by Daniel Kamen
Dr. Weinstein pulled out a card and Gail scribbled her mother’s number on it.
“Thanks, I just might call her,” Dr. Weinstein said as he escorted Gail out to the waiting room and went back to his office to get his jacket. It wasn’t that cold, but he had things he was carrying around--like his gun and a couple of darts. He wanted to keep an eye on that stuff.
After Gail left, Dr. Weinstein told Tracey he’d be gone for about ten minutes. “I forgot to get a birthday card for a lawyer,” he said. “I’m going to Walgreens. Want anything?”
“No thanks,” Tracey said, not buying the birthday card bit.
As Dr. Weinstein left, Tracey looked out the window to see if he was really going to the pharmacy. Sure enough, he was. I could be wrong, Tracey thought. Maybe he is going to buy a card.
Benny got to the drugstore and saw someone was already using the payphone. Well, might as well buy a card and make it look good, he thought to himself. He walked out two minutes later with a birthday card and called Rings.
“Rings? Sox. Did you get the name of the drugs?”
Rings fumbled with the receiver for a moment.
“Yeah, Sox. I got a mess of them here. I can’t pronounce half the names on these bottles. My ma is helping me sort them out. She wants to know why you want to know.”
“Tell her the truth.”
“Which is what?”
“Which is I need something for my nerves. I’ve been under a lot of stress lately and I don’t feel like going to my doctor for any pills.”
“Sox, ain’t you a doctor?”
“I’m a chiropractor. We don’t write prescriptions.”
“Oh, I forgot. Okay, let’s see here: Here’s something I can read. It says Codeine--60 mg.”
“I pop those like candy for my pain,” Benny heard Twila say in the background.
“No, don’t need any of that, next,” Benny said.
“Here’s another one,” Rings said. “Pennicillin.”
“No, don’t need that. But possibly later this week!”
“Huh?”
“Just kidding,” Benny said. “Next?”
“Here’s something called Versed,” Rings said, phonetically pronouncing it.
“Oh, that’s good shit,” said Twila. “Makes me forget my problems.”
“That’s it!” Benny exclaimed. “Only it’s pronounced ‘ver-said’. Bring me the bottle. I’ll give you fifty bucks for it and you can pay back your mom. I’ll explain later, but meet me at the bowling alley at 5:30 tonight like we planned. This is real important.”
“I’ll be there,” Rings assured Benny. “Later.”
Chapter Thirty-Nine
May 26th, 1992. Tuesday evening.
Benny pulled up at Harley’s Bowling Alley at 5:15 p.m. He would have gotten there sooner if it weren’t for rush hour traffic. He also had a brief heart to heart with his daughter Rachel before he left the office.
* * * * *
Josh called and put her on.
“Daddy, Mommy says you’re not coming home anymore.”
“That’s not true, little doll,” Benny said somberly, his voice cracking. “I’ll be home soon. I wish Mommy wouldn’t say those things.”
“Did Mommy do a bad thing?”
“We all do bad things, including me,” Benny said. “I’ll explain later.”
“Will I see you tonight?” Rachel innocently asked.
“Maybe. I don’t know. Daddy has to work late. I’ll be there tomorrow for sure.”
“Bye Daddy.”
“Bye sweetie.”
* * * * *
Benny thought about that a lot while driving to Harley’s. What about his kids? Tracey mentioned that at the office but it didn’t kick in until his little girl called. How could he leave them just like that? But he wasn’t really leaving. Not really. Just living apart--very close by. How could he go back to Marsha and pretend the whole incident with Tommy never happened? Benny would have nightmares about that the rest of his life. He knew himself. He knew what bothered him. No, there was no other way. It was splitsville.
Benny took a seat in front of lane nineteen, hoping Rings would remember. The bowlers were already in high gear. The earsplitting crash of the pins was comforting to Benny. It was normal. He was in a place where the people looked normal and were doing normal things. It felt good to be out of his element--whatever that was. The world he created was sick. Very sick. But maybe that sickness would soon be over. He had one more disease to cure.
