CHAPTER 1
“You're going to get blood in your coffee, Detective."
“Hasn't happened yet, Officer Guerrero," Lauren said, digging her free hand in her black canvas mes- senger bag searching for her gloves. She brushed her fingers against the key to her father's office she made sure was locked before she left the house.
"Lauren is fine, by the way."
He smiled, shook his head and lifted the yellow tape, POLICE LINE DO NOT CROSS.
"A little late for coffee?"
It had been a few minutes past seven o'clock when she'd received the call. “It's never too late for coffee." She waved him away.
"Thanks, I got it," she said stepping onto the crime scene. The yellow tape separated her from the people gathering at the edges, watching her every movement as if she were on display. Others peeked out from house and apartment windows. The brave stepped outside of their homes, standing on their porches or taking a seat on their front steps covered in golden brown leaves. The chill did not bother them. A bite in the
air never troubled Chicagoans.
Lauren finally pulled out a pair of plastic gloves from her bag, making a mental note to hide the key somewhere she would not touch it again. She slipped one glove on the fingertips of her left hand and pulled the opening back with her teeth. Even though she had been on the force a short time com- pared to her colleagues, she had been assigned enough homicide cases to make her feel seasoned. Her father had been training her to do this her entire life.
Officer Guerrero gave a single dry laugh as he observed her balancing her coffee. She switched the cup to the other hand and pulled on the other
glove.
“I'm going to pretend I didn't see that,” he said.
It was not sanitary, Lauren thought, but it was effective. “Didn't even spill a drop."
She stood over a white sheet on the concrete, crimson stains in the fabric around the head created a bloody halo. Red and blue flashing lights reflected on the canvas, adding to the glow from the street- lights that had just flickered on overhead. Calls to Humboldt Park had increased in recent weeks.
Trouble was brewing.
“The hell happened here?” She asked.
“Male, seventeen-years-old. Wounded in the foot. Taken to University of Chicago Hospital. The other, sixteen-year-old female. Shot in the hip. Taken to Stroger."
“And this one?” Lauren squatted down beside
the body. “Let's see who the ambulance is taking for a ride. No sirens needed." With her thumb and forefinger, she pinched the edge of the sheet. She lifted it just a few inches so the crowd behind her could not see.
"You were the first one here?” She sensed him hovering
“Me and my partner.”
"Who's your partner?"
"Rutkowski."
"Where's he?"
“Trying to keep the crowd away from you.”
She looked up at him and nodded. That was fair.
A lot of people were mad at her. She was used to it. She returned to the silent figure. The girl wore a gray long-sleeved sweater and a red lightweight
jacket. Blue jeans. Black gym shoes. A gray back- pack was tossed a few feet away on the ground. Screams erupted from the crowd.
"Get her outta here!"
Lauren did not know if they were talking about
her or the girl. She did not turn around. There was no need to upset them any further.
“Just kids playing at the park,” she said beneath her breath. She hated knowing that children risked their lives by being children in this city.
"One shot from what I could see," Officer Guer- rero said.
"One shot is all it takes."
The bullet had torn through the girl's neck. The blood on the ground congealed into dark clumps that looked like tar.
“Age? Name? Gang affiliation? Anything?” She asked.
"Nothing confirmed yet, but..."
"But what?"
“A lot of activity around here lately."
“I can see that,” she said. “What's going on?" “There's been complaints. Calls. Kids hanging
out too late. Fights."
Lauren looked back to the girl on the ground.
Her unseeing eyes looked up towards something Lauren could not see.
"Witnesses?"
“Across the street. Behind you. Guy in the Bears jersey. Says his kid was looking out the window when it happened."
The air smelled of gun smoke and iron, and something else she could not place. Lauren's eyes stopped at the girl's hands. The concrete beneath her glimmered, silver and gold.
"That look like paint to you?”
Guerrero stepped forward, pulled out a small flashlight and aimed the light.
Lauren stood up and backed away, taking in the position of the body, a single orange and yellow leaf floated from above and came to rest on the sheet. “That's spray paint. It's fresh.” She took another step back, and now she saw the colored markings that stretched beyond the position of the girl. “They're tagging the sidewalk now?" Officer Guerrero shrugged.
“Billboards and garage doors aren't enough for them, I guess," Lauren said.
"That her backpack? Check it for spray cans," Lauren said. “Ask her friends if they were out here tagging.” Lauren could easily see if these kids had been out here marking this park it could have upset another gang or neighborhood crew.
“What are witnesses saying?” She asked Guer- rero.
“Just that a group of kids was on the swings tonight when shots rang out. They ran. They were hit."
