by Mark Zubro
“Besmirchment?” Fenwick said.
“You aren’t the only poet around here,” Wilson said. She was referring to the used-to-be well-hidden fact that Fenwick wrote poetry and appeared at poetry recitals.
Turner said, “We can’t pay attention to the media.”
Fenwick said, “Don’t the media have the video of Callaghan in the bar? I thought all the networks showed it endlessly.”
“But you know Fox. They twist to suit their right-wing agenda.”
Turner said, “We better let Molton know.”
“We already did,” Wilson said. “He’ll handle it.”
Roosevelt said, “A few beat cops made some pretty blatant threats against you.”
Wilson smiled her broadest. “Joe actually knocked some guy up against a car, grabbed him by his shirt front, and said if anybody bothered you guys in the slightest, he’d come after him personally, to his house, you know the usual from our Joe.”
“Shucks,” Roosevelt said, “I like beating the shit out of somebody once a shift. At least as much as Fenwick does.”
Turner knew for a fact he was an exceptionally gentle soul. He appreciated the support and told them so.
“It’s bullshit,” Wilson said. “Guy dies. Somebody killed him. We find out who. Politics can go fuck itself.”
Turner wished it were that easy.
Roosevelt said, “This job is tough enough without our own turning on us.”
There wasn’t time for the conversational masturbation they often indulged in about the hopelessness of stemming crime and the mind-numbing weariness of dealing with the dregs of society.
Roosevelt said, “Watch out for the Commander of the Ninth, Boyle. He’s an asshole.”
Fenwick said, “So you could say that he was a Boyle on the ass of life.”
Wilson gaped. Roosevelt fixed Fenwick with a gaze that would have shriveled the most hardened gang banger. Turner rubbed both hands against tired eyes. When he looked at Fenwick, his partner was grinning.
Fenwick said, “And we could name him Lance.”
Wilson looked at Turner. “No one would testify against you. At the trial all they’d have to do is list all his puns. They’d never convict you of murdering him. They’d probably give you a medal.”
Turner said, “Reading them all his puns would be cruel and unusual punishment.”
Wilson said, “He’s infected you. I knew it would happen.” She patted his arm. “You poor thing. There’s no cure, but I hear they’re working on a vaccine.”
They all looked at the still smiling Fenwick. Roosevelt said, “Against all odds, I shall resume. He was a lieutenant when I was just starting out. Couldn’t harass the new guys enough. Made it even tougher on the women.”
Wilson said, “The person to talk to is Evon Teasdale. She’s been a secretary in the Ninth since dirt. She’ll know everything. I can set you up an appointment with her, but outside of work, of course.”
Turner asked, “You hear anything about Belger and Callaghan tasering a suspect?”
Both Wilson and Roosevelt shook their heads.
“It’s not in their files?” Wilson asked.
“No,” Turner said.
The four detectives mulled for a minute. They all realized the significance of files being cleared. Someone had power and was using it.
They exchanged a few more bits of conversation and moments later, Roosevelt and Wilson hustled off to finish their cases before the end of their shift. Turner doubted if he’d be ending his shift soon. He called home to let Ben know he wouldn’t be there for breakfast. The kids were still asleep when he called. Paul was determined to be home at least to see them off to camp.
Fifteen minutes later Molton appeared again. He said, “We’ve got a meeting with Commander Boyle of the Ninth. He was Callaghan and Belger’s commander. I’ll help you guys with him.”
Fenwick asked, “Is he gonna be a problem?”
Molton said, “I get along with all the commanders in the city.”
Fenwick said, “So, he’s an asshole.”
“Yep. I’ve also got feelers out among friends around the department, hunting for information. I’ve even been trying to go back to Belger’s and Callaghan’s days at the police academy. Somebody must have known these guys. What did you find in the files?”
Turner said, “It’s more what we didn’t find.”
“Explain,” Molton said.
Turner said, “Belger has reams of complaints against him. Callaghan is pure as the driven snow.”
“Possible,” Molton said.
“But not probable,” Fenwick said.
Molton nodded agreement.
Turner added, “And there is no mention of the incident with the bartender in either of their files.”
Molton said, “I know a clue when I hear it.” Molton rested a bit of his butt on Fenwick’s desk. Turner knew how much Fenwick hated any butt but his own on his desk. This was the boss. Fenwick’s paw did not swipe.
“What does it mean?” Fenwick said.
“Just what you already know it means. Somebody’s got power behind them. One assumes it’s Callaghan because he has the cleanest record. Probably the most to lose. Of course, Belger, being dead, doesn’t have much to lose at this point.”
“Who’s behind it?” Turner asked.
“Ah,” Molton said. “That’s the thing. Perhaps Commander Boyle will fill us in.”
Fenwick said, “And pigs fly.”
Molton said, “In Boyle’s office, I wouldn’t be surprised.”
Before they left they paused briefly at Barb’s desk. Molton approved the note they were leaving which asked her to add information on the Scanlans and others they’d talked with to the packet she’d already sent. Molton said, “Keep her up to date as you go. You’ll want pictures of everybody to show back at that party.”
