I pointed the remote at the TV and powered it off. “That’s all we can do until the phones start ringing and hopefully with something promising. You four look online for local clubs that cater to the over-fifty-five crowd and start making calls while Frank and I man the tip lines.”
Our group of detectives headed back to the bull pen. We would try to narrow down clubs that might be a good fit then send them photos of our first John Doe and the latest victim. If we were lucky, the men would be recognized, and that would give us names to work with.
The tip-line phones were located at the back of the bull pen with their own extensions so they wouldn’t tie up our desk phones. They began ringing as soon as we crossed the threshold into the bull pen.
“Looks like we’re going to be busy for a while.” I picked up the receiver of the phone whose light was flashing red. “Chicago PD tip line, how can I help you?”
With paper on our desks and pens in hand, Frank and I began the long process of taking down information from every caller, legitimate or not, but without knowing who might have a lead, we had to take each one seriously. At seven o’clock, over a hundred calls had already come in, and by then, Shawn was on board to help lighten the load. It would take days to substantiate the calls to see whether any held merit, and the night shift guys would need to start on that as soon as they came in.
By eight o’clock, I was ready to call it a night since the twelve-hour shifts were taking a toll on everyone. The first shift crew bowed out and handed the reins over to our night detectives. Lutz had gone home an hour earlier, and I couldn’t blame him. My own thoughts of plopping down on the couch with a cold beer in hand were appealing.
Frank and I walked out of the precinct and crossed the parking lot to our vehicles. I didn’t have the energy or enough ambition to keep talking while he had a cigarette, so I said good night and drove away.
Twenty minutes later and with a tap on the remote, I lifted the overhead garage door and pulled in. I appreciated my home even more on the days where I’d spent most of my time at the precinct, which brought back my doubts about ever finding a woman who would be okay with my long workdays. Homicides in Chicago were a daily occurrence, and putting in an eight-hour day, five days a week, was almost unheard of.
After tending to Bandit’s needs and plating a microwave fried chicken dinner, my pup and I retreated to the couch. Bandit curled up, content, and I cracked open a beer and ate my meal. A half hour later and with my laptop powered up, I logged on to the dating website I’d joined and checked my messages—I had two. Both women sounded nice. One said she was an attorney, and the other said she was an editor for a local magazine. I still didn’t think I was quite there yet, but as I paged through profiles and posts, an epiphany sprang to mind. A traveling nurse might get lonely and look at dating sites, so why not a traveling nurse who was also a murderer?
What if those men were found through dating sites?
Our victims weren’t so old that the thought of jumping into the dating pool wouldn’t have crossed their minds. If they didn’t have close friends who could set them up, then the possibility of browsing the dating sites made sense. Going that route was much easier than hitting the local bars that catered mostly to the younger crowd, anyway. I logged off my site and searched for ones primarily for the over-fifty-five crowd, and with the handful I found, I began setting up accounts on each one as if I were a woman searching for a man. Doing that gave me the ability to look at member profiles and possibly find our first and third John Doe. It was another avenue to explore, and it would either be a success, or we would rule it out and move on. I wrote down my log-in and username for every website I’d joined, and we’d go through them in the morning. I couldn’t keep my eyes open any longer, so I gave up the fight and went to bed.