Chapter 3
4:04am
He gripped his hands tighter on the steering wheel as he drove west down the icy road on Interstate 290, getting as much caffeine as possible into his system and as quickly as he can.
The harsh winter heightened further throughout the night as indicated by the blanket of snow outside that only made him want to crawl back into bed and pretended that he hadn't seen Dawson's dozen of missed calls.
Does all murders have to happen this early in the morning?
No one in their right mind should even be awake at such hour before dawn.
They should be at home, sleeping.
He should be at home, sleeping.
They should be with their family.
He doesn't have a family but he still should be at home, sleeping. He shouldn't be here, out in the cold.
As shallow as it may sound, he doesn't really care much for this new murdered victim. He/she should've known better than to mingle in Garfield Park at dusk. Nothing good ever happens at that park after midnight. Other than drug deals gone wrong, junkies overdosing, Garfield Park was nothing more than a halfway house.
4:21am
Jay yawned, pinching the bridge of his nose, shaking the headache that was growing at the back of his head as he walked up the path to the cordoned section of the 184 acres park. CSU and states' medical examiner were running around the vicinity, snapping pictures and looking for possible evidence.
He was greeted by equally exhausted patrolmen as they lifted the yellow crime scene tape in order for him to pass through. He was surprised to see Adam already standing there with the rest of the team.
"Hey." he breathed. Shoving his hands in his coat pockets as he approached Chicago's newest victim.
"You're late." Adam chuckled and he sneered at his colleague. He still can't get over the fact that Adam's here before him. Usually he's the early bird.
"Where's Voight?"
"He's somewhere..." Atwater turned around, scanning the scene for their boss. "Over there. He's with the responding officers."
"So..."
Looking at the icy white corpse, the cause of death, at least, wasn't a mystery - stabbing. One of the most enthusiastic stabbing he has ever seen to be exact.
The woman's black jacket had more holes in it and in her than Swiss cheese.
The killer was definitely male to be able to exhibit that much force and was ruthlessly and merciless with his killing.
16
Jay had casually counted, on the spot, the amount of holes on her body while the M.E. explained how this wasn't a drug deal gone wrong as Adam had suggested.
First, method of killing was not consistent with a drug deal gone wrong. Dealers almost always carry a gun.
Second, shooting the victim would've been much easier in terms of strength, time and it would've made less of a mess.
Third, most stabbings are most likely a crime of passion, where the killer commits the act against someone because of sudden strong impulse such as sudden rage rather than as a premeditated crime.
But who brings a knife around with them?
What was she doing at Garfield Park in the middle of the night?
"Drivers' license ID'd our victim as Emily Kmetko, 28 of DuPage." Atwater informed him, scrawling down the notes he had jotted down in his notepad. "COD, pretty obvious."
Jay nodded and looking down at the victim one more time. The mass of brown hair, green eyes that were widen open and bulging from their sockets along with her lips that were ghastly parted in death.
Realising then that there wasn't an ounce of fearfulness in him anymore as he stared at the white corpse.
He's dead inside.
He can't even remember since when he had started to feel this way, to feel nothing.
"Shouldn't this be homicide?"
"Good question, Halstead."
Jay jumped at the sudden crackle of his boss's voice as he sneaked up on the team.
"That is until our caller said the killer might be following her. We don't yet, the line went dead, she might have just ran off. But we can't take any chances."
Jay hoped it was the latter.
3:01am
The loud thud, that was her body, hadn't actually resonated with her the second her frail self hit the cold cement.
She groaned as she tried to haul herself off the ground, wobbling on her four inch heels before fully regaining her bearings. Coughing, she tried hacking for the air her lungs craved.
"Shit!" she exclaimed, grabbing her phone that had slid a few feet away from her. The once clear black screen was now covered in cracks.
That phone had caused her two hundred dollars.
$200
Falling flat on her face, she lay there for a good five seconds, so sure that the bad man had caught up to her, so sure that today was be her last day, so sure that he was going to murder her, so sure that she would never see Noah again, before actually brushing herself off.
But that wasn't the case.
As she turned back around to see that there was no one in sight, nobody, no footsteps, no shadows, no soul. The vicinity was in pin drop silence, other than the crickets echoing in the distance.
Was she hallucinating again?
She must've snorted some very bad coke.
Annie was right; she should stop shoving whatever up her nose.
Her lungs burned as she continued to struggle in catching her breath. The sheer black stockings she wore were torn and ripped. Two large scrapes of skin on both her knees were oozing blood, causing blood to trickle down her bony shin. The corset that she was wearing wasn't the brightest of ideas since it was practically eating at her flesh. But then again, how would she have known she was going to run a marathon?
