by Edward Izzi
“Stop it, Dorian!” I could hear Callahan starting to lose his famous, Irish temper.
“Why are you leaning on the Monsignor? Unless you have any definitive evidence putting him at the crime scene, you’re going nowhere with him. He’s too insulated by the Archdiocese, and they will throw every high-priced attorney they can find to keep him clean and far away from these murders. You’re wasting your time on this guy!” he angrily exclaimed.
“Really? This guy has a meeting with Little Tony the other night and gets pulled over with fifty large in his brief case. The Archdiocese is about to collect over ten million dollars in life insurance proceeds from these two murdered ex-priests and we can’t even stick him with a parking ticket?” I was starting to raise my voice at my boss.
“I’m telling you, Chief. Kilbane knows something. Why would he have that kind of money in his car after meeting DiMatteo at a restaurant?”
“Maybe it’s his first communion money, I don’t know. There could be a thousand and one reasons why he would be driving around with that kind of cash. Maybe he was looking to invest it with Little Tony? Who knows? Either way, he’s not your boy, Phil. Move on.”
I didn’t understand why Callahan was trying so hard to discourage me from going after Kilbane. I was beginning to wonder if the Chicago P.D. was getting some pressure from the Archdiocese. I knew where Callahan was going with this whole conversation, and I needed to do some quick thinking to keep these high-profile murder cases on my desk.
“Look Chief, maybe I could use some assistance,” I suggested. “If I could have a few more detectives that would be a big help. I’m working day and night on these cases,” I said.
“Oh yeah, Phil, I see how hard you’re working,” as Callahan was eye-balling the stale, half-eaten bagel on my desk.
“I can’t spare you any detectives from our precinct right now. We’re running thin as it is and have way too many burglary and rape cases that we haven’t been able to put any time into,” Callahan replied.
I thought for a moment and had an idea. There have been times in the past when other districts have loaned out detectives and officers from other districts to assist each other in solving homicide cases, especially high-profile cases like these.
“Maybe you could contact the Seventeenth District? Have them send over Tommy Morton. He’s very thorough and knows a little bit about these cases,” I suggested.
“I will see what I can do. Let me get the Superintendent on the phone and ask him,” he replied. “Either way, you obviously need some help in solving these cases.”
I figured getting some help and a ‘fresh set of eyes’ on these murders would be a big help and save me from doing some of the required ‘leg work’ that needed to be done. I had worked with Morton before, and he was an easy-going guy.
I was busy on the phone trying to talk to the crimes labs, getting more information regarding the evidence from that North Menard crime scene, when I got a written message from the sergeant at the front desk: Call Detective Russo at Intelligence.
Just beautiful. The last thing I wanted to deal with was a big headed, arrogant detective from the Intelligence Unit at the Twenty-First.
I had worked with Detective Sergeant Paul Russo a few years ago on another homicide case. He was a mean, tough son-of-a-bitch in his early sixties, who never learned the meaning of the words “case unsolved”.
There was a rumor going around the Chicago Police Department regarding a phenomenon called “Russo’s Law”. He had a reputation for getting the rapists, the drug pushers and the murderers off the streets and especially in his precinct, one way or another.
He was very “old school” in his investigative methods, and the word was out that he wasn’t afraid to go as far as torturing his alleged suspects in order to get a confession. There is a caged area is in the basement of the Twenty First District. It is located far away from the monitoring cameras and the other police departments located there, where Russo has been known to administer his brand of justice.
His methods often include physically beating up his suspects, water boarding them, mentally abusing and sometimes breaking their fingers and inflicting deep cuts on his victims. He’d been known to brutally beat up and bruise many of his suspects who ‘tried to escape’. I had heard that he once planted evidence to get a conviction on a ‘collar’ that he was convinced had committed some multiple homicides he was investigating.
Russo was known to ‘take the law into his own hands’ when he had to, and his closed minded, old school mentality made him plenty of enemies within the city. He wasn’t a ‘dirty cop’, or a ‘cop on the take’ that I had ever heard.
