“How so?”
“Some things I can talk about. Some I just can’t.”
I turned to face my friend.
“Go for it.”
“Right now?”
“Why not.”
“Okay. Vince and I did a workup of unsolved sexual assaults over the past five years. We have targeted seven assaults on the North Side, all home invasions, all within two miles of one another.”
“Same MO?”
“Pretty close. Attacker keeps his face hidden, so we have no suspect description. The one you rolled on with me the other night…”
“Miriam Hope?”
“Right. She’s part of the group.”
“DNA?”
“None so far. Miriam’s our best bet. I’m running her bedsheets right now. If the rapist cried, he may have left some tears. It’s a shot.”
“This is just you and Vince right now?”
“Yeah.”
“All right. Now, what can’t you talk about?”
“The twelve-year-old…”
“Jennifer Cole?”
“Yeah. I ran the semen we found in the alley…”
“And?”
“Can’t talk about it.”
“But you want to.”
“I need to.”
“How do we do this?” I said.
“I don’t know yet. Give me a little time.”
I shrugged. Nicole squeezed my hand.
“I gotta run,” she said. “Thanks again for coming tonight. Thanks for the talk. Means everything, Michael.”
I gave her a final hug just as Diane drifted over. We moved through the Drake’s revolving doors and into the October night that was Chicago. I took a final look back and caught my oldest friend’s eye. Nicole began to wave, but a couple passed between us. When the path cleared, she was gone.
I searched the lobby and found her a few feet away, turned at an angle, talking to Bennett Davis. Rodriguez was nowhere to be seen. I smiled. As the Irish say, everyone loves a trier.
I moved onto the street and into a cab. Diane and I had a late dinner at Gibson’s. It was nice but not quite real. We were eating the meal and drinking the drinks, telling the stories and grinning the grins, feeling the part, but not quite.
I had the cabbie drop Diane off at her apartment. Then I went home alone. An hour later I was fighting to stay awake and failing miserably. In that moment of clarity just before sleep, I thought of Nicole, alone in her lab, working through the night and into the next day’s dawn. I wanted to get up, wanted to keep her company. Instead I fell into a cold slumber, a heavy sort of quiet pressing down and stretching toward the darkness.
CHAPTER 34
Fingers of gray light crept through my window and across the bedroom floor. Outside and below I could hear the small voices of morning: a door slamming, then a garbage truck as it moved through an alley. I thought about getting up, maybe a cup of coffee and the paper. The truck shifted gears and moved off, its rumble drifting me back to sleep. Then the phone rang. Caller ID said ILLINOIS STATE POLICE LAB. I picked up on the third ring.
“Hello.”
“Michael, it’s Nicole. Did I wake you up?”
“Just getting up. Why are you down there so early?”
“I couldn’t sleep last night, so I came down to the lab. Thought I’d work on your samples before anyone else got in.”
“Probably not a bad idea.”
“Definitely not.”
“Why?”
“We got a profile.”
“From Elaine’s shirt?”
“Yes.”
I could feel a tingle at the back of my neck and a bit of heat moving up toward my temples.
“Can you identify it?”
“I ran it through CODIS at a little after three this morning. Got a match.”
I was already half-dressed and reached for a pen and paper.
“I’m on my way. Give me the name of the guy.”
“It’s not that simple.”
“How do you mean?”
“Remember last night when I told you about Jennifer?”
“You didn’t tell me anything about Jennifer.”
“Yeah, well, all the stuff I didn’t tell you about, it just got a whole lot worse.”
“Because of Elaine’s shirt?”
“Michael, you better get down here. Right now.”
CHAPTER 35
I got to the lab at a little after seven a.m. Parked in a lot that was empty save for Nicole’s silver Cherokee. The front doors were locked. The lobby beyond appeared to be empty. I tried Nicole’s cell phone but got no answer. Shit. I moved around the side of the building, wondering if there was another entrance. Nothing.
I walked along the back of the building now. The El ran close by. I tried Nicole’s cell again. Still nothing.
My heart rate ticked up a bit, and I felt for the gun clipped to my waist. A line of dark red streaked along the cement to my left and up into a rusted set of girders. I knelt down and ran my hand across the stain. Still wet.
In the distance I could hear the rumble of an approaching train. I moved underneath the tracks. Quickly now, the rumble grew. The ground shook, the approaching train threatening to block out any other reality. I swung between a second set of girders.
Nicole was lying on her back, head tilted, mouth open, the only sound the train as it roared overhead. Around her throat was a necklace of bright red, sweating heavily every time she took a breath, soaking the University of Chicago sweatshirt she wore underneath. I knew enough to know it was arterial blood. Probably a straight razor, used from behind. I knew enough to know that no tourniquet, CPR, or first aid would save my friend’s life. Instead I just held her close. Her eyes tracked mine. She didn’t try to speak, just focused on me, accepted her fate. Within a minute or so, the light began to fade. She squeezed my hand once, then slipped away, quietly, in the early morning, under the El tracks.
I placed her back down on the ground and thought about all the times we never had, all the things I never said, all the things most people probably think of- way too much to contemplate and way too late in the game. Then I pulled out my cell phone and punched in 911. I held Nicole until I heard the first ambulance. Then I put her down
