Detective Jesse McCord 10-Identity Crisis, page 1
part #10 of Detective Jesse McCord Series
Identity Crisis
by
C. M. Sutter
Copyright © 2021
All Rights Reserved
AUTHOR’S NOTE
This book is a work of fiction by C. M. Sutter. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used solely for entertainment. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the internet or any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
C. M. Sutter is a crime fiction writer who resides in Florida, although she is originally from California.
She is a member of over fifty writing groups and book clubs. In addition to writing, she enjoys spending time with her family and dog, and you’ll often find her writing in airports and on planes as she flies from state to state on family visits.
She is an art enthusiast and loves to create gourd birdhouses, pebble art, and handmade soaps. Gardening, bicycling, fishing, and traveling are a few of her favorite pastimes.
C. M. Sutter
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Identity Crisis: A Detective Jesse McCord Police Thriller, Book 10
Homicide Detective Jesse McCord is used to being called to disturbing scenes, and that Monday morning is no different. Two working girls—often considered easy prey—are discovered stabbed to death in a seedy motel. A sketchy character watches from the sidelines but makes a run for it when Jesse notices his nervous behavior. Days go by without another sighting of him, yet Jesse’s gut tells him that the man is somehow involved in the murders.
As people begin to disappear, including the fiancée of one of their own detectives, Jesse is even more determined to find the motel runner.
Chicago’s seasoned homicide team is put on heightened alert when horrific evidence is discovered, but it’ll take pure luck to track down the killer. That luck comes in the form of a chance phone call, and a dangerous door-to-door manhunt ensues. It may be the only way to stop the deranged predator before he strikes again.
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Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 1
He’d read the last chapter of that murder thriller for the seventh time. Connor would continue living vicariously through the sadistic antagonist, Sam Livingston, in the next book in the series. It was time to move on. Connor let out a disappointed sigh, cleared a spot for the book between his mother’s law books, and placed it back on the shelf.
Connor sucked in a deep breath, closed his eyes, and let his mind wander to the night before. He’d taken care of the first task on a long list he’d been adding to after months of reading crime thrillers. He placed a check mark next to that entry.
Jarred back into the moment, Connor heard his mother yell down from her second-floor bedroom. “Connor, I want my lunch now!” His mother, Evelyn Grant, was a well-known prosecuting attorney in Chicago and a woman tougher than nails.
He clenched his fists as he marched into the kitchen to prepare her meal. “You’re such a bitch. I guarantee, soon enough, you’ll be sorry for barking out orders at me like I’m your personal houseboy. I’m sick of your demeaning attitude.”
Evelyn, who had always gone by her maiden name, had been laid up in bed for over a month after breaking both legs in a skiing accident in Colorado during the Christmas holiday. Connor, an unemployed and forever resident of his mother’s oversized Craftsman-style home, had become the person she depended on twenty-four hours a day. Neither of them liked the roles they had been forced to take on, she as someone who needed help from her simpleminded son and he as his mother’s unappreciated servant.
Connor thought about different scenes from that last book as he walked upstairs to his crotchety mother and carried a tray containing chicken dumpling soup, a grilled cheese sandwich, and a bottle of apple juice. She was lucky to get that without the addition of some poison as a condiment. Their relationship had been contentious for years, and his having to wait on her hand and foot made matters even worse.
Evelyn pressed the button to raise the back of her bed then snarled when Connor appeared in the doorway. “What took you so long?”
“Gee, Mom, I don’t know. Would you rather have cold soup and a slab of cheese jammed between two pieces of white bread? If you want speedy service, that’s exactly what you’ll get.”
“I don’t like your tone.”
“And I don’t like you ordering me around like I should be at your beck and call.”
“As if you have anything else to do.” Evelyn snickered as she looked him up and down. “Showering couldn’t hurt, though.”
Connor laughed. “Very funny, and actually, I do have something better to do. I’m going to order more crime thrillers, sit on my ass, and read.”
Evelyn patted the side of the bed. “Come here and have a seat.”
Her condescension irritated him to no end. “What do you want?”
She wiggled her finger at him. “Over here.”
He obeyed and took a seat on the edge of the bed. “Fine, I’m here. Now, what do you want?”
“Maybe it would be better if you moved out.”
“What!” Connor leapt off the bed and paced the room. His head was spinning. “I thought you needed my help.”
