupied the first two floors and rented out the top floor to a single woman who spent most of the week traveling.

The house had good bones. Before meeting Liz, Sawyer had already refinished the oak floors, replaced all the lighting and hung artwork that reminded him of the Deep South. Liz had added feminine touches that had turned the wonderful structure into a home.

“Hi, Robert,” Liz said as she opened the door. She leaned forward for a kiss on the cheek. “Come in quickly. It’s freezing.”

He stepped inside, closing the door behind him. He could hear the soft murmur of voices from the living room. He heard Carmen laugh, and there wasn’t a cold bone in his body.

Liz peered at the wine. “Very nice,” she said. “The pizza is good but this may put it to shame.”

Robert set the wine on the entryway table, shrugged off his coat, stuffed his gloves in one pocket and handed it to Liz. She hung the coat in the hall closet. There was a royal-blue cape hanging there and he suspected it belonged to Carmen.

It was crazy but he liked seeing his coat next to hers.

He picked up the wine and followed Liz into the family room. Like any good cop, he took in the details quickly. Fireplace was lit. Soft jazz played in the background. Catherine lay on her back, on the very nice rug that had been one of Liz’s contributions to the house. Both plump little legs were moving, as if she were pedaling an invisible bicycle. Sawyer was stretched out next to her.

Carmen was sitting in the chair, leaning forward, looking at the baby. The light from the fireplace cast a soft glow around her. She wore a red sweater and black slacks. Her long dark hair flowed over her shoulders.

She was beautiful.

And when she turned, he saw that she wasn’t surprised to see him. Her face was composed, polite. And he should have felt much the same. After all, he’d known that she was going to be here. That was why he’d wheedled an invitation with some crazy excuse that he was interested in paint. Paint, for God’s sake. It was ridiculous.

And it was pretty damn ridiculous, too, that just looking at Carmen made him feel short of breath and a little unsteady on his feet.

“Hi,” she said.

“Hi,” he managed.

Sawyer sat up. “Cold beer in the fridge.”

Robert nodded. “I’ll stick with this,” he said, holding up the wine. He looked at Carmen. “Can I get you a glass?”

She nodded. “Yes, thank you.”

Liz reached for the wine. “I’ll get some for both of you. I need to check the pizza anyway. We put it in the oven to keep it hot.” She took a step. “Have a seat, Robert,” she said gently.

He sat. And felt like an awkward sixteen-year-old at his first prom. His shirt felt too tight and his heart was racing in his chest.

The only noise in the room was Catherine’s happy squeals. Carmen stared at the fire. He stared at the antique umbrella stand in the corner of the room.

Sawyer looked from Carmen to him and back again. Finally, his friend sprang to his feet. He reached for Catherine and cupped her in the crook of his elbow. “Liz probably needs my help in the kitchen,” he said as he left the room.

Now there was just silence.

Sawyer had probably been gone for less than a minute when Carmen turned her head. “I don’t think Liz really needs his help.”

He relaxed. “Maybe if we were having grits and chicken-fried steak.”

“Ugh,” she said with a smile that made her even prettier. “I’d suddenly have to run an errand.”

“I’d drive you,” he said. “Although to be fair, the man makes a great gumbo. He brought some into work one day, and it made me nostalgic for my last trip to the French Quarter.”

“I think I’d love New Orleans,” she said. “Maybe someday.”

The kitchen door swung open, and Liz emerged holding two wineglasses. “Follow me,” she said, leading them to the dining room. There was a huge pizza in the middle of the table with a big bowl of salad next to it. Sawyer was clipping Catherine’s high-chair tray on.

They sat, and Catherine immediately started squealing and pounding her plump fists on the high-chair tray. Liz smiled apologetically. “Sorry. This is the kind of ambience we have now.”

Robert dished out a slice of pizza and handed it to Carmen. “No problem. Table manners like her father.”

They were done with their pizza and cutting into the cheesecake that Carmen had picked up at the bakery after work when Robert’s phone buzzed with an incoming text message. He glanced at it, shook his head and turned his phone upside down on the table. “Sorry about that,” he said.

“Bad news?” Liz asked.

“A reporter from the newspaper,” he explained. “She’s evidently not getting enough of a story from Blaze and Wasimole, so she tracked me down. I imagine she got the number from one of the people we talked to today. We generally leave a card in case they think of something that might be helpful.”

“These killings are the only thing the local talk show hosts were discussing today,” Liz said. “It’s getting very scary.”

