Circle of Terror

by Larry Powalisz

  She gathered her thoughts and continued, “Dillinger was taken to Indiana to stand trial and escaped from jail using the infamous, handmade wooden gun. If you saw the movie Public Enemies, starring Johnny Depp, the first bank robbery scene occurred in Racine. The movie also told a lot about Billie, the shooting up north at Little Bohemia in Manitowish Waters, and Dillinger’s death in Chicago. The week after Dillinger was killed coming out of the theatre, Melvin Purvis called everyone involved in the investigation and presented them with personal awards. Even though Dad was upset at the way the feds screwed up at Little Bohemia by not having enough officers to cover the place, he still considered the award an honor for all their work. My older brother Jim still has the award in his house. Anne, I’m sure you probably learned the history between Hoover and Melvin Purvis at the FBI Academy and know more about it than us.”

  “Sure did. We also spent a great deal of time on Hogan’s Alley, which is a mock- up street at Quantico where we conducted live training. They even have a Biograph Theatre there. It’s so cool. I bet Director Hoover hated the idea of Purvis becoming known as the FBI agent who got Dillinger. He demoted Purvis and exiled him to a desk. Purvis ended up leaving the FBI and committing suicide years later. Hoover was someone you didn’t cross. The abuses of power by the FBI in days past have hurt us today with some of the restrictions we now have.”

  Tomczyk decided to keep quiet. He wasn’t always a fan of the FBI. He knew and liked some of the agents he dealt with, especially the ones who were former cops and had that “street sense.”

  “That’s too bad,” Fay sympathized. “I’m sure policing today is much different than it used to be.”

  “Sure is,” Dvorak agreed. “Now we have to figure out why someone would obtain a copy of an eighty-year-old newspaper article and attach it your father’s headstone. Do you have any idea at all?”

  “Neither Erv nor I have any clue. None whatsoever.”

  “So what else you got there?”

  “When I went back to the cemetery in late September, the things in this picture were glued to the top of the headstone.” She picked up a photo depicting a bloody, dismembered plastic body and the word kaboom printed on a smooth rock next to it in red ink. “I’m afraid I lost it right there and then. I started shaking and called Erv from my cellphone. Not sure if he understood a word I said because I was crying and scared out of my mind. All I know is that a police squad came quickly, and the two fine police officers were able to calm me down. They took pictures and removed the objects from his headstone.”

  “Mrs. Pavalko, has anything like this happened before?”

  “Never.”

  “Well then, we have to figure out the connection. It’s got to be here. Can you tell us about any other investigations in your father’s career that could have triggered this so many years later? It has to be some friend or relative. Someone with intimate knowledge of somebody your father dealt with who is bringing up the past in this macabre fashion.” Agent Dvorak felt a shiver run down her spine.

  Fay Pavalko thought for a few long seconds, trying to collect her thoughts on some of those long-ago memories of her father regaling her with stories of his career.

  “I know Dad was involved in investigations of the mafia in Milwaukee. Before Frank Balistreri took over in the early ’60s and put Milwaukee on the map as a mob city, his father-in-law ran things here. Besides the nickname Frankie Bal, they also dubbed him The Mad Bomber. There was a good chance your demise would come by way of some type of explosion if you crossed him. Dad was in failing health in the early ’80s when Balistreri and his two sons were facing federal charges and prison.”

  Dvorak and Tomczyk looked at each other. The Mad Bomber–TMB. “The Mad Bomber!” Tomczyk almost yelled. “I never heard of Frank Balistreri being called that one before.”

  “It was mainly after some of the explosions that occurred in the ’70s. He wasn’t the only Milwaukee Mad Bomber, though. Dad also talked about he and Stan being lead detectives on a case in the mid-’30s when someone set off explosions at Shorewood City Hall, a couple banks, and several Milwaukee police stations. He said the two young men blew themselves up in a garage on the South Side while trying to make another bomb. A little girl was also killed in the explosion. I don’t recall anything else about it.”