She raised her coffee cup to her lips. Her sixth
cup that day. She took in the crowd. More people had gathered outside of the police barrier. The man in faded blue sweatpants and a Bears jersey stood beside who looked like his son, a boy younger than him, taller than him, wearing a white t-shirt, bas- ketball shorts, socks, and black sandals. He was skinny, all arms and thin legs.
"That our witness?" She motioned in their direc- tion with her cup.
Guerrero nodded. “Lauren," he hesitated "...you
should probably wait for Washington."
"Why?"
“People...they're upset.”
"They should be," she said and then moved towards the crowd. Someone immediately recog- nized her and began screaming “Killer!” But they were quickly approached by several other officers on the scene.
Lauren ducked under the police tape and approached the witnesses. Before she could ask anything, the man stared her down.
"Folks out here aren't real happy with you right now. A cop who's a little too loose with the trigger. You should've been fired."
Lauren pulled down the collar of her shirt,
exposing a pink-white scar that ran from her left collar bone toward her shoulder. Though she did not need to say anything-her words had been quoted in the local and national news for months— she told him exactly what she told everyone else. “I feared for my life. The suspect lunged at me with a knife. I engaged my weapon as I had been trained." The man took a deep breath and motioned
towards the boy. “I want him to see what happens out here," he said.
“Did you see any of them?” She addressed both. The young man shook his head no first.
“I walk my son to and from school every day. If he's not at school, he's in the house."
Lauren removed a small black notebook and pencil from her bag. "Were any of them in school with you?"
The boy shook his head. “I couldn't tell who it was. It was getting dark."
Lauren looked out the corner of her eye. There were people on either side of her now. The crowd was growing. Officers Guerrero and Rutkowski stood at either end of the perimeter.
In the distance, the rising and fading wail of emergency vehicles approached, the city's mourn- ing song. Two more police cruisers appeared. “Did you want to give me your name?"
The boy looked to his father.
“Johnny Sharkey. My son's Johnny as well. Junior.” He pointed at the swings. “They were out there. Swinging. I saw them when I looked out the
window."
"Why'd you look out the window?”
“It was getting late. I heard a bunch of kids out- side. I looked to see if there was any trouble. I saw them just hanging out and told Junior I was going to bed."
"Where were you?” Lauren asked Junior.
“Living room. I was doing homework. I heard
the shots. Waited a few minutes and then looked outside."
“Did you hear anything before the gunfire?” She asked. “Shouting? People fighting?"
He shook his head. "They were just laughing,
and then I heard shooting."
"When you looked outside, what did you see?" “Kids running and then some on the ground.
Then I yelled for dad.”
She looked at the words she had written and hoped they would carry some meaning later, some- thing to unlock what had happened here tonight. Lauren put her notebook and pencil away. “I'm sorry you and your son had to see this.”
Johnny Sr. placed an arm around his son.
Lauren handed him her card and told him to call
if they remembered anything else.
As she turned her back to return to the park
Johnny Sr. shouted, “I'm sorry any of us have to see this, day after day, after day!”
The boy shook his head. “I couldn't tell who it was. It was getting dark."
Lauren looked out the corner of her eye. There were people on either side of her now. The crowd was growing. Officers Guerrero and Rutkowski stood at either end of the perimeter.
In the distance, the rising and fading wail of emergency vehicles approached, the city's mourn- ing song. Two more police cruisers appeared.
“Did you want to give me your name?"
The boy looked to his father.
“Johnny Sharkey. My son's Johnny as well. Junior.” He pointed at the swings. “They were out there. Swinging. I saw them when I looked out the window."
"Why'd you look out the window?”
“It was getting late. I heard a bunch of kids out- side. I looked to see if there was any trouble. I saw
them just hanging out and told Junior I was going to bed."
"Where were you?” Lauren asked Junior.
“Living room. I was doing homework. I heard
the shots. Waited a few minutes and then looked outside."
“Did you hear anything before the gunfire?” She asked. “Shouting? People fighting?"
He shook his head. "They were just laughing, and then I heard shooting."
"When you looked outside, what did you see?" “Kids running and then some on the ground. Then I yelled for dad.”
She looked at the words she had written and hoped they would carry some meaning later, some- thing to unlock what had happened here tonight. Lauren put her notebook and pencil away. “I'm
sorry you and your son had to see this.”
Johnny Sr. placed an arm around his son.
Lauren handed him her card and told him to call
if they remembered anything else.
As she turned her back to return to the park
Johnny Sr. shouted, “I'm sorry any of us have to see
this, day after day, after day!”
“Real nice husband."
She ignored him.
“I'm going to tell you again," he pointed at her coffee, "all that coffee can't be good for you." “It's not good for you if you load it up with sugar and cream and all that crap. Real coffee doesn't need that junk. It just masks the flavor of the bean."