Her clients had requested her to wear a corset, so she wore a one. She can't afford to disappoint them.
She nearly stumbled onto the road as she suddenly felt so dizzy, her surroundings were literally spinning. She leaned against the stoplight for support just as what she had for her last meal, which was probably lunch, came back up.
She knew it was real, that what she had witnessed, wasn't a hallucination. She saw a man kill a woman. He stabbed her over and over agin. She can still her hear pleas and cries as she begged him to stop.
Why? Why does bad things always happens to her?
Why was she destined to always get into a messy situation?
How is it that she manages to get herself involved in something she has no business in?
Did he see her?
She don't think so.
Did she see him?
She couldn't really see him since it was dark. But she heard his voice.
She cursed at her conscience. She never should've called the cops even if it was the moral and ethical thing to do. She should've thought about the repercussions of her actions but she didn't. And now, she's definitely involved with the cops.
She hates cops.
They're never to be trusted. They promise you one thing and do the other. She've had that happen to her one too many times.
3:13am
So here she was, at the back of a taxi, still trying to breathe, still shaking like a leaf.
Slumping further down on the back seat as she watched police cars whisk by, she hissed at the pain on her scraped hands. The thin skin on her palms were grazed and covered with tiny rocks. She wiped them on her leather skin, biting her lip as she does.
$18!
Gawking as the metre increased by every mile, she exploded internally ever time the number increased.
But it's ok. Today was an exception.
Though it would cost her twenty four dollars to get to Fuller Park, triple the cost of taking a bus, it's twenty four dollars she needs to get to safety, out of East Garfield Park, and to Noah. It's worth every penny since she wants nothing more than to hold her sweet boy.
3:21am
"1335 South Princeton Avenue." the cab driver said, peering around with a low chuckle. He watched as Erin try to uncross her legs with dignity.
It was obvious who she really is.
A slut.
"C'mon suck me, baby! I'm already hard for you!" he grunted.
She narrowed her eyes in disgust, it was clear that he was hard. This night couldn't get any worse.
Why is it that she always seemed to attract the crazies?
Rummaging through her pursue, she hang one leg out the door of the yellow vehicle, keeping it open. She've seen how this will play out in movies. It never ends well for the passenger.
Her heart started pounding even faster against her chest as whatever she saw in the movies played in her head.
He's going to rape her.
"Here." she said, avoiding his gaze. She reached her hand out to hand the driver the money.
"I don't need your dirty money whore!" he spat, grabbing her fragile wrist and pulled her closer to him. His round and damp face was only an inch or two away from her.
She tried to pull her wrist away but his grip on her slight was too strong, already leaving a deep red mark on her lithe skin.
She can't fight him. He has a hundred plus pounds over her. He could snap her in half with ease.
"Look", she said sternly though, inside, she was terrified. But she was not about to let him know that.
She's tired of people controlling her. It's time she regain control of her own life and body.
Yes, she's a prostitute but that doesn't mean she could be told what to do as they please, nor should she be treated less because of her profession.
She was already having the worst day. Bad things piling on top of the other. First, she's sick. Then, what she saw. And now, this.
What wrong with her life?
"I am not going to blow you and you sure as hell aren't going to rape, mister. Now if you don't let go of me." she reached into her purse, "I will shoot you."
The driver just stared at her for a while before letting go of her wrist. Exposing the deep red mark that spanned the width of her entire wrist.
He had called her bluff.
"Thanks." she said as she stepped out of the vehicle. She lowered her skirt with one hand and held tightly to her pursue with the other.
She don't even know why she said that.
Why was she thanking him?
Walking to her apartment complex, she sighed, the adrenaline rush was wearing off and suddenly, she was hit with a tonne of emotions.
Fear
A response resulting to a specific stimulus that either is the occurrence of something in the present or in anticipation or expectation of a future threat, one that is perceived as a risk to body or life.
Fight-or-flight
A response that arises from the perception of danger leading to confrontation with or avoiding the threat.
In her case, both.
She chose to run away from what she had witnessed.
She chose to fight the perverted taxi driver.
She thinks she may have just made two right choices.
She must be the luckiest prostitute in Chicago to be walking away unhurt and untouched, well not exactly, from almost becoming a victim of both murder and rape.
.
Running up to the second floor of her apartment complex, she knocked on her neighbours' door lightly, not wanting to be too loud that it would scare Katie, Maya's daughter, and Noah.
But how on Earth are they going to hear her?
She couldn't call. Her phone's literally broken. Leaving her no choice but to knock in frustration.
