'I'll settle for your best guess.'
'It's possible they're from the same man. I'd need more time, proper equipment, to know for sure.'
My cell rang. Libby. I picked up.
'Verdict came in. They didn't take long to free the bastard.'
'Hold on a second, Libby.' I turned to the coroner. 'Is there anything you notice that can prove our guy did this?'
Russell took out a handkerchief and blew his nose.
'Actually, there is something pretty incriminating. See these two bites here, on her inner thighs? There are bite marks in the pictures you gave me, in the exact same places.'
Chief Shelby unhooked the radio from his belt. 'That's enough for me. I'm calling Judge Dorchester.'
'You're getting an arrest warrant?'
'Yes, ma'am, we are.'
'Libby,' I said into the phone, 'don't let Fuller leave the building. Find a cop and arrest him.'
'You've got a warrant?'
'Yes. He's being charged with the murder of Melody Stephanopoulos.'
'Gladly. Nice work, Jack.'
Chief Shelby walked away, barking into his radio, and I stripped off my gloves and headed back to my car.
I wanted to be relieved, but I only felt empty. Empty and tired. The cop part of me would have liked to be there, to see Fuller's face when he got arrested. But mostly I just wanted to put all of this death, this ugliness, behind me.
'Nice work, Lieutenant.' Shelby came over, offered his hand. 'We'll get started on these other names right away. Looks like you've closed a lot of cases for us today.'
'I don't envy you the media circus you'll soon have.'
'We'll manage. We're a tough little town. Anyway, thanks for your help. You interested in some supper? Wife's a helluva cook.'
'Thanks, Chief, but I have to head home.'
The ride back to Chicago was the loneliest five hours of my life.
Chapter 43
Melody Stephanopoulos. Barry hasn't heard that name in a long time, but he remembers her.
You never forget your first.
He wonders how they found her. Rushlo, probably. It doesn't matter. What's done is done.
Barry tries to scratch his chin, but the chain isn't long enough; his handcuffs are attached to his ankle restraints.
'I've got an itch on my chin. Can you help out?'
The uniform seated to his right, a cop named Stephen Robertson whom he'd worked with out of the 2-6, scratches his chin for him. Fuller sighs.
'Thanks, man.'
The squad car is making good time down Route 57. No lights or sirens, but speeding nonetheless. Fuller can guess how anxious they are to get rid of him. Cops don't like it when one of their own goes bad. It hits a little too close to home.
'I have to go to the bathroom,' Fuller says to the driver, a Statie named Corlis. He has on a snap brim hat and reflector shades, even though dusk has come and gone.
'Hold it in.'
'C'mon, gimme a break. I was in court all morning, got declared not guilty, and I'm free for two minutes and the cuffs get slapped on me again. It's been a real bad day, and I really need to take a shit.'
'I'm sure Carbondale has johns. You can go there.'
'I won't make it. There's a rest area coming up in a few miles. Please.'
Corlis doesn't answer. Fuller clenches his sphincter, audibly passes gas.
'Jesus, Barry.' Robertson fans the air in front of his nose. 'That's disgusting.'
Fuller shrugs, trying to look innocent. 'Prison food. Not my fault.'
'Stop at the rest area,' Robertson says to Corlis.
'No stops.'
'You can either stop, or trade places with me back here.'
'I really have to go.' Fuller puts on a million-dollar grin. 'I'll be quick.'
Corlis glances at his partner in the passenger seat, another state trooper named Hearns. Hearns shrugs.
Corlis flips on his signal, and turns into the rest area.