"What about Cuban coffee? That's pretty
sweet?"
"Café con leche? Fine," she shrugged. “Depends where you get it."
“I know you don't want to hear this...” he start-
ed.
"I don't want to hear it." She knew what he was going to say, and she didn't want to hear him say it. If Lauren could cover her ears and shut everyone out right now, she would. Their commander had just told her Washington would be retiring this upcoming Friday. He had put off his retirement an entire year to train her.
"You'll be fine," he said.
Lauren laughed to herself. “I'm not exactly everyone's favorite around here."
"Not true."
“Really?” She raised an eyebrow. “I found my chair out in the parking lot this morning."
“They did that again? Look, fine.” He placed a hand on his hip. “You're not exactly a lot of peo- ple's favorite around here. They don't like you because you're young. They think you got this job because of your dad, and because...”
"I've made mistakes."He hung his head, and then looked up at her. “Yeah, that you have. Maybe you just had some bad luck. Maybe you just did what you had to do.”
"And Van?"
“Now,” Washington put a hand up. “You've got
to let that go. He asked you about your sister one time..."
Lauren did not want to be asked about her sister, ever. Lauren did not even want to think about her sister, because every time her sister came up it was a bad omen. The beginning of the end of some- thing. “And if he asks again?” She rubbed the back
of her neck.
"Ignore him, Medina. The case is cold." "Detectives..."
Alderman Suarez approached, nostrils flared and eyes wild. “What's going on in my ward?" It sounded like an attack.
“Alderman, you and your community would be best to answer that,” Washington said.
“That's bullshit, and you know that.” Suarez removed his glasses and wiped them on the bottom of his shirt.
“I know you're concerned and all, but this is an active crime scene," Washington said.
“Four,” Suarez flashed four fingers inches from Washington's face. “Four shootings this past week. Now a dead teen in the park. How are you going to fix this?"
"Fix this?” Lauren interrupted. "We're going to do everything we can to solve this, and the others, but community policing is the answer. Your people have to be proactive."
“That's what you said at the last few shootings." “It's what I told you before," Washington said.
“Community policing. Block clubs. Neighbors talk- ing to neighbors. We've got a gang tactical team already assigned to this ward, but if the community is not talking, if people aren't telling us what's going on, then you're going to keep seeing us. Well, not us, her and her new partner because starting Saturday I'm retired."
"Washington, congratulations. I'm happy for you, really, but you've worked in our ward for years. We need someone who knows our community.” "Medina lives and works here. You'll be fine." "Figure this out," he said to Lauren as he pointed to the body on the ground and then stomped off towards a collection of news cameras. “He's an asshole,” she said. “And I don't forgive you for leaving me alone to deal with all of this.” "Oh, you won't be alone. You'll have Van," Washington laughed.
"Van hates me."
“Van hates everybody."
"I should've asked sooner," she said before opening the car door, “but I think you should say some- thing at his funeral.”
Inside, Lauren pulled on her seat belt and waited to start the engine until Washington eased into his seat.
Lauren watched as paramedics wheeled a stretcher over to the young woman. As she was lifted and placed on the padding, Lauren got a bet- ter look at the graffiti on the ground where the body had just been.
"What does that say?” As she started to read the words aloud, her breath became trapped in her throat. It had been a long time since she had seen those two words. She backed away. “Pied Piper.” She forced herself to say it.
“Who is that?” Washington asked.
She coughed, took a sip of her coffee to clear her throat and then said what she thought would make sense. "Don't know. Maybe some new tagger's name?
The back door of the ambulance slammed shut, and the driver gave her a wave, signaling their departure. The crowd began to thin, moving back into their homes, except Junior who remained standing alone in the same spot.
They walked back to the car. Lauren slowed her pace to match Washington's.
“I'll tell people how great it was to work with your dad. He was the best partner I could ask for." "You don't have to lie. I'm the greatest partner you've had.” She took a deep breath. “I'm only going to say it once-and I don't want to be reminded that I'm saying this—but I may even miss you, a little bit.”
Washington laughed. “Medina! Look at you showing emotion and everything,” he wiped his eyes. “I promised your dad I'd watch after you. Make sure you got settled into the job."
The dashboard illuminated when she turned the car key. The radio blared a weather report warning of early morning snow showers sure to jam rush hour traffic. Chicago in the fall would never please Goldilocks, the weather was either too hot or too cold, and rarely, if ever, just right.
Washington reached over and changed the station. Spanish lyrics filled the car. A high tempo fol- lowed by a brilliant chorus.
“You're serious about learning Spanish, then?”
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