TWENTY
They sat in district commander Dan Boyle’s office. Molton said, “Dan, I’m not interested in cover-ups, emotion, and crap. I want my guys here to find out the facts, the truth, whatever it is and wherever it leads and to whomever it leads.”
“I just hope it doesn’t hurt us.” Boyle had a whiny voice maybe half an octave above tenor. His hefty frame rivaled Fenwick’s although he was at least three inches shorter than the detective.
“Cover-ups usually only make things worse,” Molton said.
Turner wondered how many clichés they would be forced to listen to. Commanders were an odd breed, and usually liked to avoid stepping on each other’s toes. Molton, however, was not like most Commanders. His bullshit quotient was low.
Boyle said, “Sure, sure, but these were good guys.” Boyle glanced meaningfully at Turner. “We can’t have cops attacking other cops.”
Molton asked, “Has someone filed a complaint about someone else?”
“No,” Boyle said.
Molton said, “Then I can’t imagine what you’re talking about.”
Boyle pointed at Turner, “Your detective attacked a Chicago cop.”
“Produce a victim, witnesses, a report, and paperwork.”
“He attacked one of ours.”
Molton said, “Until you produce what you need to, you’re out of luck. Perhaps your guy attacked my guy. We’d need witnesses.”
“Maybe I can find some.”
Molton was up to the challenge. He said, “We could compare notes on our ability to find credible witnesses.”
The commanders exchanged glares. As the silence moved from uncomfortable to unbearable Boyle blurted out, “This is bullshit.”
Molton said, “I agree. We need you to tell us what you can about Callaghan and Belger.”
“The two of them just liked to let off steam. They were partners. I know they depended on each other. That’s what makes a good partner; someone who can be depended on. I don’t know what all that fuss over the bartender was about. Sometimes guys get out of control. So what? Nobody should have to go to jail or lose their job or anything.”
“Lots of bars don’t have them. Certainly not a bar we go to.”
Turner knew lots of establishments in the city had added security cameras in the last few years.
“Did they know they were being recorded?” Molton asked.
“I have no idea.”
Turner said, “Wouldn’t it be logical to assume they would be recorded, especially in this day and age?”
Boyle said, “The Raving Dragon doesn’t have a camera. Most cop bars don’t. Maybe they didn’t remember where they were, or they didn’t figure it out. Or maybe they were stupid. Maybe they weren’t paying attention. Who thinks about a fucking cell phone taking pictures?”
Turner thought, in this day and age, anyone with any sense.
Molton asked, “How did the video get out?”
“The guy used his cell phone. He knew a reporter. He was probably planted by one of the media outlets. You know how crazy they get whenever a cop does the slightest thing wrong.”
Turner said, “Callaghan put the bartender in the hospital.”
Boyle said, “And I hear she’s thinking of dropping the charges. But the real problem is the guy who made the video. We think he’s got even more pictures or video on his cell phone.”
Turner knew they’d need to interview the guy, and they’d have to find the reporter.
Turner said, “We’ve talked to Belger’s ex-wife. She wasn’t fond of him.”
“Women these days,” Boyle said. “She’s an ex. What can you expect?”
Fenwick said, “Something these guys weren’t ready to give.”
“What’s that?” Boyle asked.
“Respect,” Fenwick said.
Boyle said, “People make all kinds of accusations that aren’t true. As cops, you know that better than most people.”
Turner said, “Nobody knew anything about his marital difficulties?”
Boyle said, “Cops have one of the highest divorce rates of any profession. You know that. If I listened to every marriage squabble among the guys, I’d never get anything done. I’m sure what Callaghan did in the bar or what Belger did to his wife wasn’t a big deal.”
“Have you seen the video?” Fenwick asked.
Boyle looked peeved.
Molton asked, “Did you ever hear about Belger and Callaghan tasering a suspect?”
“Never. I would never permit that in my district.”
His eyes shifted and Turner thought, he’s lying.
Boyle said, “Maybe the person who got tasered was a suspect accused of molesting little girls? Do you think I’d much care what happened to that kind of guy?”
Molton said, “Painful as it is, we treat all suspects alike. You know that. Our job is to make sure we’ve got a strong case against every kind of criminal.”
Boyle said, “I’ll keep my Boy Scout manual on my desk from now on.”
The Commanders exchanged another round of glares.
Molton broke the impasse. “Neither of their files mentions the incident with the bartender. Both of them should.”
“No one has access to the files.”
“Which is my point,” Molton said.
“I don’t know anything about the current state of their files.”
“Belger had a lot of complaints. Callaghan none.”
“So what?”
“Seemed odd,” Molton said.
Boyle shrugged.
Turner asked, “Did you know Belger appeared on a gay porn web site?”
“If I’d’ve known that, I’d have fired his ass,” Boyle said.
Turner said, “It was dedicated to people who liked to whip and get whipped.”
“Well, he was at that place last night. It wouldn’t have been hard to figure out.”
“You didn’t know about the web site?”
“No.”
“Nobody noticed or talked about it, came to you with gossip?”
By now Boyle’s face was bright red. This time his, “No,” came out as nearly a squeak.
