by Meg Lelvis
“Does the detective in you wanna track her down?” Tommy gave a half chuckle.
“Yeah, let’s hop the next plane to Germany and find her. Bound to be dead by now.”
Jack poured another shot. “Man, I gotta think about this. Still unreal. Let’s meet at the pub tomorrow after work and talk more.”
“Sure thing. See ya at Shinnick’s at five-thirty? And bring the letter.”
“No shit. Auf wiedersehn, Tommy.” Jack hung up and drained his glass.
During the night he dreamed of D-Day, gunfire, his mother speaking German.
. . . . .
Jack awoke before his alarm buzzed and immediately the letter popped into his mind. How could a wartime romance have happened with his old man? Guess he’d never know. He told himself to focus on today. Save the mystery letter until he met Tommy at the pub.
After arriving at the station, Jack headed for Gary Calvin’s desk. Uniformed cops and other staff members wandered in, greeting and talking amongst themselves. Keyboards sang in discordant harmony. Calvin hunched over his computer, his curly red hair in need of a comb.
“Got a job for ya, Calvin.” Jack approached the geek’s desk. “Shouldn’t take long.”
Calvin looked up from his screen. “Got a busy day, Bailey.” He sat up in his chair to reveal the writing on his green shirt. “This message fits you every day.”
Jack read the words, Sarcasm is just one other service I offer. He groaned. “Change that to sarcasm is the only service I offer.”
Calvin smirked. “Clever, Bailey.” He eyed the file in Jack’s hand. “What crap you have in there?”
Jack tossed his file on the cluttered desk. “The list of kids from the nun’s school when that priest had allegations against him. Figure the killer’s gotta be one of those kids who grew up to ice the good Sister. About forty boys to analyze, Calvin. A breeze.”
Calvin scoffed. “Maybe I can work it in. I’ll focus on the guys who live in the nearby suburbs, then branch out. Could be the perp lives outta town. More likely in the area though.”
“Brilliant deduction, Cavin. Brilliant. I’ll put in a good word with LePere for ya.”
“Fuck off, Bailey.” Calvin turned to his monitor.
Jack walked to his desk, snatched his empty mug, and trudged to the break room. He smelled strong coffee and cinnamon as he entered the area. Good. Donuts. He waited until two cops helped themselves to the pastry, then nabbed two glazed ones in a napkin. One of the cops eyed Jack’s booty. “One for Sherk,” he told the guy.
“Yeah, right,” the cop sneered and walked away.
When Jack returned with coffee and donuts, Sherk walked in looking hollow-eyed. His smile seemed forced. “Morning, Jack.”
“Brought you a donut. Good ones gone already. Buncha vultures swiped the cinnamon.”
Sherk took the donut. “Thanks. I’ll get coffee.”
“I’ll follow ya. We can sit in there. I wanna hear how your talk with Nesbitt went.”
After they sat at a small table near the wall, Sherk drank his coffee. “Very well. Good advice of yours to see the captain. He was sympathetic and told me to take all the time I need.”
“Figured that’s how he’d react. Anything about LePere?”
“No. He just said to tell you where I’d be. That’s it.” Sherk chewed his donut. “I need to leave about nine this morning for the oncologist appointment. I’ll pick up Erica on the way. We’ll go to the U. Med Center.”
“Shouldn’t take more than twenty minutes. Good you live close to the place.” Located several miles north of Bridgeport, the University of Illinois Chicago Medical Center boasted hospitals and clinics of various specialties. Jack’s family spent many hours at the complex visiting his father and other relatives over the years. If you had to get sick, couldn’t beat the med center.
After they finished their donuts, the men returned to their desks. Going over the case, they decided there wasn’t much more they could do until Calvin finished his search of former students. Sherk tidied his desktop and told Jack he may be gone the rest of the afternoon depending how long his appointment lasted.
“Take your time, Sherk. Don’t bother coming back.” Jack planned to tie up loose ends on paper work and take off early. Unlike crime shows and detective novels, cops don’t spend all their time working a case if it comes to a standstill. They work other crimes like burglaries and drug possession until a break occurs on their main case. They’re not dashing here and there like they do on TV. Nothing that exciting.
Later in the morning Jack’s cell rang. The caller ID read M Winters. Didn’t recognize the name, but he pressed on speaker. “Detective Bailey.”
“Hello, Detective. It’s Molly Winters.”
Jack drew a blank. Then remembered. “Yes, Sister Anne’s niece.” His heart skipped a beat. “How are you?”
“I’m good. Just wondering if you’ve made more progress on the case. Our family is still shaken up by what happened to Aunt Anne.”
“Of course.” Jack took a deep breath. “We’re investigating all we can. We’ll notify you when we know something definite.” He was sick of the same bullshit response, but stuck with it.
“Oh, I see.” She sounded disappointed. “I’m sorry I disturbed you, but—”
“No, not at all. In fact, maybe we could meet sometime when I have more information for you.” Jack told himself to hurry and figure a plan to see her.
Her voice perked up. “Yes, that would be great. I’d like that.”
“Good. Oak Lawn isn’t that far— “
“Actually, I work part time in Brighton Park. Archer and Forty-third. About fifteen minutes from you.”
