by Meg Lelvis
Jolted awake, Jack sat up mopped his brow. He took deep breaths, lay flat on the bed. Hadn’t had church dreams for ages. Finally willed himself back to sleep.
Next he heard his alarm buzzing. He staggered out of bed and gradually readied himself for the day. Felt like he’d slept all of two hours.
After a shower and breakfast, Jack listened to Molly’s message again on his way out. Should he call later this morning? Texting might be better. Although he’d enjoy her company, he couldn’t see a long term relationship in his future. Maybe he was too screwed up.
When he reached the station, the last person he wanted to see stood at his desk. Daisy LePere, fierce in a black power suit, crossed her arms under her too-perfectly shaped bosom.
“Bailey, glad you decided to show up and grace us with your presence. Unlike your eminent partner, Sherkenbach.”
Jack resisted the urge to say, ‘Don’t screw with me, lady’. He plunked down at his desk. “Wonderful to see you too, Sarge. What can your humble servant do for you today?”
Her stare icy. “Watch the attitude. I heard about your episode with the Sowder guy last night. When and if Sherkenbach shows up, both of you come to my office.”
Too tired for a clever retort, Jack gave her a mock salute. With pursed lips, she hurried away, rose perfume sickening the air.
Without warning, a sense of control and power enveloped Jack. He’d bide his time, and if he blew up at LePere, so be it. He could afford to get the hell out and not put up with her shit anymore.
On his way to the break room, he stopped by Gary Calvin’s desk. Jack noticed the guy was decked out in a solid white polo shirt. “What’s with the normal shirt, Calvin. The others finally in the wash?”
“Not your usual quality of sarcasm this morning.” Calvin patted his carrot top. “Not that it’s any of your beeswax, I have a funeral to attend later in Des Plaines. Friend of my mom’s.”
“So showing up in a shirt that says ‘I Turn Beer into Pee—what’s your superpower?’ won’t show proper respect for the dearly departed?”
“Not bad, Bailey. Where did ya see that one?”
“Some jerk at a pub. Who knows?”
“By the way, you should get the DNA on the Sowder perp in a day or two.”
“Not a perp yet. Some confusion. Gotta wait and see.”
Calvin typed on his keyboard. “I got the guy’s contact info and work history. His mother’s in Goldpine in the memory care unit.”
“Trying to forget Sowder? Alzheimer’s, a survival kit for a horseshit life.”
“And my mother thinks I’m a cynic.” Calvin turned to his screen. “Catch ya later, Bailey.”
When Jack returned with coffee, Sherk was at his desk. “Morning, Jack.”
“The blond bitch wants us in her office.”
Sherk raised his brow. “She’ll chastise me for my late arrival no doubt.”
“To hell with her. We’ll make it short. Gotta get to the hospital. Check out Sowder.”
They made their way to LePere’s office. The door was open.
“Hee-re’s Johnny.” Jack stuck his head inside, fake Joker grin pasted on his face.
“Not funny. Come in and sit down. Close the door.”
They sat across from her desk. “Nice to see you showed up, Sherkenbach.” Her smile fake as a nine-dollar bill.
“Yes, Ma’am,” Sherk said.
“What’s the story on Donald Sowder?” LePere smoothed her blond hair to the side.
“He went mental on us,” Jack said. “Blabbed something about doing the first two murders, but not the third. Said a copycat smoked the coach in Skokie.”
“Any evidence of that?”
Dumb question. She knew the answer. Sherk said, “We’re waiting for DNA. No other forensic evidence so far.”
“We’re heading for the hospital now to see him,” Jack said. “When and if we get done here.” His sarcasm obvious.
“Cut the attitude, Bailey.” She clicked her red nails on the desk. “Get on with it. Do your damn job. What you’re paid for. Check in later.” She waved them out of the room.
The men stood and Sherk opened the door. “Shut it on our way out?”
“Yes,” she snapped. “Get this case closed, fellas.”
