by Meg Lelvis
Chapter 38
It occurred to Jack that the coach’s killer could be someone other than a PD employee. What if someone blabbed to a spouse, a friend, or a cousin’s Dutch uncle?
Chub Nesbitt returned Jack’s call several hours later. He told Jack to wait until Monday morning when they met with Sherk. Meanwhile, the cap would research protocol on DNA and consult with his cronies in other Chicago departments. Needless to say, Nesbitt was not happy.
Jack spent the rest of the weekend doing as little as possible. Thoughts of Molly floated in and out of his brain. Wondered what Karen would think. Could he have overreacted when Molly told him in so many words he was too messed up to get involved with? Maybe her words were true. There would never be another Karen, but couldn’t he have a woman in his life? The idea of quitting his job and flying off somewhere grew more tempting by the day. He could forget the case. So someone was bumping off pedophiles. Could be worse.
. . . . .
Monday morning Jack and Sherk sat across from Nesbitt in his pristine office. The cap scowled. “Preachin’ to the choir here, but always a bitch when you suspect one of your own.” He furrowed his wide ebony brow. “Talked to a few of the brass, did some research. Bottom line is we can’t force our employees to submit their DNA. But we can check backgrounds. Did that before hiring.”
Jack knew what was coming. He nodded and Sherk sighed.
“So you guys get busy looking for red flags. Start with male cops first, then staff. The priest, and other two vics all preferred young boys, so a woman wouldn’t have motive. Or if your gut tells you somethin’ start there. Look for connections to Adams, mainly in Des Plaines when he coached Little League. Don’t rule out Skokie though.”
Sherk adjusted his glasses. “What about privacy from prying eyes, Sir?”
“Gettin’ to that. We’re setting you two up in the conference room upstairs. Larson from HR is ready with your lists, directions, whatnot. He’ll get you going.”
“Okay, Cap.” Jack stood. “You know I don’t know about computers other than my own stuff.”
“That’s why the tutorial from Larson. By the way, he’s clean. Checked him first. Then me.” Nesbitt rose from his chair. “You can eliminate us from the usual suspects.”
Was the cap serious? Playing it safe, Jack said nothing.
. . . . .
Within two hours, Jack and Sherk, ensconced in a meeting room, hunkered over their computer screens. The aroma of black coffee drifted in the air. Jack took notes during Larson’s instructions, not trusting his directions to memory. Sherk, no problem.
“I’m gonna do Calvin first,” Jack said after Larson departed the room. “I like the guy, but he did grow up in Des Plaines.”
“Good,” Sherk agreed. “He’s the only caution light we’ve seen, so I’ll start with the cops, alphabetical order. Alas, there is no joy in Mudville.”
“Ha. ‘Casey at the Bat’—an easy one for a change.”
“Very good, Jack. But a depressing aspect of our job. Suspecting one of us.”
“Right.” Jack began his search, punching in keywords, grunting now and then, writing in his notebook. Working in an enclosed space was strange, with no one milling about chattering, interrupting, strolling in and out of the bull pen. Helped his concentration, but he felt closed-in. Several minutes later, he murmured, “Shit.”
“Find something?” Sherk asked.
“Maybe. Calvin didn’t go to the coach’s high school in Des Plaines like he said. But got into trouble a couple years before he graduated Niles West High. Nothing serious until a drug bust at a party. Did community service. Happened again at a graduation party. This time he’s fined, community serve, and mandatory rehab. Did that at Gateway for three months for cocaine addiction. Then went to Oakton Community for a couple years. Got a tech degree. Then hired on here.”
“Not an immaculate resume,” Sherk said, “but nothing ties him to Adams unless he lied about being in Little League.”
“Yeah.” Jack was already tired of the search. “I dunno. Something doesn’t mesh. Can’t pinpoint it.”
“Let’s soldier on then.”
Sherk was annoying as hell with his stiff-upper-lip attitude.
Ten minutes later the call came they’d hoped for. “I knew it,” Jack said.
He punched off. “Sowder’s DNA isn’t a match for the dandruff. Yay to him for using Head and Shoulders.”
“Good news. Now we can soldier— “
“You said that already. I got it the first time.”
“You’re a quick study.”
Half an hour later, Jack stood and stretched. “I’m starving. Let’s have lunch. Get outta this room. Need some air.”
Sherk agreed. “Sure aren’t having any luck thus far. Unless Gary pans out somehow.”
They headed for Nana’s, a popular restaurant down the block on Halsted, a short walk from the station. The café featured American and Mexican cuisine, along with organic food on the menu, which pleased Sherk. Jack couldn’t stand the stuff.
. . . . .
Later in the afternoon Jack strolled to the break room; the coffee machine upstairs was empty with no one on hand to brew more. He used Styrofoam cups since his trusty White Sox mug was at his desk. He wanted to avoid the bull pen and the inevitable questions about the copycat progress.
Carefully balancing coffee for Sherk and himself, he threaded his way out the door. He was about to press the elevator button with his elbow when Daisy LePere appeared.
“Need help, Bailey?” She pressed the button with her finger, red nail polish shining in the light.
