Mid-afternoon Garcia gets a call from Cindy Cross. “I have news about your DNA.”
“Great,” says Garcia, “who’s our guy?”
“Nobody.”
“What do you mean?”
“There is no match in either the state or national database,” advises Cross. “Whoever our killer is, he’s never been arrested on a felony charge before.”
Garcia is heartbroken. “I don’t believe this.”
Garcia breaks the news to Jackson.
“It’s not unheard of,” responds Jackson. “There have been plenty of serial killers who had never been arrested prior to starting their killing spree, at least for nothing serious.”
“Yeah, but we are so close, yet still so far now.” Garcia has a sick feeling in his stomach. How much more of this can our neighborhoods endure?
On Thursday, Ricci returns to work with his left hand heavily bandaged up past his wrist. As typical, he has a large Dunkin Donuts coffee in his right hand.
“That’s one big bandage,” observes Garcia.
“Yeah, doc says I cut it pretty good and have to keep it immobile until Friday. Then physical therapy starts on Monday.”
“Well, it’s good to have you back, Mike.”
“Good to be back.”
The sight of Ricci’s injured left hand gets Garcia thinking again of the conversation he had with Rosa about the coincidence of Mike getting injured. He also remembers previous comments made by Mike about his disdain for dealers. Could Mike be…..no, no way. Just get that out of my mind right now. He looks nothing like our suspect description, the exception being he is over six feet. And he certainly has no trouble walking.
“Did you hear about the DNA?” asks Garcia.
“No,” Ricci responds, “did we get a match?”
“No, no database match.”
“Damn,” says Ricci, “we just can’t catch a break, can we?”
Garcia and Ricci spend the rest of the day again reviewing reports and interviews, looking for any tidbit they may have missed. They also go through the tips received of men matching the description put out in the media. Officers are dispatched to follow-up on each tip, then contact cards are filled out and forwarded to detectives. DNA swabs have been obtained from several of those men who looked most like the description, but none of the samples have yet matched the suspect DNA.
As Ricci and Garcia are leaving for the evening, Garcia says his usual goodbye as Ricci is getting into his car. Garcia continues to his car and then it hits him. Another coincidence. Ricci drives a dark blue, Chevy Malibu four-door sedan. Ricci has always known this of course, but it never occurred to him it was similar to the description of the suspect vehicle. If I didn’t know better, I’d ask Ricci for a DNA swab, just to clear my mind, he ponders as he drives away.
At home, Garcia shares with Rosa the other coincidence of Ricci driving a car similar to the suspect car.
“I’m sure he has nothing to do with these murders Juan, but maybe you should talk to your Commander?”
“What would I say? Hey, I think my partner might be the Candy Man Killer?”
“I don’t know what you’d say, but you’ve always said you have to look under every rock.”
“This is making me ill Rosa. I feel guilty even thinking it is possible. He’s never done anything illegal, let alone murder someone. Even bringing it up could ruin my career.”
“You’re just stressed out Juan. Everything seems suspicious to you at this point.”
“Maybe you’re right,” agrees Garcia.
The next morning, Friday, Ricci again calls in sick. Garcia does not know if it is related to his ulcer, being tired, or something to do with his hand. He tries to call him but there is no answer.
Garcia continues to be bothered by the coincidences with Ricci and the Candy Man Killer. He finally confides in Jackson.
“I don’t know man, that sounds pretty far-fetched if you ask me,” says a surprised Jackson. “You’re walking on thin ice here. I agree it’s a coincidence, but still.”
“Yeah, I know, that’s why I’m hesitant to even bring it up”
“Maybe you should talk privately to the Commander with your concern,” suggests Jackson.
“Thanks Trevon, I’ll think about it. Please don’t say anything.”
“Oh don’t worry, I’m not opening up that bag of snakes,” as he smiles and walks away.
By mid-afternoon, Garcia knows if he doesn’t at least run it by the Commander for his opinion, it will eat at him all weekend. He doesn’t want it to ruin his time with family, so he decides to talk with Commander Marshall.
“Come on in Juan, what’s on your mind?” says the Commander.
“Well sir, this is probably nothing, but you know how much Mike dislikes these drug dealers, right?”
“Sure, don’t we all?”
“Yes, but not to the extent Mike does. He blames them for his daughter’s and wife’s death.”
“We all know the history, what’s your point?”
“Don’t you think it’s quite coincidental that Mike suffered a severe cut on his left hand the same night our killer cut himself? It was the only time our suspect cut himself in eleven attacks. Also, Mike drives a car that matches the description of our suspect car.”
Commander Marshall stares at Garcia for several seconds. Garcia observes Marshall’s jaw tighten up.
“What are you trying to say, Juan?”
“Maybe we should check his DNA just to be absolutely sure it’s all coincidental. I would even allow mine to be checked to show we are simply being thorough.”
Garcia can see the Commander is not pleased.
“Detective Garcia, that is a crazy thought. Mike is one of the best, most decorated, and respected detectives in the Chicago Police Department. For you to even give the slightest hint of suspicion on Mike is insulting. Since when has Mike had a beard or walked with a limp?” he shouts.
“I just want to cover all….”
Commander Marshall cuts him off, “that’s enough. I don’t want to hear any more of this talk and waste of time. Go find the real killer.”
“Yes sir.”
“One more thing detective. If you ever bring this up again I will have you slinging parking tickets in south Chicago. Am I clear?”
“Yes sir, I understand your position.”
“Now