by Meg Lelvis
Jack stood and stretched. “Yeah. The school list can wait. Naperville about an hour from here?”
“Not much longer. I could use the drive.”
“Okay, we’re outta here.” Good to get away for awhile. Maybe Sherk needed to talk.
They made their way to the coatrack and pulled on their jackets. Velda Vatava approached them. “Trying to make a quick get away, Bailey?” Her brown pants outfit failed to camouflage her stout figure.
“Damn. Almost made it.” Jack eyed the stack of file folders she carried. “That better not be for us, cuz we ain’t stayin’.”
Velda looked at Sherk. “How did a nice guy like you get stuck with him?”
Sherk gave a half smile and shrugged.
She studied him. “Why the long— “
She glanced at Jack, who noisily cleared his throat. He frowned at Velda and shook his head.
Nodding, she said, “Well, gotta go. See ya later.” She smiled and strolled away.
Several cops milled about, some heading out the door. Jack and Sherk walked down the hall toward the side door to the parking lot. Outside, the air was nippy; the sun tucked away behind billowy gray clouds.
“I’ll drive,” Jack said, and unlocked a cruiser. “You got the contact info for Welton’s uncle?”
“I do.” Sherk climbed into the passenger seat. “I think it’s better not to call him first; he should either be at home or work. Let’s head out and stop for lunch on the way.”
Jack agreed. Usually it was better not to notify possible witnesses or suspects beforehand. Get a truer picture when they don’t have time to prepare.
Driving to Thirty-first Street, Jack turned left and exited onto I-55 west toward Naperville. He punched in the address of Home Depot where Bruce Welton’s uncle worked.
“May be a waste of time talkin’ to this guy. What’s his name?” Jack asked.
“Paul Welton. I’m curious how he finagled getting Bruce the Home Depot job. Hard for registered sex offenders to find employment.”
“Thank god for that.” Jack slowed down for construction signs. “Worst part of the job.”
“What’s that?”
“Going after perps who do us all a favor by bumping off scum like Welton, not to mention drug lords, gang bangers, on and on.”
“It’s hard to do sometimes. When my cousin was a resident at Cook County—got awakened at all hours for gunshot vics and wounded junkies off the street.”
“Yeah, been thinking a lot lately. Don’t know how long I’m gonna last at this job.”
“Jack, you say that every week. I wonder what lies ahead for my family.”
“I’m sure once you know more— “Jack let his voice trail off.
“We have an appointment with the oncologist tomorrow to discuss Erica’s treatment.” Sherk brushed his hair from his forehead. “I haven’t had time to request a half day.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll cover for ya. Won’t let LePere get wind of it.”
Sherk sighed. “I’ll have to tell her sometime.”
“Not necessarily. I got a plan.”
Chapter 18
“I’m sure you have a plan, Jack.” Sherk sighed. “I’m listening.”
“Don’t tell the old bag. Go to the cap. He’ll be cool with it, won’t go through the paperwork bullshit.”
“I don’t know about going over her head.” Sherk turned to face Jack. “Isn’t that against regulations?”
“Maybe in a bigger department, but we’re a small division. Tommy worked under Nesbitt back in the day, and he said to take all the time he needed when our old man got sick. Besides, LePere doesn’t have the balls to argue with her boss.”
Sherk sighed again. “Maybe so. I’ll give it some thought and deal with it later today.”
They rode without talking, passing gray concrete buildings, shopping centers, truck stops, and signs to Midway Airport. Jack yawned. “See any place for lunch?”
“Not yet. Getting hungry?”
“Always hungry, you know that.” Jack wondered if Sherk had an appetite. He remembered after Karen—don’t go there. He told himself to stay in the present.
Twenty minutes later, Jack exited onto I-355 and drove north into Naperville. He spotted a Jolly Roger’s Kitchen in a shopping center. “Roger’s okay? Got good burgers.”
“That’s fine.” Sherk’s voice flat.