“You don’t seem to appreciate anything you have here. You don’t have a job, you’ve never paid a bill in your life, and now you’re going to order books from my account as if you have carte blanche with my money.”
“I’m taking care of you, and that has to be worth something.”
She shook her head and placed the laptop she was using on the roller table. “It’s for the best. Tough love, you know. I’ll hire a round-the-clock nurse who can help with my personal needs and make my meals. We’re getting on each other’s nerves far too much being in close quarters like this.”
Connor squeezed his head between his hands. “This is a four-thousand-square-foot house! All of this is your fault!” Connor felt his temples pulsing. “Nobody told you to show off your skiing skills to your friends. Now there you are lying on your ass for six weeks or more.”
She waved him on. “Go ahead. I’m sure you have a friend that you can call. Possibly somebody you met online? A buddy of sorts who will put you up until you get a job and actually learn how to support yourself. You need to start showing some responsibility. For God’s sake, Connor, you’re twenty-one years old and don’t have a single accomplishment under your belt.”
“You bitch. Let’s see how far you get without those crutches.” Connor rushed to her bedside and grabbed the crutches out of her reach.
“You can’t do that!”
“I just did. Check this out.” Connor went to the staircase landing and tossed the crutches over the railing. “Let’s see how you’re going to get around without those.” He stormed to her bedside and peeled her cell phone from her hand then grabbed the laptop off the roller table. “These are going with me too. Now I can order e-books and read them instantly. No more hardcovers where I have a weeklong wait before they show up.” Connor headed to the door. He looked back before walking out. “Have fun finding someone to help you now.” Connor left the room, slammed the door, and grumbled as he walked downstairs. “That’ll teach you to mess with me. I’m done being the loser that you call me. You make me hide in my room whenever you host those damn dinner parties. None of your so-
The sound of Evelyn’s wailing echoed from the second story to the first level. Connor needed air. He grabbed her car keys and left the house.
Chapter 2
I was on my fifth cup of coffee when the heartburn kicked in. My normal was three, but I’d been sitting at my desk for hours while reviewing all the statements, police reports, and timelines for the Tammy Lincoln murder case. The trial was set to begin tomorrow with Evelyn Grant’s assistant prosecutor and team taking the reins in her absence.
Frank and I were called to testify, something we did more often than I liked, but it was part of the job. As far as I knew, only a handful of people—including several ladies from the women’s shelter and her old neighbors, the Bingham’s—would testify on Tammy’s behalf. Because the actual killer, Tammy’s mother, Marie Booth, was dead, Tammy was looking at seven murder charges because she had been aware of the crimes and was considered an accomplice. I couldn’t imagine her sentence being anything other than life in prison without the possibility of parole.
When my stomach rumbled, I glanced at the clock—it was way past lunchtime. After pushing back my chair, I stretched and headed for the door.
“Wait up,” Frank said. “I need some chow too.”
We walked to the cafeteria and stood in front of the half-empty vending machines. It was Tuesday, and the machines were filled twice a week—on Saturdays and Wednesdays.
“Damn it. All that’s left is tuna and egg salad sandwiches, both of which I could gag on,” Frank said.
I chuckled. “Pack a lunch, then, or won’t a T-bone steak, a side of corn, and a baked potato fit in your superheroes lunch box?”
He grumbled. “No, they wouldn’t, but that sounds damn good right now.” He fed two dollar bills into the slot and pressed A2 for the tuna salad then bought two bags of corn chips. “Guess I can force the sandwich down if I follow every bite with a corn chip.”
“You’re neurotic.” I pressed A5, and the egg salad sandwich fell to the door at the bottom of the machine. After pulling out the sandwich, I decided on pretzels and a cup of yogurt to go with it.
We set our chow on the table then hit the soda machine. I’d had enough coffee for the day. I pressed the button for an iced tea, and Frank settled on a root beer.
“How long do you think we’ll be at the courthouse?”
I blew out a sigh. “Who knows? Figure on the whole day and then you won’t be disappointed when we’re out of there by two o’clock.”
“Think Tammy has a chance in hell?”
I took a bite of my sandwich and frowned. “You’re right. The egg salad sandwich sucks too.”
Henry charged into the lunchroom. “We have to go.”
I choked on my tea. “What the hell, Johnson? What’s going on?”
