Outside the windows, I noticed real, not figurative, dark clouds had rolled in, turning the sky patchy shades of charcoal gray. The room’s temperature seemed to lower even more with the absence of sun. Thunder, a low growl, sounded in the distance. Heat lightning flashed far out over the lake.
“And then I saw the knife.”
I sucked in a breath.
Josh nodded. “The creepiest thing was he didn’t say a word. He just smiled.” A beat. “And then he came at us. He lunged for Reggie first, who was too stunned to do anything, not even move. I can still see him, frozen, his mouth open, eyes wide.
“I tried to fight him off. I thought I could take him, but despite his size—he was small—he was strong. He slashed me.” He showed me his arm, where a long scar ran down the upper part. I’d noticed it before, even said it reminded me of the scar Padma Lakshmi had. Josh had always been evasive, once told me it was from the car crash he and Reggie were in. I never questioned it. I even thought it was kind of sexy.
“My arm was gushing blood. I felt weak. Helpless. I fell to the bricks, scraping my face, spraining my arm.” He began to sob, the tears flowing freely.
“It happened so fast, Ted. It was over in seconds. One moment we were kissing.” He looked at me. “And the next, Reggie was lying next to me, bleeding out. His eyes were open, but he saw nothing.
“It took me a long time, hours it seemed, but really probably only a few minutes, before I began to scream.”
I held him close. “Shh,” I whispered, “I know you’d never harm another soul.” And even as I said the words, I already was thinking how the story didn’t add up. Hadn’t Josh said he’d left Reggie alone for some “monster” to “slash?” And then, he contradicted himself by saying he was there too and had also been attacked.
Part of me wanted to ask him what the hell was going on. But the other part told me trauma can do funny things to memory and he probably simply misspoke.
It was possible.
Wasn’t it?
Chapter 3
Podcast transcript, “Meat Locker: Cold Cases” Episode No. 43
True Crime Audio Presents: The Case of the Unsolved Hate Crime
(Opening Credits and intro music)
Bailey Anderson, Host: The night Reginald Baker was murdered in an alley in the Chicago neighborhood locals refer to as Boystown was a confusing one for the public, the media, and Chicago Police Force detectives.
Their only lead after a day or two of following up on possibilities that went nowhere was the victim’s partner, Joshua Kade.
Kade immediately had the detective’s suspicions up—and not only because in about ninety percent of cases, a loved one is usually the culprit in a murder. Kade had done the one thing that colored him more as a suspect than a victim who managed to escape—he had failed to report the crime in a timely fashion. As you learned in the last episode, that call was made by two strangers.
Wouldn’t you think that Kade would have been the first to call 911? In my humble opinion, common sense dictates that if I were witness to a brutal murder and almost got killed myself, the only thing I’d do for sure is call the cops. Right away.
But that’s me.
In his defense, Kadedidreport the crime, but not until around six o’clock, later that same morning. His excuse? He’d been wandering the streets for a couple of hours after the stabbing, ending up at the lakefront at Belmont. The lightening sky and the fresh air calmed him enough, he said, to be able togather his wits and report the crime to the police. He said he’d been in shock, unable to recall the assault, the stabbing.
Kade claimed the two had been attacked by an unknown assailant. And it’s his description that makes one even more suspicious. He described the guy as “very average looking,” dressed in shorts and a T-shirt. Average height, average weight, dark hair. He didn’t remember eye color. He didn’t remember any tattoos, moles, scars, or other distinguishing characteristics.
Their assailant could have literally been anyone.
The only thing he did recall was that the knife-wielder whispered the word, ‘faggot’ over and over, seemingly in a frenzy, as he stabbed Reggie Baker.
Kade also reported that he too had been stabbed. And he had—in the upper arm. It was a deep, yet superficial wound—one no one was going to die from. Kade told the police that their attacker would have stabbed him to death as well if it hadn’t been for the sound of someone coming along through the alley, toward them. Curious detail—the person was singing the song “Gloria” as they drew closer.
The approach of a witness caused the attacker to freeze and then flee the scene. Kade claims to have been too shook up by the attack to pursue him. He was left alone to ponder what had just happened—how, as he said, life turned from a dream to a nightmare in only a few minutes. He claimed a kind of temporary amnesia set in, brought on by trauma.
Now, I’ve reached out to Joshua Kade more than once, asking him for details, for an insider view into what happened that hot night a decade ago. I wanted to give him the chance to tell his side of the story.
He has never returned a call, text, or email.
Maybe he simply wants to forget? Or maybe he doesn’t want anyone prying into a thing he hoped was settled a decade ago.
