by Mark M Bello
“What’s Yiddish?”
“It’s a slang language Jewish people use.”
“You’re Jewish?” Jessica exclaimed.
“Is that a problem?”
“No, just a surprise. There aren’t very many Jews in Berea.”
“Well, there’s a decent amount in the Detroit area.”
“Will you teach me stuff about being Jewish?” she desired.
“Stuff?” he wondered.
“Yeah, you know, rituals, holidays, services—stuff.”
She should have chosen a chosen one who was more into the traditions. He hadn’t been to a synagogue in years. Could a schiksa be responsible for his return to shul? His religious mother would turn over in her grave.
Jessica patiently awaited his response.
“I would be happy to,” he promised. “Although I’m no expert.”
“I’m sure you know more about it than I do,” she stated the obvious.
“I suspect I do.” He changed the subject. “Jessica, I need to talk to you about the janitor.”
“Talk,” she ordered. She didn’t care for the sudden topic change.
“When do you plan on talking to Gus?”
“This evening,” she grunted.
“What approach do you plan to take?”
“Invite him to my place, rip his clothes off, and screw the truth out of him,” she deadpanned.
Would she actually sleep with this old guy for the sake of the case? “Speaking from experience, I am positive that approach would be successful. But, can you suggest a more sensible plan? Save the other as a last resort?” Micah shuddered.
“Actually, I was going to use the direct approach. Ask him questions and get the answers we need.”
Micah was relieved. “Do you think that’s wise?”
“Micah, I know Gus. Very few people in this town even know he exists. Of those who do—very few are nice to him. I’m one of the few who takes the time to say hello, find out how he’s doing. If he opens up to anyone, he’ll open up to me.”
“Okay, Jess. The prospect of you sleeping with that weirdo did not excite me anyway,” he cringed.
“Oh? But, I specialize in weirdoes. Why just last night . . .” she teased.
“Okay, okay, I get your point,” he sighed. She’s a pistol!
“No, you don’t, Micah, like everyone else in this town. Someone’s a little different and, all of a sudden, he’s a weirdo. Gus never harmed anyone, never uttered a bad word to anyone. He does his job and is pleasant and respectful.” She was suddenly judgmental.
“Jessica, I didn’t mean—”
“Yes, you did, and I get it coming from you. You’re investigating a case. He works at the place you’re investigating, and he’s a little strange. It’s natural for you to feel the way you do. It’s the others in this town who piss me off—the ones who snicker at him behind his back. Kids pull practical jokes like dumping trash cans in rooms he’s just finished cleaning or writing disgusting references about him on bathroom partitions. They empty soap and towel dispensers and then stand around looking for a reaction from him. The kids are reported to the pastor or the parents, who promise discipline but do nothing, and the kids then repeat the behavior. Why Gus sticks around is beyond me.”
Jessica was disgusted. Micah respected her concern for someone a bit different. He’d let her deal with Gus any way she wanted. If Gus had been a victim of the type of nastiness she described, perhaps he’d open up to her, someone who didn’t treat him poorly. Maybe he’d view the MacLean and O’Connell children as victims too, and be angry enough at the church for not doing anything to help them.
“All right, Jessica. Have it your way. I’ll leave you to decide the approach. Some advice?”
“Sure.”
“Gus is a victim. So are the MacLean and O’Connell folks. The church let bad things happen, same with Gus and those kids. The church stands by and does nothing for people who are mistreated. Good approach?”
“That has potential. I’ll consider it.”
“Well, thank you very much. What’s your timetable?”
“We go home the same way. I’ll try tonight, make sure the timing is right, walk alongside him, and strike up a conversation.”
“You don’t think he’ll be suspicious?”
“He’ll talk to me, Micah. Trust me. Whether he’s suspicious or not, he’ll talk to me,” she concluded.
“Okay, Jessica, he’s in your hands. Can we get together later to discuss your meeting?”
“Yeah, we can get together. You may wine, dine, and seduce me again,” she taunted.