Was she purposely making this easy? Hoped so. “Okay. Lemme check my schedule.” Jack glanced at his calendar. “Would tomorrow late afternoon work?”
“Sounds good. Can I text you later about time and place?”
“Sure.” He was tongue-tied. “Ah, see ya tomorrow.” His spirits rose. Hadn’t felt like this since— nope, don’t visit the past.
The day hurried by, thanks to Jack’s buoyant mood. He couldn’t believe his luck. A date with Molly Winters falling into his lap. A mere week since meeting Bonnie at the pub. Two women after a long dry spell. When it rains, and all that.
. . . . .
At 5:30, the mood in Shinnick’s pub was low-key when Jack walked in. He spotted Tommy at the bar chatting with Charlie.
“Both Baileys. How can I be so lucky?” the rotund bartender said as Jack joined them.
“You’re livin’ right,” Tommy said.
“Join your brother in a Guinness?” Charlie dried his pudgy hands on a towel around his ample belly.
“Sure thing. Mayor been in?” Jack sat on a bar stool.
“Both Daleys. Just left.” Charlie worked at the pub when both Chicago mayors frequented the place. He kept their memory alive with long-time patrons.
After the beer arrived, Jack and Tommy made their way to a booth along the wall in an adjoining room with a couple customers sitting at a table.
After settling in, Jack gulped his brew and took the letter from his pocket.
“Still in shock?” Tommy asked. His dark hair was grayer and shorter than Jack’s, but they shared the same piercing blue eyes.
“Yeah, I guess. Can’t picture the old man gettin’ it on with anyone. War must’ve changed him.”
Tommy suppressed a smile. “People don’t see their parents that way, like they’re human, same as us.”
Jack took another swig. “If we wanted, we can try and track her down, but she’s gotta be de
ad by now. Still curious though. Who was Ariana Schroeder?”
“Yeah. I wonder too, but why would we want to find out? Not like we’d go over to Germany and meet her or her relatives. What good would that do anyone?”
They talked about their father’s war experience, what they’d been told. He never spoke of those times, but an uncle told Jack and his siblings the worst time for John Bailey was when his Army division liberated Dachau. The horrors reached beyond what the prisoners had endured, and Jack harbored a subtle message of probable crimes committed by the Allies. Jack and Tommy remembered a distant, but angry father, quick with the ‘switch’ as they called his belt, which found its way to their backsides for childhood offenses that escalated with the amount of whiskey he drank.
“Yeah, remember how Ma used to cover for him,” Tommy said. “Don’t upset your father. He’s had a hard day on the streets. She’d say that even after he made sergeant.”
Jack shrugged and looked at the letter, written in German. He’d looked online for the translation. “Curious about her saying both she and Pa were damaged, and maybe he’d recover. But she’d never heal from what was broken inside of her. Whadya think, Tom?”
Chapter 20
Tommy shrugged. “Damned if I know. Talk about a dear John letter.”
Jack drained his glass, shifted himself from the booth, and stood. “Be right back with a couple more pints.”
An hour later Jack and Tommy decided not to search for Ariana Schroeder. Jack would keep the letter and return the box to their mother, telling her that Tommy planned to save the newspapers for his children. Their other siblings could go through the box and take whatever they wished.
“We’ll keep the letter between the two of us. No sense in anyone else in the family knowing about the freulein.” Jack guzzled the last of his beer. “Still not sure about Ma. Something nags at me. Maybe she found the letter and wants to see if we’ll mention it.”
Tommy took his jacket from the seat beside him. “Who knows. I gave up trying to figure her and Pa out years ago. Let’s put it to rest.”
They waved to Charlie on their way out. The air was crisp and breezy as they headed through the parking lot to their cars and into the night.
. . . . .
The next morning when Jack arrived at the station, two cops stood at Gary Calvin’s desk deep in conversation. “Hey Bailey,” Calvin called and motioned Jack to come over.
“Got somethin’ good?” Jack said.
“Just whatcha wanted.” Calvin held up a file. “Should be clear, even for you.”
Jack ignored him, took the report, and left Calvin to yak with the other guys.
Sitting at his desk, Jack thought about Molly Winters. At least he had something to look forward to after work. He opened the file and hoped for something interesting, but was interrupted by a voice he’d grown to detest.
“Bailey, what’s the latest on your case?” Daisy LePere stood above him, one hand on her hip.
“Sarge, good to see you too.” Jack closed the file. “We’re pursuing all possible leads at this time and will keep you informed.” He spoke in a monotone, reciting the typical cop answer.
LePere pursed her lips, started to say something, then stopped. “Have you looked into anybody, people or groups, both victims had in common?”
Jack bit his tongue. “Yes, Ma’am. Nothing yet.” The broad watched too many cop shows.
“Where’s Sherkenbach?” She held up her watch. “Late again it seems.”
“Fer god’s sake, Sarge, it’s not even eight-thirty. Now if you’ll excuse me, some of us have work to do.”
LePere eyes bore into him. “Bailey, where do you get off talking to me like that? One of these days you’ll get reported for insubordination.”
