Naked Evidence: Crime Thrillers, page 17
“Okay, I’ll do it.”
“Thank you,” said Garcia. “I know this is hard, and we appreciate your cooperation at a time like this. We are also deeply sorry for your loss. We will do everything we can to find the killer.”
“Thank you, Detective.”
“Where do you want to stay for the night?” asked Elsberg.
“I can’t go home?”
“No, the scene won’t be released until sometime tomorrow. The officers can help you get some things, but you can’t stay there.”
“Can I pick up my car?”
“I’m sorry. We had the car impounded until we can search it.”
“You impounded my Lexus?”
“Yes. We need to hold your car until we get a warrant to search it.”
“Search my car? For what?”
“Anything that might help us in this case, Chuck. Your wife was murdered in her home, and you were the last one to see her alive.”
Brendan shook his head. “I’ll call Steve. He’ll let me stay with him for a while.”
Garcia then left the room to arrange for Brendan to be taken to his office to retrieve the gun. Once arrangements were made, Elsberg escorted Brendan to the parking garage, where he was placed in the back of the patrol car. Two officers were in front.
“Chuck,” said Elsberg, “these officers will take you wherever you need to go for the night.”
Brendan just nodded.
Back in the office, Garcia and Elsberg discussed the interview with Brendan.
“What are you thinking, Juan?”
“I’m not sure, but he certainly had the time and opportunity to kill his wife. He could have shot her before leaving to spend the day on the water as his alibi. His mistake was not damaging the lock to make it look like an intruder. It was also convenient he didn’t have his phone with him.”
“Yeah, that bothered me as well,” responded Elsberg. “He did readily admit he had a gun. And he looked surprised to hear it was a nine-millimeter that killed Ivy.”
“We need to talk with Mr. Mariano tomorrow to see how his timeline version matches Chuck’s.”
“Tomorrow’s a Sunday, Juan.”
“Yep, and Rosa will be thrilled.”
“Sorry, Juan. This job is undoubtedly easier when not married.”
After several more minutes of discussing the game plan, Garcia’s phone rang.
“Garcia here…. You’re kidding…. Where does he say it is?…. Good lord…. Yes, seize those……. No, just take him to get some stuff for the night…. Thank you.”
“What was that about, Juan?”
“The gun wasn’t there.”
“Huh?”
“The gun wasn’t in the office. Now Chuck is saying he doesn’t know where it is. However, the officers recovered a partial box of nine-millimeter hollow-point bullets from Chuck’s desk drawer.”
“Bullets but no gun?”
“Yep.”
“Are the officers bringing him back?”
“No, we don’t have enough to hold him. We just have a lot more work to do now. I’ll be lucky if I get to eat one home-cooked meal this week. I think we’ll need a search warrant to thoroughly search the entire condo, his car, and the office.”
“I’ll get started on those in the morning,” replied Elsberg.
“Have a good night. I’ll see you tomorrow morning,” said Garcia walking out the door.
“Goodbye,” shouted Elsberg.
Chapter 4
Rosa wasn’t too happy when Garcia told her he would be working all day Sunday.
“Juan, my parents are coming over today for dinner. Can’t it wait until tomorrow?”
“Unfortunately, no. We need to get on this right away. The husband was the last to see our victim, and his gun, the same caliber as the murder weapon, is missing. We need to get search warrants completed today. Finding the husband’s gun may solve the case.”
“I tire of you missing so many family activities.”
“Yes, I know. I tire of it as well. When this case is over, I’ll ask for a few days off so that we can have a family getaway. How’s that?”
“That would be nice.”
As planned, Garcia left his family and arrived at the downtown detective bureau at 10:00 am. Elsberg was already at her desk working.
“Good morning,” said Garcia. “How long have you been here?”
“I was restless, so I got in a little after nine. I thought I would get started on these affidavits for search warrants.”
“Great. Do we know who is handling the autopsy?”
“Yes, Doctor Kate Hutchins is doing it. She said it will be done later today, and she will call one of us with the results.”
