by Mark Zubro
“I don’t think so, but I can’t tell if he knows who did.”
Fenwick said, “Boyle is up to his armpits in some kind of shit.”
“All kinds of shit,” Turner corrected. “Him and Callaghan. Probably half the damn department.”
Fenwick said, “Time to find Claude Vereski. We can see if his nuts have recovered.”
“I’ll leave that to you,” Turner said.
“I always get the tough, gritty jobs.”
“I’m not sure I’ve ever known anyone tougher or grittier than you are.”
Turner called Molton to find out if Claude Vereski had turned up. Molton said, “I talked to the Commander up there twice. He gave me nothing, but I’ve got connections. I made more calls. Word is, in summer he likes to patrol along the beach around Belmont Harbor. His lieutenant thinks he can do less harm there. He figures the guy gets distracted by all the women in skimpy bathing suits. Keeps his mind off of doing something stupid.”
Turner said, “Isn’t that known as a pretty gay part of the lake front?”
“I guess there’s enough there that he stays interested.”
Or he’s another closet case, Turner thought.
Molton was continuing. “Before you hang up, I’ve got some curious results to my questions on Boyle getting those tests run so quickly.”
“He cheated,” Turner said.
“Much stranger. Nobody would admit they did the tests. No one will vouch for him, which means he didn’t think to cover his tracks.”
“Or think he needed to,” Turner added.
“Right, so he’s over-confident or stupid or both.”
Turner said, “Or he doesn’t have as much clout as he thought, and people are abandoning him because they think he did it, or they see his power waning and don’t want to be caught in the backwash as he sinks.”
“Or they’re getting even with him. Boyle’s an asshole. He can’t have made a lot of friends among the regular workers at the lab. Maybe he’s even got some enemies.”
Turner said, “Or Boyle was telling blatant lies.”
“But why?” Molton asked. “He knows if the case got to court, even the most incompetent lawyer would have the forensic people up there. If they denied doing the test, the case would go up in smoke.”
“Maybe he never expected the case to go to court.”
Molton said, “I wish this made more sense. I haven’t been able to find any significant connection between Boyle and Callaghan. They aren’t related. They didn’t know each other before Callaghan started on the department. I’ll keep looking.”
Turner and Fenwick headed to Belmont Harbor. Even at seven thirty on a Saturday evening, cars filled the parking lot. Crowds of people crammed onto the few boats left in the Harbor.
A police car occupied the shade under one of the few trees that overhung the parking lot. The detectives strolled south. No lake breeze disturbed the ghastly hot air. After about a quarter of a mile, they saw a cop talking to a group of three young women. As they neared him, Turner saw it was Vereski. When Turner and Fenwick were about ten feet way, Vereski looked up. His laughter stopped abruptly. He glanced around wildly. He could have tried a dash to his car, but the detectives were between him and it.
Fenwick addressed Vereski’s coterie of scantily clad admirers. “Excuse us, please. We need to speak to officer Vereski.”
They left in a haze of humidity and giggles.
Vereski smiled after them, then scowled at the detectives.
Fenwick said, “Working hard?”
“You’re lucky I didn’t turn you in.”
“Ashamed to show the evidence? Maybe you’ve got a pinprick dick. Didn’t feel like much squishiness there.”
“Fuck you!” Vereski began walking away.
Turner got in front of him. “Did you think we couldn’t find you? Do you think someone’s going to come along and protect you from us, or from yourself, for that matter? We found you this time and could find you again. You’re going to have to talk to us.”
“I don’t have to talk to you. I don’t have a union rep here.”
“But this isn’t a misconduct investigation,” Turner said.
Fenwick said, “Think of it as some friends who want to get to know each other better.”
Vereski scowled. “I don’t know anything about the murder.”
Turner asked, “Why were you so quick in the bar this morning to rush to Callaghan’s defense? And why would you tell a lie that was so provably false?”
“You wouldn’t have known if somebody hadn’t told.”
“Who told you to lie for him?”
“Everybody knew what was going on. Everybody knew Callaghan needed an alibi. I wanted to step up. I wanted to show people I’m willing to protect one of our own. Unlike you guys who are traitors.”
“Just following the evidence,” Fenwick said, “which for the moment runs right between your legs.”
“My balls still hurt. They’re blue. If I wasn’t so embarrassed, I’d sue your asses. I should see a doctor.”
“How well do you know Callaghan?”
“We’re bar buddies. We play pool sometimes. He’s okay.”
“How about Belger?”
“I never guessed him for a fag.”
“You know he was gay?” Turner asked.
“He was found at that party.”
“Did you suspect before that?”
“Well, looking back at it, there was a lot of stuff, like he’d stare at a guy’s crotch sometimes.”
“That sounds like a criminal offense,” Turner said.
“Yeah, well.”
Fenwick asked, “Did you hear about them tasering guys?”
Vereski looked uncomfortable.
Turner said, “You know you’ve got a pretty cushy beat here. All the scantily clad women you could want to watch, or did you request the gay section of the beach because you’re a closet case?”
“I’m no fag.”