In the hallway, Jack said, “You heard her. We’ll close the case. Now.” He couldn’t wait for the day he told the old bag where to shove her case.
. . . . .
Jack and Sherk drove down Halsted toward Mercy Hospital. Gray clouds snoozed in the sky, but the air felt warmer than yesterday. Jack stopped for a red light. “Any idea why Sowder claims he didn’t do the third murder? Can’t recall if he mentioned the Bible verse.”
“He referred to scriptures. ‘Vengeance is mine saith the lord’ and ‘devil in sheep’s clothing’. Actually, the verse is ‘beware of false prophets coming to you in sheep’s— “
“All right for god’s sake. I’ll take your word for it.”
“Clothing, but inwardly they are— “
“Sherk, I swear— “
“Ravenous wolves. So Jack, it’s technically not the devil in— “
“Lemme guess. Wolves. Gluttons at that. Now shut up already.”
Sherk chuckled. “You’re good for a laugh, Jack. Sure need one these days.”
“Erica still feeling okay?”
“Yeah. She’s not eager for her next chemo in a couple days.”
They arrived at the hospital and parked in front. When they reached Donald Sowder’s room, a young patrol cop stood by the closed door. “Hey, guys. Tim from the department. You’re Bailey and Sherk.”
“Can’t argue with that.” Jack wasn’t surprised to see someone monitoring Sowder.
Sherk said, “Hey Tim. What’s the update on Donald?”
“His dad stomped in early this morning demanding a lawyer. Said no one questions his son without the lawyer present.” The cop took a gulp of coffee from a Styrofoam cup in his hand. “He’s out getting a lawyer now. Doesn’t want a court-appointed. A real loud mouth, but his son’s ass is on the line.”
“Think we can just talk to Donald without asking questions? “Sherk asked.
“Maybe. Nurse is in there now. See if she’s done.”
Sherk tapped lightly and opened it a crack.
“Yes?” a female voice asked.
Sherk stepped in. “We’d like to see Mr. Sowder.”
A young girl in pink scrubs stood by the bed. “Just finished his vitals. He can talk a little. But no questioning. Okay, Donald?”
Donald lay propped halfway up on his bed, a sheet to his waist. A faded print hospital gown hung loosely around his chest. “You again. I don’t have anything to say.”
“We should wait for the doctor,” the girl said. “Should be here any minute.”
Following Sherk into the room, Jack said, “We’ll only be a minute.”
“No.” Donald’s voice rose. “I don’t wanna talk to you.”
“Okay, Donald.” Sherk turned. “We’ll wait.” He followed Jack into the hall. “Don’t want to upset him. We’ll see what the doc says.”
“Guess I’ll go in,” Tim said. “Looks like he’s done with his exams for now.”
“So you sit in a room all day. Boring job, but someone’s gotta do it,” Jack said.
“I get a break when the lawyer comes. Should be here another couple days,” Tim said.
Sherk crossed the hall. “Let’s wait for the doc, Jack. See what he says.”
“And waste
the morning sittin’ on our asses? Docs never show up when they’re supposed to. People die waitin’ for ‘em.”
Sherk sat in a folding chair. “What else do we have to do except wait for lab reports?”
Jack grudgingly took a seat. “Fine. Think we should bother trying the other ex-students we missed yesterday?” He looked at his notebook. “Tom Chu and Joe Miller.”
“Don’t think so at this point. I’m thinking Donald’s our man, except for his insistence about a copycat.”
“Don’t see it. The Bible verse, same paper, same writing, same drug, same everything that bumped off Sister Anne and Welton. No one else knows about the verse and drug unless— “
Sherk stared at him. “Unless what? You thinking what I’m— “
“Just a minute.” Jack glanced at his phone. “Gotta take this.” He stood and walked a few yards down the hall.
“Hey, Stu. What’s up?” Jack had been expecting the call. He listened.
