Bloody Mary

“Apparently it worked.”

“I was a dynamo, Jack. You should see the scratch marks on my back.”

I had no idea how to respond to that. Pat him on the shoulder? Tell him to nail her once for me? I settled on, “That’s great.”

“She was begging me for mercy, Jack. But I kept a-goin’. I haven’t heard her scream like that since-”

“Herb,” I interrupted, “you were right. Maybe we should keep some things private.”

Colin Andrews’s neighborhood was primarily low-income. Gang-bangers flashing colors eyed us, trying to figure out what business a white couple in a new sports car had in their hood. At a stoplight, a kid with baggy pants pimp-walked up to the passenger side and tapped on my window.

“Y’all lost?”

I smiled at him. “Five-O. Y’all holding?”

He put his hands in the air and backed off, smiling at me with gold caps. The way he wore his banda

“I blame rap music,” Herb said.

“That’s much easier than blaming the parents.”

“I’m serious. Think about how gang violence would be reduced if they all listened to Perry Como.”

“Reduced? I think they’d riot. Hell, I’d riot.”

Ninety-sixth Street had more potholes than asphalt, and Herb cringed every time his car took a dip. Andrews’s apartment building was the nicest one on the block, but that didn’t mean much. Graffiti still colored the sidewalk and walls, and three divots in the front door were obvious bullet holes.

Herb parked directly in front of the building, on the street. Our leather badge cases had cords attached, and we hung our stars around our necks. I got out of the car, feeling the same sense of uneasiness I always felt when on the South Side, being a white female cop. None of those traits were looked upon with respect here.

Herb turned to me. “What’s your take on this?”

I knew what he meant. It was unlikely Davi McCormick got her drugs from Colin, unless he made frequent visits to the Gold Coast – dealers tend to stay local. And two severed arms planted in the county morgue wasn’t your typical gang-related or drug-related crime.

“The calls from her apartment were to his cell phone. Maybe we’ll get lucky.”

The security door had a broken lock, allowing us an easy entry. The lobby reeked of heat and decay. More graffiti tags marked the walls, and someone had shattered two of the three hallway lights.

Colin Andrews rented an apartment on the first floor. The number had been removed from the door, but we figured it out by counting.

Herb rapped his knuckle on the door.

“Colin Andrews? Chicago PD.”

No answer.

“Mr. Andrews, this is the police. We’d like to ask you some questions. It’s in your best interest to open the door.”

“How it my best interest letting cops in?”

“Because if you don’t talk to us,” Benedict said, “we’ll start knocking on all of your neighbors’ doors. It would be hard for you to live here if everyone thought you were a police snitch.”

“I ain’t no damn snitch.”

We waited. I noticed Herb had his hand near his holster, and realized that mine had drifted there as well.

After a minute, the door opened a crack. A brown eye squinted out at us.

“What this about?”

I smiled pleasantly. “You want everyone to see you talking to us in the hall?”

He opened the door.

The apartment was air-conditioned, neat, nicely furnished. An entertainment center crammed full of state-of-the-art equipment sat next to a wide-screen TV.

Colin stood about Benedict’s height, but rail thin. He wore an oversized Steelers jersey and a thick gold chain around his neck that seemed to weigh him down.

“Business must be good.” I eyed his place, a

Colin shrugged.

“Colin?” A woman’s voice came from one of the back rooms. “Who’s there?”

“No one, Mama. Stay in your room.”

“Mama know you deal?” I asked.

“I don’t deal. That’s all a big misunderstanding.”

I fished through the pockets of my blazer and took out a folded head shot of Davi McCormick.

“Do you recognize this woman?”

I watched Colin’s face. He glanced at the photo without changing his expression.

“Never saw her.”

“She called your cell phone a few days ago.”

“Don’t got no cell phone.”

I read the phone number to him.

“Don’t got that phone no more. Lost it.”

“When did you lose it?”

“Couple weeks ago.”

Herb bent down, reaching for Colin’s foot.

“I think you dropped something, Colin. Well – lookee here.”

Herb held up the bag of powdered sugar.

“Dog, that ain’t mine!”

Herb made an i

“I don’t even deal that shit, man. I just distribute the herb.”

“Where’s your phone, Colin?”

“I told you, I lost the phone.”

Benedict dipped a finger into the bag, then touched his tongue.

“How much you think is here? Eight, ten grams? That’s what – thirty years?”

I moved closer to Colin. “We found the arms. We know she called you.”

“What arms? I don’t carry, man. I’m low-key.”

“Where’s the phone?”

“I don’t know.”

Colin looked frightened. Though I couldn’t arrest him for possession of a known confectionary, I decided to push my luck.

“You know the drill, Colin. On your knees, hands behind your head.”

“I don’t have the phone! I swear! You need to ask your people!”

“What people?”

“Cops. When I got arrested last month, they took my phone. I never got it back.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Herb was dipping back into the bag for another taste. I stepped between him and Colin.

“You’re saying we have your phone?”

“I had it with me when I got booked, and when I got sprung no one knew anything about my phone.”

I had a pretty good internal BS detector, and Colin was either a much better liar than I was used to, or he was telling the truth.

“Have you canceled the service?”

“Haven’t got round to it.”

“Why not?”

I saw fear flash across Colin’s eyes.

“Colin, do you know who has your phone?”

“No.”

“Colin, the person who took your phone is very dangerous. If you tell us who it is, we can protect you.”

“I told you I don’t know.”

“Maybe a trip to the station will help jog your memory.”

Colin glanced at Herb and smirked. “I don’t think you be charging me with nothing.”

I looked. Benedict was licking a large mound of white powder out of his palm.

“I’m testing the purity,” Benedict said. His beard was dusty with sugar.

Colin went to the door and held it open.

“Y’all can go now.”

“Colin…”

“I know my rights. If I tell you to go, you got to go.”

“We want to help you, Colin.”

“Yeah, right.”

I handed him my card. He took it, reluctantly.

“If a police officer stole your cell phone, you can file a formal complaint. You can help us get this guy.”

“Whatever.”

We left the apartment.

“Jesus, Herb. Real professional.”

“I couldn’t help it. I haven’t had anything sweet in over a week. Once I had that little taste, I couldn’t stop.”

He drove his point home by upending the remainder of the bag into his mouth.

“Do you know how many carbs are in that?”

“I don’t care. It’s like an orgy on my tongue.”

“During the orgy, did you manage to pick up on what Colin said?”

He nodded, his face turning somber.

The perp had access to my handcuffs, to the county morgue, and to Colin’s cell phone.

All signs pointed to the killer being a cop.

Unfortunately, this did little to narrow it down. Chicago had a police force of over seventeen thousand. I had eight hundred working out of my district, plus cops from the other districts came and went on a daily basis. So did cops from out of town, Feds, lawyers, and government officials.