“Who seduced whom?” He was a quick study. He learned to play her game.
“Well,” she teased. “Maybe this time, I’ll let you seduce me.”
“It’s a date,” Micah saluted. “When and where?”
“Be in your room at seven, showered, dressed, and ready to go.”
“You got it,” Micah promised, aroused.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Jessica Klein finished work for the day and hurried outside. She wanted to reach the park before Gus walked by. It was 4:45 p.m. Gus usually came by around 5:00 p.m. She hurried out of the old county building and fast-walked to the park—arriving at approximately 4:53 p.m.
It was a beautiful summer evening. Trees and flowers were in full bloom, and a nearby creek crackled water, which slowly ran toward the river. A slight summer breeze ruffled her hair. Had she not been anxious to see Gus, she might have taken an evening nap on the park bench.
It was 5:05 p.m. Gus was late. He was never late! At 5:15 p.m., she decided, He’s not coming. Something’s wrong. Where’s my phone? I have to call Micah. She ransacked her purse, trying to locate her phone in the rubble. A powerful-looking stranger walked by. He glanced her way, serious as a heart attack, and walked on. She froze, quickly collected herself, located her cell phone, and called Micah.
“Hello?”
“Micah? Thank God you’re there. Gus didn’t come,” she fretted. “He’s never late. He never misses work! Something’s terribly wrong. I can feel it. I know it!”
“Okay, Jess, okay, calm down,” Micah reassured. “Come on now. I’m sure everything is fine. He’s late. That’s all. No big deal.”
Jessica’s hysterics scared Micah. She was not prone to panic. She was strong, sure, and forthright. He kind of enjoyed her sudden vulnerability, being the strong one, and comforting her.
“Don’t patronize me, Micah Love!” Jessica bristled. “Everything is not ‘fine,’ damn it! I’m going over to Gus’s place right now! Am I going by myself, or are you coming with me?”
So much for vulnerable Jessica . . . “Of course, I’m coming with you,” he promised. “Where are you?”
“At the park, First and Elm.”
“Stay right there. I’m on my way.”
***
Micah met Jessica at the park. They drove together to Gus’s apartment house. Micah parked and ordered Jessica to stay in the car. Of course, she refused. They crept to the building and inspected the directory. Jessica located Gus’s name and pressed the appropriate buzzer. No answer. Micah tried the entry door. Locked. He reached into his back pocket, pulled out what looked to be a large wallet, unfolded it, and revealed a set of small tools.
“You’re going to pick the lock?” Jessica cackled. “Just like on Castle.”
“Quiet, Jessica. You’ll alert the neighbors,” Micah scolded. He began working on the lock. Within seconds, Jessica heard a click, and the door opened. They stepped inside a dim hallway and located Gus’s apartment. The door was demolished. Micah pulled out his gun. He shoved Jessica behind him—there was no use asking her to stay there—and leaned through the open threshold. He and Jessica crept inside and observed a neat, sparsely furnished one-room apartment. Other than the broken door, nothing appeared out of order. A small television faced them from the back wall with a large couch in between. Gus lay on the couch. Asleep?
Micah came around t
o the head of the sofa and gently shook Gus’s shoulder. Nothing. He checked his pulse. Nothing. Micah turned to Jessica, who was already in tears.
“He’s dead,” Micah confirmed.
“Oh, my God!” cried Jessica. “Who would hurt a sweet, innocent old man like Gus?”
“We’re dealing with some very serious people over some very serious money and negative publicity. I wouldn’t put this or anything past them,” Micah warned.
“A church would murder someone?” Jessica squealed.
“Not the church itself, Jessica, but the church’s secret problem solvers? Absolutely, while the church pretends to be deaf, dumb, and blind.” Micah groused.
“What are we going to do? We can’t just leave poor Gus like this.” Jessica wiped the tears from her eyes, took a tissue from her purse, blew her nose, and glanced at Micah.
“We’re calling the police, Jess. Do you know the number?”
