Standing on the concrete steps leading to the entrance for Chicago’s Twenty-Third District police station, the homicide detective took a much needed second to remind himself of where he was and who was listening.
With a tight smile, he locked eyes with the attractive reporter and shook his head. “No, Ms. Jennings. That’s not what I’m saying.” Clearing his throat, Alex addressed the entire, hungry group again. “Let me repeat myself, just so there are no misunderstandings. This an ongoing, joint investigation being conducted by both the FBI and the Chicago Police Department’s Special Homicide Unit. As you know, ongoing means I cannot discuss any details related to this case with the press or anyone else at this time. That includes any leads we may or may not have.”
As expected, a barrage of questions was thrown at him all at once. With more patience than he actually felt, Alex raised his hand and waited for the eager reporters to quiet down before speaking again.
“I assure you we are doing everything we can to identify the person or persons responsible for these women’s deaths. So is the FBI.”
“When will you release the name of his newest victim?”
“The identification was only made a few hours ago. As you know, family notifications can take some time. Once her next of kin has been made aware of the situation, I’m sure either the department or the FBI will make a formal statement.”
“Can you at least tell us the connection between all five victims?” Jennings tried again. “Women in this city need to know what this guy’s into.”
“She’s right.” A male reporter he didn’t recognize stepped forward. “The victims looked nothing alike. Is it safe to assume The Liberator isn’t choosing his victims based on physical attributes?”
Jesus, he hated that nickname. “No one should assume anything.”
Alex needed to regain control and shut this impromptu interview the hell down. Now.
“Listen”—he spoke to them all— “women in Chicago, as well as the outer lying areas, need to take the same precautions they always should.”
“What does that mean?” Jennings asked.
“It means, keep your head up and your eyes focused on what’s around you, not stuck in your phones or tablets. Be aware of your surroundings and pay attention to anything that may seem out of the ordinary. Avoid going into secluded, unsecured locations alone.” Then, because he felt it needed to be said, he added, “Basically, use some common sense.”
“Common sense?” A younger woman in the group asked sarcastically “That’s all you’ve got for us?”
Alex nodded. “It’s sound advice. Now, if you’ll excuse me, the sooner I get inside, the sooner I can continue working the case.”
Ignoring the shouted responses, he turned and made his way up the remaining steps and into the building. Blowing out a breath, Alex gave the officer guarding the door a tip of his chin. “Hey, Steve.”
“Mornin’, Alex.” Steve Deshaun gave him a knowing smile. “Rough one, already?”
“You could say that.” Alex shook his head. “They’re like a bunch of freakin’ vultures.”
The other man nodded. “That’s because they’re scared. The whole city is. Hell, my wife won’t even go to the store anymore unless I’m with her.”
Standing at six-five, the African American officer was a large, tower of a man. The guy retired four years ago with a full, well-earned pension, but still volunteered as a security officer for the precinct three days a week.
“I know.” Alex gave the man a look. “And I’ve got nothing to give them.”
A loud, clapping sound had them both looking to Alex’s right. Garrett Caldwell, his partner and best friend, was walking toward him. The tall bastard was clapping slowly and wearing a shit-eatin’ grin.
“Nicely done, Detective Bennett. You know, if this whole homicide gig doesn’t work out, you should consider becoming the department’s PR spokesperson.”
“Fuck off, Caldwell.”
Garrett laughed. “I’m just sayin’. You’ve got a way with words, my friend.”
“Yeah? Well, if we don’t catch this asshole soon, you and I are both gonna be looking for new gigs.”
With a quick nod, Alex told Steve goodbye and walked with Garrett to the set of stairs on their right. After scanning their ID badges, the door separating the specialized homicide unit from the rest of the station clicked open, and the two men started up a second set of stairs. At the top of those was Alex’s home away from home.
A large, open area housed the detectives’ desks. To the right of that was a small break room, and just ahead, past all the desks, was Sergeant Richard Murphy’s office.
Part of his family’s seventh generation to join the force, the fifty-year-old hard-ass had been a member of the Chicago Police Department since he was twenty-one. Making his way through the ranks, Murphy was chosen as the head of their high-level homicide crime division six years ago. Alex and Garrett both joined the group two years later.
Sergeant Murphy was good police, but he was also very old-school. He had no problems busting heads to get the answers they needed. Lucky for him, the department higher-ups cared more about their success rate than they did the methods Murphy used.
