“Shit.”
That was the only word I thought of when Gaines turned right off West Hubbard and onto North Sangamon Street. Two squad cars sat in front of the last house on the short block with their blue lights flashing. Our radio squawked just before Chuck parked the cruiser—a request for the forensic team and the medical examiner. I was sure we were in for something bad.
I bolted from the car and ran up the sidewalk with Chuck two feet behind me.
“What have we got?” I yelled to the group of four patrol officers who stood near the porch. They parted to let us through, and just ahead, a dead man lay at the bottom of the steps.
“Son of a bitch. Is that Manny?”
“Don’t know, Detective McCord. We haven’t touched anything.”
I realized I still didn’t know Manny’s last name. “Did you bang on the door?”
“Yep, no answer at either unit.”
“What’s the ETA on the medical examiner and Forensics?”
“Twenty minutes at best.”
I raked my hair as I paced. I had to let Lutz know what was going on. I tapped his name on my phone, and he answered on the first ring.
“What have you got, Jesse?”
“A dead man on the sidewalk in front of that house on Sangamon. From what I can tell, it’s probably Manny. Black-haired guy with a ponytail, and he’s wearing a dark-colored T-shirt. Could be one of those RailGears shirts, but he’s lying on his stomach, so I’ll have to wait until Don arrives and flips him over.”
“Hang on. I’m looking at Kevin’s phone to see what time he made that call.”
I waited as Lutz checked.
“Okay, Kevin called Manny’s phone at ten minutes after twelve. We know Manny has gotten off the subway around midnight before. It’s likely he has a second shift job at RailGears since the timeline matches. I’d say it has to be him.”
“Sounds logical to me.”
“Anyone in the house?”
“Patrol says they knocked on both doors, and nobody answered at either.”
Lutz groaned in my ear. “I’m headed your way.”
It was a quarter past three by the time I saw headlights turn down Sangamon. The medical examiner’s van was heading our way, and right behind it was another vehicle. It had to be Mike Nordgren, our lead forensic specialist, and Danny Bradshaw, second in charge. I let out a deep sigh and knew Kevin Tibbs had a lot more talking to do. The other guy—and in all likelihood, Leslie’s killer—was still at large, and according to Kevin’s mom, the kid was well-acquainted with that man too.
As our forensic team took the on-site pictures of the deceased, I made a call to the bullpen, and Mark Phelps answered. I needed somebody to rattle Kevin’s cage again. We had to know if Manny lived in that house with somebody else, and if he did, who that person was. I also wanted first and last names, which he hadn’t given us earlier.
“Don’t let him stall,” I said. “Be assertive and demand answers right away since we don’t have time to waste. In all likelihood, we’ll have to make forced entry into the house, but we don’t know if Manny lived upstairs or downstairs.” I hung up after Mark said he’d get back to me as soon as possible.
Lutz arrived about the same time our forensic team finished taking pictures of the victim and turned the scene over to Don. Lutz approached me and craned his neck toward the dead man.
“Have an ID yet?”
“Nope. Don is just beginning.”
Lutz jerked his head at Don. “Go ahead and flip him over. We need to see if there’s a company logo on that T-shirt.”
With help from Mark Nells, Don’s assistant, they carefully turned the body over. Lutz shined his flashlight at the man.
“Holy shit. His throat is slashed just like Callie’s was, and he’s wearing a RailGears shirt. As soon as that place opens, you’re going in with the warrant. I want to know why that human resources manager was stalling.”
“Will do, Boss.” Seeing Manny’s injuries only solidified my fear that we were dealing with different killers. The vic had been stabbed in the torso then had his throat slit as if to make sure he’d die, exactly the same way Callie was killed.
“Jesse.”
“What?”
“I asked if you knew who the listed tenants are for this duplex.”
“Sorry, I was deep in thought.”
“Well, think later. Right now, we need action.”
I knew I needed to return to the moment and would have to speculate about the killers and motives later. “I spoke with Mark Phelps a few minutes ago and told him to shake up Kevin. We need to know who lives in this duplex and in which unit. Nobody answers at either, and it’s looking more and more like we’re going to have to break in.”
“Get inside one of those squad cars and pull up this address to see who the owner or renter on file is.”
“You bet.” I grabbed the nearest officer and escorted him to his squad car. “Pull up this address in the public records file and see whose name is attached to it. I doubt if the renters’ names will show, but the owner can tell us who lives in each unit and if Manny is listed as a tenant in either one.”
It took only a few taps on the keyboard to get the information we needed. The owner of the building lived in Northbrook, too far for him to show up with a set of apartment keys. I called the number on file, and a sleepy-sounding man answered on the fifth ring.
He cleared his throat before speaking. “Hello?”
“Hello. Is this John Tremlot?”
“Speaking. Who’s this?”
“This is Detective McCord with the Chicago Police Department’s homicide division. We have a dead man in front of your duplex on North Sangamon Street.”
“Jesus!”
“Sir. We need to know who the tenants are for both units. Nobody answers at either apartment, meaning we’ll have to make a forced entry. Sorry, but we don’t have time to wait for you to bring keys.”
“Um, shit. I can’t think. I own nine properties. Give me a second to check in my file cabinet.”
“Go ahead, sir. I’ll wait.” I listened to silence for five minutes, then Mr. Tremlot returned to the phone.
“Okay, I have it, Detective McCord.”
“And I’m ready to write it down.”
“Aaron Lucas lives in the upper unit with his fiancé, and the lower unit is rented to Bradley Risack.”
“Good, and does anybody live with Bradley?”
“Not on record, so I wouldn’t know.”
“Anyone named Manny come to mind?”
“No, can’t say that it does. Is it Bradley who’s dead?”
“We don’t have an ID on the victim yet, sir.”
“Do I need to show up for anything?”
“Not immediately, but you ought to come to our Wentworth station to get a copy of the police report so you can submit the door damage to your insurance company. Thank you for your help.” I hung up and told the officer to pull up the DMV database. If Bradley Risack had an ID with his image on it, we’d know if he was the other man Tim Grimes saw attack Leslie the night she was murdered. Seconds later, I was staring at the face of a very good likeness of the composite sketch of the man Tim had described to us. I exited the car and walked to Lutz. “Upstairs is rented to a guy and his fiancé, so it has to be the lower unit. Owner doesn’t recognize the name Manny but says the tenant is a Bradley Risack. His ID on record looks a lot like the sketch Tory drew.”
Lutz called out to the nearest officer. “Bring the ram to the door of the lower unit. We’re making entry now.”
My phone rang as we waited. It was Mark Phelps calling back.
“Jesse, Kevin said a Bradley Risack lives downstairs with Manny.”
“Yep. We just got that information from the building owner. Did he say what Manny’s last name was?”
“He said it’s Aragon.”
“Son of a bitch. That damn human resources manager at RailGears has a lot of explaining to do.”