Dead Egotistical Morons by Mark Richard Zubro

Author:Mark Richard Zubro
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: St. Martin's Press
Published: 2003-08-14T04:00:00+00:00

14

The call came over the police radio as they turned east on Belmont. The dispatcher said, “You need to get to Lake Shore Drive opposite Buckingham Fountain. We’ve got a body in the lake, and I was told you were the ones to notify.”

Turner acknowledged the call and switched off. He said, “Gotta be connected to the Stendar killing. They probably don’t want to put that over the radio. Too many reporters listen to scanners.”

Fenwick said, “I don’t like Jason Devane’s chances for ever singing or dancing again.”

Fenwick put the blue mars light on the roof of the car. It made no difference in the speed with which they traveled, but this way the cars and pedestrians had a fighting chance of getting out of the way.

As Turner shivered in the car’s almost warmth, he realized that in fact in all these years, Fenwick had not actually hit anyone. That his madcap driving was well orchestrated. Perhaps a macho image thing. Turner decided to keep this insight to himself.

As they crossed the Chicago River on their way south, Turner said, “Maybe the killer just wanted to wreck the band.”

“What for?” Fenwick asked.

“There are people who just like to wreck something good somebody else has going, although we’ve got plenty of people with lots of motives.”

They drove up onto the wide sidewalk on the west side of Lake Shore Drive. Buckingham Fountain sat in splendid isolation. No water spewed from it. The fountain operated only in the summer. They hustled across the Drive to where three blue-and-white squad cars had their spotlights and headlights trained on the edge of the lake. Two fire engines rested along the periphery. The crime-scene van pulled up as they neared the other vehicles. A couple of techs were setting up some outdoor lights. An ambulance rested feet from the water’s edge. The wind gusted off the lake adding even more chill to the below-zero misery. Fenwick stubbornly refused to wear a hat no matter what the weather. Turner had donned his heaviest sweater and warmest synthetic-fiber winter coat as well as a thick scarf and a knit hat. He wasn’t warm, but his clothing kept out the worst of the cold, especially the wind.

There was a rim of about ten feet of ice around this part of the harbor. Some years the shore near the lake froze in winter, some years it didn’t. Depended on the weather and the direction of the wind. Mists of condensation rose from the ice-free portions of the lake. A body was floating in the water at the edge of the ice.

Mike Sanchez, a beat cop they knew and respected, found them. “What’s up?” Turner asked.

“Thought the body might have something to do with your case.”

“Don’t recognize him from here,” Fenwick said.

Sanchez pointed, “See that gold shiny thread on his jacket? You can see it every time the body bobs slightly this way. Guy who found him says that’s a Boys4u logo. Kind of like their trademark.”

Turner and Fenwick looked.

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