SACRIFICES

SACRIFICES

BY

KENNETH A. VANCE

                                                         
SACRIFICES
             
                           

CHAPTER 1

SUBURBAN NEIGHBORHOOD-CHICAGO, ILLINOIS.

             
The sweat rolls from my face as I lean against an oak tree in a suburban neighborhood just five minutes from downtown Chicago. I am dressed in black from head to toe; including the black ski mask that I have tucked into my back pocket. The nighttime temperature is still in the low nineties during the recent heat wave that has almost paralyzed the mid-west this summer.

              There are few residents outside. Most remain inside enjoying the relief of manufactured coolness. Normally, the occasional couple may pass, or the nighttime jogger, although on this evening the pedestrian traffic’s scarce. I start to proceed toward the house being especially cautious to not be seen. There’s a light on in the front window, and with the curtain pulled closed you can barely see any movement. The movement inside was that of Stephanie Caruthers, and she’s home alone.

              I continue toward the rear of this large brick home with a porch that covers the entire front of this massive colonial style mansion. The sounds of a barking dog can be heard as I slowly, and with little sound, raise the handle to the wrought iron gate that separates the front of the house and the back yard. The gate is located just to the left of the porch and out of view of the neighbors. Quietly, I push the gate open just enough to fit through. Looking all around and listening for any noises, I slink toward the basement window. I am completely aware of my surroundings.

              Once next to the house I move in front of a ground level basement window and start to evaluate how to enter the home. After silently fiddling with the latch with some of the tools I brought in my black duffle bag, I’m finally able to use a flat-head screwdriver to jimmy the latch. Without making much noise at all and the coast still being clear, I carefully pull out the window frame and silently lower myself into the basement. The cool damp basement is a welcomed relief. I’m sweating profusely from the overwhelming humidity and fighting to keep sweat out of my eyes.

              Patiently, I move through the cob webbed filled, musty basement listening for noises from above to let me know where the young lady inside might be. I can hear creaks and moans from the wood floor above my head as she moves around above me. I smile as I hear the sound of water swooshing through the overhead pipes. The sound of water traveling through these old copper pipes will hide the sounds I make walking up the creaky old stairs. Moving toward the top of the stairs I pull the black ski mask over my face and reach into my bag for the travel size bottle of mouthwash that at this time is filled with chloroform. I carefully begin soaking the shop rag with the strong smelling liquid. Not wasting a moment, I place the lid back on the bottle, put it in my duffle bag and reach for the doorknob that obviously leads to the main part of the home.

              I slowly turn the knob, still paying close attention to all sounds in the house; then I slightly open the door. With the door cracked I peek through the thin opening and see the beautiful Mrs. Caruthers'sust a few short feet away from the basement door; she’s at the sink washing dishes.

Stephanie’s rinsing out a cup and listening to the radio moving her body slowly to the rhythm of the song. She’s totally unaware that I am just ten feet behind her watching her every move through the narrow opening in the basement door. With her in view, I sit down my bag on the top step and remain calm waiting for the precise moment to strike.

              Being careful to not make a peep I watch as she turns off the water and reaches for the dishtowel that lies on the counter next to her tall glass of what appears to be iced tea to dry her hands. Nervous and slightly breathless I gaze at her as she turns toward the basement door picking up her glass of tea and moving toward the front of the home. Not making a sound, I leer at her with my adrenalin pulsating through my veins. I’m ready. 

She walks toward me dressed in only a red tank top that exposes her flat trim belly and a pair of white panties that show off her muscular legs and shapely hips. She’s exceptionally attractive. She stops in her tracks, as it appears she has just noticed that the door that leads to the basement is slightly opened. I can see her but she can’t see me. She’s scared, wondering if someone is behind the partially opened door.

The tall beautiful Stephanie starts to tremble as I stare at her. Still unable to see me she can feel someone’s there. The look on her face is sheer terror wondering who’s behind the door. She takes a step back and covers her mouth. Stephanie tries to gain her composure as she trembles standing there holding her glass of tea. She wants to run but I can just see it in her big blue eyes she can’t. She takes a small step backward then I quickly and without hesitation throw open the door and charge the young lady who’s paralyzed in fear.

The blonde beauty drops her tea as I sprint toward her with my right hand raised clutching the shop towel soaked in chloroform. With the beautiful Mrs. Caruthers too afraid to scream I force the rag over her mouth. She struggles and falls to the floor. I go to the floor with her keeping the rag held tight with my right hand and my left hand holding the back of her head.

With her still fighting, and kicking I continue to force the cloth over the mouth and nose of my victim as she squirms on the floor frantically trying to catch a breath of untainted air. I hold it tight and watch the panic in her eyes as she starts to fade away while I straddle her body.

              After about thirty seconds of hopeless struggling I finally win the battle of wills, as the gorgeous young lady lies there unconscious in the icy puddle of tea. I catch my breath, compose myself after the vicious struggle and move quickly to my knees. I walk back to the staircase and retrieve my bag and carry it over to her unresponsive body and place the chloroform soaked rag into a zip-lock bag and seal it closed.

              I reach into my bag and pull out a bundle of nylon rope that’s still in the package and my 6” pocketknife.

With the unconscious Stephanie on the kitchen floor I begin to tie her hands together with looping knots, first her hands, then her ankles. After making sure the ropes are secure I take a section of cloth that I brought with me and cover her mouth and tie it behind her head. This will assure she’s not going to be able to scream if she wakes up prematurely.

