Boystown 7: Bloodlines

by Marshall Thornton

  In front of the station, a woman in a white uniform held a plastic bucket collecting coins as people walked by. I wasn’t sure if she was Salvation Army or not. They usually only came out at Christmas. But it was nearly Easter, maybe that’s why they were reappearing. I started down Belmont toward Clark, but then I stopped and turned to look at the woman again. She’d given me an idea, an idea that might actually work.

  Chapter Seven

  I was hungry when I walked into my office. I wondered if I should buy one of those little fridges and stock it with snacks. Or at least ice cubes. It would be nice to sit at my desk and have a scotch on the rocks once and a while. Of course, I could simply walk over to Brian’s and rifle through his kitchen for a sandwich or something, but I was beginning to feel like I’d accepted enough of his hospitality. Which didn’t mean I was going to run out and get the Reader to start looking for an apartment. It just meant I needed to start thinking about doing something.

  My answering machine had five messages. I felt popular. I ran the tape back so I could hear them. The first message was from Mrs. Harker, my sort of onetime mother-in-law. All she said was, “Is Easter Sunday, you come to dinner.” Which meant that I was to show up at her condo in Edison Park at two o’clock Sunday afternoon, preferably shaved, showered, and wearing a pressed shirt. I’d been to dinner a number of times that winter, but that had stopped when Mrs. Harker found out that her priest had lied to her about the departure of the deacon, who’d been having sex with his students, including Terry. Father Dewes had told her the Deacon was dismissed due to theft. She hadn’t appreciated being lied to and somehow her priest lying to her became my fault. Apparently, though, she’d forgiven me, so now I had to go out and have some ham to celebrate Christ’s resurrection.

  The second message was a woman saying, “Hello? Is someone there?” I didn’t recognize the voice. She said, “Hello” a couple more times and then hung up with a clunk. I rewound the tape and listened again. She didn’t sound happy. But then, she might have been calling to sell me something. Something she wasn’t happy about.

  The third message was Joseph, “Hi. I’m calling to confirm dinner tomorrow and to give you my number. I realized you didn’t have it and I thought if you had to cancel you wouldn’t be able to reach me. I don’t want you to cancel, don’t get that idea. I just thought, you know, you should be able to reschedule if something came up.” I scrambled for a piece of paper as he gave me the number. As I wrote it down, I was happy. Too happy. And that bothered me. Though I couldn’t figure out if it was because he was a priest; going on a date with a priest couldn’t possibly be a good idea. Or was I bothered because I wasn’t ready to be happy in that way? I didn’t know. Wasn’t sure I wanted to know. Maybe I should just be happy and not worry about it.

  The next message started and I was barely paying attention. “This is Kimmy Crete. I heard through the grapevine that you wanted to talk to me. I called Maddy’s lawyer and got your number. Um, I’m available whenever. I’m not working so, just give me a call if you want to talk about something. I really want to help Maddy. She was always nice to me.”

  The final message was silence. I had the feeling it was the same woman who’d called earlier but there was no way to tell. Now I had a decision to make. I was hungry and wanted to go have lunch, but I also wanted to return Joseph’s call and possibly Kimmy’s.

  I dialed Joseph first. When he answered I said, “I didn’t think you had a phone. I was imagining you living like a monk in a barren room with a twin bed and a crucifix on the wall.”

  “You’re not that far off. But I do have a phone all to myself. We’re medieval but still civilized. I’m glad you called me back.”

  “You may not be that glad in a minute.”

  “You’re going to cancel, aren’t you?”

  “Actually, I’m wondering if we could have dinner tonight and see a movie if you’d like.”

  “I’m supposed to have a counseling session at six. I could be at your office at seven-thirty. Is that too late?”

  “No, it’s fine. I need a favor though.”

  “All right.”

  “Could you bring one of your black suits with the black shirt and clerical collar?” I asked as blandly as I could.

  “Um…we should stick to dinner and a movie. And even if we weren’t I don’t think I’d want—”

  “No. I’m not going to ask you to wear it while we…it’s for me—”

  “That’s not any better.”

