EMTs and police cruisers screeched to a stop, lights flashing and sirens blaring minutes after the shots rang out, parking just beyond where the two vehicles had initially stopped. Cai and I remained crouched, helpless alongside Judge Reynolds’s body, not wanting to leave him, as professionals with medical equipment and a stretcher reached us.
Although it seemed obvious that the man was dead, I still held pressure on his chest with shaky hands, not knowing what else to do, as dark red stained his crisp white dress shirt and blood pooled on the blacktop in an ever-growing puddle. His wire-rimmed glasses had been thrown as he tumbled to the ground, landing next to his head, and one brown leather loafer had slipped from his foot in the fall.
Cai’s eyes were riveted on me, her mouth agape, her phone ringing repeatedly, still in her hand, seemingly unaware of its draw. I didn’t know how well she knew the man or whether their only association was her current case. The judge worked in the domestic relations division, and she handled corporate law. I assumed they would’ve had little reason to interact professionally outside of their current case.
The shock in her eyes was a reality I knew only too well. Seeing someone killed before your eyes, particularly someone you knew, is something never forgotten, and Cai would live with the rawness of this memory for quite some time.
As the EMTs organized their gear and stepped toward the victim, the crowd of onlookers increased, drawn to the chaos. I could hear snips of speculation about what had happened as it filtered through the medical chatter. Two police officers pushed back the crowd and established the perimeter while Cai and I remained glued to our spots.
Another officer knelt next to me. “You can let the pros take it from here,” he said gently.
I lifted my bloody hands, but I couldn’t pull my eyes away from the stillness of Reynolds’s face, watching for any slight eye movement or facial twitch that would tell me the man wasn’t really dead.
The officer led us toward a police vehicle, where an EMT poured water on my hands and handed me a towel.
“Can you tell me what happened here?” the officer asked.
I glanced at his badge, which read Acevedo, and then at his probing green eyes. He stood, classic cop stance, feet spread, thumbs hooked into his belt, looking from me to Cai.
Cai still seemed unable to find her voice.
“The victim is a judge named Reynolds,” I said, my pulse pounding with adrenaline. Stress sweat dampened the back of my neck, and I clenched my hands into fists, trying unsuccessfully to still them.
“Bradford Reynolds,” Cai added, coming out of her fog. “He works in the domestic relations court system. I was supposed to see him today.”
The officer winced slightly, and I assumed he thought Cai was a plaintiff in a divorce case.
“It wasn’t her divorce,” I said. “My friend is an attorney, corporate law, and she was here to give testimony. Apparently, the judge was delayed, and we were standing out here on the sidewalk talking when the incident occurred."
I wasn’t sure why I was telling him about the case or why we were standing outside, but the unimportant details spilled out anyway.
“There was a vehicle,” I continued. “An SUV, blocking the parking entrance when the judge drove up. He honked a few times, but the car didn’t budge, so Judge Reynolds got out to have a word with the driver. Before he got within ten feet of the car, two men got out and just shot him.”
The basics of the story tumbled out of me, partly from shock, partly from my professional background kicking in. Minutes mattered, and the quicker the cop got a handle on what happened, the quicker he could get the right people doing their jobs.
The officer turned and motioned to one of his colleagues. When his partner arrived, he continued with his questions, both men watching us intently.
“What happened after they shot him?” Acevedo asked.
“One guy got back into the SUV, the other jumped in the judge’s Lexus, and they both sped off, north on Dearborn and then a left on Washington, I think,” I said, looking toward Cai for reinforcement.
A familiar face appeared next to the men. Michael. The officers nodded in recognition. He looked quizzically from me to Cai before giving me a small smile, his eyes speaking in a way his words couldn’t. We were always cautious about revealing our relationship outside of the safe bubble of Cai and Michael’s partner, Karl Janek.
“Did these men say anything before they fired? Was there an exchange?” Michael asked.
His eyes were soft, watching me for signs of distress, and I could see worry etched on his face. Knew he wanted to pull me close and make sure I was really okay.
“Not a word, at least not from the shooters. The judge saw the gun immediately,” I responded. “Told them to take the car, that he didn’t have any cash. They just stood there and shot anyway.”
“And did you get a look at these guys? Can you describe them?” The second officer was now joining in, jotting down notes while he asked the standard questions.
“That’s another strange thing. They wore masks. Rubber Halloween types,” Cai answered, her shock waning. “Not sure what characters they were supposed to be, but you know what I’m talking about, right?”
The cops looked at each other, saying nothing, using the unspoken language of cop eyes to do the work for them.
“They were two guys of medium build and average height,” I added, my former prosecutor background finding its way to the surface. “They wore gloves and masks and dark clothing. Black long-sleeved T-shirts, black pants, no logos. There was no skin showing to identify race and nothing unusual about their bodies. I know it’s not helpful, but that’s what we saw. It seems pretty obvious that these guys planned to attack the judge. Or if not the judge himself, perhaps another judicial employee. I believe this parking lot is reserved for judicial staff, judges primarily.”
Michael’s eyes drilled into me, and I didn’t need to know the cop code for what that look meant. He knew I was already racing ahead of the facts, projecting possibilities for consideration, wondering what was behind it all. And I knew him well enough to know he was doing the same.
“But why take the car? If they just wanted to kill the guy, they didn’t need to jack the Lexus too,” one cop said.
“Tell me about the vehicles,” the other officer prompted while Michael remained silent, his mind active with potential scenarios.