But there had been a few suspects who got off on a technicality a few years ago that suddenly, disappeared off the face of the earth. These were life-time convicts with rap sheets a mile long, who were probably guilty as hell. But someone, somewhere dropped the ball or couldn’t get the evidence that was needed to make the conviction stick.
These were all intelligence cases that came out of the Twenty-First District, which coincidentally, were overseen by Russo. I had gotten a visit from Internal Affairs a few years ago, asking me questions about Russo and whether he was ever inclined to ‘fix a case’ and make his collars disappear. Although they were probably ‘barking up the right tree’, I didn’t ‘rat him out’. I spoke very highly of him to Internal Affairs. Russo later called me to ‘thank me’ for my esteemed words, and he dodged another suspension from the police disciplinary committee. I was mildly shocked that the ‘Ivory Tower’ hadn’t forced him to retire yet.
“Hey Dorian, I hear you’re in over your head,” Detective Russo replied when I returned his call.
“Don’t believe all the rumors you hear, Russo. We’ve got a few leads,” I lied, trying not to let this old bastard intimidate me on his first try.
“Why haven’t you retired?” I half-jokingly asked him, trying to keep the conversation light.
“And do what? I tried planting tomatoes last summer, but they all died on me.”
“Try playing bocce ball,” I replied.
“I did. I ended up getting into a fight with the old guys and got thrown out of the Mazzini-Verde Club. I figured I better stay on the job here since I can’t do anything else,” Russo answered.
“I hear stamp collecting is a great hobby,” I snickered, trying to imagine him holding a stamp and a magnifying glass. “The guys at the Twenty-First must feel really honored to still have you,” I sarcastically said.
“Yeah….right,” he mumbled. “You’re still a smart-ass, Dorian.”
There was a five second silence on the phone, as I realized this conversation was about to get frosty.
“The Ivory Tower called us in on those Pedophile Priest Murders,” Russo said, trying to imply that I didn’t know what I was doing.
“I didn’t ask to get the Intelligence Unit involved,” I replied.
I was hoping Detective Russo would back off and just give me some friendly advice instead of muscling in on my investigations.
“Well, the Superintendent has other ideas. These cases are starting to get some very unpopular publicity, and the word is out that a serial killer may be involved.”
“Don’t believe everything you hear from Chaz Rizzo on Channel Eight News,” I curtly answered. “I’m making some progress here and…”
“Look Phil, I don’t think you understand. Ryan asked us to take this case over from your district.”
“What?” So much for Commander Callaghan putting in a good word for me.
“The problem is, we’re swamped. All the gang bangers are still killing each other down here and in Englewood. I told Ryan we didn’t have any spare detectives to work on this case, so I talked him into letting me come up there and assist you on these homicides,” he interjected.
“I feel honored, Detective. But I’m not sure that you can….”
“Have you ever dealt with a serial killer before?” he asked me, point blank.
&
nbsp; “Well, no…I haven’t. I’ve dealt with some pretty messy homicides before, though,” I sheepishly replied.
“It’s a whole different ball game, kid. You’re gonna need my expertise. Besides, we’re set up a little better down here at the Twenty-First than you guys are. I can help you get direct access to our IT techs that you guys normally wouldn’t have. The only reason why we’re not taking these cases away from you and your district is because we’re too damned busy down here,” Russo matter-of-factly stated.
“Oh, I see. So now you’re doing us a huge favor here, huh, Russo?” I was starting to lose my temper and felt myself starting to count to ten. There was a long silence on the phone.
“Look Dorian. Let’s not turn this into a pissing match. We’re all on the same team here, and the ‘Ivory Tower’ wants this killer off the streets and in custody before someone else is killed. Do you get it?”
I thought for a moment and realized that my bruised ego was no match for Detective Russo and his Intelligence Unit at the Twenty-First District. I had better start acting more gracious and more open minded to Russo assisting me on these cases, before I got my ass got thrown off them all together.