“Where’s my lighter,” Benny said to himself, checking all his pockets after putting a thick cigar in his mouth. Oh fuck! I forgot to leave my gun in the car, he thought, discovering the hard, bulging metal in his inside pocket. How did I not know it was there? Oh well, I’ll give it to Rings to put in his car until later.
“YO, SOX!” Rings yelled, sneaking up on Benny.
“Oh, Jesus, Rings! You scared me again. Why do you keep doing that? Can’t you walk into a room without startling people?”
“Sorry, Sox. Old habit. Hey, but I got the stuff. The bottle is half full,” Rings said, holding the small container up to the light. “Momma put her mouth on that--hope you don’t mind. She drinks it straight.”
Benny took the little bottle of magic syrup that was going to save his life. He handed rings a fifty.
“Naw, keep it,” Rings said, handing back the Grant. “You’ve given me enough money. And I appreciate it.”
Benny wouldn’t take back the bill. “Rings--it’s for Twila. She can use it. Please--take it for your ma.”
Rings stuffed the money in his pocket and thanked him. They both got up to leave. Benny handed Rings a big cigar as they walked outside towards Rings’ suburban.
“For the road,” Benny said. “I know you like my cigars. After I take care of my last bit of business, I’ll send you a box of them.”
“Thanks,” Rings said, putting the unwrapped stogie in his mouth.
They reached Rings’ car. Benny handed him his gun.
“What’s this for?” Rings asked. “Am I going to need it?”
“No, just hold it for me until I see you next. Put it in the back seat out of sight.”
Benny patted his inside pocket, making sure the bottle of Versed was still there.
“I’ll level with you, Rings,” Benny said, moving closer to his buddy. “The cops called me today. I’m on my way downtown to take a lie test. That’s what the medicine is for. You can cheat a polygraph with Versed. Works every time!”
“No shit?” Rings said, like he just discovered the Dead Sea Scrolls. “Is that for real? Man, that’s good to know.”
“Yeah,” Benny said. “And that’s why a polygraph isn’t admissible in court--’cause you can beat it with stuff like this.”
Rings got in his car and started the motor.
“Call me later on tonight and let me know how it went,” Rings said. “But don’t call too late--J.J. needs his sleep.”
“I’ll call you tomorrow. Oh, how do you get to Polk Street from here?”
Chapter Forty
The breeze was blowing from the west as Benny made his way to the police headquarters, located in one of the worst sections of downtown Gary. There were no good sections. Polk Street was right in the middle of the pits. You weren’t any safer stepping out of your car next to the police station than you were outside the pawn shop. Even the cops, and they were armed, walked in pairs to their squad cars, especially at night.
Benny’s mind was so cluttered on that Tuesday, he completely forgot or didn’t care about the circus at the lagoon. The Post Tribune’s story about the missing man, Gerald Hill, heightened the morbid excitement at Marquette Park. A scavenger contest was organized to see who could find the body. Everyone thought Gerald Hill was dead. Even though the water in the Lagoon wasn’t swimmable, there were daredevils in bathing suits walking the circumference and prodding with bamboo fishing poles in hopes of finding a new corpse. And Pete’s was doing a grand business.
<
br /> Also of interest was the location of Lt. Mitchell’s car. What did he know? Was he following someone? Why was he there? This is why Lt. Jefferson wanted Dr. Weinstein to take the test, not being able to question his dead colleague.
Benny pulled up to the 500 block of Polk Street about a quarter of seven. The police parking lot was well lit--over lit, like daylight. He parked his Camry as close as possible to the building, next to a service vehicle. He sat in his car and combed his hair, then took out the bottle of Versed and drank one swallow, about 30mg. He washed it down with a gulp of his morning coffee which was waiting for him in the cup holder. The cold coffee tasted worse than the drug. Before getting out of his car, he carefully hid the vile under his seat in a cigar box that was held together by a thick rubber band. The drug took effect, suppressing his autonomic nervous system, his vitals, but Benny was still in control. He walked into the station.
The warm, friendly atmosphere inside the station caught Benny by surprise. Lt. Jefferson noticed him walk in but didn’t approach him right away to take the test. Instead, the officer finished what he was doing, filled out a few reports, and heartily laughed at a joke he just heard from the dispatcher. Benny felt at ease. The drug was working. Lt. Jefferson greeted him.