  “It’s for me to wear to work.”

  “Are you changing professions?”

  “I need to watch a building downtown. I’m going to get a bucket, wear your suit, and collect money for Easter Seals or something. That way I can watch everyone who’s going in and out and not be suspicious.”

  “Oh. Well, all right. I’d be more comfortable if you promise not to perform any sacraments.”

  “I’m not planning any.”

  “And the money you raise?”

  “Can go to the charity of your choice.”

  I thanked him in advance and told him I was looking forward to our evening, then hung up. My stomach gurgled, but I decided to make a quick call to Kimmy Crete before heading out to find some lunch. She answered quickly and agreed to meet with me at her apartment in about a half an hour. She lived on Lincoln Park West near the zoo. After I hung up, I hurried out of my office. I walked down Clark to Belmont and found a greasy gyros place I liked. I got a gyros wrapped in foil and a bag of French fries. I scarfed them down as quickly as I could, swallowed a sixteen ounce Coke in a few gulps, and was back on the street a few minutes later hailing a cab for the nine block ride. I could have waited for a 22 bus but didn’t have the patience.

  The cab let me off right in front of 2020 Lincoln Park West. The building was about forty-stories, cement, with half-circle balconies going all the way to the top. The doorman announced me and I was sent to the twenty-seventh floor. I found Kimmy’s apartment, 27G, and knocked. A young girl, short and a little on the pudgy side, opened the door. She had perky blond hair that probably cost a fortune to keep up and wore a pair of white flannel pajamas with hearts.

  The apartment was a studio. A small bathroom to the right as I walked in, then an equally small kitchen, and a large room that had sliding glass doors as one wall. They led out onto one of the half-circle balconies, which looked cold, damp and uninviting. The place was far too expensive for a dental assistant and even more out of reach for an unemployed dental assistant. I assumed there were a couple of parents in the background despairing of the fact that their daughter hadn’t yet found a man to take care of her. The furniture was nice, comfortable. Her pullout bed was still pulled out and a large TV in an entertainment center played an afternoon soap, I think it was Ryan’s Hope but I’m hardly an expert.

  We sat down at a small glass dining table with delicate metal chairs. She offered me tea but I turned it down, hoping I didn’t smell too much like onions and grease.

  “I only have a few questions. You were a dental hygienist at Caspian Dental Group?”

  “No.”

  “No?”

  She shook her head.

  I thought for a moment and said, “Oh, sorry, you were a dental hygienist at Caspian Levine Dental Care?”

  “Well, yeah, that’s right but I wasn’t a dental hygienist. I was a dental assistant.”

  “What’s the difference?”

  She looked at me like I was stupid. “A dental assistant assists the dentist. A dental hygienist cleans teeth.”

  “Why did you stop working as a dental assistant at Caspian Dental Group?”

  “I was fired.”

  “Oh? Why were you fired?”

  “Math,” she said simply.

  “I didn’t think there was a lot of math involved in being a dental assistant.”

  “I know, right? But there is. I had to keep track of Dr. Caspian’s drugs. You know, he does oral surgery and stuff. So he’s got all these painkillers and he
’s even got pharmaceutical cocaine in there. I guess if you’re high enough you don’t care what he does to your mouth.”

  “So you kept inventory.”

  “I did, yeah.”

  “And drugs went missing?” I speculated.

  “Not missing, exactly. Unaccounted for. Because I can’t do math. Nobody there would steal drugs.”

  “And that’s why you were fired. Because the drugs were unaccounted for?”

  “Yeah…Dr. Levine-Berkson tried to keep me, but it’s all sort of regulated so they had to make someone responsible. Since I can’t do math and it was probably all my fault anyway…”

  “When I called over there I got the impression that Dr. Levine-Berkson wasn’t well liked.”

  “Cynthia hates her, I know. I could never figure that out. But then I was only there for nine months. They told me Dr. Levine-Berkson was difficult to work with, but she was always really nice to me.”

