I assessed the evening as I drove home. I was stumped. Lynn was gorgeous and, according to her profile, just the kind of woman who would be compatible with me, yet something felt strange. Getting her to open up about her life—past, present, and future, as well as stories about her travels and interests—had been like pulling teeth. She was more than vague with her answers. I felt as though she had more to say but nothing she wanted to discuss with me yet as a friend or possibly with me as a cop. I wasn’t sure which it was and figured she just needed to get to know me before opening up.
I would have liked an opinion about the date from a friend, but I couldn’t ask anybody from the police department. I would be heckled for sure, especially by Frank.
It was nearly ten o’clock by the time I climbed the stairs to the main level of my house. Bandit—already out for the night—didn’t stir. I grabbed my laptop and a beer and headed for my bedroom. As I lay in bed, I logged on to the dating site and pulled up Lynn’s profile. I read it for probably the tenth time since I had gotten the first message from her. I shook my head with doubt. She was unusual, yet I couldn’t put my finger on why she struck me that way. As I was about to log off and call it a night, a message alert popped up—it was from her. I wasn’t savvy enough about the site to know whether she’d seen I was on it or if it was nothing more than a coincidence that she’d logged on too. A simple message from her said she was glad she met me and that she enjoyed our time together. She was looking forward to a do-over tomorrow night. I powered off my computer, and with a smile, I realized I was looking forward to it too.
That was the first night in ages that I drifted off to sleep without work on my mind.
The next morning, I woke with a sense of optimism. Hopefully, that was the day we would get the warrants for the messages that had been sent to Cliff’s dating profile. We’d interview each woman who had communicated with him and weed out the killer. Searching for Robert on the site might prove too time consuming, but I planned to look at his rent application, locate the shipyard he’d worked for in Oakland years ago, and see if there was a next of kin listed on his job application.
As I passed the break room on my way to the bull pen, I saw Lutz peering into the vending machine. I turned back and walked in. “Boss.”
“Jesse. Get any sleep last night?”
“Actually, I slept really well.”
Bob rubbed his chin. “Feeling okay?”
I laughed. “I’m optimistic. We’re going to find those killers real soon. I don’t even want to think about another man’s life being at risk.”
Lutz dropped a handful of quarters into the machine as he mulled over his breakfast choices. He hit F-3, and a banana-cranberry-nut muffin fell to the door below.
I raised my brows. “That looks pretty good.” I pulled out my change and bought the same thing.
We walked to the bull pen, where Lutz conducted roll call and gave our updates. Without new leads, he had only a few things to report.
Lutz took a seat in Frank’s guest chair and began. “Forensics has confirmed that the blood droplets they found in the back of the Sienna did indeed match our prior victims. There’s no shadow of a doubt that the killers are one and the same for all three murders, and the Sienna rented by a fictitious Janet St. James was the vehicle that transported them to the dump sites. Also, we’ve issued a blanket warrant that’ll cover every incoming and outgoing message to Cliff Howard’s dating profile. Like before, the site’s administrators have twenty-four hours to give us all those women’s names, or they’ll be held in contempt. Meanwhile, what do you have?” He looked from face to face.
“Still following leads,” Henry said, “but they’re getting cold, and fewer are coming in.”
Lutz folded his arms over his expanding belly. “What about Robert Smith?”
I spoke up. “I think our best bet, since we don’t actually know if he was on a dating site, is to follow the information from his last known job at the Oakland shipyards. I’ll use whatever I can from his rental application to find out more.”
Lutz pointed at me. “Okay, you take care of that.” He slapped his hands together and headed for the door. “Get busy, guys. Let’s make this a productive day.”
I hunkered down at my desk and stared at the rental application I’d received from Ted Sorensen, the manager at Robert’s apartment complex. Robert had lived in Oakland for seven years, so he’d left a trail behind. His penmanship could have been better, so reading the name of the shipyard he had worked at was difficult. I would have to look online to find out more.