“No problem. At a standstill at the moment.” Pause. “Yeah, that should work. In the middle of a case, but see you tomorrow if I can. Should know for sure by mid-morning. Yeah. Later.”
Meeting with Stewart Buckley at the bank this week was lousy timing, but with all that dough, who gave a damn.
Jack returned to his chair and sat. Sherk said, “Any news?”
“Huh? Oh, nah, no news. Something else. Not important.” He needed to tell Sherk about his windfall sometime. But not now. Hadn’t told anyone.
“We were talking about the third murder,” Sherk said. “Oh, here comes someone.”
“About time,” Jack said.
An attractive middle-aged woman approached them holding a clipboard. She wore an expensive looking navy and white pants outfit. She smiled. “Good morning. You must be the detectives who were with Mr. Sowder last night.”
“Yes.” Sherk introduced himself and Jack to Dr. Kay Dunne MD. “I was called in early this morning to consult for Mr. Sowder.”
I see by your ID that you’re a psychiatrist,” Sherk said.
Jack could imagine the lady was a damn good one. She had a soothing presence and a low, pleasing voice, as well as a self-assured demeanor.
She turned toward Donald Sowder’s door. “Yes, I work with both in and outpatients. I saw Mr. Sowder earlier, and plan to do further testing. If you’ll wait a few minutes, I’ll talk to him and let you know if I feel he’s ready to see you if his lawyer is present.”
“Can you tell us anything from this morning?” Jack asked. “Was he still off his—ah, acting— “
The doc smiled. “Agitated. Incoherent?”
“Yeah, that’s what I meant.” Jack should elevate his vocabulary around pretty women.
“He was subdued during the night. Medication helped him rest. He seemed calmer this morning than last night.” She tapped on the door. “I won’t be long.”
“Bet she’s a good shrink,” Jack said.
. . . . .
After fifteen minutes, Dr. Dunne emerged from Donald’s room. “Let’s walk down the hall and talk,” she said.
They stopped in a small alcove at the end of the hall, away from the hubbub of people. The doc smoothed her honey brown hair.
“Mr. Sowder is still agitated and paranoid. We’re transferring him to Rush for testing, hopefully this afternoon. I can share a few of his behaviors. Now we’re allowed more leeway to reveal patient medical issues with law enforcement.” She paused. “He claims he, quote, rectified the sins of two devils, but not three. He says he’s doing God’s work by ridding the earth of evil against children. He also rambles Bible quotes, but he does not present as psychotic.”
“So he’s not schizophrenic,” Sherk said.
Dr. Dunne shook her head. “No diagnosis at this time. The buzzing and heartbeat he said he heard last night were symptoms of major panic attacks, which he’s experienced previously. He was hospitalized ten years ago for major depression and paranoia. He has not kept up with his meds.”
Jack nodded. “Did Sowder say anything about a priest abusing him?”
“He alluded to priests in sheep’s clothing and damaging altar boys. He referred to himself as Humpty Dumpty that no one could fix, that he was beyond repair.”
“What does this mean for an arrest?” Sherk asked. “I assume the confession at his apartment wouldn’t hold up since he was not in his right mind.”
“I agree. I’m afraid it may take awhile to determine if Donald can be tried in court.”
Jack grimaced. “I’ve seen my share of scum of the earth, but I still can’t shake off what these perverts do.”
The doctor smiled. “As they say, when you stop caring, it’s time to quit.”
“Guess so.” Jack wanted to quit, but not because he didn’t care about defenseless people. He had other reasons.
Sherk glanced at his watch. “We’ve done all we can for now. Thanks for your time, Dr. Dunne.”
Outside, the wind had picked up, blowing chillier air. Jack’s phone buzzed on their way to the car. “Yeah.” Pause “No shit. Right.” He clicked off, turned to Sherk.
“That was Skokie. Found dandruff specks on the coach’s body. DNA doesn’t match his own or the previous samples from the nun and Welton scenes. Doesn’t prove a copycat, but a strong indicator. Crap. We gotta rule out Sowder, even though we both think he’s clear of the third vic. Let’s assume for now, that there is a copycat.”