It was horrible, thought Carmen. With Raoul being about the same age as the other victims, it made her sick to hear people talking about the stories. Her heart ached for the terrible loss that the families had suffered, for the pain the boys had endured. “I didn’t know if I should say anything to Raoul,” she admitted. “I didn’t want to scare him unnecessarily but I also didn’t want him to be naive.”

“Where did you land on it?” Robert asked.

“I left the newspaper on the table one morning, folded so that he could easily see the headline. He read the story and that gave me the opportunity I was waiting for. I tried to gently suggest that it was important to be careful, to always be watching.”

“What did he say?” Liz asked.

Carmen rolled her eyes. “He said, and I quote, ‘Sis. There are three million people in the city of Chicago. Eight million if you count the suburbs. I don’t think anybody is looking for me.’ I didn’t push it. I’m crazy enough about other things, like brushed teeth and pants that stay up around his waist.”

“Raoul’s such a smart kid. You didn’t need to say anything else,” Liz said. “He gets it.”

“Yeah, and we’re going to get this guy,” Sawyer said, his tone confident. “He’s going to make a mistake. In fact, he already has.”

“What’s that?” Liz asked.

“He mutilates and suffocates his victims. That’s been reported in the press. What hasn’t been reported is that the victims have all been found with red handkerchiefs in their mouths. We’ve been successful in keeping that out of the press. But that shows an arrogance on his part—that he’s so confident that he won’t be caught that he can afford to leave clues at the scene. Arrogance makes criminals sloppy.”

“Can you trace the handkerchiefs?” Carmen asked.

“We’ve tried. No luck so far,” Robert said. “They’re sold in a bunch of stores. But something will break, soon. It has to.” He leaned across the table and tickled Catherine’s belly. “Right, darling?”

She giggled, breaking the tension at the table.

Carmen felt more relaxed than she had in months. That wasn’t how she’d expected the evening to go. She’d gotten to Liz’s house and her friend had quickly pulled her aside. Sawyer just told me he invited Robert, too. Are you okay with that?

Heck no, she wasn’t okay with that. She’d met Robert Hanson just weeks before Catherine was born, when Catherine’s mother was kidnapped by a gang leader who wanted to steal the baby. Robert had been a little brash, maybe even a little cocky, but he’d been helpful to both Liz and Sawyer.

And she had tried to ignore that whenever he was close, it seemed a little harder to focus. She’d done pretty well with that until the wedding and then the dance.

Robert Hanson knew how to hold a woman. For a big man, his touch had been light and his steps graceful.

But she’d known that he was a man who knew what to do. And her skills were rusty. Real rusty. She was twenty-nine years old and hadn’t been on a date in thirteen years.

No worries, she’d assured her friend. After all, they’d had one little dance. She remembered it but he’d probably forgotten it the next day. She told herself it was silly to think for even one minute that the evening would be the least bit awkward.

But when the door opened and she heard his voice in the foyer, her senses had become more acute. She felt her skin get warm and knew it had nothing to do with Sawyer’s nice fireplace.

And she’d tried to remember that it was just a DWF night. Dinner With Friends. They’d have a little pizza, some wine, a few laughs.

And she’d prayed that the butterflies in her stomach would get the message.

She’d worried for nothing. Robert Hanson, in his usual charming way, had made the night perfect.

Now that they’d finished with their cheesecake, Robert pushed back his chair and began to gather up the dirty plates. Liz started to get up. “I’ve got this,” he said. “I’m anxious to see the paint job that your husband did. I must admit, he’s never impressed me as being all that artistic.”

Sawyer wadded up his cloth napkin and threw it at Robert. “If I get tired of wrestling with the bad guys, maybe I’ll start my own painting business.”

“Not a chance, Michelangelo,” Robert said. “You’re not leaving me on my own.”

Liz shook her head. “Like either of you would ever stop being cops. Come with me.”

They followed Liz back to Catherine’s room. It had been painted a pale mint-green. Waist-high was a border of dancing teddy bears in yellows and pinks.

“It’s adorable,” Carmen said. “Very impressive. Can I hire you? My kitchen desperately needs paint.”

Sawyer smiled and shook his head. “I don’t want to see another stir stick for quite some time. Robert, you seemed to know a lot about painting earlier.”

“I work cheap,” Robert said, his tone casual.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Carmen said, grateful to get out of the conversation so easily. The idea of sexy Robert Hanson in her kitchen, face smeared with paint, looking all adorable, had the butterflies double-timing it. Her stomach lining was getting scratched. “I should probably get going,” she added.

Sawyer and Robert grabbed coats out of the closet and Carmen hugged her friend. “Thank you so much. Everything was delicious. Remember, I’m going to be late tomorrow.”