“I’m good, Sarge. You can go on wherever you’re headed.” Her perfume about knocked him out.
“Actually, I was coming up to check on you and Sherkenbach. I hope you’ve made some progress.”
Bitch. The doors opened and they stepped into the elevator. “Pretty much status quo. We’re doing fine on our own.”
“Trying to get rid of me, Bailey?” The doors reopened and Jack followed LePere into the hallway to the conference room. She let herself in without knocking. “Sherkenbach, nice to see you at work for a change.”
Sherk looked up from his monitor. “Excuse me, Ma’am?”
“Just what I said. You’re late most of the time around here.”
“That’s bullshit and you know it,” Jack growled and placed the cups on the table spilling coffee on his hand. “Need someone to pick on? No kids at home or anyone else to bully?”
Sherk said, “Jack, it’s— “
“No it isn’t okay.” Jack glared at LePere. “Give the guy a break. He has enough to worry about at home without your— “
“Watch your mouth, Bailey. You’ve crossed the line here.” She threw her shoulders back. “I’m going to your superiors one last time.”
“Lady, I have no superiors. Especially the likes of you.” He stood facing her, adrenaline rushing to his head.
Her eyes were slits. “Well, we’ll see about that.” She stomped out of the room and slammed the door, nauseating perfume drifting in her wake.
“Good God. What have you done?” Sherk looked rattled. He stood and removed his glasses.
“Nothing I haven’t wanted to do for a long time with that frickin’ bitch.”
“Your job’s on the line, Jack. Control yourself.”
“Fuck the job. I’ll explain later.” His heart pounding, he told himself to calm down. “Let’s finish this son-of-a-bitchin’ list and get the hell outta here.”
“All right, Jack.” Sherk took a drink of coffee. “We’ll probably be done in hal
f an hour. But you still shouldn’t have— “
“Quit worrying. Believe it or not, I know what I’m doing.”
They worked in silence. Jack found it difficult to concentrate. He’d had enough of LePere’s uncivil treatment of Sherk. Downright mean-spirited, bullying. He’d been on the brink of telling her to go screw herself, and admitted he wanted to belt her. Didn’t recall having a strong urge to hit a woman. First time for everything.
An hour crept by before their work was complete. “Nothing popped out. No flags,” Jack said. “Let’s report to the cap and get outta here.”
Sherk stood and cleared his paperwork. “Nothing important that I saw. Found it interesting to read the resumes. Where our colleagues came from and so on.”
“I guess,” Jack muttered. He gathered his files and left the room with Sherk, heading for Nesbitt’s office.
After they reported their findings to the captain, Nesbitt said, “I’ll talk to Calvin tomorrow. He’s probably okay, but need the alibi for his whereabouts on—” Nesbitt glanced at his papers. “Oddly enough, the coach’s murder happened April Fool’s night or early next morning.”
“Okay, Cap,” Jack said. “Don’t think he’s our copycat either, but gotta rule him out.”
Nesbitt stood. “You two look beat. Enough for today.”
Someone knocked on the door. “Yeah,” Nesbitt called.
Daisy LePere burst in, face flushed. She seemed surprised to see Jack and Sherk. “Chub, I’m glad these two are here. I need to talk to you about Bailey. Couldn’t get here sooner.”
Jack scowled and rose from his chair. “Yeah, Cap, she has lots to say, so we’ll be on our way.”
Sherk pushed back his chair and started to rise.
“Hold on a minute,” Nesbitt said. “Maybe you guys need to stay. I’m sure we can settle this— “
“All due respect, Cap, I doubt that.” Jack turned toward the door.
“For once I agree with Bailey,” LePere’s voice high pitched. “He overstepped his boundaries for the last time a little while ago. He— “
“Yeah, yeah,” Jack said. “Insubordination, Cap. Guilty of that.”
“Now just a damn minute here—” Nesbitt clearly pissed.
“Bailey’s at the end of his career here.” LePere’s hands on her hips. Blue silk shirt outlined her probable boob job.
“For crissakes, Daisy, calm down. This isn’t a fuckin’ school yard. We all need to act— “
“You’ve got to fire him, Chub. He went way too far. He told me-”
“Fire me?” Jack’s voice rose. The dam burst. “Fire me? Guess what, bitch, you can’t fire me. I quit!” He stepped toward the door. Turned and glared at LePere. “Been wanting to say this for months. Take this job and shove it up your ass!”
He stomped out the door, turned and glanced at Nesbitt, forehead shiny with sweat. Sherk’s mouth hung open like he’d had too much Novocaine. LePere’s eyes, marbles.
“And take that fuckin’ perfume you wear and flush it down the crapper.”
Jack glanced at Nesbitt. “You’ll have my resignation in the morning.”
Chapter 39
Jack swore he heard his heart thumping. Reminded him of Sowder’s going off the rails the other night at his apartment. Racing out of the station, he ignored several co-workers, and climbed into his car.
When he arrived home, he let Boone outside for a quick pee, then called him back in. Jack poured a couple shots of Jameson and sat at the kitchen table. “Sure did it this time, Buddy,” he told the big dog who sat by the chair.