Fenwick said, “But we could fix it so that you lose this beat. No more naps in the winter or strolls among young lovelies in the summer.”
“You don’t have that kind of power,” Vereski said.
“You want to risk it?” Fenwick asked.
Vereski stared at the jiggling flesh of a woman strolling by. He turned his attention back to them. “You hear all kinds of stupid rumors. Guys brag. Most of it’s bullshit.”
“Was it with these guys?”
“I never saw them do anything.”
“But you heard?”
“Yeah.”
“How about them stealing from crime scenes?”
“Hey, who cares if some drug-crazed gang member loses a few bucks? They’re dead, and they won’t care. It’s not like somebody’s going to say ‘You stole my drug money’.”
“How much did they take?”
“I have no idea.”
“They share it with you?”
“Every time they lost at pool.”
“Who was protecting Callaghan?”
“I have no idea. Belger was always complaining that the world was out to get him. Callaghan was much cooler. He didn’t act like he ever had much to worry about. Some guys are just that easy going. I guess.”
He knew no more. Turner and Fenwick left.
THIRTY-FOUR
Molton called and told them he had a contact from the police academy who knew both Belger and Callaghan.
“He’ll meet with you at the third pillar on the left at Pierre’s at midnight.”
“Finally,” Turner said, “some mystery and intrigue in this case.”
Molton said, “Could be important. Could be nothing. You gotta check everything.”
“How’d you know to call him?” Turner asked.
“He called me.”
“That’s odd.”
“Yes.”
Turner said, “Everybody is petrified about revealing themselves and their connections to these guys or this case. Why not this guy?”
They met ex-Commander Billy Dossett at a bar on lower Wacker Drive that had even fewer lights than the Raving Dragon. Except for Dossett and the bartender, the establishment was empty.
Dossett was trim and neat with a salt and pepper goatee. He wore a green knit shirt and khaki shorts. He had a shot and a beer in front of him. The bartender delivered Fenwick and Turner’s coffee order then proceeded to ignore the three of them.
Turner and Fenwick introduced themselves. Fenwick said, “Can you tell us what the hell is going on? Why the hell is everyone so frightened about talking to us?”
“You already know the answer to that.”
Fenwick said, “I’d rather hear it stated.”
“You’re breaking all the rules. You’re not from our brand new Independent Police Review Authority. You’re regular cops doing your jobs and that’s the most frightening thing of all. People know you. They know your reputation. Some want to protect you. Others want to get you. They know you’ve got friends. Rumors swirl back and forth. Molton knows people. The other detectives on your squad are looking out for you. Some just want to run as far away from the situation as possible. They’re petrified you’ll find the killer, and it’ll be a cop.”
Fenwick quoted Walt Kelly, “’We have met the enemy and he is us.’”
“Yes,” Dossett said.
“Did a cop kill him?”
“I have no idea.”
“But you’re willing to talk to us.”
“I’m retired. I like Molton. I like your reputations as honest cops.”
Fenwick glanced around the booth then at the bar. Turner knew what he wanted; diet sugar for his coffee. Fenwick lumbered up to the bar, gazed up and down, headed for the far end. He came back with two pink and two blue little packets. Fenwick dumped them all in at the same time. Stirred. Drank. Smiled in satisfaction. As he performed these rituals Turner examined Dossett.
No wedding ring. A widower? He was in his late sixties or early seventies. Maybe he just didn’t wear a wedding ring. Or he was gay and rallying around an embattled gay police detective. Or maybe it was simpler; he was the kind of guy who did the right thing because it was the right thing to do.
Fenwick said, “If they don’t know it’s a cop who did it, why are they so scared?”
Dossett said, “Because they all presume Callaghan did it. Because they all presume Callaghan was justified in killing his partner. Because everybody was pissed.”
Fenwick said, “But they must know there’s more to the story than was on that video.”
Dossett said, “They could have the entire video with commentary and transcripts in front of them. It makes no difference. In their eyes Belger committed the ultimate crime. Belger was at fault. Callaghan is the wronged innocent.”
“He was a jerk,” Fenwick said. “They all know he was a jerk.”
“But he was our jerk. And they don’t want their partners to turn on them. Who would be more likely to know all the dumb stuff you’ve done on the job than your partner? Who could turn you in? The message is to themselves. Never turn on your own. This could happen to you. Loyalty to the guy next to you is paramount. You’ve got to be able to depend on him. If somebody pulls a gun on you, you’ve got to know he’ll back you up.”
Fenwick said, “An asshole is more likely to be dependable than an honest guy?”
Dossett said, “You can debate whether it should be the reality, but you cannot debate what is the reality. You guys should be very afraid. You’ve got friends. Powerful friends. But somebody will turn on you. Some low life asshole will make your life miserable, or hurt you, or try to destroy you, maybe kill you.”
“None of that’s a surprise,” Fenwick said. “We’ve been on the job. We know. Reality and facing it aren’t our problems.”
“I don’t know you. So I’m making sure you know. I can only give you possibilities. I’m not going to leave something out because I think you might be the brightest cops on the planet. It’s best to cover all bases.”
Turner said, “We appreciate it.”
