All characters in this story are fictional and any that engage in sexual activity are over the age of 18. I hope you enjoy reading it!
At the conclusion to While You Were Sleeping, many readers asked the question, "What happened to Jim?" At the time, I had every intention of leaving that question up to the readers' imagination. At some reader suggestions, I decided to have a little bit of fun, and make a mystery story out of it. This story could stand on its own, but it compliments that other series so if you want more context for this story, you should read that series first. There is not a lot of sex in this one, so you have been warned.
A huge thank you to my editor Guinahart for making this much easier to read. Enjoy!
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Margie was working a double-shift at the dispatch center. Her friend Beth wanted a night out with her husband, so Margie agreed to take her shift for her. Dang she was getting tired. At least it was a Sunday; the call volume was lighter most Sundays.
"About time for another cup of coffee, huh?" she asked herself, out loud.
She got up, and before she could leave her desk, the phone rang.
Shit, so much for that coffee.
She sat down and put the headset on to take the call.
"Nine-One-One, what's your emergency?" she asked.
"Hi, I'm the manager at the Motel 6 in Schiller Park, on Lawrence Avenue. Someone here has been shot!"
"OK, Sir, I'm going to dispatch the police right now. Can you stay calm and tell me what happened? Is there someone still shooting?" she asked, as she was typing notes. She also sent a page for police dispatch to the address she found for the Motel 6. The Chicago PD automated dispatch system responded with an ETA of about four minutes.
"I don't think so. One of my housekeepers came running into the office screaming that someone in room 203 was shot, and she saw a lot of blood everywhere," Mark answered the dispatcher.
"OK Sir, I have dispatched the police and medical. They should get there in just a couple of minutes. Can you tell me anything about the person that was shot?" asked the dispatcher, calmly.
"I haven't gone up there yet, but my staff said there was a lot of blood and the guy wasn't moving. My name is Mark by the way, Mark Howard. What should we do now?" he asked.
"Sir, do you know if the shooter is still in the hotel? You should stay in your office, and tell your staff to stay put until the police arrive," she advised.
"OK, we can do that. I hear the sirens now," he said nervously. The stress of the situation was starting to rattle his nerves.
"OK Sir, once the police arrive, let them make sure the shooter is gone and it's safe to come out. Once they do that, I will let you go, so you can talk with them," Margie said with a comforting tone. She could tell he was probably in shock, and needed to stay calm.
A few minutes later the cops did arrive, and she let the manager off the phone. She ended it by saying, "I am glad you're safe, and you should be in really good hands now."
He thanked her and hung up. Two of the officers that arrived came into the office, while others were out in the parking lot. The two that came in were a man and woman, and couldn't be any more different in appearance. The man was a tall, skinny looking guy, and his partner was a shorter, medium build woman. Both looked to be in their mid-thirties and had serious expressions on their faces.
Mark was standing behind the counter when they came in. They walked right up to it and introduced themselves.
The man said, "I am Officer Smith, and this here is my partner Officer Dunleavey. I know it's getting late, but we are here to help. Are you ok? Have you been hurt at all?"
"No, I am ok, just a bit creeped out," he replied, still shaking a little.
Smith radioed someone, asking for an all-clear. Apparently getting a positive response, he asked, "Can you take us to the room?"
"Sure, follow me." Mark grabbed the master door key card and went out the door.
He led them down the sidewalk several rooms until they got to the stairs at the end of the building, and went up to the second floor. This floor had a balcony that overlooked the parking lot. He led them down two rooms until they got to room 203. The door was shut at this point so he gave the officer the card key to open it.
The shorter officer put on some gloves, slid the keycard into the slot and opened the door slowly. Once it was cracked, Smith opened it with his weapon drawn. He scanned side to side in the room, making sure no one was waiting for them with a gun. He ran in to quickly check the bathroom, but no one was there. While he was checking the room, Dunleavey put her fingers on the man's neck, checking for a pulse but finding none. The body was already getting cold at this point.
He came back out and they both asked Mark to stay outside the door for a minute. Smith clicked on his shoulder-mic and requested the Medical Examiner, as well as the CSI team, to come out and help process the scene. Lastly he reported that the suspect was still on the loose, details about the shooter were coming after gathering evidence. He looked around at the room and waved his partner over.
"I just radioed in for the M.E. as well as CSI. Why don't you go out and see if anyone in the rooms heard or saw anything, and I will get this scene under control," Smith said.
"OK, but next time I get the easy job, while you go door-to-door," she grinned at him. It was normal for them to take turns like this.
Dunleavey left the room to go to the next room down, and knocked loudly on the door. Smith stood at the door to room 203, and asked the manager to go get the staff assembled in his office. They would meet them down there in a minute. He waved over another officer that was standing on the balcony, and told him to guard the door until CSI arrived.
When the CSI team arrived, they did a thorough examination of the room, as well as the victim's car down in the parking lot. What they found was both very informative and confusing at the same time. This scene was very complicated. By this time Dunleavey had completed questioning the people in rooms near their crime scene, so she and Smith watched the CSI team work.
First off, the room was a mess. They found that his suitcase had been dumped out on the floor, next to the double-bed. They found the victim's wallet sitting open on the desk, face down. They pulled out his driver's license, and identified him as Mr. Jim Harding. The wallet had no cash or credit cards inside, and several other miscellaneous pictures and items were scattered on the desk around it.
The victim, Jim, had three GSW's, or Gun Shot Wounds. He had been hit in the head, the chest, and the inside of his right thigh near the groin. The lack of blood splatter on the wall behind him suggested that he was shot in the head lying down. The pillow under his head had some blood soaked in, but the majority of his blood was all over the sheets under his leg, and on his abdomen. All three of the wounds were small, suggesting a small caliber weapon was used to shoot him. The Medical Examiner gave them the time of death, around six PM that evening.
They found that he was bound by duct tape. His feet and hands were taped together, along with a strip covering his mouth. The tape over his mouth would have kept any screaming, or yelling, pretty well muffled. The body had signs of a beating, but not fresh. It looked like he had gotten into a fight a few days prior. His face had some bruises along both sides of the jaw, and a small cut under his left eye socket that had already started to heal over.
Looking around the bed, the sheets were tossed around and half off the bed. Aside from the blood, the only fluids found were some urine and feces, as a result of his death. The room stunk so bad, that they had the door and window open to try to air it out.
"God I hate dead bodies," said Smith.
"No shit, they always smell like a fuckin' barn," replied Dunleavey. "When I go, I want to be cremated. I want a little bit of dignity, even after I'm gone."
On the table, there were two wine glasses next to a tall bottle of a cheap white wine, the kind you can get at a gas station. The glasses had been dusted, and one set of prints were found on one. The other glass had no prints, but did have what looked like a lipstick impression of someone's lips on the rim. The glasses were bagged up and would be sent to the lab for processing.
"And here I half expected it to be boxed wine," snickered Dunleavey.