“I’ll review these crime scene reports while you work on the affidavits.”
Garcia started reading the reports created by the responding officers and CSIs. The first responding officers met Ivy’s sister, Cindy Decker, in the living room. Cindy was described as hysterical, telling the officers her sister had been shot in the bedroom. Officers found Ivy Brendan lying on the bedroom floor with obvious trauma to her upper torso. Officers quickly determined Ivy was deceased. After searching the entire condo for anyone else, officers sealed off the living room, bedroom, and master bathroom. Among the evidence collected by the CSIs were two nine-millimeter shell casings, a small baggie containing six blue pills, sheets and blankets from the bed, carpeting with bloodstains cut from the bedroom floor, fingerprints from the front door, bedroom door, and bathroom door, and finally, the victim’s cell phone. The medical examiner would later collect the body’s clothing and other forensic evidence during the autopsy.
Cell phone, thought Garcia. Damn, I should have asked for Chuck’s cell phone yesterday. Garcia called out to Elsberg. “Hannah, please remember to include an affidavit for Chuck’s cell phone. I forgot to ask him for it.”
“Okay. I’ll get to that once these other affidavits are done. What do you think about getting warrants for blood and hair samples?”
“Great idea. The samples can be examined for drugs.”
By 11:15 am, Elsberg had completed the affidavits for search warrants on the Brendan condo, Chuck Brendan’s office, and Brendan’s car. Brendan drove a white four-door Lexus GX. She emailed the affidavits to the on-call district attorney for approval. The other affidavits would have to wait until Monday.
“Now we just need to wait for approval and signature by a judge,” stated Elsberg.
“Good,” said Garcia. “Let’s go interview Mariano. I called him, and he agreed to let us come to his home for an interview. We can stop for something to eat along the way.”
“Sounds like a plan. Let’s go.”
Mariano lived on the north side of Chicago in the Wrigley Field neighborhood known as Wrigleyville. He enjoyed the activity, restaurants, and nightlife the area offered. In the summer, when Mariano wasn’t enjoying his boat on weekends, he could often be found taking in a Cubs game at Wrigley Field. He also maintained a condo near the marina on Lake Michigan, where his boat was moored. He and his wife would spend some time there in the summer. On this day, he was at his primary home in Wrigleyville.
Garcia stopped at a small brick diner close to Wrigley Field for lunch. It was a diner his dad used to take him to when they attended baseball games. The tables and chairs were worn, and many items of Chicago Cubs and Chicago Bears memorabilia hung on the walls. Some of the past players on both teams had autographed the walls in the restaurant.
“Interesting place,” said Elsberg after looking around.
“Yes, it’s been here a long time and was my favorite place as a kid,” explained Garcia. “My dad and I would often stop here when he took me to a Cub game. The cheesesteak sandwich is delicious, and they make a good Chicago dog as well.”
“I’m more of a burger gal. How are the burgers?”
“Great. I’d get the double with the spicy mayo.”
Garcia ordered the Philly cheesesteak, fries, and a Pepsi, while Elsberg ordered the double burger, onion rings, and an iced tea. They sat in one of the booths along the wall for some privacy.
“How much are you leaning toward the husband being the killer?” asked Elsberg.
“I haven’t decided yet, but I find it strange he can’t find his gun. That reminds me, we need to ask Mariano if we can search his boat.”
After lunch, Garcia and Elsberg drove to the Mariano residence on West Madison Street. The home was a three-story Greystone surrounded by a black wrought-iron fence. The small front lawn was meticulously maintained, and beds of bright gold marigolds were on each side of the front steps leading to the porch. Before Garcia could ring the doorbell, the front door opened.
“You must be detectives Garcia and Elsberg,” greeted Mariano. “I saw you pull up. Come on in.”
Mariano shook their hands as the detectives walked into the home. The large living area was decorated in a colonial style with beige walls and white trim. Two large, light-brown sofas and two cushioned chairs filled the room. A large white coffee table was in the center.
