CHAPTER 15
The garden hose snaked its way from the kitchen sink throughout the one bedroom apartment. There was kink in the hose by the bathroom door. The sound of hissing water trying to flow emanated from the hose. A gloved hand reached down and un-kinked the hose. The water pressure returned to normal. The end of the hose sprayed water onto the plush blue carpet of the bedroom. The black trench coat wearing man picked up the end and began to saturate the entire room. He made sure the water soaked the carpeting with such enthusiasm, that he chuckled as the water sprayed up against wall. He knelt down and sprayed under the bed. He avoided the bed and the furniture. He watched as little puddles formed in the carpeting. After fifteen minutes of saturation, he laid the hose down and returned to the kitchen.
He turned off the kitchen faucet, and began the arduous task of coiling the hose. He used a technique he learned in boy scouts. He held the nozzle in his hand and coiled the hose around his elbow and open palm. It was a good technique for rope coiling, but the hose was a little more difficult to handle than a rope. He watched the end of the hose with the other nozzle swing around the corner into the kitchen. The excess water in the hose spilled out in trail, which reminded him of gasoline. “That might be next time.” He thought to himself.
The hose was coiled up; he replaced the small bungee cord he had brought to hold the hose in place. He laid the hose on the counter top, and went back to the bedroom. He grabbed the long orange extension cord that he had placed on the bed when he arrived. He walked over to the wall with the outlet that connected to the switch on the wall by the door. He plugged in the cord, and stepped out the room holding the other end in his hand. He pulled a large wire cutter from his outer pocket on his trench coat, and snipped the cord at the end by the plug. He threw the cord into the bedroom. It landed like a rattlesnake ready to strike. He giggled to himself, and walked back through the apartment towards the kitchen. He headed over to the sink and grabbed the hose. He walked to the back door, and walked out.
The deadbolt on the front door clicked open. The door swung open, and three bags full of groceries hit the carpeted floor in the front room. One spilled out onto the carpet. There was a mix of spaghetti-os, kernel corn, and tomato soup sprawled across the floor. Jack Ralas stepped through the open door. He shut his front door and kicked off his shoes on the welcome mat by his front door where he exchanged his street shoes with a pair of more comfortable house slippers. He picked up the bags of groceries. He walked into the kitchen and placed the bags on the counter top next to his sink. He noticed there was a pool of water on the counter, and as he looked at his kitchen floor, he noticed there was more water. He followed the trail of water to its source. He realized it was coming from his bedroom. He walked into his bedroom and looked up at the ceiling to see if he could see anything leaking. The shadows of the setting sun had made it kind of hard to see. He reached up for the light switch and flicked it on.
His eyes bugged out of his head and looked straight ahead. There was no one around, yet Jack was looking at someone. There in the corner was a shadow, a face of perfection glowed within a flicker of light. Jack’s body convulsed with the electrical current the jolted his body. It seemed like an eternity, but it only lasted for fifteen seconds. That is when the fuse had finally blown. Jack fell to the ground. His eyes were fixed on the shadow in the corner. Foam bubbled out of his mouth. His fingernails were black, and he slowly breathed. He mumbled a prayer of sorts, and tears rolled down his cheeks to the soaked carpeting. A few minutes passed before Jack faded off into oblivion. His body was lying motionless on the wet carpeting. His feet were black and there was an open wound on his cheek where the electricity had found a way out of his body. The shadow in the corner held its head down and slipped away into the darkness of the bedroom.
Detective Morotta entered the crime scene. He looked around the small one bedroom apartment. After making an inspection of the apartment, he looked at the body. He kneeled down next to Jack’s body. The sound of water squishing under his feet made him feel a little uncomfortable. He had already spoke with the coroner and found out the cause of death. Electrocution was a death fitting for an inmate, but not a civilian. Jack had no prior arrests, and as far as Detective Morotta was concerned, he was an angel. The crime scene investigators removed the body, and Morotta took some notes. He had the feeling this was connected to the murder of Sara Mitchell, but he couldn’t be sure. He prayed that his gut was wrong. In his heart, he knew his gut was never wrong.
If these two murders were connected, then he might be dealing with a serial killer. If that was the case, then Morotta knew the feds would be arriving shortly. Whenever the feds took over a local case, there was usually a lot gopher work involved. Such as, gopher some coffee, or gopher some donuts. That did not appeal to Morotta at all. He found himself in a bit of a predicament. He had to find out who was responsible. He didn’t have a lot of time either, and he knew it.