“Be careful, okay?” Liz replied, her tone serious.

Both Sawyer and Robert immediately stopped their conversation. “What’s going on, honey?” Sawyer asked, moving close to his wife.

“Carmen has a new client. Unfortunately, the girl hasn’t told her parents that she’s pregnant. She’s afraid to. Dad evidently has a history of a violent temper. Anyway, she asked Carmen to be there when she breaks the news.”

Robert took a step forward. “He’s coming to OCM?”

“No,” Carmen said. “That won’t work. The minute she tells him that she wants to meet him at a pregnancy counseling center, he’s going to have a pretty good idea of what’s going on.”

“You’re not going to this guy’s house?” Robert asked, his tone challenging.

Carmen shook her head. “No. I’m not that crazy,” she said, trying to make light of it. She saw that it wasn’t working. “Frank Sage evidently stops for coffee every morning at a little place on the corner of Taylor and Minx. His daughter and I are going to meet there and uh, break the news. It’s a public place where he’ll probably feel inclined to behave. It was the best plan I could come up with.”

Robert was frowning at her. “You do this kind of thing often?”

“Not often, but I’ve had cases where we’ve had to quickly remove a young girl from a situation when her parents or her boyfriend or somebody else couldn’t handle the news of the pregnancy. We need to protect our clients and their babies.”

“You think that’s what’s going to happen here?” Robert asked.

“I don’t know. I should be able to tell. If I have any reason to believe that he’s going to harm my client physically, I’ll take the necessary steps.”

Liz stepped in and wrapped an arm around Carmen’s shoulder. “She’s little but she’s tough. I’ll see you tomorrow,” she said. “Be careful driving home.”

She and Robert left. She saw a red SUV parked behind her car. She assumed it was Robert’s. “Well, good night,” she said when they got to her car.

“It’s pretty late,” he said. “How about I follow you?”

Was Robert Hanson asking to be invited in? The idea was absurd. And terribly exciting. She felt sixteen again. “I drive all the time at night,” she said.

“That doesn’t make it a good thing. Please let me do this.”

Liz had always said that both Sawyer and Robert were real gentlemen. “Okay. Do you need my address?” she asked. “In case you lose me at a light?”

He shook his head and smiled. “I won’t lose you.”

And he didn’t. She drove a sedate thirty-eight miles an hour and he stayed a couple car lengths behind her. The whole time she worried about what she should say if he asked to come in. When she parked at her apartment building, she still didn’t have an answer.

He pulled up next to her.

“What floor?” he asked.

“Second. That window is my kitchen,” she said, pointing at the end of the building closest to them.

“Okay. Flip the light twice and I’ll know you’re in safe. Have a good night, Carmen.”

“Uh...sure. Thanks.” She practically ran into the building. She got inside her apartment and pressed herself up against the hard wall. Her heart was pounding in her chest, and she didn’t think it was from the physical exertion.

Then she remembered to flip the light twice.

Robert Hanson wasn’t interested in coming inside, and she was a fool to think so.

Chapter Three

Thursday

Carmen was just slipping on her shoes the next morning when she heard Raoul’s door slam. “You’re up early,” she said, ruffling his hair as he walked past her.

He didn’t answer. Just went to the cupboard and pulled out a box of cereal. He poured a big bowl, added milk, grabbed a spoon from the drawer and stood at the counter. “I have band practice this morning,” he said with his mouth full.

She ignored the poor manners. Lately, Raoul hadn’t offered much conversation; she wasn’t inclined to shut him down. “Practice before and after school?”

“Winter concert is next Thursday,” Raoul said. “Mr. Raker said we better improve fast or we’re going to be an embarrassment to ourselves and our families.”

Carmen smiled. Mr. Raker could get a little over-the-top sometimes. “You’ll pull it off. I know you will.”

“I guess.” He chewed. “Hey, Carmen. Did Hector have a lot of friends in high school?”

Hector. He’d been two years older and in every way possible, her hero. And then he’d made a few bad decisions that changed the course of his life. All their lives, really.

And then he’d died.

“I guess,” she said. Raoul never talked about Hector. “Why do you ask?”

He stared at her and put his half-eaten cereal down. “He was my brother. Can’t I ask about my brother?”

“Of course,” she said. “It’s just...you surprised me, that’s all. What would you like to know?”

He grabbed his coat. “Never mind,” he said. “I have to go. It’s Mrs. Minelli’s turn to drive. She’s probably already here.”

“Raoul,” she said.

A slamming door was her answer.