After knocking three more times, the crack from underneath the door brighten, turning pale yellow.
The silent shuffling of two pairs of feet and whispering on the other side came to a halt a few second later.
She knows they're checking the peephole.
Who wouldn't?
In this neighbourhood, one should always expect the unexpected.
The day she moved into this stingy apartment, it was the day SWAT decided to pay her next door neighbour a visit. Luckily, she hadn't had Noah yet so it wasn't much of a hassle. Especially when they had to evacuate the entire floor.
Apparently her, would have been, neighbour was harbouring a fugitive, a man wanted for some sort of terror attack on some government organisation.
A few seconds of gunfire later, life didn't end well for the fugitive nor her neighbour as she watched, along with the rest of the residents, as the police wheel two body bags out of the building.
That led her to wonder; how much does one really know their neighbours?
For all she knows, if SWAT hadn't had raided that apartment, she might've been great friends with that harbouring-a-fugitive neighbour.
At hearing the locks slide and twist open, she came face to face with Maya's husband.
"Erin?" he yawned, rubbing his eyes, "Is everything ok? It's like three in the morning." he moved aside, letting her into the warmth.
"I'm sorry for disturbing you guys. Everything's fine. I just really need to get Noah."
Walking in, she can feel his eyes on her, staring at her body and outfit.
No one in the building actuallly knows what she really does for a living. When asked, she always gave the same blunt answer that she works for a cleaning company. It was a convenient answer since no one has ever asked any follow up questions. They either feel sorry for her or couldn't care less about her boring job.
Awkward silence filled the air as Robert offered her to have a seat, to which she declined.
He couldn't even look at her.
"Maya's getting Noah."
She nodded.
Pulling her jacket tighter around her torso, she zipped up the zipper, hiding the corset beneath. But her super short leather skirt was doing nothing to mask her trampy varnish.
"So, you went to a party or something?"
At that moment, Maya slid back into the living room with Noah in her arms. His diaper bag and bag of toys on either shoulders.
Silently thanking Maya for her great timing, she swore she heard Robert thanking Jesus as well.
Erin gleamed and felt a sense of relief wash over her the moment she had her son in her arms. It was like she was at that maternity ward all over again.
The most memorable day of her life was when the nurse laid him in her arms for the first time, two days after giving birth. She wasn't allowed to see or even touch him after the c-section, even after she used whatever energy she had left to beg them to let her hold him. Even if it was just for a millisecond.
"Are you ok, Erin?"
Maya put a hand on her shoulders, snapping her back to reality. It was then that she realised the tears.
"Yeah, yeah. I'm just-" she sniffed and wiped the tears with the back of her hands. Not failing to notice their reaction as they stared at her scraped hand.
She can see their hesitation in questioning her disheveled demeanour.
What happened?
What are you doing here this early in the morning?
Shouldn't you be at work?
Why are you dressed like that?
Why's your face caked with make up?
Why are you bleeding?
They wanted to know why but didn't know if they even had any place in questioning the young brunette.
They were merely friend, just neighbours who trusted one an other with their children.
She absentmindedly twirling the gold paper crown on Noah's head. "Thank you guys so much for watching Noah." she nodded at both Maya and her husband, who have now stood beside his wife.
"We were playing castle." Maya said out of the blue. She must have seen Erin eyeing the gold paper crown on his head. "Noah's the prince, of course."
Erin smiled. Noah must have had so much fun, so much fun away from her. He always does. Everyone would always tell her how much of a good boy he was; no cry, no fussing, no tantrums. He was an angel, they would say. She wished she could witness that side of him since he's almost never like that with her. He's the exact polar opposite. And now, she's going to kill all his joy by bring him back to their cold apartment.
Maya took a step forward and looked into the younger woman's dark eyes, squeezing her arm, "Are you sure you're alright, sweetie? Did someone hurt you?"
Erin glanced at Maya with a thin smile, squeezing her hand that was on her arm, "I'm fine. Thank you."
3:38am
When she finally got back to her floor and carried Noah into their apartment, his crown pressing into her chin.
She breathed in the familiar smell of musk and emptiness. For a year and a half that she've been living in this rotting apartment, she've never been so happy.
Not wasting any time in kicking off the painfully uncomfortable heels, she groaned the second they were off.
With the pad of her thumb, she caressed his chubby cheeks.
He's safe.
Though his life was never in any danger, she just needed a confirmation; to feel, to smell, to hold him in her arms.
She's safe.
She'll just have to forget tonight even happened.
What happened tonight?
See! She has already forgotten.
"Let's take this off." she whispered to her baby, taking off the paper crown and placing it on the table before heading to their bedroom.
