Windy City Dying

Chapter One TUESDAY, FEBRUARY 13 Her partner, Matthew "Vik" Jessenovik, were completing a canvass of a neighborhood where a questionable death had occurred. The body had been found this morning. The preliminary report from the medical examiner indicated death by hypothermia. The state's attorney wanted to know if there was criminal negligence on the part of the absentee owner of the house where the body was found. When contacted at his office in Barrington, the landlord resisted that the man had died because he chose not to turn on the heat, or simply forgot, since he was over seventy. Marti didn't expect to prove anything one way or the other. The other two residents in the building had refused to speak with them. Those who lived in the houses on either side became fearful as soon as Marti and Vik identified themselves as police officers. They shook their heads and murmured "Nada, nada," with nervous smiles. Now Marti headed for the apartment building directly across from the one where the man had lived, stepping into the ruts made by tires in the snow-covered street. Ice had frozen in patches. She watched where she walked, careful not to slip and fall. Vik trudged along beside her. They had both arrived at the precinct before daybreak this morning and worked through the day without going outside. The only daylight she had seen had been through the window. Now it was dark again, and late to be knocking on doors. "Damn, it's cold," Vik said. He had forgotten his gloves again and alternately blew on his hands and shoved them down into his pockets. Winter had settled in early this year. There had been no January thaw and tonight's cloud cover concurred with the weatherman's prediction of snow. A few flakes were falling now. The wind blew hard and cold off the lake, making Marti's face tingle. She tugged at her scarf until it covered her nose. Her cell phone rang as she reached the curb. Another body had been found at a house on Julius Street. She glanced at her watch. It was a little before 10:00 P.M. "Now what?" Vik asked. The brusqueness of his query implied that he didn't want an answer, and Marti understood why. It was only mid-February and so far this year they had investigated sixteen questionable deaths. "We've got another one," she said. "That's great, just great," Vik muttered. He sounded frustrated but didn't remind her that "this isn't Chicago," because she had worked on the force there for ten years. "A suspect was found with this one and taken into custody," she said. "You're kidding." Wiry salt-and-pepper eyebrows almost met across the bridge of his nose. His face was craggy, his beaked nose skewed from a break years ago. At six two, he was four inches taller than she was, but not more than ten pounds heavier than her 165. "Maybe our luck is changing." "Let's not get optimistic. Nothing else has been going our way," she reminded him. "And nobody's been to the scene yet, except for the uniforms who got the call. They're waiting for the medical examiner and evidence techs. Janet Petroski is with the family." Coroners were elected in Illinois and Janet believed that in that position, as a nonmedical professional, her initial responsibility was to the living. She visited with the bereaved and did whatever she could to help. "Well," Vik said, "since there's nothing we can do there yet, we might as well finish up here. Not that anybody will know anything about some old guy who froze to death, but at least they'll still have some idea of what we're talking about. By morning, he'll be history." "It probably is a waste of time," Marti agreed. "But I don't think we'll have much time to follow up tomorrow." Salt made pockmarks on the ice-crusted steps. Vik coughed as they approached the front door, then blew his nose. "Can't shake this," he complained. "I wonder what a night's sleep would do."Bland, Eleanor Taylor is the author of 'Windy City Dying' with ISBN 9780312300982 and ISBN 0312300980.