The Enemy Inside (27 page)

The young blonde screeched and climaxed as Jay, sweating from his drive for pleasure, rolled off her. She closed her eyes, savoring the fading shudders of satisfaction as Jay shot off the bed as if it was on fire.

“That was awesome,” she said, breathing hard. “Let’s do this again, soon?”

“Yeah, sure. Whatever,” Jay replied over his shoulder, not even bothering to look at her. He didn’t even know her name and certainly didn’t want her hanging around. Hell, he didn’t even think about her when he was fucking her. He was thinking about—he shut down the thought.

She pouted. “Hey, handsome. Get back over here.” She was clearly trying to sound sexy, but she just managed desperate.

“Hey, look. I’ve got to do some work now, so you know . . .”

She scowled and reached for her clothes. “Well, maybe I should just go, then?”

“Yeah, okay, if you have to,” Jay said.

Seizing on the words, she looked hopeful. “Well, I don’t
have
to . . .”

Tired with the charade, Jay sighed in irritation. “Just go, okay? You’ve come, I’ve come, that’s it.”

Ashamed, she nodded. “Okay. I’ll leave my number in case you—”

“Fuck!” Jay shouted, unsure if he was angry with her or himself. “I don’t want your fucking number. Just get out!”

Now sobbing, the woman picked up her clothes and fled the apartment without dressing.
 

Feeling like shit, Jay watched her run out. Standing up, he peeled off the condom and stalked to his small bathroom, keen to wash her smell off.
 

Getting halfway, he suddenly turned in fury and hurried over to his clothes. Fishing around in the pocket of his old winter coat, he snatched the faded wedding photo out in a shaky hand. He stared at it for a moment before viciously tearing it into tiny pieces. The fragments were still settling on his carpet when he turned on the shower.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Jay had a sleepless night, and not just because of his appalling treatment of the nameless blonde, which made him feel quite ashamed in the light of day, but because he had found himself, quite unintentionally, in love with his partner.

What a fucking joke.

But he knew what he needed to do. Requesting a transfer was his first port of call. Speaking to Berg was next. Unfortunately, the former meant having an early morning conversation with the captain.

“Hey,” Jay said, looking guiltily at Berg as he walked out of the captain’s office with his coffee in hand.

“Hey,” Berg replied, not looking up from her desk.
 

He breathed a sigh of relief. She didn’t seem to notice where he had come from. “Look . . .” Jay said, the dread in his heart kicking his adrenaline into high gear. “About last night. We should talk—”
 

“That’s not necessary, Jay. Just leave it, okay?” Berg said. “I’m not in the mood for a ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ talk, okay?”

“But I—”
 

“We’ve got plenty to do, so let’s concentrate on that. I’ve called the Health Department on that terrible pizza place, but there’s still interviewing friends and family of both Williams and Dell, not to mention Dell’s autopsy report should be in soon. And I have info on the mysterious counselor.”

Jay, also quite happy to put off the conversation, gave in without a fight. “What info?”
 

“Well, lack of info, I should say. I ran her volunteering form through the system, and get this—Irene Ivanovitch’s address is bogus. Her emergency contact is bogus. Her phone number, work history, and volunteering history are bogus. Are you seeing a pattern?”

“Don’t they have to run a background check on all health care volunteers?”

“Some only do a criminal record check. If they use one of those free online
detective
services, then it will only tell you if that person has been convicted of a serious crime, not whether the name is real or not. And they don’t ask for a social security number when no money’s involved,” Berg said.

“Wow, suddenly I’m terrified to go to a hospital. What next?”

“What’ve you got?”

“Cheney and Rodriguez have left for Milwaukee for the Williams interviews, patrol is out looking for the rape crime scene, so we’ll take Dell?”

Berg nodded. “I’ll contact Cook County again and ask about our unfortunate rapist; the warden knows me. You take his family?”

“Ah, sure . . .” Jay replied.
 

Berg immediately got on the phone, and Jay soon followed suit.
 

Tracking down an address for the uncle, John Dell, courtesy of Bacic, Jay hung up and grabbed his coat and keys. He hesitated behind Berg’s desk for a moment, wondering if she was going to join him.
 

Engrossed in her phone conversation with Cook County, she didn’t appear to notice him waiting. Eventually, he left alone.

“I’ve got something,” Jay said an hour later to Berg as he walked back to his desk. Tapping on his keyboard, he pulled up an old file.
 

“Shoot,” Berg said.
 

“So, I spoke to Dell’s uncle. It seems his assertions to Bacic that Dell was innocent of the statutory rape he went to prison for were total bullshit. There’s no doubt he raped the young woman.” He turned his laptop around to show Berg a photograph of a young woman on the screen. “Remind you of anyone?”
 

“Karen,” Berg answered, looking at the photo of a young, freckly redhead who had been beaten to a pulp. “Who is she?”

“Serena McKenzie, our pizza delivery boy’s first victim. He has a type. Statutory, my ass. He raped and beat this girl to within an inch of her life four years ago. She was only sixteen. The reason he only went down for statutory is because the girl was too afraid to prosecute, and statutory’s all they could get.”

“Son of a bitch,” Berg muttered.

“Once again, the universe throws us a bone,” Jay replied.
 

Berg smiled grimly. “How do you keep reading my mind like that?”