  “Now this is getting interesting. Can you remember anything else?”

  She went on to relate Harold Schlundt’s undercover work on a German sympathizer group called Die Bund, which translates to “The Alliance.” At one time, Milwaukee had the largest German population of any American city. Several riots broke out before World War II during some of the rallies that were held in Milwaukee and a number of other cities. The group faded away when Germany declared war.

  “Let’s see, what else? Dad said he was sent to Plainfield, Wisconsin, sometime in 1957 after Ed Gein was arrested. Their small department was completely overwhelmed with the investigation and requested expert help. He was a detective sergeant then and used to train other departments on evidence collection and investigation techniques for violent crimes and homicides. I’m sure you’ve heard of Ed Gein? He killed two women whose heads were found in his house and one of the bodies in his shed. Gein also exhumed bodies from graves and made trophies and keepsakes out of the skin and bones. A lampshade found in his living room was from human skin. That’s sick enough, but Hollywood created characters based off him, like Norman Bates in Psycho, and even the guy from Silence of the Lambs. I’m sure both Dad and Stan were involved in a ton of other investigations, but those are the main ones. This whole thing is starting to drive me nuts. My father was a very honorable man. He dedicated his life to doing what was right with an organization he loved, protecting a city he was ready to die for at any minute.”

  “You have my word. I’m going to track these items down and read the reports to see what I can come up with. Considering all the robberies, shootings, and other things going on in the city, I can see how something like this can get lost in the shuffle. However, with this most recent desecration of your father’s and the other headstones, along with the attempted homicide of a detective, I assure you it’s important.” Tomczyk decided to describe only what happened to the headstone and about the explosion, not the fake bomb and note found underneath it. Maybe another day. They stood up, shook hands, and said goodbye. Mrs. Pavalko kissed Tomczyk on the cheek. “Thank you for what you do. I know my father would be proud of your service to your country and the city of Milwaukee.” She also hugged Dvorak and thanked her as well.

  “You’re very welcome, ma’am. Appreciate the exciting history you shared.” Tomczyk and Agent Dvorak both handed their business cards to Mrs. Pavalko.

  “I second that,” said Dvorak.

  Erv looked over his wife’s shoulder to read the cards. “I KNEW IT! You’re Declan ‘O’ski/Bro-ski’ Tomczyk! Young man, did I also mention I have Wisconsin Badgers season tickets?”

  “O’ski/Bro-ski?” Anne looked over at Tomczyk in a surprising fashion. “What am I missing in this conversation?”

  “Agent Dvorak, not only is this guy a detective, but he has a history in the annals of Wisconsin college football. Second Team All-American middle linebacker for the Wisconsin Badgers and Co-MVP of the 1999 Rose Bowl game against the Washington Huskies. Eighteen solo tackles, two sacks, and an interception, if I remember right. Was a second-round NFL draft choice, but decided to become a Marine instead. Now I REALLY admire you! I bet Coach Alaveres was pissed at you not going to the NFL.”

  Tomczyk’s face flushed. “Thank you, Mr. Pavalko. I’m flattered. I told you becoming a Marine was in my DNA. Something I’ve wanted more than anything else. Even though my father served two tours in South Vietnam with the Army’s ‘Big Red One,’ courtesy of Uncle Sam and the draft, my love was the Marine Corps. Going to Madison on a scholarship and playing under Coach for four years has been one of my greatest honors. There are only two men who have walked this earth I have more respect for than him: my
father and Jesus Christ himself. That’s saying a lot considering the wonderful men who’ve mentored me over the years. They’ve helped make me the man I am—good and bad. Now, how did you know about those nicknames? We always tried to keep those on the down-low, for obvious reasons.”

