by Mark Zubro
Ian said, “Is that what you tell people when they ask about your sources?”
“I know of you, but I don’t know you well. I asked around before I came. I was told you can be trusted, but you aren’t a friend.” He turned to the detectives. He rapped his knuckles on the table with each word that followed. “I was not there.”
Fenwick said, “Aren’t you still afraid someone’s going to go after you? Try and hurt you? If someone finds out you were behind the bar incident, you could be in danger.”
“I know. I never leave a building alone late at night. I’ve got a state-of-the-art security system in my condo. The doormen in my building are well compensated by me on a frequent basis. I always watch what I’m doing, but isn’t it the same for you? Shouldn’t you guys be afraid?”
“Of what?” Fenwick asked. “Not of the press.”
“I didn’t mean that. Of your own. Belger is dead. If it’s a cop conspiracy, then things could get very bad for you, couldn’t they? Are the cops going to turn on you? You know they are quite capable of going after their own. If they killed Belger, they’d kill you. If you need a media outlet to go with your story, I can arrange it.”
Turner said, “Thanks for your concern. We’ll be fine.”
Zuyland stood, threw money on the table, and picked up his satchel.
Fenwick said, “Uh-uh. Where’s the rest of the recording?”
“It’s protected.”
Ian said, “Not if you released part of it.”
“You’re sure?”
Turner said, “Why didn’t you release it?”
“I kept the rest in case it came in handy.” He paused for a moment then said, “I’ll get you a copy by the end of the day.”
Zuyland got a to-go bag for his nearly untouched food and left.
Ian said, “Dinning didn’t tell me he saw Zuyland at the party. I made that up.”
“We got that part,” Turner said.
“Didn’t help,” Ian said.
“We got that part, too,” Turner said.
“More video?” Fenwick asked.
“This is gonna get worse,” Turner said.
“Will he really get it to us?” Fenwick asked.
Turner said, “We’re solving a murder, not a First Amendment rights to a reporter’s recording issue.”
“He isn’t gay?” Fenwick asked.
Turner shrugged. “Do we believe another denial about being innocently in a washroom?”
Ian said, “I get a gold star for not busting out laughing.”
“So, he isn’t gay?” Fenwick asked.
“The washroom thing is a mess,” Turner said. “Nobody in this city cares, do they? Has there been an arrest recently?”
Ian said, “If there was, it hasn’t made it to the gay press. You’d think it would.”
Fenwick said, “Belger and Callaghan were bluffing. Extortion and blackmail?”
Ian said, “Zuyland knows more than he’s telling.”
“Don’t they all?” Turner asked.
“Who were our good cops who did Zuyland’s bidding?” Fenwick asked.
Turner said, “If it becomes a problem, we’ll have to pressure him.”
After a few more minutes of speculation, Ian left.
In the car Turner said, “Zuyland drank a lot in the middle of the afternoon on a Saturday.”
“Does that mean we trust him less?”
“It means he drinks a lot in the middle of the afternoon on a Saturday. He doesn’t strike me as a happy man.”
Fenwick said, “A vicious one who gets revenge. Not always a bad thing, but in this case...” He shrugged. “Do we believe him?”
“He’s got a lot of crap on Belger and Callaghan. Easy enough to have gotten them fired, at the least investigated, but this is Chicago...” He matched his friend’s shrug. “Belger and Callaghan were up to their armpits in people who didn’t like them.”
Fenwick pointed out, “We don’t have a lot of cops who disliked them.”
“They didn’t seem to like each other, but, you’re right, they had a lot of civilian enemies, but not a lot of cop enemies. Then again, it only takes one.”
“Got that right.”
While Fenwick drove back to Area Ten, Turner took out his cell phone, called Molton, and filled him in on their progress so far.
When he was finished, Molton said, “I’ve tried to find out about suspects being tasered or suspects going missing. I’ve got nothing. Either it didn’t happen, or it’s a very thorough cover-up.”
“Could be either one, but that doesn’t help us,” Turner said.
Molton said, “I’ll try checking on the theft of money.”
