At seven forty-five, the doorbell rang. The table was set, and Hanna had just poured two glasses of wine. “Perfect timing,” I said as I crossed the living room. I reached into my pocket for my wallet then opened the door. “What the hell? Frank, what are you doing here?”
“Dude, where’s your phone?”
I spun and looked at the breakfast bar, where I normally placed my phone after walking in—it wasn’t there. I patted my pockets. Nothing. “Well, crap, I must have left it in the truck.” I waved him in. “So what’s going on?”
Frank took a second to acknowledge Hanna and apologized for the interruption. “Lutz called me after trying to reach you. I said since I lived closer, I’d come and bang on your door. There was another murder, but this one was in a public place.”
I grabbed my gun and badge. “Go on.”
“A head manager at the Lucky Strike Casino was just executed in the parking garage after his shift ended. He was discovered by another employee who had left ten minutes later.”
“What do you mean by executed?”
“Same as Dwayne.” Frank jabbed his forehead with his index finger. “One shot, dead center.”
“Damn it.” I turned to Hanna. “Babe, I’m so sorry.”
She waved me off. “Don’t give it another thought. I’ll stay here and hang with Bandit.”
“You sure?” I reached in my wallet and pulled out three twenties. “Here, for dinner. I’ll try to get back before you go to sleep.”
She gave me a thoughtful smile. “I’ll put the food in the fridge, and we’ll eat it later. Bandit and I will have popcorn, snuggle up on the couch, and watch TV.”
“Can you give me a minute, Mills?”
“You bet.”
I waited until Frank stepped out to the porch. “Hanna, I know the timing sucks, and I’m so sorry.”
She wrapped her arms around me. “You’ve already apologized. Go do your job, Detective McCord. Be safe, and I love you.”
I kissed her. “Thanks for understanding, hon, and I love you too.”
I met up with Frank on the porch. “I’ll program the directions into my GPS and lead the way. So we’re going to the parking garage?”
“Yep. Lutz said the fourth level is for employees only, and that’s where the crime scene is located.”
“Okay, let’s go.” I opened the garage door and backed out. With the casino’s name programmed into my infotainment center’s navigation system, we were on our way. According to the GPS, it would take twenty minutes to get there.
We arrived at the casino and turned in to the parking garage at 8:20. When we got there, the fourth level was cordoned off. I pulled up to the officer blocking the entry and showed him my badge. “Where should we park?” I thumbed the air over my shoulder at Frank’s truck idling on my rear bumper. “He’s with me.”
“Have to go up another level, Detective McCord, and then walk down. The elevator is being processed, so that’s closed off for now too.”
“Got it, thanks.” I opened my window and yelled out to Frank. “We’ve got to go up to the next floor.”
After parking on Level Five, Frank made a beeline for the elevator.
“Hold up, buddy. Forensics shut down the elevator, so we’re walking down.” I pointed at the red exit sign. “Looks like the stairs are that way.”
Frank turned back and walked alongside me to the level below. We reached Level Four to see a number of people from law enforcement and the private security company from the casino. They walked a grid in the open spaces and checked under every parked car for anything that could be evidence.
Catching sight of Lutz and Don, Frank and I headed in their direction. As we passed, I glanced at the sheet-draped body still lying on the floor. When we reached our commander, I jerked my head toward the body.
“What’s the word?”
Don took charge. “The victim was shot square in the forehead. I have to admit, the assault looks similar to the Dwayne Lincoln murder, but without the casings or the weapon, we can’t say with one hundred percent certainty that the murders were committed by the same person.”
I glanced at each car in the immediate area. “Which vehicle was his?”
Our commander pointed at the car nearest the elevator. “It’s that navy-blue BMW.”
“Forensics has already processed it?”
Lutz shook his head. “The victim never made it to the car, but it’ll go to the evidence garage with us so it can be gone through thoroughly.”
I scratched my cheek. “So the perp was lying in wait here? That means he chose this particular casino manager for a reason and knew his work hours and the type of car he drove. The question is why him? What’s the victim’s name, anyway?”
Lutz double-checked his notes. “Brice Guthrie, age fifty-two, married, and has worked here for seventeen years.”
“Married?”
“The employee who made the 911 call said he was.”
“Has the wife been contacted yet?”
“Nope,” Lutz said, “but I wouldn’t be surprised if Mr. Guthrie’s cell phone rings soon. The wife has to be wondering why he isn’t home yet.”
I looked at Don. “So what’s your best guess as to time of death?”
Don tipped his wrist. “According to other employees, Mr. Guthrie’s shift ended at seven o’clock, so I’d say he died within minutes of that.”
I raised my palms and turned to Lutz. “Boss, what do you want us to do?”
“First, talk to the 911 caller, and now that we know the victim’s name, go ahead and pay the wife a visit after that.” Lutz flipped the page in his notepad. “I’ll text you the address.” He jerked his head at Frank. “You can both go and then update me later. I’ll get the night shift guys up to speed, have the camera footage from this floor sent to Gaines’s email, and let them start viewing it. By morning, we should have something to work with.”
“Copy that, and I’ll let you know when we leave the Guthrie residence. Where is the 911 caller?”
Lutz pointed at the man sitting with Foxworthy on the curb thirty feet away. Frank and I approached them, and Foxworthy introduced us to the man. His name was Garrett Rush.
“Mr. Rush, we only need a few minutes of your time since I’m sure Officer Foxworthy has already gathered much of the important information from you.”
He nodded. “I’ve never seen a murdered person before, let alone someone I know.”
“Did you see Mr. Guthrie leave?”
