The drive from the Ramsey house to the Carter residence took twenty minutes. I tried to think about how I’d break the news to them. That part of our job was never easy, and no matter how we worded it, the death of a loved one was the worst news a family member could ever hear. Pulling up to the house, I glanced at the dash before killing the engine. A check of the time showed it was pushing five o’clock. I cracked open one of the water bottles I kept in the car and drank half of it before taking a breath. It was time to call Mr. and Mrs. Carter and tell them I was coming up the sidewalk.
Their phone rang in my ear three times—Cassidy said it was a landline. Seconds later, light coming through a second-floor window caught my attention.
Must be their bedroom.
A sleepy-sounding male voice spoke into the phone. “Hello.”
“Mr. Carter?”
“Yes, and you better have a good reason for calling at five in the morning.”
“Sir, this is Detective McCord from the Chicago Police Department.” I wasn’t quite ready to say I was from Homicide. That explanation needed to be said face-to-face. I’m outside your house right now, and I need a word with you and your wife.”
“What on earth is this about?”
“Sir, I’d rather speak to you in person, and I’ll show you my badge through a window or whatever way you’re most comfortable with to confirm my identity.”
“Give us a few minutes.”
After clicking the fob to lock my car, I walked to the porch. Through the eye-level glass panel on the door, I saw them walking toward me. I held my badge in front of the glass and waited. I understood how someone would be extra cautious opening their door at five in the morning to someone holding what could easily be a fake badge.
I called out through the door, “Mrs. Carter, Cassidy gave me your phone number and address. Please, this is extremely important.”
Mr. Carter cautiously opened the door. “You’re really a detective?”
“Yes, sir, and if you’re still uneasy, you can call the police department and verify my badge number.”
“It’s okay. Come on in.”
I thanked them and stepped into the foyer. Mrs. Carter, wrapped in a flannel bathrobe, led the way to the living room. As I followed, I wondered how a couple who looked to be in their early sixties would handle taking a thirteen-year-old girl into their home or if they even wanted to.
“Please, have a seat, Detective McCord.” She and her husband sat side by side on the couch, and I took the chair that faced them.
“You said Cassidy gave you our number. Why would she do that?”
“Mr. and Mrs. Carter, Cassidy called 911 several hours ago. An intruder broke into the home and—”
“Oh my God, no. Tell me everyone is okay!”
“Ma’am, I’m so sorry, but Mr. and Mrs. Ramsey, as well as Lucas, were shot and killed.”
“No, no, it can’t be. My daughter Kathy is dead? Lucas and David are dead too?” Mrs. Carter buried her face in her hands and let out gut-wrenching sobs. “How? Why? This has to be a mistake.”
“I’m sorry, but it isn’t, and I can’t get into specifics yet. Our crime lab and medical examiner are just beginning the lengthy process of going over everything.”
Mrs. Carter wiped her eyes with her sleeve. “Is Cassidy okay?”
“Thankfully, Cassidy wasn’t harmed.”
“Was it a robbery?”
“From what I saw and from Cassidy’s account, I’d say no. None of the furniture was overturned, and nothing appeared to be missing.” I paused while I thought about Cassidy’s well-being. I needed to know if they were willing and able to take her in, whether permanently or temporarily. “Given Cassidy’s age and the fact that you two are her only relatives who live nearby, are you prepared to take on the role of her guardians?”
Mr. Carter responded. “Of course we are, and that goes without saying. Where is Cassidy, and who’s watching over her right now?”
“We have a female officer sitting with her, sir. She’s still at the house, along with a half dozen officers, my commander, the medical examiner, and our crime lab. She’s in good hands, but later, I’ll have you pick her up at the police station. We need to keep the crime scene as pristine as possible without people coming in and out, and right now, I need to speak with you alone. Cassidy has been interviewed already, and she doesn’t need to be overloaded with more questions. She has a lot to process. Mr. and Mrs. Carter—”
“Please, just call us George and Rita. We aren’t formal people.”
“Okay, and feel free to answer my questions together or individually. First, I need to know about David. Cassidy said he was a businessman who wore a suit to work every day. What exactly did David do for a living?”
“He was a stockbroker and worked at Finch and James downtown.”
I added that to my notes.
An angry client getting revenge? Somebody who lost a lot of money due to volatile investments?
I wondered if David was the target and the wife and son were just collateral damage.
David was downstairs alone, so why not take him out and leave? The shooter could have killed him and then fled without harming anyone else. Why kill Kathy and Lucas at all, and why leave Cassidy alive?
I needed to return my focus to the moment. Later, I would have time to run my ideas past our detectives.
“Had David ever mentioned angry clients to either of you?”
Frowning, they both shook their heads.
Rita offered her thoughts first. “David was a workaholic, and since Kathy was my daughter, she and I communicated the most. David may have mentioned that type of thing to Kathy but certainly not to us.”
“Hmm.”
“What exactly are you thinking, Detective McCord?”
“Not sure yet, and what I think is only speculation at the moment. I’m assuming David was the target, but then why kill the others and leave Cassidy alive?”
“Could a killer actually have a moral compass as to who they’d kill and who they wouldn’t?”
I scratched my cheek. “Meaning they’d kill a nineteen-year-old boy but leave a thirteen-year-old girl alive? That’s a good question, Rita, but unfortunately, all killers are different.”
“Can you tell us how they were killed?”
“Sorry, but I can’t go into details just yet. I’m sure at some point, Cassidy will have that talk with you.”
“So she discovered them?”
“Yes, ma’am. Like I said earlier, it was Cassidy who called 911. Did Kathy ever speak of neighbors, work acquaintances, or anyone who had a grudge against her or the family?”
Rita’s voice caught in her throat. “Detective McCord, Kathy was a happy, loving woman with a lot of friends, and she enjoyed her job. She loved her kids and attended all their after-school activities. She and David seemed to have a great marriage even though he did work a lot, and as far as I know, they didn’t fight, and neither of them had ever cheated on the other.”
I appreciated Rita’s insight and would take everything she said into consideration, but the usual reasons people were murdered were money and infidelity. I asked to sit between them so I could go over Kathy and David’s contact lists. I needed to know if any names were people the Carters knew and, if they were, what kind of relationship they had with David and Kathy.
Later, with all the information I needed then, I suggested they make the necessary calls to relatives, prepare a room for Cassidy, then meet their granddaughter and me at the Wentworth Police Station at eight o’clock that morning.
I turned back before walking out. “One last thing before I leave.”
“Yes, what is it?” George asked.
“Do either of you know a bald man who is built about the same as Lucas?”
George shrugged while looking at Rita. “Can’t say that we do, Detective McCord.”
I patted the doorframe. “Okay, thanks. Then I’ll see both of you in a few hours.”