It was early morning and mercifully the roads were clear. Breakfast had been a long-drawn-out affair – why was it that Eden and Zack were such daydreamers? – but still Gabrielle had been on the road before eight. She drove in silence – the morning bulletins had been full of sensational reports about Jacob Jones’s murder and she had no wish to listen to the ill-informed speculation. Instead, she watched the world go by, noting the change in vista as she left her house in Albany Park and journeyed to West Town. Her neighbourhood was a little way from the city centre and had always been incredibly diverse, with large Korean, Mexican and African American communities. West Town might have been like that once, but not now.
Driving along West Chicago Avenue, Gabrielle took in the affluent moms breakfasting in gym gear and the hipsters drinking coffee outside the vinyl stores, marvelling at how one city could have so many faces. When she first moved to Chicago, nearly ten years ago now, she’d had a fond notion that she might live in a place like this. But one look at the realtors’ websites had put paid to that. She only visited these parts of town in her professional capacity nowadays.
Swinging off the main avenue, Gabrielle found herself once more on West Erie Street. The police tape remained in place, sealing off the Jones residence, and flanking it were several press trucks. The local reporters were busy, collaring local residents for expressions of sympathy and tidbits of information about the deceased. Deciding on the direct approach, Gabrielle drove right up to the tape, the uniformed officers raising it for her second-hand Pontiac to crawl underneath on to the drive.
‘Detective Grey, do you have anything to add to last night’s statement? Have you made any arrests? What’s your working theory?’
Gabrielle climbed out of her vehicle to be greeted by a cacophony of familiar voices, but she ignored them, heading into the house swiftly. Closing the door behind her, she took a moment to enjoy the silence – the cries of the hopeful reporters fading outside – then got down to business. She had seen the property yesterday, but it had been so full of activity, of bustle. She wanted a moment to take it in by herself.
It was exactly what you would expect a successful attorney’s house to be: tastefully decorated, expensively furnished and immaculately tidy. As Miller had indicated, nothing appeared to be out of place and there was no obvious sign of a struggle. Kassie Wojcek had confessed to breaking the side window, which meant the only other hints of a disturbance were the broken flashlight and disturbed dust patterns on the floor of the basement. Other than that, the house was exactly as it should be. Framed pictures of Jacob and Nancy decorated most of the surfaces and many of the walls – a loving couple with their whole life ahead of them. How cruel those images seemed now.
Flipping open her notebook, Gabrielle consulted her timeline. Jacob Jones had returned home the night before last – taking a call from a CPD officer at around 8 p.m. – and an hour or so later had vanished. Kassandra Wojcek was their only viable suspect – she clearly had some sort of animus against Jones and her alibi was weak, her mother having confessed to falling asleep in front of the television early evening – but was it possible that she had spirited away a grown man, a former college football player?
Lost in thought, Gabrielle wandered through the kitchen to the access door that led into the garage. Jacob Jones’s Lincoln had been driven from here the night before last, presumably with the man himself inside. Bound? At gunpoint? And from there he was driven … where? The black mud on the tyres suggested proximity to water – one of Chicago’s many rivers perhaps? The lake? It was impossible to say. The car, like the man himself, had simply disappeared until Edmundo and Pancho had stumbled upon it.
Frustrated, Gabrielle headed back into the house, but, as she did so, her phone buzzed. Pulling it from her pocket, she saw that it was Detective Montgomery.
‘What you got for me, Detective?’
‘Just some context, boss, but it’s interesting.’
‘Go on.’
‘I’ve been going back through Wojcek’s court history. Six months ago, she got a suspended sentence for assault and acting under the influence. She blamed her behaviour on medication she was taking, but the prosecutor didn’t believe her and neither did the judge. She was given a large fine and only escaped a custodial sentence because of her age. Apparently, the prosecutor tore her testimony to shreds. The state’s attorney that day –’
‘Was Jacob Jones,’ Gabrielle said, completing her deputy’s sentence.
‘Exactly. I’ve put the file on your desk.’
‘Thank you. Good work, Detective.’
Gabrielle hung up, feeling energized once more. They had been struggling to make sense of this brutal murder – struggling to find a possible motive – but finally they had a concrete connection between Jacob Jones and the mysterious Kassie Wojcek.