Fenwick said, “We were hoping you could help us with information about the two of them. We heard they were quarrelling even before the night of the bartender incident. We’ve got reports they were into illegal stuff.”
“Evidence or rumors?”
“Rumors.”
“I can possibly confirm some of those, but I have no more evidence.” He sipped some coffee. He spread his hands on the table in front of him. “Sometimes former students come back to me. They talk. In the past few years a couple guys mentioned their discomfort with Belger and Callaghan.”
“Just a sec,” Fenwick said. He got up, went to the end of the bar, took the drip coffee pot, grabbed more diet sugar packets and returned to the table. The bartender ignored him. Fenwick poured coffee and diet sugar. Stirred. Looked at Dossett and, as if there’d been no interruption for his foray into beverage attaining, asked, “Like what?”
“Tasering was one.”
“Names?” Fenwick asked.
“Of the victims? No, these young cops didn’t care about the victims. It was more how much trouble they would get in if they ever tried that. I always told them assume what you’re doing is going to be on the news. These days you have to.”
“Stealing from the dead?” Fenwick asked.
“Money and drugs all of a sudden disappear. Amazing how few major drug dealers who die have any drugs in their houses or apartments especially when Belger and Callaghan were involved.”
“But nobody complained?”
“Nobody caught them. Or if they were caught, it was covered up. And if it was covered up, it’s got to involve the command structure.”
“And nobody complained?”
Dossett laughed. “How many complaints have been filed against Chicago cops in the past ten years? You know the answer: a thousand. How many were found to be valid? Two. Two out of a thousand. Even if they complain, it’s useless. And a drug dealer complaining his illegal stash is gone? You know that’s a non-starter.”
“But you can’t give us names of the victims?”
“No.”
“How about your sources?”
“I’ll see what I can do for you.”
Turner asked, “There’s gotta be some significant connection between Boyle and Callaghan. Maybe between Boyle and Belger as well. Do you know what it is?”
“No idea. You still going to investigate?” Dossett asked.
“It’s our job,” Turner said.
Dossett smiled. “I wish I’d had you in my District when I was a commander. Good luck.”
“Any suggestions on what to try next?” Fenwick asked.
“Yeah, if you find out it was a cop, make sure your evidence is rock solid. Do you think it was a cop?”
Turner said, “We’re keeping our options open. We’ve got a lot of questions to ask a lot of people.”
In the car Turner said, “That all just seemed slightly off to me.”
“How so?”
“I get the impression that the whole conversation was designed to get to his last question, do we think it was a cop.”
“Molton trusts this guy.”
Turner said, “This guy called Molton out of the blue. He didn’t really give us information. No specific names or places or dates. Was he looking for information on our investigation?”
“Remember what we’ve been told, trust no one.”
Turner said, “That’s the easy part.”
Fenwick started the car and they headed back to Area Ten.
After several moments of silence and as they sat at the light on the corner of Broadway and Hollywood, Fenwick said, “You’re depressed again.”
“I’m depressed again.”
Fenwick let the silence go on. Turner would talk about it or he wouldn’t. After they turned onto Lake Shore Drive, at Hollywood, Turner said, “We’re supposed to be the fin
est. Helping people. It’s all so fucked up.”
“We knew that.”
“But most of the time we can pretend we’re doing something to help. Who have we helped in this case?”
Fenwick waited patiently.
Turner said, “Nobody.”
After several miles of silence down to Belmont Avenue, Fenwick asked, “Are we doing our best to find the killer?”
“Yeah, I guess, sure.”
“Do we always give it our best shot?”
“Is it really good enough?”
Fenwick said, “If our best isn’t good enough, whose is? And no, that isn’t egotistical.” Turner glanced at him. “Well, maybe a little. But by any measure you can think of, do we not do an excellent job? We bust our butts. Bad guys go to jail.”
“I’m depressed about us, our guys.”
“Me, too. But we’re not in charge of our guys. We’re only in charge of what we do.”
“I know. I know. It’s just this is fucked up.”
Fenwick let the next silence go until they were passing Oak Street beach. He said, “Do you keep a list of all my dumb stuff?”
Turner said, “If I kept a list of your oddities and peccadilloes, and the symphonic chorus of odd noises you make, I’d have no time for my job, my husband, or my kids.”
Fenwick said, “I’ve got a list of yours.”
“Congratulations. You could sell it on eBay and if you had a brass ring, you might make enough for a cup of coffee at Starbucks.”
THIRTY-FIVE
Back at Area Ten they filled Molton in on what they had. Molton asked questions and sympathized, then said, “I ordered the schematics of the train station. It might help you guys. That place is confusing.”
“Thanks,” Fenwick said.
Molton said, “The Scanlan kid has been released.”
“We wanted to talk to him again,” Fenwick said.
“Somebody downtown took care of it.”
“Over your objections?” Fenwick asked.
“Over a lot of people’s objections,” Molton said.
Fenwick said, “With luck, that family will be out of our hair.”
Molton said, “You’re expecting luck on this case?”
Fenwick said, “The goddess promised me.”
Turner said, “The kid is as good as dead. He’s involved in this some way. He’s being used.”