Turner said, “There’s gotta be a connection between Boyle and Callaghan for sure. Probably between Boyle and Belger as well. He was their supervisor when they came out of the academy when he was a lieutenant. Why would Boyle clean out the file?”
“I’ll check. It would have to be big,” Molton said.
“Bigger than theft?” Turner asked.
“Murder is bigger than theft,” Molton said.
Turner said, “Can cops really cover up murder?”
Molton said, “You read the Sun-Times?”
Turner knew immediately what Molton was referring to. The Sun-Times had run a huge series of articles on a relative of the mayor who was involved in an incident. A man died outside a bar. Whether or not the mayor’s relative was involved, guilty or innocent, as if by magic a whole investigation went away.
“I’ll try to find out the connection between these guys. Meanwhile, go home. Get some sleep. You and Fenwick both.”
After he hung up, Turner filled Fenwick in, then said, “We’ve got a ton of paperwork and more interviews. We’ve got to go back to the party tonight, but I’ve got to get a few hours sleep.”
Fenwick said, “We’ve done enough for now.”
“All we could.”
Still, at the station they stopped to jot down notes from the last two interviews. Always after each interview they took a few moments to put down what the witness or suspect had said. It was too easy to forget. Tired as they were, they knew this was essential. After half an hour of transcribing notes, they left.
TWENTY-EIGHT
It was after two on a blazing hot afternoon. Paul Turner had several thoughts as he drove home. One, he was exhausted and just wanted to get some sleep. Two, with the boys leaving in a short while, he knew he’d have some last minute summer camp issues to deal with. At the least, Jeff in his wheel chair because of spina bifida would require extra looking into. Although Jeff had gone to the same camp for the past two years, Paul still got concerned. He himself had gone all the way to the camp the first year to make sure all was well. Jeff had even gotten a little annoyed with his hovering. Third, he thought about the boys being gone, and he and Ben having the house to themselves. His crotch stirred at the thought.
He pulled up to their house and parked. The street was alive with summer. Kids running through sprinklers. A few elderly adults on front porches. They wore summer sweaters despite the simmering heat. Watched kids and great grand kids with pride and amusement. Somewhere he heard a lawn mower cutting through the afternoon haze.
Mrs. Talucci, their ninety-three-year-old neighbor, was out by her SUV. One of her nieces was helping her stash suitcases in the back. Mrs. Talucci was off on another of her senior-approved, mild-difficulty-level adventures, a boat trip up the Amazon.
She smiled at Paul and strode over. She wore safari pants, a matching khaki shirt, and a bright red and gold scarf around her neck.
Paul said, “The only thing you’re missing is a pith helmet.”
She smiled. “In the car already.”
Jeff trundled his wheel chair down the front ramp. Breathlessly he rushed up to them, “Dad, I need your help.”
“Be in in a minute.”
Jeff twirled his chair on its back wheels, eased himself by the handrails up the ramp, and rushed back into the house.
Mrs. Talucci said, “I hope you and Ben have been planning to party with the boys gone.”
“For weeks.”
She said, “You look exhausted.”
“Cop killer case.”
She patted his arm. “You always get assigned the crap cases.”
“Molton has faith in us. You’re leaving soon?”
“Few minutes.”
“You ready for the Amazon?”
She said, “The better question to ask is, is the Amazon ready for me?”
Paul smiled.
They hugged and said their goodbyes.
Paul proceeded into the house. Their seventeen-year-old, Brian, sat in front of the television playing an action game.
The house was air-conditioned. Just that was almost as much a relief as getting some sleep.
Ben met him in the doorway to the kitchen. He’d taken the afternoon off from his mechanic shop. They embraced. Paul loved feeling his partner’s arms around him. He took a whiff of Ben’s smell. He loved the combination of summer sweat, engine oil from his car shop, his deodorant, and essence of Ben. His partner hadn’t shaved that morning. Masculine, studly, a little rough. He couldn’t wait to enjoy it without the encumbrance of clothes.
Brian said, “Get a room, you two.”
