My night was restless as I drifted in and out of sleep—none of which was sound or rejuvenating. I woke as tired as I was when my head hit the pillow the night before, but a shower, a bagel, and strong coffee would wake me up. I was excited to dig into my dating-site theory as soon as I planted my butt in my office chair. There were only five local sites, but the large, nationwide ones could also be an option. We couldn’t rule out any, so we would have to give them a look, too, but we’d start with the Chicago-based sites first.
I explained my idea to our group during the roll call updates and got the okay from Lutz to check into dating sites but not until after we exhausted the local over-fifty-five social clubs and bereavement groups. Frank and I would finish calling them while the others continued with the tip-line leads. I was chomping at the bit to get a start on the dating sites, but it was a process of elimination, and we had to work through one idea at a time.
Checking online, I found the phone numbers of four bereavement groups that were mainly focused on the elderly. I started making the calls, asking if any of the male participants had suddenly stopped coming to the meetings. Three of the responses I got were that the usual attendees were there during the previous meetings, and one said a man hadn’t shown up for the last two sessions. After digging deeper, I found out from the group administrator that the man was in his late seventies. That age wasn’t in the range of our victims. I struck out and took a seat in Frank’s guest chair.
“How many social clubs do you have left to call?” I was becoming impatient.
He ran his finger down the sheet. “There’s nine left.”
“Give me four of them, and let’s knock them out. I think the dating sites might be the route to go.”
“Sure.” Frank tore the sheet of paper in half and handed the bottom part to me.
“Any promising leads on the tip lines?” I asked as I returned to my desk.
Henry spoke up first. “A few could be worth checking into. I’m thinking we should hit the handful of them that sounded legit this afternoon.”
I gave him a head tip as I picked up the receiver and made my first call to Shuffle Time—an over-fifty-five shuffleboard club. As I was sure would be the case with most places we’d call, I was told that they needed a name, which I didn’t have. I would offer a photograph of the first and third victims and hope that would be enough. It would be a time-consuming attempt at making IDs, but it was all we had. I hung up after collecting the email addresses of the administrators at each facility. I’d send the photographs via email so the images would be larger than the thumbnail sent with text messaging, then I’d wait for their responses, and I mentioned that the request was urgent.
Frank tapped his pen against the sheet of paper while waiting for the last contact to pick up. When they did, he went through the same explanation he had with the others. I poured a cup of coffee and listened to his side of the conversation while I waited for the call to end.
“Yes, I can send you the photographs now in a text but—uh-huh, I understand. Give me just a second.” Frank tapped the pictures and attached them to a text message. “Okay, they’re going through right now. It reads Sent and Delivered on my end. Now, if you’d give both of them a very close look and tell me if either are members of your Fifty and Better exercise group. Sure, I’ll wait.” Frank rolled his eyes and leaned back in the chair. A moment later, he sprang upright. “What! You recognize the first man? His name is Robert Smith, and you’re certain it’s him? Okay, I’m going to head your way as soon as we get off the phone, Ms. Riley, and thank you. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.” Frank hung up and leapt from his chair. “We’ve got a positive ID on our first John Doe. Let’s head out.”
I made a quick call to Lutz as we took the back hallway to the rear exit. He needed to know about the latest development, yet I still wasn’t one hundred percent convinced that Ms. Riley had correctly identified the man. Hopefully, they kept their own copies of the photo ID cards most gyms and health clubs insisted their members have. Witnesses often mistook people for someone else or gave a completely inaccurate description. It was commonplace, and I knew human recall wasn’t nearly as good as we thought it was, but we were cautiously optimistic. I checked the time as we crossed the parking lot—9:32.
Frank drove as I pulled up the address of the Always Fit location on East Forty-Seventh Street, only a ten-minute drive from our precinct. Beth Riley had explained to Frank that she had to teach a spin class at ten o’clock. We would have about fifteen minutes to spend with her once we arrived unless she could get someone to cover the class in her place.
“Stay on Fifty-First until we hit South Drexler Boulevard and then hang a left. It’ll be four blocks up on the right.”
“Easy enough.” Frank pulled out of our parking lot and gunned it.
“Why did she answer if she’s an instructor?”
“Don’t know, but it had to be a cell phone she answered because I was able to text the pictures to that number.”
We arrived in under ten minutes, but parking, walking in, and asking for Beth Riley ate up another five precious minutes, and time was of the essence. The receptionist paged Beth to the counter, and we paced as we waited.
A woman, likely under thirty, approached us, and she was dressed in exercise wear and sneakers. A towel was draped around her neck, and a light sheen covered her skin. I assumed it was Ms. Riley.
“Detectives.” She extended her right hand. “Excuse the towel. I’m still cooling down from the hot yoga class I finished just before you called.” She glanced from Frank to me then back to Frank. “Which of you did I speak with?”
Frank made the introductions and said he had called. “If we could sit somewhere, we’d like to discuss Mr. Smith with you. It’s urgent that we get as much vital information as we can before your spin class.”
She waved Frank off as she led the way to one of six table-and-chair groupings in the expansive members’ area beyond the entry. “Not a problem. I found another instructor to cover that class. I’m all yours until ten forty-five.”
Frank and I exhaled collective sighs. We could relax and ask every question we needed to. Since Frank was the detective who’d made contact with Beth, he would be the one conducting the interview while I took notes.
“First, we want to thank you for setting this time aside for us.”
She smiled.
“As I said in our phone conversation, the man you say is Robert Smith was found deceased a few days back. His face was shown on the local news, but not everyone watches TV.”
She lifted her hand. “Guilty. I’m so sad to hear about Mr. Smith’s passing.” She frowned. “Heart attack?”
“Not exactly. We wouldn’t be here if that were the case, but he was found without identification on his person. That’s why we’ve been reaching out to locate somebody that knew him. But before we get too far, we need to see his membership ID to make sure we’re talking about the right person.”
“Of course. I’ll be right back.”
We watched as Beth headed toward the registration and welcome counter, went behind it, and opened a file cabinet. She pulled out a folder and returned to our table.
“This is the file we put together for Robert when he joined the club. His workout goals, the membership level he purchased, that sort of thing. And yes, his photo is in there too.” She slid it across the table to Frank.
Robert’s photo, stapled to the inside of the folder, was the first thing we saw. He was definitely our John Doe from Bixler Park.
Frank nodded. “That’s him.” He continued to the gym application and located Robert’s address and phone number.
“Did you know Robert well?” I asked.
“Not really. He started the Fifty and Better exercise class just a week ago after having a free week to decide. I guess he wanted to get a feel for the club before making a real commitment as a paying member. He could come as often as he liked during that time and he spoke about hoping to make new friendships.”
I wrinkled my brow. “New friendships. Why?”
She shrugged. “I think he had recently moved to the area.”
I looked over each line of the application, and no one was listed as a contact person. “Did he say where he was from?”
“I don’t remember him mentioning that, but of course I was the instructor and focused mainly on the classes and the participants’ needs.”
Frank passed Robert’s application back to Beth. “Can you make us a copy of this?”
“Sure thing.”
I gave Frank a head shake when Beth was out of earshot. “So Robert was new in town, from who knows where, and still nobody was wondering where he went? You’d think after trying his phone and not getting him on the line, they’d wonder why.”
“True, but we don’t know his story. It’s sad to think, but maybe he didn’t have anyone who checked up on him regularly.”
Beth came back with the copy in her hand. “If that’s all, I should really freshen up a little before my next class.”
We thanked her and left. We had plenty to do as soon as we got back to the station. We needed to learn more about Robert Smith.