Several police cruisers passed Richard as he left the Grand Avenue station and walked south on Halstead. He recognized the two detectives in the lead car as the ones he’d seen yesterday on the subway platform.
Hmm… those two sure like this area of the city. I better finish my task and wipe those killers off the earth so I can get back to the business at hand, and I sure as hell don’t need any cops getting in my way.
Richard had arrived at the Blue Line station early that morning and saw the guy he followed home the day before board the outbound train. The man would likely be gone until that afternoon just like he was yesterday. The Hispanic guy had already left, too, and wouldn’t be an issue until later that night. Richard continued on to North Sangamon Street, where he planned to sneak into the house and lie in wait.
Reaching the last house before the street ended, Richard checked his surroundings before walking up to the porch. The risk factor was high since the home was an upper and lower duplex, but the likelihood of someone just staring out the front window upstairs was probably low. He turned left on the sidewalk, stepped up to the porch, and rang the bell. He wasn’t expecting anyone, and nobody answered. With the makeshift lock-picking tools he’d brought along, Richard knelt and got to work on the doorknob, which was far from new. He pressed the thin metal tool against the locking mechanism, jiggled it a few times, and turned the knob—the door opened. He looked over his shoulder with a grin to make sure the coast was still clear.
That was a lot easier than I thought it would be.
After pushing off his knee, Richard stood and crept inside then locked the door at his back. The house was dark and quiet. He passed through the living room and entered the kitchen on his right, then he pulled the curtain aside and peered through the glass. Nobody was on the sidewalk, and the house directly across the street had the blinds drawn.
“Perfect.”
He would make sure to keep the lights off in the street-facing rooms. The unit wasn’t large, and he went through it in a matter of minutes as he looked for the best place to hide. He flipped the switch in the first bedroom and looked around. That had to be the white guy’s room. Richard walked to the small corner desk and took a seat, then he opened the drawers. Mail sent to a Bradley Risack sat inside.
So, you finally have a name to go with that face. Brad, huh?
Richard opened the closet. Cramped quarters, and for his size, Richard knew that wouldn’t work. He continued down the hallway to the only other bedroom. It had to belong to the Hispanic guy. Notes addressed to “Manny,” with hearts and lipstick kisses drawn on them, were taped to his mirror.
“Pretty juvenile, Manny. How old are you, fourteen?” Richard chuckled and continued his search of the room. He pulled the dresser knob and found a purse inside. “Hmm, what’s this?” Taking a seat on the bed, Richard unzipped it and lifted out the wallet. He stared through the plastic sleeve at the ID card. “Leslie Adams? You’re the girl that those assholes just killed a few blocks from here. Looks like I’m on the right path.” He pulled the wallet’s zipper and found a wad of cash. He lifted it out and counted it. “Eight hundred bucks? Nice haul. Chances are, there’s other things of value in her apartment. She’s dead and doesn’t need the shit, anyway. Guess this wallet is going with me.” He found her cell phone at the bottom of the purse and pressed the button to turn it on. The screen saver showed someone who was likely Leslie embracing a dark-haired younger girl. “I wonder who you are, little lady? I’ll be taking this phone too.”
Richard returned the purse to the drawer and pulled open the closet door. It was roomier than Brad’s closet and might work well as a hiding spot. A box on the floor inside contained a dozen or more purses. He knelt down and looked—about half were empty.
Looks like you two have a thriving side hustle, and following hookers around makes sense. They probably have plenty of cash on them as the night gets later and later. I’ll admit, not a bad gig, and something I can easily do too. Spot them on the subway late at night when their purses are full of money, follow them, kill them, and take the cash. I’d kill the women, anyway, so why not target hookers instead and make extra money in the process?
Richard pushed the box out of the way with his foot and climbed inside the closet. It was roomy enough and would work perfectly as a place to lie in wait. He would surprise Brad when he was most vulnerable—in the shower or on the toilet. The bathroom was across from Manny’s room. Richard opened the door and peeked in.
Good. It’s small, and there’s a shower curtain instead of a glass door. He won’t see or hear me coming, and he won’t have room to fight back.
After returning to the living room, Richard continued straight and into the kitchen again. The largest knife in the butcher block might be missed if Brad planned to use it for anything. Richard pulled open the drawers and found a steel mallet and a boxed carving-knife-and-fork set.
Perfect. These can go in the closet with me. It’s doubtful they’ll be missed, and I do have my own knife as backup if I need it, but I’d rather use something that’ll be left behind, anyway. No forensic evidence to compare his injuries to Callie’s.
Richard placed the weapons in Manny’s closet on top of the box of purses, along with his own knife. He wanted it ready to use if necessary. He removed his shoes and put them in the closet too. As he returned to the living room, he pushed up his sleeve and checked the time—5:52. Brad would be arriving home within a half hour. Richard checked the door again, and it was locked. He gave each room a glance to make sure nothing appeared out of place and then waited. From Manny’s bedroom window, he could see to the end of the block, where Sangamon and West Hubbard met. That was the route Brad had to take to get home.
To kill time, Richard stared at the pictures on his phone. They inspired him and made him want to murder. A rush washed over him every time he looked at them, and the most recent pictures—of Callie’s murder—replayed in his mind like the crime had happened only seconds earlier. The images aroused him, and he looked forward to killing that redhead as soon as he got Brad and Manny out of the way and long gone from his turf.
He glanced through the window again and saw Brad turn the corner. He would be home in under two minutes. Richard opened the closet and climbed inside to wait for the perfect opportunity to end Brad’s life.