Frank found street parking a block from The Connerton apartment complex. Those apartments, like most in that neighborhood, were thirty stories tall. Living in the highly desirable units, tenants would have views of the South Loop and Chicago River, but most apartment windows in town faced concrete and glass from surrounding condos, apartments, and office buildings.
We entered through the turnstile and were stopped by the concierge, who sat at a desk before the elevators.
“May I help you, gentlemen?”
Frank spoke up as he lifted his badge. “Yes, you can. We want to speak with Ross Booth, but he doesn’t need to know who we are. Feel me?”
The man nodded.
“Good. Call him and tell him he has a delivery that he needs to sign for.”
“Yes, sir.”
The concierge picked up the counter phone and dialed the number for unit 2007—the Booth residence. We waited as he spoke to Ross Booth for only a few seconds. He hung up and nodded. “He’ll be right down, Detectives. I imagine I’ll be on his shit list now.”
I swatted the air. “Don’t worry about it. Chances are either Renee or Ross will be moving out soon, anyway.” I watched the numbers light up on the elevator as the lift descended from the twentieth floor. The ding told us the doors were about to part, and Ross Booth—bald or not—would exit into the lobby.
Frank stood to the left of the elevator, just in case Ross tried to go back up, and I sat in a grouping near the front door. We waited. Ross casually walked out and approached Clarence, the concierge, but turned when Frank and I headed toward him.
Ross glared at the man behind the counter. “What the hell is this?”
Clarence shrugged. “Just doing what I was told.”
I spoke up. “Ross Booth, we’re Homicide Detectives Mills and McCord and need a word with you. We can either talk out here, upstairs in your apartment, or at our precinct—your choice.”
“About what?”
I looked at Ross then tipped my head at Clarence. “You want to talk in front of your concierge?”
Ross walked to the couches near the entrance and took a seat. I already knew he wasn’t the shooter by his full head of tousled brown hair, but there was always the chance that he’d hired someone to do his dirty work.
He blew out a sigh and stared at us. “Okay, now what do you want with me?”
I locked eyes with Ross as I began the questions. “Do you know a man by the name of David Ramsey?”
He sighed again but louder that time. “Yeah, I know of him, but I’ve never been introduced to the man. Renee is constantly gushing about him as her best friend at work, but I have my doubts.”
I frowned. “Meaning what?”
“I’m not stupid. She has no reason on earth to work late three times a week when the closing bell is at four o’clock. What the hell would she be working on unless it’s David Ramsey?”
Frank took his turn. “Do you know that to be fact?”
“Yeah. I’m not proud to admit it, but I won’t allow myself to be blindsided either. You know what they say about trusting your gut?”
I nodded.
“Well, I’ve followed them on more than one occasion to different downtown hotels.”
“And aren’t you pissed?”
“At first I was, but I have a better kind of revenge in mind.”
“One that you’ve already taken care of?”
Ross wrinkled his forehead. “Sorry, I’m not following.”
“What is the revenge you’re thinking of?”
“I’ll divorce her ass and get everything. Now that I’m laid off, she’ll have to give me spousal support, and it’ll drive her nuts—stupid bitch. She thinks she’s too hot for the likes of me, anyway. Once her boyfriend divorces his wife, he won’t have any money either. Maintenance and child support—they’ll both end up broke. You know how the saying goes.”
I raised a brow. “Yeah, what’s that?”
“Life ain’t always greener on the other side, and that works for me.”
A quick glance at Frank’s expression told me Ross wasn’t our guy. I felt I needed to give Ross a heads-up. He could go ahead with his divorce plans or keep quiet and make peace with his wife. My personal belief was once a cheater, always a cheater, and that belief came only from dealing with plenty of people who had murdered their spouses for that very reason.
“I have something to share with you, Ross, that may affect your decision.”
“Yeah, what’s that?”
“David Ramsey, his wife, and their nineteen-year-old son were viciously murdered last night.”
“What!” Ross looked stunned. “And that’s why you’re here? You think I did it?”
“We have to talk to everyone, Mr. Booth. Do you own any firearms?”
“Nope. Never have.”
We stood, and I handed him my card. “If you think of anything, give us a call.”
He reached out and shook our hands. “Does Renee know?”
“Yes.”
“Then I guess I have some thinking to do.”
After Ross left, Frank and I walked to the cruiser, and I brought up Zak Fortello. “We need to see where he lives and if there are any cameras in the immediate area.”
Frank agreed. “Yeah, he didn’t seem the least bit surprised or concerned that David was murdered, and if he was the one who organized the hit, we’d see him do something suspicious at some point.”
I motioned toward a gas station coming up on our right. “Pull in there. Let’s look up his address and then do a drive-by of the neighborhood.”
“You got it.” Frank clicked the blinker and turned in.
I already had Zak Fortello’s driver’s license photo on my phone, thanks to Henry. “Okay, he lives in Little Italy on West Flournoy Street. Let’s take a look.”
Frank made a U-turn then headed north. When we reached West Harrison, he turned left. That would take us directly to Little Italy and Zak Fortello’s neighborhood. We reached West Flournoy in a matter of minutes and found the three-story redbrick building where Zak lived.
“Damn it.” I looked directly across the street at Notre Dame Catholic Church’s parking lot. To the west of Zak’s building was a vacant lot, to the east was a street of similar rental units, and none appeared to have outdoor mounted cameras.
Frank made another U-turn. “Let’s check the front of the church.”
We did a slow pass and struck out—no outdoor cameras anywhere. I wondered if people thought living next to a church provided safety. In my mind, that would give nothing more than a false sense of security. Bad people lived among us, whether we liked it or not.
I rolled up my window and settled back in the seat. “It doesn’t look like we’re going to get a glimpse of him leaving on foot or in his car, and at this point, we don’t even know what he drives. Let’s head back to the precinct.”