. . . . .
An hour later, they parked in front of the Home Depot on Seventy-fifth Street. A Walmart Supercenter sat across a vast commercial area along with a Costco, Marshall’s, and several shoe stores. Plenty of parking available at this hour. Jack wondered how they all stayed in business.
“Everything’s getting too big,” he grumbled as he climbed out of the car. He’d always detested malls and anything larger than the corner mom and pop store of his childhood.
Automatic doors welcomed them into the store where a young Indian man in the ubiquitous orange Home Depot vest directed them to Paul Welton’s office. The door was open, and a middle aged bald man sat at a cluttered desk in a small, sparsely furnished room.
“Paul Welton?” Jack held out his badge.
Concern flashed on Welton’s face as he stood. “Yes?”
“I’m Detective Bailey, Bridgeport PD. This is my partner, Detective Sherkenbach.”
Sherk showed his badge. “Mr. Welton, we’re here to ask you a few questions about your nephew, Bruce.”
Welton indicated two chairs across his desk. After the three men were seated, Jack said, “Mr. Welton— “
The man rose and closed the door. “Paul,” he stuttered. “Call me Paul.”
Jack ignored the request. “I’ll get straight to the point. We know you’ve been informed of the cause of death of your nephew, and we need to know who his friends were, anyone he hung out with.”
Welton’s eyes darted between the two men. “Well, ah, I’m afraid I can’t help much. Didn’t know of any friends, just family, a couple cousins here and there, you know how it is.”
“No, I don’t.” Jack gazed at him. “Suppose you tell me.”
Welton cleared his throat. “Oh, well, when we’d get together for holidays, the cousins would all come. Don’t know if they still hung out, you know, stayed in touch.”
“Paul,” Sherk said softly. “We talked to your mother, Louise, in Florida. She didn’t seem to know Bruce was on the sex registry list.”
Welton flinched. “Yeah, I mean, no, she doesn’t know. It would kill her, her own flesh and blood doing that.” He shook his head as if in apology.
Sherk took out his notebook and pen. “We won’t address the family saga here. We would like to know, however, how you were able to arrange for Bruce’s job.”
Jack continued to gaze at Welton, who smoothed his shiny pate several times with the palm of his hand. He shrugged. “Okay, the HR guy in the regional office is an old friend. I came clean about Bruce and he arranged it so there wouldn’t be anything on record.”
Jack said, “That’s a pretty big favor from your old friend.”
“It certainly is,” Sherk added. “Could get this old friend in considerable difficulty.”
Welton’s eyes glanced everywhere but on the detectives. Beads of sweat dotted his forehead. He pulled a wadded Kleenex from his shirt pocket and dried his face. “Look, guys, can this be off the record?”
“I’ll give you a probably,” Jack said. “Our job is to find your nephew’s killer.”
Welton nodded, visibly relieved. “Okay, my friend owed me one from years ago. I covered f
or him in ah, a situation. I figured we could bend the law a little, give Bruce a second chance to get it together.”
Jack felt his blood pressure rising.
“I see” Sherk said. “The problem, Paul, is that— “
“Pedophiles don’t get cured.” Jack rose. “They’re sick fucks who are a menace to society and should be permanently— “
“I think we’re finished here.” Sherk pushed in his chair. “We need you to write the names of Bruce’s cousins you mentioned and anyone else you can think of with whom he was acquainted.”
Welton’s look of shock turned indignant. “I think you’re out of line, Detective Bailey. You aren’t allowed to talk to— “
“You listen to me, ass—” Jack leaned toward the man.
“Jack!” Sherk seized his partner’s arm and pushed him to the door. “Wait outside.”
Grumbling and mumbling curses, Jack shoved against the door, turned the knob, walked out, slammed the door shut. He stormed down several aisles, nearly knocking an elderly lady off her feet.
“Well, excuse you,” she hissed as Jack kept tramping his way out the front doors.