“Okay, Detective. I’ll play ball. But let’s make sure we work together on this case. I don’t need you going ‘cowboy’ on me or ‘back dooring’ me when I’m not looking. Let’s have each other’s backs here, okay?” I politely asked.
I was trying to set some rules in this investigation, knowing full well that Russo wasn’t going to obey any of them. I wanted to especially let him know that ‘Russo’s Law’ didn’t apply here. I was not about to let him take control of this investigation and ‘bully’ around any suspects. But I knew that trying to take control of Detective Paul Russo was going to be like the little Taco Bell dog trying to keep Godzilla on a short leash.
“And besides, Russo,” I interjected, “you owe me, big time.” There was a long silence on the phone, as he was probably taking inventory in his head. I’m sure he was remembering the last time we had worked together on a homicide, how I became a character witness and ended up bullshitting Internal Affairs on his behalf.
“Okay, Dorian. It’s a deal,” as he abruptly hung up the phone. I was suddenly listening to a dial tone.
At that moment, I knew these murder investigations were about to get out of control.
Chapter Sixteen
Society of the Rose Crucifix
The wet snow was beginning to accumulate on West Division Street on that cold, evening last February, as the sounds of the City of Chicago snow plows were noisily pushing the snow off the streets. A grey haired, middle aged man parked his late model Cadillac SUV on the corner of West Division and Ashland Avenues, making sure that he was at the right location. He was instructed to come to a meeting at the old church on the corner at 9:00pm, and he looked at the address which he had scribbled on the back of a matchbook cover he had placed in his over coat pocket.
930 West Division Street, he verified, making sure he was at the right location. The old, brown stone church, which looked to be abandoned, had only a few flickering lights visible from the antiquated stained-glass windows. It was dark, and except for only a few cars parked along Division Street, looked to be totally vacant and desolate.
He had heard about this ‘secret society’ through a friend of a friend, who was a Grand Knight of the Knights of Columbus. That person had heard and investigated their existence in Chicago and anonymously, sent the candidate’s contact information to a gentlemen who called himself ‘Brother Aaron’.
He walked over to the green parking box, acquired a parking receipt and placed it on the passenger side of his vehicle. The man then, in his black, wing tipped shoes, and formal black tie and tuxedo, gingerly crossed the street in the wet snow.
He carefully approached the side entrance of the old brownstone church, where he was instructed to enter. Bang loudly on the old, wooden door three times, he was instructed, in succession of three loud knocks each:
Knock…Knock…Knock;
Knock…Knock…Knock;
Knock…Knock…Knock.
At that moment, a man with a red, pointed hat and mask covering his head and face opened the door for the well-dressed gentlemen.
“Welcome,” was all the door sentry said, as ‘Brother Jebidiah’ handed him a folded red hat and mask from behind the old wooden door. The door sentry was careful to hand the red mask to the candidate without viewing his identity, which was required to be worn and pulled over his head before entering the old church. The visitor was aware of the secrecy of this elite society, and anticipated receiving a mask, which was always required to be worn. Anonymity was a major element of membership in this secret sect, as it is imperative that no one knows the identity of the other members.
The “Societa’ Crocifisso Della Rosa” or the “Society of the Rose Crucifix,” which it is commonly called, is a secret, ancient order established in the 15th Century in Florence, Italy. It was originally established in conjunction with the Roman Catholic Church to uphold the strict standards and moral codes of Pope Clement VII, who was the head of the Catholic Church and ruler of Italy’s Papal States from 1523 to 1534. He was a prominent member of Florence’s Medici family, and believed that the Lord’s Ten Commandments applied to all of God’s children, except himself. He fathered a child outside of wedlock, and when it became publicly known that he was an adulterer, he vehemently sought revenge against his enemies within the Vatican.
He established the secret society as a means of enforcing the strict moral laws and edicts of the Catholic Church during the Renaissance. The secret society was a means of imposing his version of justice, against all those Cardinals and Bishops whom he considered his enemies.