He stood abruptly and stared at her. “I quake with fear.”
“Fine. You asked for it.” She turned and stomped away. Jack caught a sniff of her sickly rose perfume.
Was he losing it? At the moment he didn’t give a damn if he ended up on the hot seat.
He finished reading the file and seized his empty mug when Sherk walked in. He looked no better than yesterday, gaunt and stoop-shouldered.
Jack wondered about Sherk’s appointment yesterday. “Look, I won’t ask ya about the doctor’s— “
“It’s all right.” Sherk fiddled with a pencil. “We got lots of information, and the oncologist was cautiously optimistic. We heard all the statistics, got overwhelming. Erica’s cancer is stage four, which isn’t good.” He cleared his throat. “The chemo treatment will be aggressive. Starts Friday morning. I won’t have to drive her every time. Her mom will come and help.”
“That’s good, but you take all the time you want, and if that ol’—”
“It’s okay, Jack. Believe it or not, I can stand up for myself.” Sherk smiled.
“I know, but I still— “
“It’s fine. Don’t worry about me.”
But Jack did worry. Couldn’t help himself. Sherk was too nice and people walked all over him if he wasn’t careful. Once again, he thought his partner would’ve done better as a college professor.
“Got the file of students from Calvin.” Jack slurped his coffee. “Twelve boys from the nun’s classes now live in the area. Includes outlying suburbs like Evanston. Five of those fit the profile according to our friendly consultant, Daryl Gray.”
Sherk raised his brow. “Interesting. How should we approach this?”
“Can’t question them outright, like ‘you fit the profile of a serial killer. Where were you when the vics were murdered?’ We’ll start with a ‘measured approach’, to quote my old officer training teacher.”
“Sounds like a wise assessment.”
“Let’s start with the two guys who live closest to the crime scenes.” Jack handed Sherk a sheet of paper from the file. “Here’s your guy, I’ll do this one.” He put another page on his desk and began his search.
Jack doubted this whole bullshit process would amount to anything but a waste of time. His heart wasn’t in the case. Never was. How could he be determined to collar a guy who wanted to get rid of pedophiles? According to online research, these scumbags didn’t, couldn’t recover. The best they could hope for was taking meds and staying away from kids. Fat chance of that. Like an alcoholic they have to walk the line. At least if a drunk falls off the wagon he usually doesn’t abuse children and ruin their lives. Didn’t have to be a shrink to know that.
Jack’s cell signaled a text, and he welcomed the interruption. Didn’t recognize the number, but it turned out to be from Molly. She suggested they meet at the White Lion, a casual restaurant on Archer and Thirty-sixth at 5:30.
He returned the text with see you then. Good choice. Take less than half an hour to get there. They’d have a drink and maybe dinner.
The afternoon progressed at the pace of an iceberg. Would the day ever end?
Jack and Sherk finished searching the men on their list, and came up with zilch. No sore thumbs stuck out.
“Let’s track down these guys,” Jack said. “Tell ‘em about Sister Anne, ask about their school days, mention the priest.” The killer should to be one of the twelve boys on the list.
Sherk thought for a second. “Yes, but the guys will think it strange we’re investigating them thirty years after knowing the Sister. They were just kids.”
“Yeah, but we focus on the allegations against Father McGarvey. Should be able to read their reactions if they were abused. We can spot liars a mile away.”
“Guess I agree. Should we start with your guy, Len Abbott? Alphabetical order.”
“Sure. He’s cl
osest. We’ll wait till morning.” Jack stood and rearranged the clutter on his desk. “I’m outta here. Gonna meet someone.”
Sherk nodded. “Sounds intriguing, but ‘twere to consider too curiously, to consider so.’”Nice try, Sherk. I ain’t gonna ask what that means, but I bet it’s the bard doin’ the talkin’.”
“Very good, Jack. True, the quote is from Hamlet when he’s speaking to—”
“See ya tomorrow.” Jack hurried away. Didn’t need a literary lecture now.
. . . . .
Twenty-five minutes later, Jack pulled into the side parking lot of the White Lion. He climbed out of the car, walked past a white stone-carved lion near the front and entered the restaurant. The dimly lit room was partitioned into two dining areas. He glanced around and told the hostess he’d wait for someone who was joining him. He knew Molly would ask about her aunt’s murder. Wish he knew something definite.
After several minutes, the door opened and Molly walked in. She wore a long black and white striped knit jacket over black pants. A red print scarf looped around her neck.
“Hey,” Jack said. He breathed in a scent of lavender. God, she looked good. Hot even.
She smoothed her straight hair behind an ear. “Hi, Detective.”
“Jack,” he said. Time for a name change
Nodding, she said. “And Molly.”
They followed the hostess into the second room where Jack asked for a booth in the far corner. He was glad to see only a smattering of customers in the place.
Touching the small of her back, he guided Molly into the red leather seat. He felt a shiver and wanted to wriggle in beside her, but knew better.
A tall young waiter stopped by and filled their water glasses. “Something more to drink?”
Eager for a pint, Jack looked at Molly. “What will you have?”
“I’ll live a little and have a Shirley Temple.” She smiled at the waiter.