He reached the cruiser and stood by the side door, panting. Deep breaths. Deep breaths. He held his temples with his hands.
“Oh god. What just happened?” he said aloud.
After unlocking the door, Jack slid into the driver’s seat. Shaky, he slouched forward and rested his head on his hands atop the wheel. Closing his eyes, he continued to take deep breaths. Was his short fuse a foreboding sign of his PTSD creeping back? He’d had his share of that several years ago. Couldn’t face calling a shrink again.
He heard the passenger door open. “Jack, what the hell happened in there?” Sherk climbed in. “I don’t know whether to be concerned or angry.”
“Be pissed, Sherk.” Jack sat straight in his seat. “Tell me to get my shit together or get out.”
“I thought you were doing better keeping your anger in check in the public eye.” Sherk buckled his seat belt. “Where did that rage come from?”
“Always the shrink, aren’t ya?” Jack shot back as he fired up the engine. “Sorry. Don’t know what happened any more than you do. Thinking about these perverts, guess it reminds me of— “
“Of what they do to children like your daughter?”
Jack jerked his head toward Sherk. “Don’t try—hell, Sherk. Here I am going down the toilet when you’re the one with— “
“No one’s free from life’s adversities, Jack. They come at different times.”
“I guess,” Jack said and steered out of the parking lot onto Seventy-fifth Street east toward I-355. They passed a Lutheran church with a sign in front beckoning worshippers to visit their services. He read the sign aloud. “Betrayal Kissed a Guiltless Man.”
He gave a half groan. “What the hell does that mean?”
Sherk sighed. “Yesterday was Palm Sunday.”
“Yeah. So what?”
“I’m sure you remember that Judas betrayed Christ to the chief scribes who turned him over to Pontius Pilate.”
“Guess it rings a bell, but the sign doesn’t make sense.”
Sherk looked out the window. “It does, but I’ll explain it another time.”
Just as well. Jack didn’t give a damn. Why did he bring it up? They rode in silence until they crossed H-294. Jack thought about Paul Welton. “It’s pretty certain Welton won’t report me for police aggression or bullshit like that, not that I give a damn. We have him by the balls with his job scamming for his nephew. No help with the nephew’s pals. Let’s chuck him off the case list.”
“I agree. In this instance, best to let sleeping dogs rest.”
“Lay,” Jack said.
“Pardon?”
“Lay. It’s ‘let sleeping dogs lay.”
“Oh.” Sherk scratched his chin. “In that case, wouldn’t it be ‘lie’?”
“You’re killin’ me, dude. Let’s just drive.”
Sherk chuckled. “You’re a good diversion.”
“Glad I’m good for something.” Jack liked hearing his partner laugh. Even a little.
. . . . .
By the time they arrived at the station the afternoon was drawing to a welcome close. Jack was ready to head out. He’d take the list of Catholic school students home and work it tonight with a couple bottles of brew, Boone snoozing at his feet. He told Sherk his plan to leave early and suggested his partner do the same.
Sherk shuffled papers. “I’ve been thinking about your suggestion of asking Chub Nesbitt for time off rather than Miss Daisy. Think I’ll do just that. Maybe tell her in a day or whenever.”
Jack gathered printouts on his desk and put them in a file folder. “Good decision. See ya tomorrow.” He began to walk off, then turned to Sherk. “I’m ah, not good at talking about stuff like this—what you’re going through. No surprise at that. But give me a call any time ya wanna vent, cuss, drink, whatever.” He cleared his throat.
“I know, Jack. But thanks for saying it.” He smiled, looked at Jack’s file. “How many boys are on the student list?”
“Forty. That narrows it down. Gonna ask Calvin to do a search on each one, but I’ll get started tonight.” He turned. “See ya tomorrow and good luck with Nesbitt.”
Ten minutes later when Jack unlocked the front door to his duplex, Boone trotted over, sniffed, and looked up at him. “Hey, Buddy. Doin’ okay?” The dog no longer barked and jumped up on Jack, but seemed happy and healthy.