“Yeah.” She sniffled. “Nine-one-one.”
***
Philip Jack waxed prototypical thirty-year police vet. He gruffly introduced himself as a detective lieutenant of the Berea Police Department. Approximately five feet ten inches, he had a bit of a beer belly but was, otherwise, well built. His hair was kinky and graying, and he had a full mustache and goatee to go with an otherwise three-day growth of facial hair. He looked tired.
“You two found the body?” he presumed.
“Yes,” Micah advised, sizing up the veteran cop.
“What were you doing here?”
“We were concerned about Gus,” Jessica blurted, sobbing.
“And what caused you to be concerned about old Gus?” Jack yawned.
“I’m a private detective from Detroit,” Micah disclosed. “I’ve been here in Berea, working a case. This man was a potential witness. We came here to talk to him and found him here on the couch, exactly as he is now,” Micah explained. He glanced over to the couch. Evidence technicians were feverishly working, wandering all over the room, dusting for prints, searching for evidence. The medical examiner and his team hovered over the body.
“How did you get in, Mr. Detective?” Jack snarled.
He’s more observant than he appears. “I picked the outside lock when nobody responded to the buzzer. Gus’s door was smashed in when we got here,” Micah admitted.
“I’ll ignore the B and E for a second. What kind of case you workin’ on?” Jack pressed.
“I’m not at liberty to say,” Love remarked.
“Not at liberty? Sheeit!” Jack growled. “You can tell me now, or we can go downtown, son.”
“I’m not your son,” Love snipped.
Jack stared him down, and then glanced at his watch. He’d wait all night for an answer.
“The case involves a former priest at St. Pat’s,” Love finally conceded.
“What former priest?” Jack persisted.
“Gerry Bartholomew.”
“What’s he supposed to be involved in?”
“Child molestation.” Jack reacted—Love had his attention.
“Not here, not now.” Jack scanned the room, distrustfully, checking for eavesdroppers. His sudden change in behavior did not escape Love’s notice. “Let me wrap things up here, and I’ll meet you at Beans in a half an hour,” Jack muttered. “Now, get out of here,” he commanded. “I’ll take a formal statement downtown tomorrow morning.”
Micah and Jessica walked out into the night air.
“Beans?” Micah wondered, confused.
“‘It’s the Beans,’ Berea’s downtown coffee shop. Everyone calls it ‘Beans,’” she explained.
“Jack knows something,” Micah postulated.
“That’s obvious, but what?” Jessica pondered.
“No idea, but we’re going to find out real quick. Let’s head over there.”
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Micah and Jessica waited half an hour at Beans. Micah ordered an espresso and Jessica a flavored latte. Jack finally dragged himself in, sat down at the next table, and ordered the house blend, black. He cased the place for gossips. Satisfied the conversation would be private, he looked straight at Micah.
“Okay, hotshot, give. What exactly are you investigating?” a command, not a request.
Love didn’t appreciate Jack’s tone. He paused, sizing up the veteran cop. Can he be trusted? Love wasn’t intimidated by Jack’s threat to question him downtown. He’d spent time in more dreadful lockups than Berea’s. His concern was client confidentiality.
As Love studied Jack, he realized the church already knew everything he’d discovered so far. What confidences could he possibly breach? Deleting client names from the story, Micah spilled his guts. He emphasized the sudden departure of the O’Connell and MacLean families—kids abused, parents paid off and shipped out of town. Now it was Love’s turn to ask questions.
“Was there a criminal investigation on the MacLean or O’Connell matters?”
“I’m not at liberty to say.”
“Not at liberty? Sheeit,” Micah chided. “Come on, Detective. Does this shit sit well with you? I’d bet the farm the church plea-bargained for the priest and promised to keep Bartholomew away from kids, right? So, that condition’s been breached, which gives you enormous power. Unless you do something to blow the lid off this bullshit publicly, these church guys will keep transferring him from place to place, abused helpless kids, and ruining lives. We need to stop them, now!”