Needed to decompress. Alone. He knocked back the shots and then concocted a sandwich of sausage, lettuce, and mustard, carried it into the living room along with a Sam Adams, and flopped into his recliner.
He switched on the TV news, ignoring his buzzing phone. Didn’t want to talk to anyone. He’d call Sherk later and apologize for leaving him in the lurch. He owed his partner that much. Nesbitt would no doubt try and talk him out of resigning, then assign Sherk a new partner who would be easier to work with. Maybe someone normal.
An hour later, Jack checked his phone. Messages from Nesbitt, Sherk, Maureen, Calvin. Didn’t listen. Another text from Molly. He imagined news of his stomping off the job spread like wildfire through the squad, even though no outsider had witnessed the event. Screw ‘em all. After guzzling another beer, he flopped into bed.
“Sweet dreams,” he told Boone. The yellow hound turned in two circles and settled on the floor at Jack’s side.
. . . . .
Dawn brought no light through the wooden blinds in Jack’s bedroom. Groggy, he bumbled into the bathroom. His head felt like a bowling ball. Recalling yesterday’s events, he groaned, shucked off his boxers, and turned on the shower.
After breakfast, he bit the bullet and called Sherk, feeling guilty he hadn’t called him last night.
“Hey, guy.” He put the phone on speaker and sat at the kitchen table. “Got a minute?”
“Sure, Jack. Eating breakfast.” Good old Sherk. Didn’t sound pissed.
“Sorry. I’ll call ya later.”
“No, that’s fine. Erica’s in the den with the kids getting ready for the school bus.”
“Well, ah, don’t know where to start. Look, sorry for bailing on ya, man. Leaving you holding the bag, the old bag, that is.” No chuckling from Sherk. “Anyway, it’s been building up a long time. Should’ve come clean with ya, but— “
“Jack, you can probably go in and explain to Nesbitt—you need to think about your future. Besides, I don’t want to lose you as a partner, and I hate to see you throw your career down the toilet. What about your resume?”
Jack cleared his throat. “That’s what I should’ve told ya. I don’t need to worry about another job. Not for awhile anyway. Too long to go into now, but I want us to get together this week and I’ll explain.”
“Jack, you don’t owe me any explanations. I— “
“Yeah, I do. I want to. You’ve put up with my shit for two years. Been a loyal partner.” Jack wasn’t used to emotional conversations.
“Okay,” Sherk said. “You coming in today to see Nesbitt? If you’re determined to carry through with this, and you want help clearing out your desk, I can do that much.”
“That might be good. Lemme think about it. Get back to ya. I’ll email my resignation to the cap this morning. Don’t wanna run into that bi—you know. Don’t wanna face anybody in the place. Hate goodbye’s.”
“Right, Jack. Nesbitt told me after you left to keep your walking-out news under wraps, but somehow word got out. Gary knows. Asked me for details, but I said I couldn’t say.”
“Yeah, Calvin called last night. I haven’t called back. Don’t know what he wants.”
“Right. Thanks for calling, Jack. Hang tight.”
“Call ya later, dude. Hi to Erica if she’s still speaking to me.”
They clicked off. Jack was relieved he could skip going to the station this morning. He’d probably need to go in sometime. Maybe sign his resignation papers. Who the hell knew.
Outside the sky spit raindrops against the window panes, so Jack knew Boone would turn down a walk. He spent the gloomy morning writing a letter of resignation on his laptop and sent it to Nesbitt. The cap called, making sure Jack was serious about leaving the job.
“I’m sure we could negotiate with— “
“Thanks, Cap, but it’s been brewing a long time. I’m positive it’s the right move. Thanks for everything. Appreciate it.” They clicked off. Lucky the cap was such a sport about the situation. Bad timing too, zeroing in on the serial killer.
Around noon Gary Calvin called. Jack answered. “Yeah, Calvin. What’s up?”
“About to ask you the same thing, Bailey. Is it true what I hear?”
Jack wasn’t about to lie to the guy or anyone else. “It’s true. Been a long time coming.”
“Man, I know you and LePere didn’t see— “
“Don’t wanna interrupt, but is there something else you’re calling about?”
A moment of silence passed. Calvin coughed. “Actually, yeah. Look, man. I’ve thought about it and I really want to talk to you. In person. Private.”
What the hell. Jack wasn’t a cop anymore. “I guess. Wanna come over tonight?”
“Yeah. Got your address. How ‘bout six?”
“That’ll work. See ya then.”
. . . . .
At 6:00 on the dot, Gary Calvin showed up at Jack’s front door, Boone barking a healthy welcome. “Hey, guy.” Calvin bent down and ruffled the big mutt’s fur. “Old Yeller himself.”
“Eaten yet?” Jack asked.
“Yeah, grabbed a burger on the way. Got caught in the rain. Can use a beer though.” No wonder Calvin’s red mop was damp and curlier than ever.
“Guinness or Sam Adams?”
“Sam. Prefer my brew cold.”
They settled in the living room with their beers, Boone plopped down by Jack’s feet.