  Her attention drifted over to her soap opera. I stared at her and wondered if she was as dense as she seemed. It was very likely that someone was stealing drugs, possibly counting on Kimmy’s poor math skills while doing it. Did this girl really not understand that?

  Abruptly, she said, “When I got fired, she wrote me a check for five hundred dollars out of her own account.”

  “Dr. Levine-Berkson did that?”

  “Yes.

  “Why do you think she did that?”

  “Because she’s nice.”

  “She felt bad about your being fired.”

  “Yeah. A nice person would feel bad, wouldn’t they?”

  But did she feel bad or did she feel guilty? I wondered. Someone stole drugs but never got caught. Was it Madeline? It would explain Cynthia’s cryptic comment about the doctor’s personal problems. It would also explain why she felt guilty enough to write a personal check to a girl who was clearly in no danger of starving.

  “Wait a minute. Were you the only one who had access to the drugs?”

  “No. That would be stupid. They’re in a glass case. I had a key and so did both doctors.”

  “And that’s it. Just the three of you?”

  “No. Cynthia had a key at the desk. In case I was out. She could give it to a temp.”

  “So how did it work?”

  “Well one of the dentists would ask for something and I’d go get it.”

  “And you wrote down everything you took.”

  She shrugged. “I thought I did. But I guess it was only some of the time. Every night I had to make sure everything matched.”

  “And did it match?”

  “No, it never matched.”

  “Never?”

  “No. I knew I was just making mistakes so I kind of fudged the numbers.”

  “But the dentists or Cynthia could have taken drugs out of the cabinet and not written it down.”

  “They wouldn’t do that.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “God, you’re just like my father. He’s suspicious of everyone. He doesn’t believe I could do anything wrong.”

  I smiled at her. I got the feeling she didn’t believe she could do anything right. She started watching her soap again. I pulled her attention back with, “Do you know anything about a woman named Emily Fante?”

  “Mmm-hmmm. Dr. Levine-Berkson had a friend named Emily who used to call. I think she came by once so they could go to lunch.”

  “Do you remember what she looked like?”

  “Older, short hair, almost kind of dyke-y.” She blushed when she said the word dyke. As though it was embarrassing that lesbians existed. “It was always weird.”

  “Because they didn’t look like they’d know each other?”

  “Yes! That’s why it was weird. I mean, I knew it was weird I just didn’t know why. Thank you.”

  “That’s all you know about her?”

  “Yes. That’s all.”

  “Did Dr. Levine-Berkson ever talk about her family with you? They refuse to testify on her behalf.”

  “She didn’t talk much about them. I mean, I know that her mother took care of her kids for her. Not that it was all that convenient. She had to drive the kids from Skokie to Park Ridge and then come into the city to the practice. Usually it took her an hour in the morning. Longer in the afternoon.”

  “Did Dr. Levine-Berkson ever talk about her marriage?”

  “Well, no. Not to me.”

  “To someone else?”

  “Um. Well, she didn’t always take her husband’s calls. I mean, even when she wasn’t with a patient. And then…” She made me wait, so I did. “One time I overheard her fighting with him on the phone. I mean, I think it was him. She kept saying stuff about how he stole from her. That she gave him an allowance and that should be enough.”

  “She couldn’t have been talking to one of her kids?”

  “Oh my God! They’re not even in grade school. You don’t talk that way to kids. I mean, she was cursing and everything.”

  “Can you think of anything else that might be helpful?”

  “Is this what I have to talk about in court? The lawyer said I just had to talk about how much I liked Dr. Levine-Berkson.”

  “He’s right. You should be honest, but don’t volunteer any of this unless they ask you directly.”

  “Then why do you need to know?”

  “I’m looking for something that might help Madeline.” But so far I was only finding things that would hurt her. Which made me think of something I should at least ask. “You don’t have any idea who Wes Berkson was having an affair with?”

  “Maybe. When they were fighting on the phone Dr. Levine-Berkson kept saying Jane. It was all Jane’s fault.”