  Declan Tomczyk grew up in Milwaukee and graduated from Alexander Hamilton High School. He attended the University of Wisconsin on a football scholarship, a linebacker with 4.4 speed in the forty—highly unusual for a 6’2”, 245-pound “white boy.” In addition, he bench pressed over five hundred pounds. One of his nicknames had always been “O’ski” because of his Irish/Polish heritage. The black players on the team labeled him “Bro-ski” as a compliment to his unusual ability. They used to kid him that he must have black genes to be that big and fast. The Badgers played in the Rose Bowl his senior year, handily beating the Huskies from the University of Washington. He was named co-MVP with his close friend, Anthony Thomas, the big Badger fullback who had broken the Rose Bowl rushing record with 252 yards. Tomczyk also excelled academically once he realized the importance of study, becoming a Scholastic All-American as well. He was drafted by the San Francisco 49ers, one of his favorite pro teams.

  His father was a Distinguished Service Cross and Silver Star recipient, United States Army. Declan loved everything about the military. He dreamed of going to the Naval Academy and becoming an officer, but his grades were too low his senior year of high school, thereby ruining his chances for making any of the military academies. His dream did not die. After college, he joined the Marines instead of going into pro football. To him, it was a more important life mission, with no greater honor than to serve both the military branch and the country he loved. He reported to Marine Corps Recruit Depot in San Diego, then faced the usual screaming and harassment by overzealous drill sergeants who were born with serious “’tude.” Tomczyk made squad leader because of his college degree, intense physical prowess, and desire.

  After completing basic training, the Marine Corps sent him to Officer Candidate School and advanced training for Marine Force Recon. Tomczyk was living the dream, and a career as a Marine was in the offing. It was during his second tour in Iraq when his life took a dramatic turn. His wife was diagnosed with cancer and was given one to two years to live. There was no other decision he could make. He would leave the Marine Corps. On a one-month leave in Milwaukee to be with his wife, he was able to complete all the testing and was notified he would be entering the police academy in several months. He went back to Camp Lejeune, filled out his separation papers, and drove back home with all his belongings and a heavy heart. Even though some of his “jarhead” friends tried talking him out of leaving, they knew and understood the circumstances.

  After his graduation from the Milwaukee Police Training Academy, Tomczyk was assigned to District Five, a very diverse district. Before redistricting in the mid-2000s, it encompassed the richest and poorest neighborhoods in the city, along with probably the largest concentration of local bars anywhere in the city.

  Marie Tomczyk miraculously survived nearly five years before succumbing to her deadly sickness. Declan had no regrets for any of his decisions, such as passing up pro football or leaving the Marine Corps to be with her. He found being a cop, and then a detective, additional privileges in his life of service.

  Erv Pavalko continued his story. “One of my closest friends and golf partners is Reginald Jenkins, proud uncle of a former teammate of yours. We still laugh about what you guys used to call each other.”

  “You mean ‘Chardass’?”

  “Chardass?” said Fay Pavalko, a little confused at the name.

  “That’s right, honey. Al Jenkins is 6’4” and 335 pounds. They originally called him Lardass, but since he’s black … get it?” Erv Pavalko was beaming at his new discovery.

  “Al played on the line in front of me for the three years I played varsity. He’s always been like a brother to me. Talk about road clearing a line and making me look good. Some people may consider us ‘non-PC’ or racist by using those nicknames, but to me, they’re terms of endearment. To be called ‘Bro-ski’ by my black teammates was an honor. Some remain my closest friends and I still get together with them. God gave me the gift of speed and strength, along with other things I’m extremely grateful for.

  I went to Al’s parents’ house in Glendale about ten times when we were in college. My Mom is a great cook, but ‘Ma’ Jenkins takes cooking to a whole other level. Her chicken casserole and pecan pie are to die for. Told her I’d be 350 pounds if I lived under her roof. Talk about great people. Al still plays starting defensive tackle for the Jets. This past May, he took about eight of us out to eat at the Steakhouse, right around the corner from where Jeffrey Dahmer lived. If you’ve ever been there, you’re familiar with the massive size of the steaks. Al ate two filets with all the salad and fixings. He was eyeing mine up because I was sitting next to him, and I had to threaten him with my fork,” Tomczyk said jokingly.