Jack tossed his jacket on a chair and he and Boone headed for the kitchen. “Wanna go out?” Dumb question. The big hound ambled into the back yard, took a pee under a birch tree, and sniffed around several elderberry shrubs.
Leaving the door ajar for Boone, Jack opened the pantry door and took out a bottle of Guinness. In a perfect world, he’d drink the brew after half an hour of refrigeration for the correct temperature. But when were things ever perfect?
A stale, musty odor hung in the air from the old cardboard box in the corner. “Crap. Guess I should open that sooner or later.”
After a dinner of frozen sausage pizza and another Guinness, Jack wasn’t in the mood to tackle the file he’d brought home. He glanced at the box, thought he’d take a quick look and return it to his mother this week. Sitting on the kitchen chair, he shuffled himself over to the box, bent down, and opened it. The same stuffy, dank smell hit his nostrils.
Several yellowed newspapers lay on top, two in German, one announcing the Allied victory on May 8, 1945. Another’s English headline read Operation Elephant Victory. Jack thought these were worth saving; maybe Tommy’s kids would want them. Show their history teachers. Impress the hell outta them. Fat chance.
He rifled though more papers and pamphlets, including a booklet titled War Department Basic Field Manual. Leafing through its pages, he nearly missed a thin white envelope postmarked Munchen 7.46.4, addressed to Mr. John Bailey with his Bridgeport address. The handwriting was flowery, like calligraphy. Puzzled, Jack opened it and read the single page. He looked up slowly, staring at the wall. “Holy shit!”
Chapter 19
Boone whimpered and looked at Jack as if to ask what the problem was. The dog rose from the floor and put his snout on Jack’s lap. He ruffled the big mutt’s neck while grasping the letter. Aware of his pounding heart, Jack felt like he’d slipped into another world. Hadn’t thought much about his old man for several years when Jack’s shrink brought up a connection between his PTSD symptoms and his father’s post war conduct. Hard to forget John Bailey’s drinking, temper, not to mention yelling at his kids and worse.
But this?
A woman? Guess he got himself a wartime affair. Jack’s mother couldn’t have known. Barely looked in the box, since she didn’t know it had been stashed in the old coal bin in the basement.
“Gotta call Tommy,” Jack told Boone. “Wonder if he saw it.”
After inhaling a deep breath, he punched in his brother’s number and turned on speaker mode.
“Hey, Jack, what’s up?”
“That’s what I’d like to know,” Jack answered. “Ma said you pawed through that old box already, right?”
Silence. “Yeah.”
“Find anything interesting? I mean, really interesting?”
Pause. “So, you found it,” Tommy said.
“Sure did. Whadda ya make of it?”
“Pretty clear to me, Jack. The old man found a freulein over there—after killing all the Krauts he could.” Tommy’s laugh bitter.
“Hell, talk about shell shocked—that’s me. I need a drink.” Jack reached for a fifth of Jameson from the kitchen cabinet and poured a shot into a glass. “Do ya think Ma knows?”
“I doubt it. She may’ve seen the old newspapers on top and figured more junk inside. She has things like Pa’s discharge papers, and other important stuff.”
“I dunno, Tommy. She’s smarter than she looks.” Jack knocked back his whiskey. “I’ll look up the translation online, but I got the gist of it.”
Tommy waited to speak. “You don’t think we should tell her?”
“God, no. Wouldn’t help any. Just make things worse.”
“Can’t argue with that. The mysterious Miss or Mrs. Schroeder should be kept in the vault.”
Jack held the letter and read the signature. “Fur immer und ewig, Ari.” I know I butchered the German, but must mean love or something.”
“I looked it up. It means always and forever. Had other meanings too, but that’s the general idea.”
“Always and forever,” Jack repeated. “Someone said that about our old man? Her real name’s on the envelope. Ariana Schroeder.”