  “When was this phone call?”

  “A week or so before I got fired,” she said.

  “When did you get fired?”

  “I guess it was a year, more than that, fourteen months.”

  I did some calculations in my head. “You got fired a couple weeks before Dr. Levine-Berkson killed her husband.”

  “Yeah. I was so surprised. I felt so bad for her. I wish I’d never cashed her check.”

  “So, the conversation you’re talking about when she and her husband fought over money and someone named Jane was about a month before she killed her husband.”

  “Yes. I guess.”

  I thanked her and stood up to leave.

  “Oh, that’s it?”

  “Yes, thank you for your help.”

  She walked me to the door. It wasn’t a long walk. As she opened the door for me, she said, “You know I’m still looking for a job. Do you need anybody? I mean, your job looks really easy.”

  Chapter Eight

  I was a good boy and took the 22 back to my office. My head was spinning. If Madeline was fighting with her husband about his girlfriend a month before she killed him then her story was a fabrication. She didn’t stab him because he suddenly admitted the affair. She already knew about it. And, she claimed not to know who he was having an affair with. But, if this Jane person was actually the woman Wes was seeing then Madeline did know, or very least knew the woman’s first name and had a month to find out more. Not to mention, a month to get angry enough to stab her husband.

  Or, she might have stabbed him for another reason. A reason she didn’t want people to know. I remembered the comment Melody made about her sister. That she’d lie to make herself look better. Was she doing that? Was there something worse than being a jilted wife going on here?

  And the missing drugs. What did that mean? I’d already confirmed with Lana that the anger at the office, Madeline’s distant parents, and the mysterious Emily Fante were all connected. So, was the connection drugs? Drugs would explain the anger at the office—especially if it was Madeline who was stealing the drugs and letting Kimmy take the fall. It would also explain the problems with her family. But how does it explain Emily Fante? Was she Madeline’s drug dealer? And how did it all connect to her husband spending too much money and having a
girlfriend?

  When I got back to the office there was another hang up on my machine. It seemed clear that someone wanted to talk to me but didn’t want to leave a message. It was almost two o’clock and I didn’t have anything planned for the afternoon until seven-thirty, when Joseph was coming by. I wanted to crawl up on the sofa and take a nap. It was a heck of a lot more comfortable that the one I was sleeping on at Brian’s. My neck could use the change of scenery. But I decided not to. What I really needed to do was find a relative of The Nose and nose around a little. I laughed at my little pun and realized, not for the first time, that I was a little too good at being alone. Focus, I told myself. Should I go downtown to the library and do a newspaper search? Or maybe go visit Harker’s old partner, Detective Frank Connors. He might know something about The Nose. He’d been around long enough.

  Then I had a realization. There might be information on The Nose right in front of me. The whole reason I knew The Nose was implicated in the Perelli murders was that I’d read it in a transcript of an interview with Prince Charles. I had fifteen boxes of information. I’d organized it all. Read most, but not all of it. There were about thirty-two different files on known associates of Jimmy English. These included members of a crew he oversaw; the management of Lucky Days, a small casino he owned part of in Las Vegas—which seemed at least partly legit; and various lowlifes who were believed to have done jobs for him.

  I’d organized and relabeled everything, so it wasn’t that hard to find the box containing known associates. There was a file on The Nose. It was thin, but still a file. I opened it. Inside were a page of notes referencing both the transcript of a conversation with Prince Charles, which I had, and page numbers for the diary or journal or whatever that I didn’t have. After that was an arrest record which included The Nose’s last known address. That was someplace to start.

  I pulled the Greater Chicago Metropolitan Phonebook out of a drawer. Mine was from 1981. I also had a couple of suburban phonebooks, so I took out the Oak Park Forest Park River Forest phonebook from 1983 to go along with it. The Nose’s last known address was in Forest Park. Forest Park was a step down from Oak Park but still had some nice parts. For some reason these gangster types liked the ritzy western suburbs. Jimmy lived in Oak Park.