  “Reggie has told me on a number of occasions about the bond between many of you guys,” Erv Pavalko remarked, laughing at the thought of what must have occurred at the restaurant.

  “Even though Madison is a liberal campus in an interesting liberal city, I had a great experience there. For the record, I still have lunch with Coach when he comes to Milwaukee. He uses the word crazy when describing my road after college, but he totally respects my decisions. I’m sure you know he was a cop before becoming a football coach. He’s like a second father to many of us. We all feel fortunate for that relationship.”

  “The University of Wisconsin has been more than blessed to be associated with Coach Alaveres and, for a couple of years, Declan Tomczyk. Thank you for coming and reassuring us about these incidents. Please stay in touch.”

  “I’ll give you folks a call within the week for an update.”

  “Thank you,” Fay Pavalko repeated. The sense of peace that flushed across her face after this most recent desecration of her father’s headstone was evident.

  As they walked out to the squad car, Anne looked over at Tomczyk with a newly found respect. “Bro-ski?”

  They got into the squad car, and Tomczyk looked into her eyes. “Come on, Anne. With today’s goofy climate, they would hang us for stuff like that. When I talk to any of my college buddies, I still refer to them by their nicknames. They do the same to me. People can talk all the racial things they want, but I’ll tell you what. My wife, Marie, died three years ago after a six-year battle with cancer. Besides the love of my parents, ‘Ma’ Jenkins was probably the closest person in my life. She spent countless hours consoling me and had me over to their house for dinners too numerous to remember. Al called a couple times a week to ask how I was, no matter where he was during football season. I would do anything for either of them. I don’t think Al’s brother and sister even know my real name because all they’ve ever known me as was Bro-ski.” Tears welled up in his eyes. “Boy, would the media ever have a field day with that one.”

  She took hold of his right hand. “I’m so very sorry about your wife. Cancer sure is a life snatcher. Maybe we can meet at that steak restaurant one night, and you can tell me all about her. I’m a great listener and would sure like to dig into one of their filets.”

  A smile came back to his face. “Thank you, Anne. It was a very long and sad road. I’ll never forget Marie or our great times and sad times together. Nothing would make me happier than to share that with you. This sure was a very worthwhile interview. What wonderful people. We have some web surfing to do to find out about the connection, if any, to The Mad Bomber and TMB. And how does Saturday night look in your schedule for steak? Even though I’m still a big-time rookie in the dating game, I know enough that when a beautiful woman opens the door like that, I’m obliged to run through it.”

  They both laughed as Tomczyk drove past the old brick house where one of the most notorious criminals in the annals of United States history came and did some of his handiwork.

 
“Then it’s a date. Pick me up at six thirty, and don’t be late.” She reflected on her own career. “To think Al Capone once rode up and down this road. Wow.”

  Chapter 7

  MILWAUKEE’S RIVERWEST AREA

  Squad 5151, meet the woman and her dog at the flagpole in Gordon Park regarding a man down. Additional info sent to your terminal.”

  “Copy.” It was 8:10 a.m. and Officer Pat Heggins had just rolled through the fast food restaurant drive-thru at the intersection of Martin Luther King Drive and Locust Street. The order was placed for his usual king-size, hazelnut-flavored hot coffee to jump-start his shift. After receiving the cup, he was ready for anything the District Five dispatcher would give him. He pushed the button on his squad computer terminal and up popped the additional information on the fifteen-inch diagonal screen. Gotta love modern technology, he thought to himself.

  “Let’s see, caller’s a Sheila Wentworth. Cell phone number, 414-265-5555. Came across a man with a gunshot wound to his forehead lying just off the walk path while she was walking her dog in Gordon Park.”