“I did. Our shifts ended at the same time, but since I have nearly an hour drive home, I made a pit stop at the bathroom, said goodbye to Brice, and he continued on.”
“What is your role at the casino, Mr. Rush?” Frank asked.
“I’m a dealer at one of the high-dollar poker tables. Brice was the supervisor of my pit boss.”
“So what happened when you exited the elevator, and were you alone?”
“Another person got on the elevator with me but exited on the second floor. When the doors parted at our Level Four parking area, I stepped out and turned left. That’s when I saw Brice on the floor. I thought maybe he had a heart attack until I saw the blood.”
“Did you touch him or anything else?” Frank asked.
“Hell no. I backed away and made the 911 call. I’ll admit, I was scared shitless, though. I didn’t know if foul play was involved or if he’d just tripped and cracked his head, but I’ve seen enough cop shows on TV to know not to touch anything.”
“What about sounds?”
“Sounds?”
“Yes. Like someone running away, tires squealing, a car door opening and closing, key locks chirping, or anything of that nature?”
Mr. Rush pressed the bridge of his nose. “No—I mean I don’t know. My focus was on getting help for Brice, not if there were sounds around me.”
I nodded. “Hopefully, the camera footage will show us what we need to know.” I looked at Frank. “Can you think of anything else?”
“Nope, I’m good.”
I handed my card to Mr. Rush and thanked him. “Appreciate your help, sir.”
Frank and I headed to Level Five, where our trucks were parked, and according to Lutz’s text, Mr. Guthrie’s home was on the near south side. We arrived at South Prairie Parkway and found long rows of well-kept redbrick condos. I led the way while craning my neck for the right address since each condo looked like the next. When I found it, I pointed out my window at the home then parked in one of the five visitors’ spaces. Frank pulled in alongside me. He groaned as he climbed out of his truck and slammed the door behind him.
“Damn it, I hate this part of our job.”
“Yeah, me too,” I said as I took the stairs to the stoop.
I pressed the doorbell, and we waited. Seconds later, the door opened far enough to extend the chain lock to its limits, and a woman’s face stared out. We’d already pulled out our badges and had them facing the door.
“Hello.”
“Ma’am, are you Mrs. Guthrie?”
“Yes, I’m Elizabeth Guthrie.”
“We’re Detectives McCord and Mills from the Chicago Police Department. We need a word with you about your husband, Brice.”
Her eyes instantly pooled with tears. “Oh no. What happened?”
“Ma’am, can we talk inside?” Frank asked.
She closed the door briefly to release the chain then pulled it open. “Please, come in.”
Frank and I entered the foyer and waited for her lead.
“This way. We can sit in the living room.” She took a seat on the chair and pointed at the couch for us. After sitting down, Frank pulled his notepad and pen from his jacket pocket and flipped to a clean page.
I began. “Mrs. Guthrie, we’re sorry to inform you that Brice was killed tonight. He was shot in the casino’s parking garage as he walked to his car after his shift ended.”
“No, no, it can’t be true.” She covered her face with her hands and wailed. She pointed at the table, already set with that night’s dinner. “I’ve been waiting for him to come home. I made his favorite—chicken marsala.”
I felt for her, and I knew Frank did too. From all appearances, she loved her husband deeply.
“Ma’am, we don’t have any idea yet why Brice was shot. It could have been a random shooting or a targeted one, but we need your help in order to apprehend the killer. Was there anyone that you can think of who had a problem with your husband?”
“No, of course not! He was a good man and a fair boss. Everyone in his position has to fire an employee now and then, but he never seemed threatened by that, and he never mentioned any confrontations to me. He loved his job, and the casino was doing really well. Gambling is a robust business, and Brice promoted it to the best of his ability.” She pulled a tissue from the box on the end table and dabbed her eyes. “I can’t believe this.” Her eyes searched ours. “Tell me this is some kind of sick joke. Brice can’t be dead.”
“We’re so sorry, Mrs. Guthrie, but it’s true. If he never mentioned an employee who was holding a grudge, how about neighbors or a family member?” I scanned the beautifully furnished room. “Possibly someone who was jealous of his success?”
“I can’t think of anybody. We’re in our fifties for God’s sake. We have a good life and nice friends. There was never an indication of jealousy from anyone that I noticed.”
“Do you own any guns?”
“My God, no. We’ve never felt the need for weapons, and Brice wasn’t a hunter either.”
I let out a long sigh of discouragement. It wasn’t that I wanted someone to have a vendetta against the Guthrie family, but if we only had a name, it would be something to start with.
“Does the name Dwayne Lincoln ring a bell with you?”
She rubbed her forehead. “No, should it?”
“Not necessarily. Just asking. We’d appreciate it if you’d make a list of everyone you and Brice know and the relationship you have to that person.”
Mrs. Guthrie excused herself to get a sheet of paper and a pen and returned moments later. “It’s going to take some time, so can I just email you the list when I have it done?”
We stood. “That’s a great idea.” I handed my card to her. “My email address and phone number are on there. We have Brice’s phone, so we’ll be checking that too.”
She wiped her eyes again. “Detective McCord?”
“Yes, ma’am?”
“Where do I go from here?”
I reached out and squeezed her shoulder. “Get ahold of your closest support system, whether it’s a best friend or relative. You’re going to need somebody to lean on and help you get through your loss. Call my desk phone in the morning, and I’ll walk you through the process of coming in and speaking with our medical examiner to ID Brice.”
Mrs. Guthrie walked us to the door, thanked us, and closed it at our backs. We heard her sobbing as we walked down the steps.
Frank cursed. “That never gets easier.”
“No, partner, it sure doesn’t.”