Theo Mariano was a sixty-one-year-old Italian American, approximately six feet tall, with a barreled chest. He had dark black hair with gray streaks throughout. His eyes were piercing chestnut brown, highlighted by dark eyebrows. He carried himself in a commanding way and gave the impression of having an outgoing, gregarious personality.
“Please sit down, detectives, and tell me what I can help you with.”
“We are here investigating the death of Ivy Brendan and understand you were with Chuck Brendan for most of the day yesterday,” said Garcia.
“It’s an awful thing. I feel so sorry for Chuck. I’ve offered him any help he may need,” responded Mariano.
“Was Chuck with you yesterday?”
“Yes, of course. I took him out on my boat, and we spent most of the day on Lake Michigan. He’s my accountant and good friend.”
“What type of boat is it?”
“A sixty-foot Bertram fishing yacht.”
“Where do you keep the boat?”
“In Burnham Harbor.”
“Is that where Chuck Brendan met you yesterday?”
“Yes.”
“What time did he meet you?”
“It was about eight in the morning, maybe a few minutes after.”
“What was his demeanor?”
“What do you mean?”
“Did you notice anything unusual? Was he nervous or upset?”
“No. We were looking forward to time on the lake.”
“Did he say anything about his wife?”
“I don’t recall him saying anything.”
“Did you notice whether he had a cell phone with him?”
“No, I believe he left it in his car.”
“Did he have his gun with him?”
“Gun? No, he didn’t have a gun. Do you think Chuck shot his wife?”
“We are just being thorough, Mr. Mariano,” explained Garcia.
“Chuck didn’t shoot his wife, if that’s what you think.”
“How do you know that?”
“He was with me all day.”
“What time did you get back?”
“We docked at about three o’clock, cleaned up the boat, then Chuck went home.”
“Mr. Mariano,” said Elsberg, “were you aware of any problems in Chuck’s marriage?”
“I’m not aware of any problems. It would be best to spend your time looking for the person who broke into Chuck’s home and killed his wife. You’re wasting time looking at Chuck.”
“Do you know anyone who would want to harm Ivy?”
“Who knows? They work with many clients, some of whom have money issues.”
“What about drug usage? Did you ever see Chuck or Ivy use illegal drugs?”
“Why are you asking me that?”
“As Detective Garcia said, we are being thorough. Are you aware of any drug usage?”
“When Chuck is with me, we drink beer. That’s it.”
“What about Ivy?”
“I have no idea.”
“Mr. Mariano, did Chuck throw anything overboard while on your boat? Any trash or anything?”
“Trash? Hell no. I wouldn’t let someone do that.”
Elsberg turned to Garcia, “do you have anything else?”
“Yes. Mr. Mariano, would you mind if we searched your boat?”
“My boat? Yes, I do mind. I had nothing to do with this,” growled Mariano.
“We just want to be sure Mr. Brendan brought nothing on board and left it there.”
“No, you’re not searching my boat. I told you; Chuck did not bring a gun or anything else on board. Now, if there is nothing else, I’ve got things to do.”
“Thank you, Mr. Mariano,” said Garcia as they got up to leave.
Mariano walked the detectives to the door and curtly stated, “Have a good day, Detectives.”
Afterward, Elsberg turned to Garcia. “I sensed maybe Mariano didn’t want us on his boat because of something HE has on the boat.”
“You could be right,” agreed Garcia. “I’m not sure we have enough probable cause to get a search warrant for the boat. Mariano was adamant Brendan didn’t bring a gun on board.”
“He could be lying,” responded Elsberg.
“The way I look at it, everyone could be lying until proven otherwise.”
“You’re not cynical at all, are you?” laughed Elsberg.
“Not me. Just realistic.”
“Hey, I just got a message,” said Elsberg. “Our warrants for the condo, Brendan’s office, and his car have all been approved.”
“Good. Let’s go to the impound lot and check the car first.”
Garcia drove to the police impound lot in south Chicago. They searched Brendan’s white Lexus GS. They found some business papers in the back seat and other miscellaneous items, but no gun and nothing suspicious.