Placing a kiss on his soft brown locks, Noah was the best thing to ever happen to her. Her life would have gone down a different path.
She's incomplete without him.
With a shaky hand, she tried to brush his soft hair, only realising then that her shakiness was a sign of her crashing.
She knows she should stop with the cocaine. But she needed it. It was her one form of escape. Cocaine was her vice but with whatever she had to go through on a daily basis, some sort of escapism was required.
"I promise you, Noah."
But it was all false promises.
"You're my world."
They may not be living in a fancy kingdom, nor was she an elegant queen. Their apartment may not be a magnificent castle but she sure does love her little prince.
10:09am
The smell of brewing coffee from the break room filled the entire bullpen, the aroma hitting their noses the second they walked up the stairs.
Five cups of espressos later, Jay still wasn't fully awake.
It has already been over six hours since they were at the crime scene and they still hadn't gotten much intel on Jane Doe, their anonymous caller, since they did not have much insight to start with in the first place, other than the 911 call.
"What a morning! I'm so ready to it a day." Adam implored, plopping onto his chair. "What do you think, huh, Kev?"
"Tell me about it."
Jay and Adam had just gotten back from the coroners' office and have been waiting for five hours for her to finish the autopsy. It wasn't all bad since they mostly sat and slept on uncomfortable chairs.
Other than the obvious and what they already knew, the only new piece of evidence was that of a paper containing numbers that was found in the victim's jeans pocket to which Jay had already texted Antonio hours ago.
Emily Kmetko died as a result of a fatal stab that punctured her stomach to which the M.E. confirmed she did die a painful death. A death that resulted as soon as dispatch arrived. A death that Jane Doe couldn't have done anything more than she already have.
Her death was bound to happen.
Jay brought his mug to his lips just as he stepped out of the break room, scanning the office for Voight and Olinsky whom were nowhere to be found, and took a huge gulp.
That was the worst thing he could've done.
"Hot. Hot. Hot." he cried, spitting the liquid back into the mug.
"Careful, man."
At least now, he's wide awake.
10:49am
The second they heard the distinctive buzzing and footsteps echoing into the bullpen, they quickly straightened up themselves and kept their eyes locked in their computer screens.
"What you got on that number Jay texted you, Dawson?" Voight called out the second he walked into the pen.
"The number we got is a bank account from Chase, was opened a week ago in our victims name with a $100,000 anonymous transfer."
Jay wished someone could just nonchalantly transfer him that amount of money.
Who and why would the victim receive an anonymous donation?
Maybe that was what had gotten her killed.
"Ok, Dawson. See if you can trace that transfer. Bout you two?" Voight nudged at both Adam and Jay.
Adam looked to Jay, silently telling him to answer. "Ahh, other than what we already know, the M.E. found no evidence of foul play, no prints, no ligatures, no fluids. The murder weapon was a fighting knife with a fixed-blade, not serrated and approximately eight inches long. And it may or may not be military grade."
Voight nodded.
"Atwater, what about our killer? Anything on the security footage?"
A few clicks on the keyboard later, the security footage that Atwater had gotten from the park and traffic cameras around the street displayed on the large screen. "Here's the footage of our killer entering the park with our victim...can't really see his face...seven minutes later, here's he running off...still can't see his face though. On the bright side, he's alone which means that not have our Jane Doe. She must have run off."
Voight nodded.
"Any luck on tracing the call?"
"Nope. She used a burner phone. Seems disconnected now."
"Could you play the recording again? Maybe we missed something."
Seconds later, the speakers crackled alive.
"911, what's your emergency?"
Heavy breathing echoed into the speaker.
"She's dead!"
Jay froze.
That can't be.
"He stabbed her! She's dead!"
The hair on the back of his neck stood up. He can't ever forget that raspy voice.
"Who's dead, ma'am? Where are you?"
"I don't know!"
The sound of her heels stomping was now evident in the quiet bullpen.
It's her. The stranger he've been looking for. The stranger who he've about to give up in looking for. After visiting the morgue almost every day, he had finally realised that what he was doing was borderline insane.
"I think he's following me!"
It's definitely her. The colour on his face drained and he can now feel his heart pumping in his throat.
Why was she having this affect in him?
He doesn't even know her.
"Can you stay on the line please? I know this is scary but can you find somewhere safe to hideout until the police arrive?"
"You're fucking kiddi-"
She yelped and the line went dead.
He can't help the gasp that escaped his lips.
"I know her." he said as he got up from his chair.
Every head turned in the bullpen were now facing him, their eyebrows scrunched in confusion.
"I mean I don't know her name or anything really. I know that voice..."