air. In Herb's hand was the note, bagged in a large Ziploc.
I found a tissue in my pocket and wiped my runny nose, trying to overtly scan the crowd. If I was obvious about it, I might scare our man away. And I was sure he was nearby, watching.
No one jumped out at me.
'You look like a train wreck,' Herb offered.
'Thanks for caring.'
I turned my attention to the garbage can. It was another woman, her ass rising up out of the refuse like a bloody mountain. Without trying to absorb too much detail, I could see that her buttocks, vagina, and rectum had been mutilated almost beyond recognition.
My stomach began to twist and I looked away, grateful that my nasal congestion masked the death smell.
This was someone's daughter. She'd suffered, died, and was now rotting away. All for the amusement of some sick son of a bitch.
'Who found her?' I asked Benedict.
'Owner. Guy named Fitzpatrick. He's the one who called it in. Patrolman recognized the MO, called up our district.'
Which was an indication of how big this case was. Districts in Chicago were incredibly jurisdictional, and only an order from the police superintendent could force them to relinquish cases to one another. The order had been given after last night's fiasco.
'Witnesses?' I asked.
'Not yet.'
'Owner inside?'
A nod.
I left the body and pushed open the glass door, Herb in tow. Fitzpatrick was sitting in a chair behind the counter, a sad expression painted on his face. He was portly, balding, and had several food and beverage stains on his work shirt. Two uniforms flanked him, one of them taking notes.
'Mr. Fitzpatrick,' I announced, 'I'm Lieutenant Daniels. This is Detective Benedict.'
'Help yourself to some coffee, Lieutenant. Everyone else has. They say I'll be closed all day.'
Much as I longed to pity the man and his temporary loss of income, I held firm and didn't break into tears.
'We should have things taken care of here in an hour or so,' I told him. 'Besides, with the news coverage, the whole neighborhood will be by later to see your shop. I'm sure more than one of them will buy something.'
He brightened greatly at the entrepreneurial potentialities. Maybe he was thinking of having T-shirts made up.
'When did you notice the body, Mr. Fitzpatrick?'
'I noticed the lid was off. Sometimes kids, they steal them. God knows what they do with garbage can lids.'
'What time was this?'
'At five to twelve, maybe a little after. There was no one in the store, so I went outside to look for the lid and I saw...' He made a gesture with his hands at the garbage can through the storefront window. 'Then I came in and called 911.'
The patrolman on his left, with a name tag proclaiming he was Officer Meadows, glanced at his notebook.
'Call came at eleven fifty-seven. Jefferson and I arrived on the scene at twelve oh three.'
'Did you notice anything unusual beforehand?' I asked Fitzpatrick.
'No, nothing really.'
'How about earlier today? Did any garbage trucks come into your lot? Vans? Anything out of the ordinary?'
'Nothing, except some guy who almost died in my store about an hour ago.'
Benedict did his eyebrow thing, prompting an explanation.
'Some kid. Teenager. Had some kind of fit or seizure or something. Threw himself down on the floor by the pop machine, started shaking and foaming at the mouth. I thought he was gonna die right there.'
'Did you call for an ambulance?'
'I was gonna. But the kid told me not to. Had these attacks all the time. After a minute or two he just got up and left, no problem.'
I nodded at Herb, who went off to phone Mr. Raheem at the first 7-Eleven to check for a similar happenstance. Some guy foaming at the mouth would easily draw attention away from the parking lot.
'Can I have the surveillance tapes?' I pressed. 'The ones for the last two hours?'
'Sure. But that kid didn't dump no body. I watched him leave.'
'How much later did you notice the lid off the garbage can?'
'Few minutes, I guess.'
I turned to Meadows. 'Print him after he gives the deposition.'