They unclinched. Paul heard Jeff’s wheelchair, so he strode down the hall and entered the boy’s room. He repositioned the wheelchair, and then helped Jeff tie up two last boxes. He knew Ben would have helped the boy. Paul knew Jeff wouldn’t have minded having Ben or Brian help. But sometimes, Jeff wanted his biological dad to pay a little extra attention. Paul was happy to give it to him. The boy was done with whining and manipulating for the moment.
Jeff clutched his favorite traveling chess set in his arms. Brian carried both boys minimal luggage, a large gym bag for each.
Paul, Ben, Brian, and Jeff assembled in the living room, surrounded by the boys’ gear. “You guys ready?”
He got, “Yeah, Dad,” from both of them.
“I’ve gotta get some sleep and then I’ve got to go back to work in a few hours. Ben will drive you to the drop off points.”
All was settled. In the moments before the boys had to leave, Paul and Ben talked at the kitchen table. He gave Ben a brief summary of the case and the reason for his lateness. Ben felt the lump on the back of Paul’s head from where he’d bashed it in the bathroom brawl. As he got out some ice, Ben said, “It’s pretty swollen. You sure you don’t need to stop in a hospital and get it x-rayed?”
Paul said, “It doesn’t hurt. Much. I’m fine.” He placed the ice on the lump. Before meeting Ben, he’d had to be strong for his kids on his own for a long time. It was great to have someone to fuss over him.
Ben said, “Being violent is so not your thing.”
“I know. When this is over, I’m going to have to think about it. If nothing else, the rarity, and to be honest, how much I enjoyed doing it.”
Ben said, “It means you’re human.”
Paul said, “I like human.”
“Do you really think a cop could have done it?” Ben asked.
“All I know is, it’s a mess. We’ve got rotten cops and dizzy leather queens and an angry ex-wife or two.” He shook his head. “We’ll do what we always do. Follow the facts.”
Ben said, “The gay angle in your case could be tricky. You and I went to a couple of those leather events. This one sounds pretty different. If it wasn’t so outrageously expensive, we might give it a try.”
“Fenwick and I will be going tonight in plain clothes.”
“I wouldn’t call what they wear at those things ‘plain clothes.’”
Turner smiled. “I’m sure I can find something. I’ll borrow a few things from your stash.”
“And we could wear some of them this weekend.” Ben’s eyes glinted.
Paul said, “Let’s get the boys on their way. I hope they keep them very, very busy.” He shook his head. “I need to become unbusy. I need sleep.” But they sat for a few more minutes at the table. They updated schedules for kids, grocery shopping, fixing the garage door, repairing a screen on the back porch.
Finished, Paul contented himself with an enormous hug in the kitchen out of sight and sound of the boys. He loved these moments of warmth and closeness. Ben caressed the thick layer of dark stubble of Paul’s unshaven face. He knew Ben liked the rugged veneer it added to Paul’s look. He used both hands to squeeze the taut mounds of Ben’s ass and pull him close. He got to enjoy the closeness for three seconds when Jeff’s voice rent the air. “It’s time to go.”
They held the embrace for a few more moments. Ben nuzzled his lips close to Paul’s ear. He said, “I love you.”
Paul said, “I love you, too.”
Ben said, “Be careful. You’re more important to me than every criminal in Chicago, and all the stupid cops and good cops put together and that includes Fenwick.”
Paul said, “I know. I’ll take every precaution like I always do.”
Paul pushed Jeff’s wheelchair out to the car. He gave both boys a hug and told them he loved them. They both said love you back. Brian jumped into the passenger seat. Jeff’s wheelchair was maneuvered into the back. A kiss for Ben, a wave to the boys, and they were off.
As soon as they were gone, Paul felt the exhaustion of the day. He eased himself upstairs and collapsed into bed.
TWENTY-NINE
The ringing phone dragged Turner out of an all-too-short sleep. He heard Fenwick’s voice. “Fuck-a-doodle with a twist.”
Turner said, “You woke me up for that?”
Fenwick said, “We need to get down to headquarters.”