He headed back to the station and began another long night of paperwork. “So much for being on time for dinner.” He thought to himself.
“I’m on it boss.” Danny spoke into his cell phone.
“Good!” Burt screamed into the phone.
The cell phone went silent, and it took Danny a minute to realize that Burt had hung up. He weaved in and out of traffic to the 16th precinct of the Chicago Police Department. It took him twenty minutes to get from Rogers Park to Jefferson Park, where the precinct was located. He was rather proud of himself. He had made good time.
“I’m here to see Detective Morotta.” Danny told the civilian clerk at the front desk.
“He is expecting you, Mr. Doderling.” The clerk replied.
She reached under her desk and pressed the button that released the lock on the door. Danny heard the buzzer on the door and headed over to it. He nodded in appreciation, and the clerk smiled and went back to her duties.
Danny looked across the large room. It reminded him of his newsroom. Desks were sprawled everywhere. There was no conformity to it. Some were sideways others were half cocked. It definitely made him laugh, because he always saw The Chicago Police as a mismanaged, disorganized, and clustered part of the Chicago Democratic Machine.
“Excuse me, where is Detective Morotta?” Danny asked the first detective he saw.
“Morotta, he is over there in the corner.” The detective pointed across the room to the other side of the office.
Danny nodded his head again in appreciation, and headed through the maze of desks. He noticed that Detective Morotta was not a very big man. He looked the detective over as he approached him. Receding hairline, cheap sports coat draped over a collared polo shirt, and black slacks. He was typing one finger at a time. Danny found that funny, because he thought he only saw cops typing that way in the movies.
“Detective Morotta.” Danny said as he approached the desk.
Detective Morotta looked up to see the young face of Danny Doderling. He snarled under his breath, and then turned it into a smile. Danny knew it was a fake smile. It didn’t seem to bother him. Danny didn’t want to be there either, but Burt had told him to do the interview face to face. It would be harder for the cop to lie this way. Danny didn’t care either way. Even if the cop lied, Danny figured he could get the same amount of truth from his own investigation.
Detective Morotta motioned for Danny to sit down. Danny took a seat on the other side of the desk. Danny pulled out his little tape recorder, hit record, and began to ask the detective about the case of the two murders. Detective Morotta’s answers were blunt and to the point. He really didn’t have much information to hide because he didn’t have very much information at all. He had tried to think of a way to utilize the newspapers to his advantage, but he hadn’t found a way.
CHAPTER 16
“I’m looking for Lil’ Management.” Davis spoke into the receiver.
“Who the fuck is this?” The reply came from the voice on the other end.
“Tell him it’s Davis, and I am in trouble.”
“Oh, hey man what’s up, it’s me Doc,”
“Oh yeah, I remember you from the night we made our break from psycho heaven.” Davis replied.
“Yeah, but Christian, ain’t around right now, he’s on the block.” Doc replied.
“Alright, well, tell him I am in trouble, and need to get out of where I am at.” Davis pleaded.
“No problem, I’ll let him know.” Doc said.
“Thanks.” Davis said as he hung up the phone.
Davis sat there in the old phone booth. He had been trembling all day, trying to figure out what was going on. He had been in and out of consciousness for the past few weeks. His hotel room at the Hotel Norford was trashed. Empty bottles of whiskey cluttered the floor. The ashtrays were overflowing with burned butts. He was a mess, and he was out of cigarettes. He had the shakes from the alcohol that his body craved. He couldn’t chance walking to the liquor store, he was trapped. The morning headlines scared him to death.
When he saw the paper this morning on his usual morning walk to the corner store, he bought one and ran back to his room. The article on the latest killing made him uneasy. He knew the police would start searching for him again soon. It was only a matter of time. It was Christmas Eve, and it had begun to snow again. He needed to get out of the hotel, and to a place more secure. He had been hiding out on the west side of Chicago for six months. The money Beth had sent to his lawyer would not last forever. He was not about to go back to jail for murder. He had been there, and knew what kind of life that was to live. He would do anything to make sure that didn’t happen.
He wasn’t sure if he had done anything crazy like murdering his longtime drinking buddy, or his eighth grade school teacher. He tried very hard to remember his past few days of drinking, but couldn’t recall what he was doing. He knew he was capable of murder, but he couldn’t picture himself being that violent and ruthless.