“Say hi to Jacob,” she said, her voice trailing off at the end. She sank down on one of her kitchen chairs. Over the years, she’d had a few clients who were as young as fourteen or fifteen, but girls were different. They communicated. Boys just shut down.

It was driving her crazy.

She turned the lights off, grabbed her coat and patted her pockets to make sure she had gloves. She normally drove to work, but she knew that parking near the coffee shop would be hard to find. It was easier to take a cab.

When she was just a few blocks away, she texted Alexa’s cell phone. Are you there?

The response came almost immediately. No. Five minutes.

Carmen checked her watch. Alexa’s father stopped in on his way to work. Same time, every day. He was due in ten minutes.

The cab stopped, and she handed over a ten and got out. She considered waiting outside for Alexa but across the street, the flashing sign on the bank indicated it was ten degrees.

And in Chicago, the wind never stopped blowing. Which made the windchill about twenty below.

She opened the coffee shop door, took her place in line and studied her choices. When it was her turn, she ordered a large hot chocolate and a glass of water. Then she turned to find a table.

And saw him.

Robert Hanson.

He smiled at her and held up his own cup. “Morning, Carmen. They make a great cup of coffee here, don’t they?”

He looked fresh and handsome and as delicious as one of the scones in the front display case. “This is not your coffee shop,” she hissed.

“I drink coffee all day long, all over the city. Why not here?”

She rolled her eyes. “Look, there’s no need for you to be here. Everything is going to be fine.”

“Good. Then you can just ignore that I’m here.”

Robert Hanson was six-two and two hundred pounds of muscle. His eyes were a brilliant blue, his bone structure was strong and his thick light brown hair looked as if a woman had just run her fingers through it.

He was hard to ignore.

“Do not interfere,” she said.

“As long as Dad behaves, that shouldn’t be a problem.”

Carmen shook her head and took the table in the corner. She turned her chair so that she could see the door but not Robert. She concentrated on taking deep breaths. When she felt she had it under control, she took small sips of her hot chocolate.

Alexa came in, wearing the same big, dark coat. The young girl got a cup of coffee and headed for Carmen. “I’m sorry I’m late. He should be here really soon.”

“No problem.” Carmen decided that now wasn’t the time to lecture on the evils of pregnancy and caffeine. “When he arrives, make eye contact and motion him over to the table. Then I’ll introduce myself and let him know that you have something that you’d like to tell him. Just be calm. It’s going to be okay.”

“You don’t know my dad,” Alexa said. She looked tired, as if she hadn’t had much sleep.

Carmen reached over to pat the girl’s hand but stopped when the teen stiffened in her chair. Carmen turned and immediately saw the resemblance between daughter and father. Their coloring was the same; the nose, too. Frank Sage was a big man, probably at least six feet. He wore gray work pants and a big black coat that hinted at a well-fed stomach. His blond hair was thinning on top.

He was frowning at his daughter.

Alexa motioned and the man hesitated. Then he walked across the room, bumping into a chair on the way.

“Alexa, what are you doing here?” he asked. He had a deep voice, somewhat raspy, likely from years of cigarettes. Carmen could smell smoke on his jacket.

“Hi, Dad,” Alexa said.

Carmen stood up. She did not like him towering over her. She extended her hand. He stared at it. “Mr. Sage, I’m Carmen Jimenez. I am a counselor and I’ve been working with your daughter.”

When it didn’t appear that he was going to return the shake, Carmen dropped her arm. “Will you please have a seat?” she asked.

The man hesitated, then sat on the edge of his chair. “A counselor? Working with my daughter,” he repeated. “What the hell is this about, Alexa?”

Carmen sat down. “Alexa has something that she wants to tell you, Mr. Sage. And this is difficult for her. It may also be difficult for you to hear. All I’m asking is that you hear her out, give her a chance.”

The man nodded. His eyes were narrowed.

“Dad.” Alexa stopped and licked her lips. “I’m pregnant.”

The man’s face turned red. He shook his head. “No,” he said, staring at his daughter.

Alexa nodded. “I’m going to have a baby around April 15.”

“No,” he repeated, his voice louder, as if by proclaiming it so, he could simply get the problem to disappear.

Alexa’s face turned pink and she looked quickly around the coffee shop. A few people in line were staring in their direction. “Please, Dad. Carmen is a counselor at Options for Caring Mothers, a pregnancy counseling center. She’s helping me.”

The man swiveled in his chair, looked at Carmen, then stood up fast, catching the edge of the table. Cups and water glasses flew. Carmen felt the hot splash of liquid on her face and heard Alexa yelp. She looked up to see Frank Sage’s big red face coming toward her.