The East Avenue Murders (The Maude Rogers Crime Novels Book 1) by Linda L. Dunlap Page B
Authors: Linda L. Dunlap
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she considered the sick pervert that killed the woman and Mason Aldridge. In Maude’s mind there was no doubt that the killer was one and the same. The shooting of her partner was territorial, the red dot of the sensor a mark of ownership, the piss of a predator who knows he rules that part of the jungle. Maude raged inside, the desire to slash the sick pervert asunder, a primal wish to devastate the evil in him before it seeped out again into her city.
It happened three more times within three months, the killing, the plotting, the gleeful set ups of law enforcement officers. From each woman he killed, he took her heart, sewing her chest back together afterwards. With each victim, the incisions and closures became less precise, as though his human desire for perfection was growing thinner and the animal part of him more savage. He had noticed Maude from the very first, sending her notes on elementary school paper, written with a soft lead pencil. No smudges at first, then later his writing became slanted and erratic but never careless. The notes were childlike appealing to her for approval rather than condemnation. They made her shudder with revulsion. The newspapers never found out or her life would have been on display. That was one good thing her chief did, he kept the notes under wraps. Finally they stopped coming. She never knew why he chose her, but she was glad when he stopped writing.
They had no real evidence; no one ever came forward with information that might have helped. It was as though the man did not exist on the same plane as the rest of the world. Maude became obsessed with finding him. She began contacting the victim’s families by phone, encouraging them, telling them that any day a break could come. And it did, but it was Maude who broke. Her supervisor had a phone call from the father of the first victim, asking him to stop Maude from calling. The man said it was too painful to go through it again and again. The FBI had already taken the case from Chicago PD and the detectives in Homicide had been told to let them do their jobs. Her supervisor insisted that she go to the department counselor and get over her preoccupation with the man the local media had named the Heartless Killer.
After the grisly delivery of the frozen hearts to the Chicago restaurant, Maude put in her letter, packed her bags and moved back to Madison, the place where her mother lived, the place where she and her mother and grandmother were born.
Chapter 7
When Maude left the clerical section, she quickly made her way back to Homicide and burst through the door of the lieutenant’s office, explaining what she had discovered about Chris Cole. She told him the man who had met her at the door of her rent house was a white male and the real Chris Cole was black. She also explained her concern for her renter’s welfare.
“ Boss, it was him last night playing a game, pretending to be someone he’s not. It was all set up to show what a genius he is and what fools we are. And I fell for it, took him at his word and all the time he was laughing at me, at us. We need to get some officers over there and call the crime lab to print the front door where the suspect stood holding the door knob trying to get rid of me. We have to find out if he has hurt Mary Ellen.”
“Get a warrant Maude . Even though you own the house, we need to have everything legal.”
“No warrant necessary, Boss, it ’s in my rent contract, I can go in anytime to check on the house if I believe my property’s been damaged.”
Three patrol cars, the van from the crime lab, and Maude’s unmarked car arrived at 2231 Bradley within fifteen minutes and immediately officers began surrounding the house with weapons drawn, a bullhorn in Maude’s hand amplified her command to ‘come out with your hands up’. They were greeted with silence from the house, the quiet overwhelming in its significance.
The trip to Mary Ellen’s had been fast and rough, the old beat
It happened three more times within three months, the killing, the plotting, the gleeful set ups of law enforcement officers. From each woman he killed, he took her heart, sewing her chest back together afterwards. With each victim, the incisions and closures became less precise, as though his human desire for perfection was growing thinner and the animal part of him more savage. He had noticed Maude from the very first, sending her notes on elementary school paper, written with a soft lead pencil. No smudges at first, then later his writing became slanted and erratic but never careless. The notes were childlike appealing to her for approval rather than condemnation. They made her shudder with revulsion. The newspapers never found out or her life would have been on display. That was one good thing her chief did, he kept the notes under wraps. Finally they stopped coming. She never knew why he chose her, but she was glad when he stopped writing.
They had no real evidence; no one ever came forward with information that might have helped. It was as though the man did not exist on the same plane as the rest of the world. Maude became obsessed with finding him. She began contacting the victim’s families by phone, encouraging them, telling them that any day a break could come. And it did, but it was Maude who broke. Her supervisor had a phone call from the father of the first victim, asking him to stop Maude from calling. The man said it was too painful to go through it again and again. The FBI had already taken the case from Chicago PD and the detectives in Homicide had been told to let them do their jobs. Her supervisor insisted that she go to the department counselor and get over her preoccupation with the man the local media had named the Heartless Killer.
After the grisly delivery of the frozen hearts to the Chicago restaurant, Maude put in her letter, packed her bags and moved back to Madison, the place where her mother lived, the place where she and her mother and grandmother were born.
Chapter 7
When Maude left the clerical section, she quickly made her way back to Homicide and burst through the door of the lieutenant’s office, explaining what she had discovered about Chris Cole. She told him the man who had met her at the door of her rent house was a white male and the real Chris Cole was black. She also explained her concern for her renter’s welfare.
“ Boss, it was him last night playing a game, pretending to be someone he’s not. It was all set up to show what a genius he is and what fools we are. And I fell for it, took him at his word and all the time he was laughing at me, at us. We need to get some officers over there and call the crime lab to print the front door where the suspect stood holding the door knob trying to get rid of me. We have to find out if he has hurt Mary Ellen.”
“Get a warrant Maude . Even though you own the house, we need to have everything legal.”
“No warrant necessary, Boss, it ’s in my rent contract, I can go in anytime to check on the house if I believe my property’s been damaged.”
Three patrol cars, the van from the crime lab, and Maude’s unmarked car arrived at 2231 Bradley within fifteen minutes and immediately officers began surrounding the house with weapons drawn, a bullhorn in Maude’s hand amplified her command to ‘come out with your hands up’. They were greeted with silence from the house, the quiet overwhelming in its significance.
The trip to Mary Ellen’s had been fast and rough, the old beat
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