Turner said, “If this is the goddess, leave a message.”
Fenwick’s deep voice rumbled, “Does this sound like a goddess to you?”
“My goddess quotient is pretty low. Do goddesses have sex change operations?”
Fenwick said, “I got a call, now you got a call.”
Turner said, “I was asleep.”
“Yeah, well, weren’t we all. They’ve arrested Peter Scanlan.”
“The kid from the party?”
“Two patrolmen from Boyle’s district took him in. Boyle’s planning to hold a press conference. Taking credit and causing trouble.”
“What’s Molton doing?”
“Idiot prevention and damage control. He called me, told me to call you. We’re to go in. He told me that for the past couple hours he’s been on the phone with half the people at headquarters and with Boyle.”
Turner said, “Boyle can’t have any evidence.”
“None that Molton knew about when I talked to him.”
Turner said, “The kid’s being set up. Boyle is covering for the killer.”
Fenwick said, “That assumes Boyle knows who did it. Maybe he thinks Chicago cops are guilty, although he’s not sure which one, and he’s being proactive and trying to protect one of our own.”
Turner said, “Or he wants to get his ass on national broadcasts. The bash in the bar made news, and now he’ll capitalize on that and the murder. He wants his fifteen minutes.”
Fenwick said, “Or he’s the killer. A very smart killer who is using every trick to save his own ass.”
Turner showered, shaved, dressed, and dashed down to Area Ten headquarters. He’d slept for little more than an hour. He was exhausted. On rare occasions he’d been bored interviewing witnesses before, but he’d never fallen asleep on one. Couldn’t afford to let the first one happen on this case.
Before he left, he grabbed a few things from Ben’s side of their closet that he thought would fit in at the leather fair. In his car, he turned the air-conditioning to medium. The dew point level was in the mid-seventy degree range. The weather report on WBBM-AM was for continued miserable and little chance of the heat breaking for another week.
At the station Caruthers rushed up to Turner before he could get to his desk. Caruthers said, “I knew it was some gay guy who killed Belger. Were you cove
ring up for him because you’re gay?”
Turner eyed the annoying menace. He said, “Has the doctor upped your stupid pill prescription again?”
He saw Caruthers trying to figure out what he’d just said. Light dawned and Caruthers said, “You can’t insult me.”
Fenwick strode in, saw them, marched over, arrived and said to Caruthers, “Go away, you numb nuts, triple fuck.”
“I was just saying...”
Fenwick loomed over the shorter man. “They will have the air-conditioning working in this building before I’m willing to listen to you. That’s ‘never’ in a simple word you might understand. Get the fuck away.”
Caruthers retired muttering, “I was just trying to say.”
Fenwick said, “Molton’s in his office with folks from downtown and Boyle. We’re invited.” Fenwick did his own mutter symphony as they walked downstairs. “Doodle fuck administrators. Doodle dumb and desperate.”
They knocked and entered. Molton was behind his desk. He said hello and introduced them around. Arrayed in a semi-circle in front of Molton’s desk were Boyle, deputy superintendent Franklin Armour, CPD press spokesperson Phillip Nance, and attorney for the department Mandy O’Bannion. Turner and Fenwick took two chairs in the back. Molton’s office had one rotating fan. Turner got a faint breeze about every twelve seconds. All the visitors showed signs of perspiration pooling on their clothes and any exposed bits of flesh.
Mandy O’Bannion asked, “You don’t have air-conditioning?”
Molton said, “You get it to work, I’ll put you in for a citation.”
Boyle pointed at Turner and Fenwick and said, “They shouldn’t be here. This should be a disciplinary meeting about them. They have no standing here.”
Molton said, “Blow it out your ass, Boyle. This is still my Command. You haven’t taken over.”
Armour said, “We’ll want to do what the superintendent wants.”
Nance said, “We want to avoid embarrassing the department.”
The door opened and Molton’s secretary, Barb Dams, hurried to his side and whispered in his ear. Molton thanked her. She left. Without a word, he reached for a remote control and flipped on a television to his left.