Pope Clement VII enlisted a “secret army” of red-hooded soldiers who could quickly inflict righteousness, as he saw fit. He imposed his underground army on those within the Roman Curia whom he felt were not upholding ‘his ethical regulations’ of the Roman Catholic Church. The society’s methods of upholding ‘integrity’ included various means of beatings, painful torture, and very often, slow, heinous executions within the dark, hidden catacombs buried deep beneath the ancient floors of St. Peter’s Basilica.
This clandestine society has flourished, in secret, over the last five hundred years, initially in Italy, and then throughout Western Europe and North America. Its’ manifesto throughout the years has been simple: Inflict and enforce justice to those who break the moral laws and ethical codes of the Roman Catholic Church.
There are unsupported rumors that a local order of this secret society is in several cities within the United States, Canada and Western Europe. Each society is only allowed twelve ordained members, along with their grand master.
As the ‘visitor’ entered the old church, there was a long wooden table of eleven red-hooded men, each wearing hoods over their heads and faces and black formal tuxedos, complete with white shirts and black bowties. Each member had a nametag, which bore a biblical name that each brother was referred to.
All the church pews had been removed, and a life-size, red wooden crucifix made of Rosewood, with a likeness of Jesus, was suspended high over the white marble altar. Except for the oversized cross and white marble altar, the old church was empty and barren. The ‘Grand Master’, or ‘Brother Ezekiel’ as he was referred to, was sitting at the head of the church, wearing his red hood, a long red cape, and dressed in a formal black tuxedo.
“Welcome, pilgrim,” addressed the Grand Master to the visitor as he cautiously, entered the old brownstone church. All the hooded men were looking squarely at him, as the sentry escorted him to the front of the abandoned church.
At that moment, his society sponsor, ‘Brother Aaron’ as he was referred to (whom he did not know his real name or identity) stood up from the long, mahogany table of hooded brothers, and approached the Grand Master at the altar.
“You are now in the presence of our Divine Lord and you are now within the sacred wall
s of the Rose Crucifix,” said the Grand Master to the visitor and his sponsor, standing beside him.
“For what reason do you approach these hallowed halls of the Rose Crucifix?” demanded the Grand Master, in a loud baritone voice.
The visitor was given a list of responses from his secret society sponsor, for which he had memorized for that evening. He had waited over eighteen months to be ‘referred’ and recommended to be a part of this formal, clandestine society.
This process included extensive background checks, written ‘anonymous’ referrals and recommendations, and a formal commendation from his society sponsor. He also had to wait for the death of one society member, before he could be enrolled and initiated.
“To faithfully serve the Lord and uphold all of his sacred commandments,” replied the visitor, as his sponsor stood next to the candidate with his hand placed on his left shoulder.
“And why do you wish to be a Brother of the Rose Crucifix?” asked the Grand Knight.
The visiting candidate thought about his answer for a moment, and then freely spoke with his sponsor’s hand still gripping his shoulder.
“To seek out those who have shamed and betrayed our Lord Jesus and have violently broken His holy, sacred commandments in the Lord’s name,” the candidate replied.
The Grand Knight then instructed the sponsor to assist the applicant in removing his coat, his tuxedo and clothing. He could feel the cold, frosty air of the drafty church onto his half naked body, as he was stripped down to his white underwear. Then, two more hooded members approached the altar, bowed their heads, and then walked up to each side of the altar to light the torches with a match. They then turned around and stood erect beside the Grand Knight, still sitting at his chair at the head of the church.
Then Brother Ezekiel asked the sponsor, “Brother Aaron, what name has this pilgrim chosen as a member of our holy brotherhood of the Rose Crucifix?”
“Barabbas,” his secret society sponsor, Brother Aaron quickly answered.
It was the requirement of the brotherhood’s secret society to take a name of an individual from the Bible, who was not a saint or an evangelist, as a replacement name to all the brothers within the secret society. His sponsor, Brother Aaron, was a well-respected member of the secret society, and suggested this name to the new applicant.