Back in the car, Sherk drove toward the station. “As we said before, the copycat knew about the Bible verse. Has to be someone—”
“Someone leaked it. Or someone—” Jack hated to think of an inside job. Always messy when it’s one of your own. Hell, did he even want to know?
Chapter 34
“Or someone knew and acted on it. Someone who did the deed,” Sherk said.
They arrived at the station and made their way into the building. “Let’s grab a bite. Figure out what to do next,” Jack said.
Settled in the break room dining on vending machine sandwiches and cokes, they talked about the dilemma of an inside job for the third murder. Cops hate the idea of one of their own breaking the laws they’re paid to serve and protect. Truth be told, good cops sometimes give the rules a nudge, plant a little weed in a guy’s pocket so he’s arrested for a worse crime you know damn well he’s committed. Jack had known dirty cops. Money the usual motivator.
“I’m convinced Sowder’s DNA will match evidence from the first two bodies. Guy’s a nut job, but I bet he’s right about a copycat.”
Sherk took a bite of his ham and cheese sandwich. “Yes, and remember the coach’s scene was compromised by the cops who nosed around before CSI got there.”
“Yeah,” Jack agreed. “Could’ve been their dandruff left. Need to remind ‘em of that small fact.” Good thought, but there was still room for doubt. “Someone had to know about the Bible verse.”
They finished their lunch and were on their way to the bull pen when Chub Nesbitt ran into them in the hallway. “What’s the latest on the nut—ah, the mentally disturbed suspect?”
Jack cleared his throat. “Nothing’s clear yet. Sowder wasn’t of sound mind when he confessed to the first two murders. Has a lawyer, but we’re gonna try for an informal interrogation. My trusty ESP says Sowder just offed the first two vics. He’s transferring to Rush for further psych evals.”
Nesbitt grimaced. “Stay on it.” He strode away. Jack bet the cap caught the drift of an inside job for the third vic. No wonder Nesbitt was pissed.
“Guess we’ll keep the Skokie dandruff call to ourselves?” Sherk asked.
“Yeah. We got
ta think on it,” Jack said as they entered the bull pen. “Something’s staring us in the face. Don’t know what it is yet.”
They ran into Velda Vatava on their way to their desks. “You guys gonna arrest the Sowder guy? Heard he pulled a Cuckoo’s Nest on you last night.”
“Don’t believe everything you hear, Vatava,” Jack said as he sat.
“Right,” she said, patting her permed hair. Her voice lowered. “What worries me, Donald, is how your poor mother is going to take this.”
Sherk said, “Sorry, Velda, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“It’s her lame attempt at humor. Quoting from the movie. You know, Nurse Ratched.” Jack scoffed. “Your quotes, Sherk, are a cut above hers.”
“Ha,” Velda retorted. “I can quote Shakespeare too. ‘To thine own self be true’ and all that.”
“A lucky guess, Vatava. Moving along, we got work to do.” Jack opened a file on his desk.
She chuckled. “I can take a hint. See ya later.”
“That woman knows everything,” Sherk said.
“Yeah, about office gossip.”
After twenty minutes of getting nowhere with case speculation, Jack said he needed a break and decided to contact Molly. Maybe she’d had a bad day when she brushed him off. He returned her text, recommending the White Lion again for their meeting, since the place was convenient for both, and the food good.
A few minutes later, Molly texted back, suggesting they meet later around 6:30 for drinks.
Fine with him; his social calendar was a vast wasteland.
. . . . .
Jack arrived at the restaurant early. He and Sherk had spent the remaining afternoon spinning their wheels. Possibilities of a fellow cop doing the third murder made little sense; a connection between someone at the station and Coach Grant Adams would be a huge coincidence. Jack didn’t believe in coincidences, but nothing fit into place. He decided to focus on Molly and the potential of a relationship. God knows, a rarity in his life.