Sara Mitchell was his eighth grade school teacher. She had caught him and Jack drinking behind the school on the day before graduation. She could have easily let it go, but she had to make a big fuss about the situation. That day followed him on his school transcripts all throughout high school. How many kids get expelled from school on the day before graduation? Jack had just gotten a suspension, but Davis was not like by Ms. Mitchell. So she made sure, he got expelled. He still graduated only because all the course work was completed. The transcripts that were sent from school to school showed his expulsion. It created disciplinary problems for him at the four high schools he attended.
Jack and Davis continued to drink daily throughout high school. Even though Davis’ parents moved and he had to switch schools four times, they stayed in contact. Davis read the article on Jack and realized that people from his past were dying. They were not just regular people either. Davis saw the problem immediately. He had motive to kill both of them. Jack and Davis had a falling out seven years ago. Davis was driving Jack home after a night at the bars. Davis hit a light pole on Elston Avenue just north of Bryn Mawr. Jack flew through the windshield, and was hurt badly. It took Jack six months to recover after extensive physical therapy. Jack’s lawyer had talked him into suing Davis. When the court case ended, Davis was ordered to pay all of Jack’s medical bills, and a lump sum of $250,000 was part of the agreement. Davis skipped town and went to Phoenix. That is when he met Beth. He had told her about the accident, and the large restitution, but she backed her husband and knew he would make good on the payments. The accident with the state trooper on their honeymoon had created even more chaos in an already chaotic situation.
Davis realized that the pieces of this puzzle were going to form in a picture of him. When the police put everything together, it was going to be manhunt one hundred times worse than when he broke out of the psych ward. Christian and Davis hung out for the first week, but the gang banging lifestyle was not his cup of tea. So Davis got some money from Trevor, and checked himself into the Hotel Norford. It was a cozy little dump on Pulaski Road, just south of North Avenue. Davis had been here drinking up a storm for over six months. Now that the cold weather had arrived, he went out only once a day, to get a few bottles of Jack Daniels and a pack of cigarettes. He sometimes bought some snacks, but he never felt like eating much. He had lost the bulk of his jail muscle. The rings around his eyes were black, his rib cage stuck out of his chest so much, he looked anorexic. The beginning stages of death had set in a few weeks earlier. He couldn’t breathe well, yet he smoked more and more. He couldn’t make it through the night without throwing up at least once.
The hotel room had a sink where he would urinate, instead of going to use the community bathroom down the hallway. He hadn’t showered in over a week and a half, and his beard was a full three months old. His hair was dirty and shaggy. He looked in the mirror occasionally, but every time he did so, he recognized himself less and less.
Davis stumbled his way upstairs to his room, hoping to make it before he felt like throwing up. He pulled himself up the two flights of stairs. He used the banister to climb the steps, because his feet just dragged behind him. He fell down on his bed and laid there for what seemed like hours. He opened his eyes and for the first time, he saw the shadow sitting in the corner of the room. The shadow had always been there, but it was the first time Davis had seen him. The shadow’s face glimmered, and Davis thought he was hallucinating. He began to mumble out loud, not realizing he was asking for help. The shadow nodded in approval, and then there was a peace in Davis’ mind. He no longer felt compelled to drink. His body wanted alcohol, but his mind had cleared up a little bit. He laid there and rolled thoughts of happiness, Beth, life, chaos, the future, the past, and the present throughout his head. Just as he figured the minutes would drag on forever, someone started pounding on the door.
Davis came out of his daze and noticed it was dark in his room. The time had flown by, and Davis crawled his way to the door. His body was shutting down. He reached for the door handle from a prone position on the floor. The door swung open, and the light from the lights in the hallway blinded him for a second. There was the shape of a man standing over him. Fear gripped Davis for a few seconds. He thought they had finally come to arrest him. He dropped his hand to his side and gave up. His brain shut down and the blackness enveloped his sight. He felt calm and serene. A feeling he had not felt in months.
Davis was fading in and out of consciousness. He felt like he was dreaming but couldn’t wake up. People were talking but the conversations flowed into dreams. He opened his eyes for a second and saw the snow falling past light poles flying by the car he was in.
“He’s coming around.” Doc said.
“Good, man, he looks like I did when I was strung out on that heron last summer. Remember that Doc.” Christian said.
“Yeah, how could I forget, Psycho, made us kick your ass for shooting that garbage into your arms? Yeah, he looks a lot worse than you ever did. Look at his hands, their shaking. You didn’t convulse like that when you passed out.” Doc said as he was watching Davis in the backseat.
“Look, you need to get a hold of some valium or Xanex for this cat. That is the only thing besides liquor that is going to help him.” Christian said, as he tried to control the car from sliding into a curb.
