“What you got Mike?” Detective Jackson asked the older cop who knelt in the snow by the garbage bin. Mike Miller looked up, nodding at Jackson.
“Seems we have a jumper, but no body.”
“No shit?”
“Yeah, look here.” Miller pointed to an area behind the yellow tape the uniforms set up that morning when the call came in. “You see this indentation in the snow here? Sure looks like a body, maybe two, but no tracks leading away. We got a bottle of whiskey, cigarette lighter, and a woman’s purse up on the roof. Someone was certainly up there, but no tracks led away from that spot above where we found all the stuff. Just like no tracks lead away from this spot here.”
Jackson looked around the area. Though there were tracks all over the fresh snow outside the yellow tape, as Miller said, there were none anywhere near the area he indicated.
“Weird.” Jackson said, pulling his scarf closer about his neck. “I saw the uniforms interviewing a few stew-bums as I pulled up, they witness it?”
“Yeah, but they’re not much help,” Miller said as he stood up. “They claim she was up there with someone a few hours ago and that they both jumped off. Two of the bums ran over to Canal Street to flag down a passing squad. The uniforms that were first on scene said this here indentation was freshly made and was just like we see it now, no tracks leading away.”
“Weird,” Jackson said again.
“Ayup.”
“You I.D. the purse?”
“Yeah,” Miller said as he took a small spiral notebook from his jacket pocket. “Sally Rose Chesterton, age thirty-five. Ran her name through the D.M.V. and got an address up on the north side, already sent a few uniforms over that way. Few busts on prostitution and a couple on possession, that’s about it though. Minor shit mostly. Only been in town about three years, moved here from L.A. Going to put in a call to L.A.P.D. when I get back to the station.”
“Well, one more hooker isn’t going to be missed Mikey. Probably headed back to California where it’s warmer.”
“Yeah, probably.” Miller put his notebook away, and looked around the snow on the ground as if it might yield some answers for him.
“I’ve seen that look before. What’s troubling you Mike?”
Miller looked up from the snow, shaking his head as he answered. “Nothing, just got a weird feeling is all, little tired I guess.”
“You let these things get to you too much. She was just a hooker; no one’s going to give a shit if the city loses one more hooker. You got all this manpower up here treating this like a crime scene and you got no body. No reliable witnesses. Let it go. Bag this crap up here just in case, and let’s get out of this cold.”
“Yeah, you’re probably right.”
Jackson cracked a smile, “You know, you should really think about taking that early-out the city’s offering. You been on the job too long if your letting this shit get to you. Twenty-eight years is plenty of time. You’ll get a nice pension for that. Get out and head somewhere warm, I bet Megan would start loving you again if you did.”
Jackson didn’t notice the cloud that passed over the older mans face at the mention of Megan. He slapped Miller on the shoulder, “Okay, I’ll see you back at the station later.”
Miller nodded at the younger detective as he turned and left. A few of the uniforms were still searching the area for evidence, but Miller had the feeling they wouldn’t find anything. He stepped back away from the area and walked over to one of the many squad cars parked in the alley. Their blue emergency lights revolving, casting and chasing their own shadows on the gray Chicago morning.
Miller thought about what Jackson said. He might be an asshole, but he was right. He should take the retirement and head somewhere warm away from the city. Buy a small farm and start over with Megan. After what he put her through she deserved somewhere quiet. He could spend the rest of his life making it up to her. Maybe she could forgive him, and they could start over.
“Life is full of second chances,” he said as he looked towards the small throng of neighborhood residents gathered down the alley watching the activity.
“You say something detective?” One of the uniforms asked from behind him. He turned around to look at the younger man, his face flushed red from the cold.
“Nah, nothing. Let’s get this crap bagged up and get the hell out of this damn cold,” he said as he crossed the alley, heading towards his car.
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John Mc Caffrey
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