He was in agony, but still he pressed on.
He had plunged fifteen feet or more from the window, landing heavily below. His fall had been partially broken by the garbage bags that littered the alleyway, but he had smashed his elbow into the hard ground. His whole arm was numb – had he broken it? – but there was no question of tending to it now, not when his pursuer was so close behind.
How the hell had they found him? It didn’t make sense. He had been so careful, holing up in one of the few derelict apartment buildings that hadn’t been turned into crash pads for hipsters. It was the perfect bolthole for someone who needed to remain below the radar.
Another shouted warning from behind. The cop was gaining on him and he half expected a bullet to slam into his back at any moment … but he wasn’t beaten yet. He knew these alleyways like the back of his hand and he put his knowledge to good use now, cutting left, then right, before doubling back on himself to confuse his pursuer. Chicago is a city of alleyways and he had always used them to his advantage.
Still she dogged his footsteps. She was clearly no fool. Nor was she a coward, running towards danger rather than from it. CPD officers were supposed to be tough and she was the evidence to back up this claim, but he still had one thing in his favour. She wouldn’t shoot if there were civilians in the line of fire and the streets were busy tonight. He could hear noise in the distance – there was obviously some event going on – and as he’d dodged and weaved his way down the alleyways that linked the city’s main thoroughfares, he’d caught glimpses of people, all heading in the same direction. He wasn’t sure what it was all about – there wasn’t a game on tonight – but it offered him a chance of salvation. There was no chance of outrunning his pursuer, but he could outthink her.
He had kept out of sight so far, fearing that he would be spotted by patrolling uniformed officers, but caution was no longer an option. She was only fifty feet behind him, in range if she could get a decent shot away and he didn’t want to die in a fetid Chicago alleyway – not when he still had so much more to do.
Reaching the end of the cut-through, he stumbled out on to the street.
A startled woman looked up at him, taking in his red, sweaty face, before walking away. He followed her progress, noting that she was heading to a nearby park that appeared to be overflowing with people. He didn’t hesitate, overtaking the woman and pushing as fast as he could towards the far side of the road, hoping to lose his pursuer in the crowded park.
But the cop – a middle-aged black woman – was already on the street, her eyes seeking her prey. A moment’s indecision, then she cut left, in the same direction as him. He cursed quietly – he had gained a few feet on her, but she would soon catch up, if he couldn’t find somewhere to hide. Redoubling his efforts, he limped hard towards the busy park ahead.
As he did so, he began to pick up sounds again. A woman’s voice – amplified by a PA system – but also applause and occasional shouts of defiance. And now it dawned on him what it was. He had seen it on the TV but hadn’t paid attention at the time – and now here it was right in front of him. The candlelit vigil for Jacob Jones and Rochelle Stevens. It was almost too good to be true. It was perfect. And now, in his hour of need, it would be his salvation.
Busting a gut, he darted towards the entrance. But suddenly he found himself flying sideways. He hit the sidewalk hard, his throbbing head striking the ground. The wind had been knocked clean out of him, but even so he scrambled to his feet – only to find his assailant doing likewise. The young female officer was already reaching inside her jacket, pulling her weapon from its holster.
‘CPD. Drop your weapon and …’
Redmond didn’t hesitate – smashing his forehead into her face. She reeled away, stumbling drunkenly backwards on to the ground. He snatched up his weapon – he could waste her now, easy as shooting fish in a barrel – but he had to keep going. The park was within reach.
He took a step forward, but, even as he did so, the cold barrel of a gun jabbed into the back of his head. In the confusion, he hadn’t registered his original pursuer approaching. What now? Could he shrug her off and turn and fire in time? He thought it was possible, but even as he weighed the odds, a cool voice behind him said:
‘Go for it, Kyle. Give me a reason to pull the trigger.’