With a half dozen shipyards written down for Oakland, I began making calls to the human resources department of each. On the third call, to Troy Shipyards, I struck gold. A Robert Smith had worked there between 2012 and 2016. It had to be the same Robert I was asking about. Companies had to keep prior employees’ records for five years before they could shred them, so I was in luck. They still had Robert’s file.
“I’ll need everything sent to me in a zipped file right away.”
I gave the department head my contact information, thanked her, and said I’d be waiting for the attachment to show up in my in-box. Meanwhile, I walked to the back of the room and started a fresh pot of coffee. I wasn’t about to pour one more cup of the burnt-tasting swill that had probably been sitting there since our night shift crew had made it. With a fresh cup in hand, I returned to my desk and checked my email. The file from Troy Shipyards had arrived. After clicking on the attachment, I opened it and saw the job application for Robert Smith. I immediately printed out three copies—one for the legal records file, one for the PD file, and one to take notes on. I ran my finger down the sheet, searching for an emergency contact name, and found it—a Mrs. Gladys Smith of Santa Rosa, California.
Who the hell is Gladys? That’s an old-fashioned name. I wonder if she’s his mother.
I pulled up the DMV database and typed in her name and the state of California. There wasn’t a driver’s license shown for her, but there was an ID with her name and an address in Santa Rosa. It had to be the right Gladys. I typed that address into the search bar, and a nursing home’s name popped up.
Loving Care of Santa Rosa? Shit, she’s an old woman who lives in a nursing home. Who knows if Robert even visited her?
I made the call and asked to speak to the person in charge of patient admissions. Smooth jazz played in my ear while I waited. It couldn’t have been more than a minute before a different woman came on the line.
“This is Fay Brooks speaking. How may I help you?”
“Mrs. Brooks, I’m Detective Jesse McCord with the Chicago Police Department. I need to ask about a patient who resides at Loving Care.”
“I hope I can help you without violating patient privacy laws, Detective McCord.”
I groaned silently and felt the red tape tightening around my neck. “Ma’am, I just need to know if Gladys Smith is still a resident there and when the last time was that she saw her son, Robert. Can you please tell me that much?”
“I would if I could, but Gladys passed away in 2016, and we haven’t seen Robert since her funeral. Of course, there wouldn’t be a reason for us to anymore.”
That time, I groaned audibly. “Were there other family members who visited Gladys or were listed as contacts besides Robert?”
“I’m sorry, but her residency file is in our archives department. I’d have to go find it and call you back.”
“That’s fine, and I need that information as soon as possible.”
“Detective McCord, may I ask why?”
“Unfortunately, Robert has also passed away, and we don’t have a contact person to handle funeral arrangements or dispose of his belongings. At this point, I’d say any next of kin would do.”
“I understand, and I’ll call you back as soon as I locate Gladys’s file.”
I thanked Mrs. Brooks, hung up, and called the forensic lab. Mike answered before the second ring. “Hey, buddy, it’s Jesse. Anything on the Jeep?”
“Yeah, we’re entering all the viable prints into the database. There were a good number of them but none that have come up as a match for anything besides Cliff’s own prints we collected from his house.”
“Anything else?”
“Just the usual items in the glove box and console. Registration, insurance card, owner’s manual, tire gauge, that sort of thing. Nothing so far that would raise a red flag and nothing that would appear to be from our killers.”
“Okay, thanks.” I was about to hang up when a thought came to mind. “The keys were found under the floor mat, correct?”
“Yep, why?”
“Have you actually started the Jeep?”
“Yes, we have, but I thought searching it took top priority.”
“Sorry, and it was. Not trying to jump down your throat, but you need to start it again since Cliff may have synced his phone to the Jeep. All of his contact numbers would have transferred, plus the navigation should tell us where the vehicle has been.”
“Only if it was used, but I’ll get back to you as soon as we know something either way.”
We were making progress, and with several irons in the fire, I was feeling good. Lutz wanted it to be a productive day, and maybe we could give him that.