“Lutz told me to come and get you. There’s been a double homicide at the Central Inn on East Forty-Seventh Street. The block has been cordoned off by Patrol, and Don is already on his way.”
I groaned. Central Inn was the dumpiest motel in that horribly derelict neighborhood, and criminal activity was a daily occurrence on the street. I jammed the rest of the sandwich into my mouth, put my yogurt in the fridge, and pocketed my pretzels. With the iced tea in hand, I headed to the bullpen. Frank was on my heels as he shoveled corn chips into his mouth.
“Who’s supposed to go?” I asked as I holstered my service weapon and clipped my badge to my waistband.
Lutz burst through the door and pointed at Frank, Henry, Shawn, and me. “You four head out. I’m expecting a call, so I’ll catch up with you soon.”
With two cruisers en route, Henry took the lead, heading east on Fifty-First Street to Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. Drive. Our destination was four blocks north and nine blocks east of our precinct. We pulled to the curb across the street from the cockroach motel shortly after one o’clock. Two squad cars had taken up position directly in front of the building and blocked off the westbound lane of traffic. Don had already arrived by his parked van in the alley, and the sidewalk was cordoned off by yellow crime scene tape from one end of the building to the other.
The four of us dipped under the tape and headed to the front door, where Officer Millbury stood.
I gave him a nod of acknowledgment. “Millbury.”
“Detective McCord. The scene is on the second floor, room eleven.”
“Thanks.”
As we headed single file up the stairs, I made a mental note not to touch the handrail—it was too disgusting. At the landing, we turned right. There was no question about which room we were looking for. We were told that the rooms beyond number eleven had been cleared out, and nobody would be allowed to rent rooms twelve through twenty until our investigation was complete. Several officers stood in the hallway to keep the other second floor “guests” at bay. Central Inn was widely known as a pay-by-the-hour motel, and nothing good ever happened there.
Henry was first to enter the small room, which was already crowded with Don, Mark, their equipment, and one more officer. After finding spots close enough to the bodies for us to get an idea of their injuries, I was surprised to see it wasn’t a man and woman. Before us lay two nude women who appeared to be barely in their twenties, both covered from head to toe in blood. From where I stood, I couldn’t see the actual injuries or what had caused them.
Frank spoke up first. “What’s the COD, Don? Hard to make heads or tails out of anything with so much blood.”
“They were both stabbed to death, but there aren’t any defensive wounds on either of them. Been dead since last night, though. That’s for sure. Bodies are as stiff as a board.”
I pointed at the half-empty booze bottle and the two plastic cups on the nightstand. “Could they have been entertaining a guest last night and it went sideways?”
“There is that possibility, but I would expect to see three cups, then.”
“Unless the killer took it along. No fingerprints that way.”
Don scratched his head. “With this big of a mess, one would think the killer left prints somewhere.”
“We can only hope,” Henry said.
“I assume the tenants in the neighboring rooms heard screams through the paper-thin walls?” I looked at the officer to my right who remained silent. “Nobody heard anything?”
“Not that they’ve admitted to, sir, and the guests now probably aren’t the same ones, anyway.”
Shawn jerked his chin toward the bodies. “Then how were they discovered?”
“An anonymous caller told the desk clerk that there were two dead women in room eleven.”
“You’ve got to be shitting me,” I said. “Then why are we just now finding out about it?”
“We were told the call came in this morning.”
“So they were killed last night, and then the perp called it in today? Guilty conscience, or just making sure they covered their tracks before making the call?” It was a rhetorical question, and I wasn’t expecting an answer.
The officer shrugged. “Sorry, but I don’t have an answer for that, Detective McCord.”
I raked my hair and backtracked to the door. I didn’t see a single camera in the hallway and was pretty certain that a two-bit motel like the Central Inn wouldn’t invest in that type of expensive equipment. Plus, without camera footage as evidence, we’d never have anything incriminating to use against the establishment for being a hot spot for criminal activity in the area. They no doubt knew it was to their benefit to operate camera-free.
I pulled my phone from my pocket and was about to tap Lutz’s name when he walked in.
“Boss, we need Forensics out here right away.” I pointed at the cups again. “Either the killer drugged the ladies and they were out of it when they were murdered, or they were partying, passed out from drinking too much, and then the guy killed them.”