“I know you. Look. About last night—”

“Detectives,” Dr. Dwight interrupted the sticky moment. “I’ve got some information for you. Is now okay?”
 

The detectives each nodded silently.

He frowned. “Did I miss something?”

“No,” Jay and Berg both snapped.

Dwight smiled slightly before he got back to business. “Mark Dell was definitely Karen’s rapist. His DNA matches the sample in her rape kit, and her DNA was found on him. Vaginal tears and abrasions are noted in the rape kit, plus the bruising around her neck matches the perpetrator’s hand span.”

“Looks like a bit of karma found its way back to him,” Jay said. “Big time.”

“What about his murder?” Berg interrupted. “Anything on that?”

“Not a thing. No extra DNA, no footprints, no fingerprints, nada. This guy was killed by a vengeful ghost. The attacker continued hacking away at the neck long past his death. He was angry. The victim was not subdued first.”

“No extra DNA from another possible sexual encounter?” Berg asked, hoping to find some evidence to fit her theory.

“No. His genitals were covered in his semen and with Karen’s blood and fluids. He didn’t shower before he was killed. Nothing else. Why?”

“Just a theory. How did the murderer get out unseen?” Berg asked. “Wouldn’t he, or she, have been covered in blood?”

“She?” he repeated, before taking off his glasses and giving them a quick polish. “Head to toe, yes. Arterial spray is impossible to avoid. No blood in the drain of the bath or shower, so the murderer didn’t rinse off first, but there’s no blood in the stairwell or outside the apartment.”

“Anything at all to link this murder with the truckers and the motorist?”

“No.” Dwight looked at Berg curiously.

“Thanks, Doc.” Jay avoided Berg’s glance. He took the autopsy report and reached for his cell. “I’m calling Halwood to see if the phone records for the pizzeria have been dumped.”
 

Berg nodded, relieved one of them was occupied so she could try to ignore the growing awkwardness between them.

A few seconds later, and Jay said Halwood confirmed that they had. “There was a call to the pizzeria at about the right time from a remote phone booth off the tollway between Busse Woods and the Poplar Creek Forest Preserve. He has already sent a team to check it out and see if any DNA or fingerprint evidence can be recovered,” Jay said.

About to get back to business, Berg noticed the other detectives on the level were forming their desk chairs into a rough semicircle around the level’s main whiteboard.
 

A moment later, Chief Consiglio strode in, glaring. The captain walked in after him.
 

“What the fuck?” Jay whispered to Berg.

She shrugged, no more clued in than he was.

Jay pulled up chairs for both him and Berg, and sat down belligerently, his arms folded.
 

Berg sat next to him, so close his thigh was touching hers. Her nerves tingled pleasantly, but she crossed her legs away from him to break the contact.
 

Consiglio nodded impatiently. “This is a case allocation for the recent murders of Danny Taylor, Darryl Williams, and John Rogers, as well Melissa Shipper and Alan Winchester. The truckers have superficial links, but nothing one hundred percent firm tying them together at this stage. Melissa Shipper and Winchester are unrelated to each other or the trucker murders. I want each of these five murders worked up by a separate pair of detectives. I want a fresh perspective on this, people!”

“What?” Berg muttered to Jay under her breath, her uneasiness at his proximity forgotten.
 

She wasn’t the only one staring at her fellow investigators in disbelief; all the officers in the meeting looked at each other, stunned. Consiglio silenced the room with a fierce glower before continuing. “I have allocated each individual case to two detectives in the handout being passed around.”
 

Jay passed the stack of printed sheets straight on to Hamilton, who was sitting beside him, without looking at the allocation or taking a copy. He didn’t need to look at the paperwork to know that he and Berg had been taken off all the cases.
 

“The mayor wants a speedy close to these investigations. Get it done, and get it done fast. If you find something definite linking any of the trucker murders together, I want to be the first to hear about it, not Leigh, not your colleagues, certainly not the media. Am I understood?”
 

Leigh scowled, snagging a print out for herself. “I have a huge problem with that, Tony!”

“With what?” he asked rudely.

“I am the chief of this precinct. I decide who reports to whom, not you!” She raised her eyebrows at him, as if daring him to argue.

“Fine. To spare your delicate female ego, we’ll have a joint briefing on each murder,” Consiglio said.
 

The officers shifted in their seats uncomfortably and whispered among themselves in dissent.
 

“And until we are sure otherwise, there is no need to alarm the Chicago community with any serial killer theories. The last thing I need is the FBI breathing down our necks and sticking their noses where they don’t belong. This is
my
show!” Consiglio raised his voice in an attempt to drown out the rebellious chatter.

“Yeah, there’s no need to derail your election campaign with that theory, you mean,” Jay muttered.
 

“Of course,” Consiglio replied loudly, drowning out the undercurrent of muttering. “If anyone feels they need further clarification . . .” His chilling tone made it quite clear it would not be a conversation they would enjoy.

“Actually, yeah, I need some
further clarification.
” Jay stood.
 

Startled, Berg gave him her best
you’re nuts
stare before standing up next to him in support.
 

“We have an alternate theory.”
 

Consiglio motioned for Jay to continue, an eyebrow raised.
 

“We believe that all five cases are linked and are, in fact, the result of serial killings. And we have a sixth victim to add to our list, Mark Dell, and a possible suspect.”