The snow fell down with such intensity, that the streets were quickly covered in snow. Christian drove north to Doc’s house. Luckily, Davis had called when he did, ten minutes later, and he would have been out of luck. Christian and Doc had plans to go to Elgin to hang out with Doc’s baby’s mama for Christmas. Doc was still going, but Christian was going staying behind to help his friend. Christian recalled the hate relationship they had in the psych ward, but that was a long time ago, and it was now time for Christian to help Davis out. Davis never did anything but be a man, and Christian respected him for that. Christian was a Simon City Royal, a street gang in Chicago, and he was down for his clique, but he was also down for helping out the less fortunate. He really enjoyed helping out people who were running from the police. This made him happy. He hated cops, the court system, and the government. Anytime that authority could be undermined, he was the first in line.
They parked in the alley behind Doc’s garage, and carried Davis through the gangway to the back basement door. They tossed him on the couch, and Doc took the car to go fill some prescriptions, the illegal way. Christian removed the coat they had put on Davis. Davis had begun to sweat profusely. He looked bad, really bad. Christian had not seen Davis in about four months. The last time they hung out, Davis got all drunk at an end of summer bash he had thrown. Davis picked a fight with one of the Coffee brothers. Rich and Roger Coffee both took Davis out back and beat the shit out of him. Davis had managed to piss off most of the people at the party, and by the time the fight broke out, there were ten people standing around Davis giving him their best kicks. A garbage can was the last straw. Rich Coffee picked it up and smashed it over Davis’ head.
“You want to fuck with my brother, fucker!” Rich yelled into the hot summer night.
Davis was hard headed and didn’t stay down, which is why the beating was not as bad as it could have been. Christian finally pulled some people away and helped Davis down the alley. He called a cab on his cell phone, and waited with Davis on the corner of Elston and Lawrence. The cab showed up, and Christian tossed thirty bucks in the front seat, and a beaten up Davis Stiles in the back. He told the cabbie to take him home, and the cabbie did just that. Davis stumbled out of the cab in front of The Hotel Norford. His face was swollen; he had a black eye, and a busted lip. He smiled at the front desk clerk with bloody teeth. He loved every minute of it. The physical pain was the only thing that made him feel alive. Beth was gone, Davis didn’t want to live, and yet he couldn’t die.
CHAPTER 17
Burt’s office door swung fiercely open. Luckily, there was door stopper in place; otherwise the handle on the door would have shattered the glass window next to the door. Burt looked up from his desk, and saw Danny standing there with a shit eating grin. He had a stack of files, and he actually waited for Burt’s reaction.
“What the hell are you so happy about kid?” Burt asked.
“I did it boss, I got the story of the century.” Danny waited for another response from Burt.
“Well, don’t stop, tell me about it.” Burt snarled, not liking the drama queen that Danny was playing.
“Boss!” Danny stepped up to the desk and dropped the files he was carrying on Burt’s desk. “In there, are the ingredients to a movie deal. I really could not have gotten any luckier. It seems that Sara Mitchell was Davis Stiles’ eighth grade school teacher. She got him expelled, and Jack Ralas was his accomplice in the situation. Not only that, but it seems that Jack had a large settlement against Davis from a car accident. There is the motive.”
“Really, how did you find all this out? The police?” Burt asked, a little skeptically.
“Well, I talked to the detective on the case, and he was very hush, hush about it. So I started with Sara Mitchell, and began to cross reference Jack Ralas’ name also. I found the eighth grade incident from sixteen years ago. Then I checked up on Jack’s medical history, and found a car accident report, and then the court records. Davis Stiles’ name was on everything. You told me to do my homework, and this is what I came up with. I want permission to write the story.” Danny finished explaining.
“Well, what do the cops know?” Burt asked.
“Don’t know boss, but if they don’t have this information, we will sell more papers. Plus, the paper might bring Davis in.” Danny replied.
“Alright, get it done, I will okay it.” Burt said.
Danny was a little surprised, Burt was not himself today. Usually Burt was a wild man with his ranting and raving. Today, he was calm, almost serene. It didn’t make Danny feel comfortable at all. He wanted to deal with the hard nosed Burt that he had worked for all this year. This man standing in front of him was weak and sick. Danny grabbed the files off of Burt’s desk and headed out to write his masterpiece. When Danny exited the office, Burt reached into his desk for a bottle of pills and his bottle of whiskey. Burt felt Death’s cold hand on his shoulder. The pills dulled the pain, and the whiskey warmed the chill he had on his bones.
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