“The shooters drove a black Escalade,” I said. “Tinted windows. So, it was tough to see if anyone was in the vehicle at first. I assumed it was a limo service waiting on his fare. I’m no car expert, but it was a fairly recent model. No obvious scrapes or dings or stickers. As I said, the judge drove Lexus, a sedan, silver, an LS model, I think. If there were any markings, I didn’t see them.”
“Did you catch the license plates?” Michael asked.
I thought for a moment, then shook my head. “Illinois plates, but now that I think about it, I don’t think they were livery plates. Maybe an Uber? I didn’t catch anything else. Cai, did you?”
I watched as she racked her brain for a moment. “I also thought it was probably a limo service. They double-park all the time, but I can’t be certain about the plates. I was more focused on…”
She trailed off as the clang of the ambulance door closing jolted us, pulling our attention back to the victim. We watched solemnly as the vehicle flipped on its siren and lights and pulled away from the curb.
Officers in the forensic team had cordoned off two lanes of traffic and much of the immediate sidewalk and were now tagging spots for further analysis. Location markers dotted the blacktop. A shell casing. A footprint. What appeared to be tire marks. All were being photographed and bagged and prepped for analysis back at the forensics lab.
I glanced around, looking for security cameras that might have captured the incident, noting them on posts at the entrance to the alley, and knew there were others, given the significance of the government building.
“Okay, we’ll need your contact information,” Officer Acevedo said.
Cai and I fished out business cards, handing them to the officer.
Acevedo looked at me, then shrugged at Michael. “She’s a reporter. That’s one way to hop into a story. I guess I know what you’re doing after we leave.” He rolled his eyes and flashed the card at Michael, who gave me a small grin.
“Gotta use the opportunities as they present themselves,” I said out of habit, feeling the instinct to protest the vulture side of my profession.
The two officers left us, moving toward the rest of the team, who were now questioning bystanders. With any luck, a license plate number would come out of the canvassing or the recorded video footage.
“Are you guys okay?” Michael asked, looking from me to Cai, who still seemed unsteady. I’d been in a version of this place before, had seen death occur before my eyes, had nearly been a victim myself. It wasn’t easy and would never be okay. Cai, however, lived in a world where the worst of the crime she’d experienced was audacious embezzlement. Although insidious and evil, white-collar crime lacked the gut punch of a bloody body, and I knew that this would have repercussions on her psyche.
“I think I’m still in shock,” she said. “It’s not quite sinking in that this really happened right in front of me to someone I knew.”
“How well did you know him?” I asked.
“Well, I suppose I knew of him would be more accurate. We worked in completely different areas of the law, so I never appeared in his court. But the judicial community is small. Everyone knows of everyone through reputation or functions or minor city political associations. To be an African American judge in any city, even one the size of Chicago, brings some level of extra attention, so he was well known. I’d spoken to him at a conference once or twice, but that’s it. His reputation is for being firm but fair. I understand his wife died of cancer last year. Not sure if they had kids…”
Her words trailed off again, and we were left wondering whose world would be shattered today with the news.
“Are we free to go?” Cai asked. “My client is probably wandering the halls frantically, thinking I’ve abandoned her. She’s the emotional type, and she’s probably left me a dozen phone messages.”
“Got to get back to my client” was Cai spitting out the professional line, but I suspected she wanted to run as far away as she could get from the images now burned into her brain. Shut it off for now so that she could process her emotions later.
“Yes, you can go,” Michael said. “Reach out if you remember anything else.”
“Touch base with me later about dinner,” I said. “If you’re not feeling up to it, I understand. This kind of emotional stuff can sneak up on you.”
I gave her a hug, and Michael and I watched silently as she walked toward the building.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
I shrugged. There were no words that could explain the emotions that swirled inside me after witnessing a violent end to someone’s life, and I wanted his arms around me. Stealing a glance at the officers nearby, I smiled but couldn’t lean against his chest. Not now, regardless of how much we both wanted that.
The deeper we got, the harder it was becoming to insulate our romantic relationship from our professional lives. Michael’s partner, Karl Janek, knew, of course, and we downplayed any rumors that popped up, but there would be a reckoning at some point unless one of us made a sudden career change or the relationship fizzled out.
Coming out of a marriage tainted with infidelity, my trust in the male species, as well as the institution itself, was still shaky. I didn’t know if I’d ever be ready to recommit to marriage, or fully to Michael, for that matter. I didn’t want to date anyone else, and I was deeply in like with the man, but the fear of losing myself to love was overpowering, holding me back from the commitment Michael seemed ready to make. How he could be so certain? Had he simply had more time to package up the baggage of his own divorce, or had he not fully processed the lingering emotional side effects?
“I should get back to work,” Michael said, reaching over and running a finger along the side of my hand. “Call me later, okay?”
I said I would, then watched him walk away, still feeling his touch and feeling myself flush with confusion.
Shaking it off, I moved toward the courthouse, expecting to find the building had been locked down over the incident. Pulling my phone out of my bag for a status check-in with the clerk on my case, I saw the man who’d made the disparaging remarks about Judge Reynolds. He was leaning against one of the pillars, a raggedy briefcase resting at his feet.
His jacket was open, and he’d loosened his tie, but the smirky grin was still plastered on his face as he took a call.
The words he’d uttered standing behind me came back, as did his tone, while I watched him tug on the collar of his shirt.
His kind.