“Strike one,” said Garcia.
“He could have gotten rid of the gun anywhere,” replied Elsberg.
“Yes, and I doubt we will find it at the condo or his office, but we have to check.”
Garcia drove to Brendan Business Services, where the detectives met with an officer guarding the entrance to the business. The officer had the key to allow detectives access. The entire fourth floor contained the offices of Brendan Business Services. Chuck Brendan’s office was in the northeast corner, with windows facing north and east. One could see both the Chicago River and Lake Michigan from the view. Garcia and Elsberg searched every drawer and cabinet in Brendan’s office but did not find any guns.
The detectives then went to Brendan’s condo. The crime scene area had been thoroughly searched and processed by CSIs, but a search in other rooms for a gun had not been completed. Garcia and Elsberg methodically searched every room, looking for any place where a gun could be hidden, even in the heating vents. By the time they were done searching, it was nearly 7:00 in the evening.
“We’ve done all we can do today, Juan. Let’s call it a day.”
“I agree. I’ll drop you off at the PD and then see you in the morning. We need to get Chuck back in and press him on where his gun is. It doesn’t just disappear.”
“Agreed.”
After dropping Elsberg off at the police department, Garcia drove home, arriving just before 8:15 pm. Rosa, her parents, and the kids had already eaten dinner. Rosa’s parents had left a couple of hours earlier. She was not happy but understood the situation.
“Did you solve anything today?”
“No. We didn’t find anything helpful today. Right now, our only person of interest is the husband, and we don’t have much.”
“Well, I’ve kept a plate of food in the oven for you.”
“That is sweet of you. Thank you.”
Chapter 5
Garcia arrived at his desk at 8:10 am on Monday. Elsberg was already at her desk finishing up the affidavits for Brendan’s cell phone data and forensic samples.
“What tasks do we need to tackle today?” asked Elsberg.
“In reading the officer’s reports last night, I found a couple of neighbors we need to talk to. Gloria Spence was a good friend of Ivy’s living on the same floor, and then we have Eduardo Velasco, who lives on the floor below Ivy’s condo. He may have heard the gunshot.”
“That would narrow down the time of the murder,” responded Elsberg.
“That’s what I’m hoping. I’ll call them to see if they are available this morning while you finish the affidavits.”
By 9:00 am, Elsberg had completed the affidavits and sent them to the district attorney for review.
“All done. Were you able to set anything up?”
“Yes,” said Garcia. “We need to go to the Flower Depot downtown to meet with Gloria Spence. After, we will meet with Eduardo Velasco at his condo.”
“I’ll drive today,” said Elsberg.
“Is that safe?”
“Safer than when you drive!” retorted Elsberg. Garcia just laughed.
The detectives met with Gloria Spence at the Flower Depot, a florist shop close to the building Brendan lived in. Gloria was the 41-year-old owner of Flower Depot. She was a slim five foot seven inches tall with short blond hair. She wore blue wire-rimmed glasses, a light blue blouse, and jeans, with a flowered apron protecting her front. Gloria invited the detectives into her office near the back of the store. Garcia had told Elsberg to take the lead on the interview.
“Sorry for my look,” said Gloria. “I was working on some arrangements in the back.”
“Don’t worry about it, Ms. Spence,” said Elsberg. “We are here to ask you some questions about Ivy.”
“Oh, it is just awful. Who would do such a thing?”
“That’s what we are trying to find out. May we call you Gloria?”
“Yes, of course.”
Elsberg continued. “How did you know Ivy?”
“She was one of my best friends. I met her when I moved into the building after my divorce.”
“When was that?”
“Six years ago.”
“And you live in unit number 2420, is that correct?”
“Yes, two units down from Ivy.”
“Were you home at the time of the murder?”
Gloria’s eyes teared up. She removed a tissue from the pocket on her apron and dabbed her eyes. “I’m sorry,” sniffled Gloria, “this is so hard to talk about.”