Jack sighed. “You’re right. I know you’re right,” he conceded. He drew a deep breath. “I should have known this wasn’t over. The guy is sick. Perverts like him don’t stop when they’re caught. They can’t! It’s not in their DNA.” He took another deep breath.
“Here’s the straight scoop, Love. I handled the original investigation. Orders came down from the top, very hush-hush, right from the get-go. The only ones who knew anything about the case at all were high-ranking church guys, the kid’s parents, my captain, and myself. Later, the prosecutor and the judge were made aware of the circumstances because the plea had to be placed on the record.
After Gerry pleaded guilty, the record was sealed. Anyone with any knowledge was ordered by the court to observe a vow of silence. Never seen anything like that, before or since. The church here is that powerful.”
“What was the original charge?” Micah demanded.
“First-degree criminal sexual conduct, two boys, two counts.”
This meant the boys were raped. Penetration had occurred.
“What was the plea reduction?”
“Fourth degree — two counts. No jail, three years probation, record sealed. The plea was taken in chambers, after hours, for privacy,” Jack lamented.
Fourth degree was simple genital touching. Gerry received a slap on the wrist.
“Then he’s violated probation with these new charges in Michigan,” Micah opined.
“Yep, true, if he’s found guilty,” Jack agreed. I hadn’t thought of that.
“If he’s found guilty, how much time would he serve on the previous guilty plea?” Micah continued, a germ of an idea forming.
“Five to ten.”
“In addition to whatever the Michigan sentence is,” a statement, not a question. “Worse, unless I miss my guess, Gus’s autopsy results will result in a murder investigation. Child sexual abuse and murder—enough is enough, don’t you think, Lieutenant? We’ve got to find the MacLean and the O’Connell families. Their lives may be in danger. We need your help. Do you have any idea where they’ve relocated?”
“No, I honestly don’t. I wish I did. I’m as concerned as you are,” Jack vented. “Once the guilty plea was entered, the family was no longer needed and were free to leave. So they left, in the middle of the night, leaving no forwarding address. Have you tried other family members? Some still live in town.”
“We tried. No addresses, telephone calls from the kids, but always from a blocked number. We’ve installed unblocking equipment to try to get a location.”
“Great idea, Love,” Jack praised. “You’re alright, after all. I’ll put their names out over the wire. We’ll see what comes up.”
“Nothing. That’s an easy one to answer. I’m guessing there’s a name change.”
“You’re telling me the only ones who know who and where they are, are the people who may be after them?” Jack groaned.
“We’ve got to find them, fast.”
“How can I help?”
“Contact the Farmington Hills Police. Let them know there’s a prior incident and arrest in Berea. Contact attorney Zachary Blake. I’ll give you his card. You can testify in the civil case.”
“I can’t do either of those things,” Jack grumbled.
“Why not?” Micah looked confused.
“Because it violates the plea agreement. Until this scumbag is convicted on the Michigan charge, he hasn’t violated probation.”
“What if I get you statements from his Michigan victims?”
“Can’t do it. Look, I know this is frustrating, man. How do you think I felt when they rammed this plea agreement up my ass? I’ve got thirty years on the force with a pension at stake. Until Bartholomew’s convicted of a related crime, my hands are tied. Department brass is in bed with the church.”
“Having worked this case, I can believe that,” Micah groaned.
“Locating the victims is your best bet,” Jack theorized. “They are under no similar constraint.”
“Unless their silence has been bought. The money is conditioned on silence,” Micah speculated.
“You mean the church paid’em off?” Jack huffed.
“And paid for them to disappear,” Jessica chimed in.
“They’re in danger and don’t even know it,” Jack warned. “We’ve got to find them.”
“Unless the call unblock stuff works, I wouldn’t even know where to begin,” sighed Micah.
“You have to try, Micah,” Jessica pleaded.
“Yeah, you never know unless you try, my mama used to say,” Jack smiled.
“You had a mother?” Micah gasped.