“How are you Dr. Weinstein. I’m glad you made it.”
“Fine, just fine,” Benny said. “I hope this doesn’t take too long. I have to cash a ticket at Balmoral. Won big the other night!” he continued, putting his hand on his back pocket.
“Is that so?” Lt. Jefferson said. “I wish I had your 4-leaf clover.”
“We’ll have to go some night,” Dr. Weinstein assuredly offered, while taking a paper cup from the water cooler. “I’ll show you my system!”
Dr. Weinstein filled the cup with cool water and took a small swig.
“Oh, is it okay if I have this before I take the test?”
“Yes, water is fine. You can have something stronger afterwards--that is, once you get home, he he!”
Lt. Jefferson escorted Dr. Weinstein into an office where Mr. Lloyd Campbell, the polygraph examiner, was waiting. Mr. Campbell, a rotund black man in his early sixties, had a contract with the city to perform all of the routine polygraph exams. He was busy day and night, mostly night, with gangbangers suspected of selling drugs. On the side he also did employee screenings for the mill.
“Hello, sir,” Mr. Campbell said, greeting Dr. Weinstein with a reassuring smile. “Just relax the best you can and answer each question as truthfully as possible.”
Dr. Weinstein sat down, passively allowing Mr. Campbell to hook up his arms and chest with the wires leading to the machine. Lt. Jefferson quietly looked on for a minute, then left the room.
One thing about taking an anti-anxiety drug before a lie detector test, you don’t have to practice breathing techniques, or squeeze your anal muscles to increase your blood pressure--all common, but unreliable methods of cheating the test. You can say anything you want without detection. The autonomic nervous system acts without conscious thought and controls blood pressure, breathing, and sweating. A person is at a disadvantage if they try to manipulate this system just with thoughts. Benny couldn’t trust his.
“Okay, Dr. Weinstein,” Mr. Campbell said. “I’m going to ask you a series of questions. Please answer each one quickly and truthfully--a simple yes or no, nothing else. Ready?”
“Yes,” said Dr. Weinstein, taking a deep breath.
“Is your name Benjamin Arnold Weinstein?”
“Yes.”
“Do you live in Hammond, Indiana?”
“Yes.”
“Are you a practicing chiropractor?”
“Yes.”
“Are you married?”
“Yes.”
“Did you at any time know a man named Tommy Gunther?”
“Yes.”
“Did you kill Tommy Gunther?”
“No.”
Benny answered more than three dozen questions, each with a cool yes or no answer, just like the man wanted. Aside from Tommy, he was asked questions about Murphy, Frank, and Gerald in vivid detail. After the test, Mr. Campbell unhooked the wires and ushered Dr. Weinstein to the waiting room. After ten minutes, Lt. Jefferson entered the room.
“After a preliminary evaluation of the results,” Lt. Jefferson stated, “we found you to be truthful. I apologize for the inconvenience.”
Benny tried not to look relieved.
“Quite all right,” he said, as if he knew it all along. “I completely understand--you’re just doing your job. Here’s my business card. Keep it in your wallet. You never know when you’ll get the urge to fire at Balmoral!”
“Ha, ha,” Lt. Jefferson laughed, stuffing the card in his front pocket. “The way they pay us here, I just might take you up on that.”
Dr. Weinstein walked out of the station unescorted, briskly walking to his car. Glad that’s over, he thought. Now I have to take care of something.
Chapter Forty-One
Later Tuesday evening, May 26th, 1992. Benny pulled away from the police station around 8:30 p.m. He thought he would first drive to his house and pick up some clothes and a few other items. Then he figured he would just stay with his folks in Miller that night since he would be only a couple of miles away--at Stagecoach Road.
The wind died down and the sky was clear. It was a comfortable sixty-five degrees. Benny turned left off of U.S. 20, then right onto Stagecoach Road. He had only one thing in mind: get his camera from the Jon boat. His plan was to develop the pictures he took of Gerald in his office the next day.