Molton spoke up, “Either of these guys ever put in for a transfer?”
“No, and it wouldn’t have done any good. I don’t transfer people because they don’t get along. People learn to work together or they get fired.”
“Either of these guys in danger of getting fired?” Molton asked.
“Nope. Everybody in my command was a top-notch cop.”
Molton said, “We need to talk to the other guys on Belger’s and Callaghan’s shift.”
Boyle said, “I already did. None of the guys knows anything.”
Molton said, “My guys will need to interview them one at a time. You know how pissed the mayor gets when there’s police misconduct.”
This was true. The mayor went ballistic whenever charges against cops surfaced. Molton said, “I’ve got approval from high up.”
Boyle gave them a Karl Rove smirk. “Sure, talk to them. My men won’t be able to tell you much.”
Molton said, “We’ll let my guys try. And their cars won’t get keyed, or their tires slashed. Nobody’s going to be touched or bothered, or I’ll take it out of your ass, Danny boy.”
Boyle’s smirk changed to a slash of anger, but he held it in. Turner knew exactly what was going through Boyle’s mind. This was a politically volatile situation for cops at the command level. Make a mistake and demotions could happen fast. You didn’t get to the command level in the CPD without being able to play politics.
Molton said, “They’ll talk to the guys on the current shift, and they’ll probably have to come back again later. We want to catch everybody.”
Boyle objected, “Everybody didn’t know them.”
Molton said, “But we don’t know which everybody might have a clue.”
Boyle dropped his contrariness about the personnel interviews in his district and switched topics. “Are you going to shut down that stupid party?”
Molton said, “I have no plans to make that request.”
“You should. The place is dangerous.”
“How would you know?” Molton asked.
“There was a murder there. What else do I need to know?”
Molton said, “It’s more likely, if someone at the party had something to do with the killing, that if we leave it open, they’ll come back. You know, the killer always returns to the scene of the crime.”
Turner couldn’t remember which of the Commanders was ahead on clichés.
Before Molton left, the three of them stopped in the hallway for a moment. Molton said, “He was lying about the tasering.” The two detectives nodded. “You’d think I’d have at least heard something about that through the grapevine, but I haven’t. I’ll keep hunting for info. On the interviews be smart, be careful.”
“As always,” Fenwick said.
Molton glanced at his watch. It wasn’t six yet. “How many more interviews do you have after these cops?”
“Five or six at least,” Turner said.
“If you can, do them this morning. This one is hot and it’s not going away until you solve it. Sooner would be better.”
Turner recognized the urgency in the request. Except for people at Caruthers’ level of ability, Molton seldom gave direct orders. Turner understood Molton’s suggestion. It was going to be a long morning.
TWENTY-ONE
They conducted the interviews in a generic Chicago cop station interrogation room: painted more than twenty years ago what might have been a shade of green but now looked like pasted on dinginess, no table, three chairs bolted to the floor, no outside windows, an interior mirrored-window that only the most stupid suspect didn’t know was two way. All in all as sterile as a bureaucrat could make it.
Before the first cop entered, Fenwick said, “We need to find the guys from the bar last night. We need to get them alone and at rest.”
Turner said, “If they don’t show up in the people we interview now, we can try to get
pictures from Molton.”
The attitudes of the beat cops ranged from silently sullen to overtly hostile. Turner hoped one of them would be the guy who gave him information in the washroom earlier this morning. None was.
After their fifth guy, Fenwick said, “Add these guys to the list of people I don’t like.”
The first five, three men and two women, took less than fifteen minutes. Turner said, “Everything was sweetness and light between these guys. I might puke. Let’s try a little something different with number six who is Milton Cheswick.”
“What different?”
“Watch.”
Milton Cheswick shuffled in. He draped his lanky frame in the metal chair and matched Turner’s yawn. Without preliminary, Cheswick said, “Aren’t you guys worried about being involved in this investigation?”
“How’s that?” Fenwick asked.
Cheswick said, “Digging into stuff about one of our own. Doesn’t that bother you?”
Every single one of the first five had asked some similar form of that question or made the same kind of oblique mention of danger.
Fenwick said, “Thanks for being concerned about us. You have any details on that? Names? Specific threats?”
Cheswick said, “Did you really beat the hell out of a couple of cops?”
Turner ignored the question. “The guys we interviewed have been telling us that Belger was gay. That he offered them blow jobs. That him and Callaghan were lovers. Either of them ever come on to you?”
Cheswick sat up. “Nobody ever came on to me.”
“We’ve got it from three sources,” Turner said. “You were one of their targets.”
Cheswick said, “What do you mean ‘targets’?”
“They wanted to seduce you.”
“I’m no fag,” Cheswick said, “You’re making that up.”
Turner said, “Belger’s body was found in the middle of one of the biggest gay celebrations in town. We got rumors that Callaghan was at the same party.”
“They weren’t gay. I can tell when a guy’s gay.”
“How’s that?” Turner asked.
Cheswick licked his lips. “You’re trying to trick me into saying something politically incorrect.”
“Just trying to find out what happened,” Turner said.