I looked at the driver’s side of her car. Nothing. No one in the vehicle. None of her belongings left on the seats.
I looked over my shoulder, back towards the elevators, then back towards the entrance to the lot. The owner told us that he’d never had any problems with the parking lot, which surprised me. There was a security gate on the bottom level, and cameras at the main exit. An attendant was in the booth during the day, but usually left before night fall.
I heard a sound, a low groan from nearby. Fists clenched, I waited. I looked to the shadows. There was no other sound. No other movement.
I heard the groan again.
It was from the far corner of the parking lot, near the stairwell, where the lights were blown. I checked my holster. Unclipped it. With my hand on my gun, I stepped towards the shadows, squinting to see any other movements.
As I came closer, my eyes adjusted to the darkness.
“Casey!”
Lying on the concrete, head down, blood next to her, was Casey.
“Casey!”
I fell to my knees, cradling her head, holding her tight.
“Casey! Talk to me. Casey! I’m here.” I held her, her face bloodied. “I’ve got you. I’m here.”
“Jack?” She began to open her eyes, blood dripping from her mouth. “Is that you?”
“I’m here, Casey.”
“I... I got him, Jack. I got him. I landed a punch on his jaw,” she whispered. “The guy took me from behind, but I managed to get in a left hook.”
The punch was the only reason she was still alive. I didn’t doubt that. I looked over my shoulder, around the parking lot. There were no other noises. No other people.
“It’s all right. You’re safe now. That’s all that matters. I’ve got you.”
My voice sounded confident, firm, reassuring Casey, but in truth, I was filled with doubt. I knew this attack wasn’t random. I knew this wasn’t a mugging gone wrong.
And now, I had a new reality to face—the killer was moving faster than expected.
Chapter 22
Winston, my always happy golden retriever, bounded up to the gate in the dog park. It was five-past-seven in the morning, and the sun had started to throw a soft orange glow over the park. I loved the beauty and calmness of the early morning daylight. The sun was starting to slip through the gaps in the clouds, casting its gaze on the city of Chicago, melting away the frostiness. There was a dampness to the air, not freezing, but fresh. The fenced dog-park was the size of a football field, landscaped with various trees and obstacles, with enough room for the dogs to run free and uninhibited.
The dog park was one of my most regular spots, besides the office, my apartment, and my favorite bar. I took the leash off Winston, letting him run free in the empty park, and walked over to the bench. I wiped the dew off with the sleeve of my jacket, and sat down. I didn’t know how much longer I could stand up. It’d been a long night and sleep was beginning to call me.
I was only seated for five minutes before Derrick Booth, a former detective and unofficial manager of the dog park, walked up to the entrance gate. He looked twice when he saw me sitting on the park bench. I was leaning forward with my elbows on my knees, staring at the grass in front of me. The bench at the east end of the fenced dog park was basically owned by Derrick Booth. He was in his late seventies, a little overweight, but still sprightly. He was the cornerstone of the park, always there with a word to say about everyone and everything.
“You’re here early, Jack.” He called out to me. “Did you get kicked out of the house and had to sleep here? I’d imagine a guy like you doesn’t leave his bed until after midday.”
“I haven’t slept yet,” I replied as he approached me.
“Well, no amount of beauty sleep is going to help your face.”
Derrick had lost his wife more than ten years earlier. She was his organizer, his social manager, and after she passed, he was lost. His twice daily trips to the dog park became the one escape from the walls inside his home. Every person who came to the park knew Derrick, and Derrick knew them. Even though he was slowing with age, he hadn’t lost his memory, nor his quick-witted banter.
He approached and sat next to me on the bench as our dogs ran around the park together. His was a fellow golden retriever, a few years older than Winston. A good dog, a loyal dog, the type of dog that’s there with a grinning smile when you need him.
I never wanted a pet, but Claire wanted a dog. It was a test-run before we started to try and have children. I wanted to be a father, I wanted to raise Claire’s children, and so I agreed to a trial dog. When Claire was murdered, my dreams of fatherhood evaporated. I couldn’t imagine having a child without her. But I was left with her dog. And as so often happens, Winston found a way into my heart, and I couldn’t imagine life without him now.
“Are you going to fill me in.” Derrick sat down on the bench next to me, leaning his arms over the back. It was a statement, not a question.
“Casey, my assistant, was attacked last night.”
“Related to a case?”
I nodded.
“Is she ok?”
“I took her to the ER, and spent the night there with her. Her sister arrived early this morning to look after
