The lack of any suspicious letter in Tammy’s mail made me question myself. I doubted that anyone spent time writing letters anymore, and I had to admit that the idea I’d thrown out was far-fetched and unrealistic.
Once we returned to the precinct, Frank and I parted ways in the parking lot. As I was about to drive away, I noticed that Lutz’s car was still in his spot. I waffled between postponing the quiet night I had planned at home with my pup and going back inside for another hour of brainstorming about the cases with my commander.
It was hard to turn off the cop inside me, even when I had the opportunity. I promised myself I’d stay for only an hour, and a one-on-one with my boss—in the privacy of his office, without interruptions—might give me the clarity I needed. If there was an opinion or insight I trusted more than anyone else’s, it belonged to Lutz.
With a sigh, I shut down my truck, climbed out, and returned to the building. I looked back as Frank’s taillights disappeared down the street.
Up on our floor, I walked the hallway to my boss’s office and gave the door two knuckle thumps. He called out to come in.
“What the hell are you still doing here? I thought you and Mills left when the night crew started.”
I shrugged. “I never heard back about the interviews with Moe or the Binghams.”
Lutz raised a brow. “Last time I checked, the team reported to me. So why are you really here?”
I pointed at a guest chair, and he nodded.
“Take a load off, McCord, and tell me what’s on your mind.”
“I can’t quite put my finger on it. Tammy has an alibi, the guard says she never left the shelter the night Dwayne was murdered, yet as much as she’s a victim of his abuse, I just don’t trust her one hundred percent.”
“Why? A gut feeling?”
“Not sure, other than she flat-out said she wanted Dwayne dead.”
“What?”
I swatted the air. “I’m sure she was just spouting off, and who would blame her? He was a horrible man from everyone’s description of him. Still, she didn’t tell us about the Binghams, and she swears she doesn’t know Moe Price from Pilsen.” I looked at Lutz. “Speaking of—”
“Moe and the Binghams were dead ends. They had alibis that were confirmed.”
“Damn it. Moe might still go after Tammy for the debt Dwayne owed, though. Did he say if he’d ever met Tammy or not?”
Lutz shook his head. “He said he hadn’t, and if Moe was involved, he would have shot Dwayne himself. He would have tossed the house looking for cash, or drugs that he could have sold.”
I squeezed my temples. “Yeah, you’re right. What’s going on with the Guthrie case?”
“Don said the slugs taken from the skulls of both men weighed approximately the same. They were completely misshapen, but because of the weight and composition, he’s going with a nine millimeter as the bullet both men were killed with.”
“Nothing unusual about a nine-millimeter gun since everyone has one, so the only commonality would be the way the men were killed. Execution-style murders send a definite message, and that’s revenge or justification on a personal, moral, or political level.”
“Humph, that is true unless they were mob hits. Dwayne was a heavy gambler, and Brice was a casino manager. That in itself puts them on common ground, and this is Chicago. The last time I looked, the Windy City still had some mob influence.”
I frowned. “I don’t know about Dwayne since he was a low-level gambler. Hell, he had to borrow money to gamble with, which makes me think we should see if Morris Price has any mob connections. Maybe he was Dwayne’s bookie.”
“That’s worth checking into. First thing in the morning, we’re going to use the warrant on the Guthries bank accounts, insurance policies, and all financial documents. We need to either make a connection between the killings or conclude that there are two killers with a fondness for execution-style murders roaming the streets.” Lutz pushed back his desk chair and stood.
“You kicking me out?” I asked.
“Yeah, because I’m leaving too. It’s still early enough to justify driving home rather than camping out on the couch here in my office. I’ll admit, it wouldn’t be hard to get used to that.”
I chuckled. “First, you’d have to have a shower installed in the bathroom, and second, you’d have to keep several days’ worth of clean clothes in the closet.”
“I doubt that there’s money in the budget for installing a shower.” Lutz grunted, walked out, and closed the door behind us. “I’ll bring a few outfits along with me tomorrow.” He scratched his forehead. “I guess you just never know when spending the night here makes more sense than going home.”
We crossed the parking lot together, and before parting ways, Lutz said he wanted to check out my truck. A smile lit up his face once he took a seat behind the wheel.
“Damn, this is really nice. How much did this beast set you back?”
“Seventyish.”
“Ouch. No shit?”
I laughed. “Yeah, no shit, and you might want to keep that in mind when you assign the overtime schedule. I’m always ready and willing to work.”