There were two more officers downstairs, and they drove over to the project office, a block away on Loomis, to get the key to 1109. The officers listened to the phone ring and ring. “We think somebody may be in there holding somebody,” an officer told the dispatcher over the radio. They asked the dispatcher to call McCoy on her phone. They pounded on the door, announced their presence, called for McCoy. Two more police cars headed to the scene.įour officers apparently arrived at McCoy’s door around ten minutes after nine. At 9:04, another neighbor called to report gunshots and hollering from 1109. This one was from a woman who said she had been walking through the hallway and heard gunshots from the apartment. That he didn’t report the call as a break-in attempt may explain why police hadn’t yet arrived at McCoy’s door at 9:02, when another 911 call came in concerning apartment 1109. He assigned a 12th District car to answer a “disturbance with a neighbor” complaint at 1440 W. The dispatcher wasn’t certain what McCoy had been trying to report-what could she have meant by “they throwed the cabinet down” and “they want to come through the bathroom”? Nevertheless, he closed the phone call in order to send a beat car on its way. What’s your name, ma’am?”ĭispatcher: “All right, I’ll send you the police.” “They want to break in?” he asked.ĭispatcher: “1109? All right. McCoy’s response is unintelligible on tape, but apparently the dispatcher caught her gist. “What are they doing, ma’am?” asked the dispatcher. and some people next door are totally tearing this down, you know-” the frantic voice began. 13th St.Īt a quarter to nine this April evening, Chicago police got a 911 call from McCoy. McCoy lived at the end of a corridor on the 11th floor of the building at 1440 W. Fiends really are lurking in the shadows here in these towers, you’re crazy if you’re not always looking over your shoulder. A claustrophobe in a closet might be more at ease than a paranoid like McCoy in an Abbott high rise the buildings feature dark, malfunctioning elevators, pitch-black stairwells, and cocaine and PCP addicts on nearly every floor. She lived in one of the seven 15-story, brown, Y-shaped towers named the Grace Abbott Homes-the most dangerous buildings in ABLA. Her fears weren’t soothed by her dwelling place the last four years-a high-rise building in a near-south-side Chicago Housing Authority project known as ABLA, where the van dropped her off this Wednesday afternoon, April 22. McCoy, 52, went through much of her life afraid she was hounded by paranoia.
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