I stand up and begin dragging the motionless, bound and gagged body of Mrs. Caruthers to the living room of this extraordinary example of a home.

              After reaching the parlor I carefully position her limp body on top of the coffee table in front of the sofa. I move her arms so they are dangling over one side and her chest and mid-section are resting on top of the antique wood table, and her knees are on the floor. I take a section of rope and loop it through the ropes on her wrist as they dangle near the sofa and I secure it then pull it under the coffee table between her legs. I now secure this section to the ropes on her ankles so there is no possibility of her moving from this position, even if she awakens. Moving to my feet I walk over behind her and slowly lower her white panties...

TWO HOURS LATER-FIFTH PRECINCT LAUREL ST. CHICAGO, IL.

              In walks Darrin Turner a rookie to the force that has been working closely with “the Legend.” The complementary nickname was given to
Lieutenant Detective Bradley S. Jostler
after years of solving big cases and being considered one of the most respected cops on the force. Brad covers the receiver of the phone while Darrin hands him a sheet of paper. “What is it?” Asks Brad as he grabs the sheet from the extended arm of Darrin.

              “Rape over in the Knowles.” Brad glances at the piece of paper and keeps his hand over the mouthpiece of the phone.

              Brad gives the handwritten note the once over as he removes his hand from the receiver. “I have to let you go.” Then he hangs up the phone. “So what do we know?” Brad asks as he and Darrin head for the door to his office moving briskly.

              “Not much right now, the call came in and the Chief told me to come get you to go check it out, Todd is already there and he said he
really
wanted you to get over here as soon as possible.” Darrin explains as the men walk down the hallway to the elevator.

              It’s
slightly
unusual for Brad to be at the precinct so late at night. With his position he generally works days but he’s been going over some final details and notes for a case that his team of investigators just solved, it’s been a big case in the media. He wants to make sure that the information they provide the District Attorneys office with will be precise and enough for the conviction.

              Brad handles a lot of the high profile case in the Chicago area because of his ability to handle the media, his impeccable service record as well as his reputation. He is a no-nonsense type of guy that tells it like it is and is known for going by the letter of the law. It makes him a great authoritative figure to put in front of the cameras; no one would dare question his integrity.

              Brad Jostler is a highly respected and even more decorated detective in the Chicago police department for 22 years. He stands 6’1” and consists of 210 pounds of fit 42-year-old muscle. His salt and pepper hair and his distinctive character marks on his tan face draw attention from not only other officers but also the opposite sex. Handsome, smart, powerful, he’s someone to be reckoned with.

He was widowed, almost two years ago, after a drunk driver took the life of his wife of over 20 years. He has only one child, a son who is 17. His life has changed, and not for the better. Totally devastated by the loss of his wife he tries to fill his loneliness by burying himself in his work and spending time with his son. For the past few months he’s had several friends and co-workers who try to play matchmaker, but he can’t find it in his heart to start a relationship. He’s had the occasional dinner date and took in a few movies but he’s not ready to go any further. Brad isn’t ready for a relationship, and he doesn’t think he ever will.             

              They take Brad’s unmarked car from the precinct and continue to the ritzy side of town to follow up. “Did the chief send over Betty?” Asks Brad as they turn down Knights Square. It’s the cross street just two blocks from Lexington Road, the sight of the attack.

              This part of town is well known for its many historic homes. Most of the homes have been there for well over a hundred years. It’s often considered to be one of the most beautiful neighborhoods in the Chicago suburbs, and rightfully so.

              “Betty’s out of town. She took some time off to be with her grand kid over the weekend.” Darrin explains as Brad slows down as he sees the squad cars.

              “Hopefully he sent a female officer over.” Brad shakes his head as he pulls in front of the house where the attack took place. There are already two squad cars and one other unmarked car in front of the house. The unmarked car is that of Todd Avery, a seasoned veteran with incredible instincts in police work. Todd is as tough as they come and his reputation precedes him wherever he goes anywhere in the state of Illinois.

              “Why’s that, I mean why a female officer?” Darrin inquires as he takes off his seat belt trying to fill his young brain with whatever information he can obtain from a living legend.

              “When a woman has just been violated by some sick piece of shit, the last thing she wants to do is share the graphic details with some
man
she‘s never met before.” Brad explains as he opens the door.

              The two men walk up to the front porch and are greeted by Mark Bowers. Mark is a young officer, and a recent transfer from the second precinct. He’s keeping the curious neighbors back and watching for other officers to arrive. Brad knows him pretty well. In Brad’s opinion he’s a good kid.

              “How are you doing Mr. Jostler?” Mark extends his hand and then nods his head to Darrin as he shakes the hand of one of Chicago’s most respected law enforcement agents.

              “Not too bad Mark, how’s that lovely wife and two little boys of yours?” Brad asks as he looks past the uniformed officer into the opened door of the home.

              “Good sir. They’re all three a hand full.” Mark smiles as he lets the Inspectors hand down.

              “That’s great.” Brad pats him on the back and grins slightly; his mind is somewhere else as he looks into the home.

              Darrin starts toward the door and Brad follows. When they get into the foyer Brad does what comes natural. He takes in everything around him. He notices that the victim is sitting on the sofa with a comforter wrapped around her and Dorothy is consoling her.

              Brad’s happy to see that they sent an exceptionally qualified officer to assist the victim. The first few hours after an attack are crucial to an investigation. Having a sensitive, skilled investigator there to assist the victim can be the difference between getting critical information and getting nothing at all.