Jesse McCord had been back on the force for six months and was given a clean bill of health by doctors at the University of Chicago Medical Center and, after his two-month stay, the staff at Hazelden Addiction Treatment Center too. He was as good as new after being held captive and drugged for a week by that dirty cop, John Conrad. The last year had been a nightmare, and on occasion, those nightmares still took over his dreams.
Waking from his usual nap on the couch, with Bandit at his feet, Jesse stared across the living room at the family portrait on the opposite wall. He was the only one left, and at thirty-six, he was far too young to be without family. His colleagues at the Chicago police force, his neighbor, Dean, and his college buddies were all he had left. Putting in ten-hour days—sometimes more—and spending time with friends helped take his mind off missing his parents and the horrific murder of his only sibling, Jenna, at the hands of her own husband seven months earlier.
With a deep sigh, Jesse stood and crossed the living room into the kitchen, where he pulled his second beer of the night out of the refrigerator and twisted the top off the bottle. Bandit cocked his head as Jesse tossed the cap into the trash can. Evenings were tough. He could watch only so much TV, and after a full day as the lead detective in the homicide division of the Violent Crimes Unit of the Chicago Police Department’s Wentworth station, he didn’t have much ambition left. He had become a nighttime couch potato.
“What do you think, boy? Should I get on one of those dating websites and look for a girlfriend?”
Bandit whimpered, resumed his position at the foot of the couch, and closed his eyes.
“I’ll take that as a no. Maybe a project in the backyard, then.”
Jesse opened the sliders and stepped out into the comfortable spring night. As he took a seat on the deck, he looked up. The moon was full, and the sky was clear. “Tomorrow should be a beautiful day, as far as weather goes. The rest is yet to be seen.”
The ring of his phone caused him to go inside—he’d left it on the coffee table. He gave the screen a glance, and it was a restricted number.
That’s got to be the district.
He swiped the green phone symbol. “McCord.”
“Jesse, it’s Lutz. We need you at the station now. We have an ‘all hands on deck’ situation, and I’ll explain what we know when you get here.”
“I’m on my way.” Jesse tipped his wrist and checked the time—9:36. “I should be rolling in around ten o’clock.”
He hung up, and after filling Bandit’s water bowl, Jesse secured his badge to his belt and slipped his Glock 22 sidearm into its holster.
“Watch the house, Bandit. If anyone other than me enters, tear them up.”
Jesse took the steps to the house’s lower level and into the garage, where his bright-yellow Camaro ZL1 was ready to roar to life.
The trip from Jesse’s house on Cregier Avenue to the Second District Wentworth station was an easy eighteen minutes. When he arrived, he parked next to the cruisers and entered through the front door. He tipped his head at Patrice, the night shift desk sergeant, punched in the code, then placed his hand on the palm reader and pulled open the door to the Violent Crimes Unit. Jesse turned right at the hallway and walked to the third door on the left—Lutz’s office.
“Hey, Boss, what the hell is going on? Your call sounded urgent.”
“It is, and I’m sorry I had to call you back after you clocked out only a few hours ago.”
Jesse waved away the comment. “Not a problem. What’s going on?”
“There’s been a shooting, and the 911 callers say they see four men down.”
“Shit. I dozed off on the couch and didn’t catch the news.”
“The media doesn’t have any details yet, so nothing has aired.”
“Where was the shooting?”
“Ten minutes from here, right in our own district. The victims were four patrol units that responded to a 911 burglary call.”
“What!”
Lutz ran his hand across his furrowed brow and groaned. “It only happened a half hour ago. Their squad leader thinks an active shooter may still be in the area. Commander Abrams is pretty certain the 911 call that came in was just a ploy to ambush cops. They didn’t stand a chance. SWAT is on site and clearing the scene before the ambulances can move in. You know the drill. No medical units allowed in until the imminent threat is over.”
“I know that all too well. So we have no idea if any of the officers are still alive?”
“Abrams is waiting for confirmation from SWAT.”
“So what’s the plan?”
“For now, the area is on lockdown. The neighbors that called in the shooting were told to stay in their houses and secure their doors.” Lutz rose from his chair. “Come on. Everyone is meeting in the roll call room.”
Two hallways later, Jesse took a seat alongside his fellow detectives and officers in the large room used for roll call and updates every morning. Filled shoulder to shoulder with men and women in blue, the room was abuzz. Commander Mark Abrams, a lifelong Chicago resident and in charge of Patrol for the last nine years, stood at the podium and cleared his throat. The Second District’s newly promoted commander, Bob Lutz, sat at his side. The room fell silent when Abrams began to speak.
“Here’s what we do and don’t know at the moment. Four of my patrol officers responding to a 911 call of a possible burglary in progress were gunned down in cold blood less than an hour ago. There’s no question that this was an attempt, and a successful one, to ambush and kill innocent police officers, and nobody is allowed in until SWAT clears a ten-block perimeter around the location. Until we hear back, we don’t know where the shooter was stationed, what kind of weapon he used, or if any of those men are still alive. Once that perimeter is set, taped off, and monitored by law enforcement, officers and Forensics will start combing the area for clues. Any questions?”
Officer Lou Stedman from Patrol spoke up. “What about the caller?”
Abrams nodded. “Commander Lutz and I have already listened to the recording, and we’ve turned it over to Tech to see if they can get anything out of it. The caller was male, said there were three men prowling around the house across the street, and gave the address. He hung up at the thirty-two-second mark and didn’t give his name.”
Frank Mills, Jesse’s partner and closest friend on the force, jammed a piece of nicotine gum into his mouth and groused under his breath. “It would have been phony, anyway.”
Just before Abrams turned the meeting over to Lutz, his phone rang, and every eye in the room locked on him.
“Commander Abrams speaking. Yes, I understand, and I’ll take care of notifying the families. We’ll be waiting for your okay to move in.” He ended the call and hung his head.
Lutz patted Abrams on the shoulder, whispered in his ear, and took over. “I’m sure all of you can read between the lines, and we’ll get more details on the fallen officers later. Right now, I’m going to brief my homicide unit on steps we can take after we get the okay from SWAT that the neighborhood has been cleared. Everyone in Patrol should sit with your squad leader and the commander to see how to keep yourselves safe when responding to emergency calls.”