He pulled up to the tree at about 9:35 p.m. and turned off his headlights, just keeping his parking lights on. The woods were unusually dark as his car bounced over a branch, making its way inside the timber tomb. He stopped near his boat and reached for his flashlight from the glove compartment and got out of his car. The night air was eerily still. The only noise was a muffled crunching sound his shoes made on the dead leaves below. He slowly took eight steps towards his boat. He shone the light on the tarp covering the vessel. Out of curiosity, but mostly out of pleasure and a sense of resolution, he wanted to take a look at Gerald’s hanging corpse, which he figured must be half eaten by now. He took his flashlight and tilted it up towards the tree, casting a wide white beam where the body was hanging. It wasn’t there. Benny pointed the flashlight down, thinking the body fell. He scanned the ground below and saw nothing. “Am I in the right spot?” he asked himself. “A dead man just can’t vanish like that.” He took his light and scanned the entire area. No body. Then--a piece of the rope! He saw a small length of rope, about two feet, curled up under his feet. He picked it up and shone his flashlight on it, and saw several droplets of dried blood embedded in the fibers. “Shit, what happened? Where’s the rest of the rope? Where’s the fucking body. Holy fuck!” He then took his flashlight and scoured the trees once more. Nothing. Shit, someone was here, he thought, fearing the worst. Someone was here and they took the body. They know it was me.
Benny was sweating. The Versed had already worn off, but he wished it hadn’t. He was plenty scared. He knew he was in trouble. And he knew someone took the body. But who? And why? Without a clue, he walked to his boat. At least I’ll get my camera, and maybe a few other things while I’m here, he conceded to himself. Benny looked around then grabbed the cold tarp and flung it off the boat all at once, like he was unveiling a new statue. An imaginary sound of loud church bells filled his head as if to signal eminent danger. At that moment a nesting bird flew out of the boat, loudly flapping passed his head, which frightened the already agitated murderer. “HOLY HELL!” Benny yelled. Gerald’s grisly corpse was in the boat! His supine body laid out like he was in a coffin ready to be buried. His boney, bloody hands clasped at his waist. Gerald’s dead eyes were open and were staring right at Benny. The corner of Gerald’s blue lips turned up in a sinister smile. The shock was excruciating. “HOLY MOTHERFUCKER! HOLY FUCK! HOLY FUCK! HOLY FUCK!” Benny screeched at the top of his
lungs, not thinking he could be heard. “FUCK, FUCK!” Benny hung on to his flashlight as he bolted for his car, nearly soiling his pants, his heart pounding out of his chest. He reached for his keys and started the engine. No, he thought. I’ve got to get my camera. He got out of his car and ran to the boat. He lifted up Gerald’s ghastly remains and shined his light underneath the body and everywhere around the interior. The camera was gone, as was almost everything else. The only item remaining was a half roll of duct tape. Shit, I’m dead, Benny thought. But I can’t panic. Now’s not the time.
Benny pulled the stiff carcass out of the boat and dragged it further into the woods, piling a large clump of leaves over the face. He went back to the boat, which was sitting on the trailer, and pulled it to his car and hooked it up to his bumper. He put his car in drive and slowly creaked out of the woods. He turned left onto Stagecoach Road, gradually increasing his foot pressure on the gas pedal. Not wanting to fumble with the inside controls, Benny reached out the window to adjust the side mirror with his left hand. Before his hand reached the mirror, he saw Gerald’s reflection, as bright as day, looking right at him from the silver glass. It was the image Benny burnt in his own mind--the haunting image of Gerald laying there in the Jon boat. Benny wiped his eyes and the image was gone. He had to get out of there.
It was 9:55 p.m. Benny changed his plan. He drove the boat to Coros RV & Boat Storage on Cline Avenue in Hammond. After unhitching it, he padlocked the garage-style door and went back to his house, arriving at 11:00 o’clock. Marsha was awake pacing in the kitchen when she heard her husband unlock the front door. Benny looked terrible. His pants were torn, his jacket was filthy and his hair was dotted with pieces of dried dirt. He immediately went to the first floor bathroom to clean up before Marsha saw him. She was standing there when he exited the lavatory.
“Don’t worry,” Benny said, blotting his face with a towel. “I’m not here to stay. Just tonight--on the couch. I’ll be staying with my folks until I can find an apartment.”