Also by James D. Keating
All on the Same Side
The Wrong House
©2015 by James D. Keating
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored, in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form without the express permission of the author, except by reviewers who may quote brief passages in a review to be printed in a newspaper, magazine or journal. Direct any requests for additional information to author, nightwatchpublication@gmail.com
Copyright 2015 Nightwatch Publications
First printing.
All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
ISBN: 9781483553115
“Greater love has no one than this,
than to lay down one’s life for his friends.”
John 15:13
This book is dedicated to the 572* Chicago Police Officers
that have been killed in the line of duty protecting the
citizens of Chicago. God rest their souls.
*May 2015
Acknowledgments
All of the characters and events in this book are fictitious. The names of several of my good friends were used with their permission, for characters in this book. I would like to thank them for sharing with me their knowledge and expertise of current police procedures and procedures in the Cook County State’s Attorney’s office: Frank Carey, formerly with the Chicago Police Department, and former chief of police in several Illinois and Florida cities; Dennis Banahan, Chicago Police Department, retired; Roger Widdows, Cook County Sheriff’s Police, retired; and Matthew Walsh, currently a criminal defense lawyer and former Assistant State’s Attorney, Cook County, Illinois
And a very special thank you to Father Thomas Nangle, Chaplain, Chicago Police Department, retired, for sharing his knowledge of religious procedures in hospital emergency rooms when an officer is near death. Over the years, Father Nangle was called upon to administer last rites all too many times to gravely wounded and dying officers.
And another very special thank you to Lynn Widdows, who has worked with me the last two years keying this manuscript into the computer and deciphering my terrible handwriting. She also dramatically improved and corrected my grammar and punctuation. Any errors in those areas, despite her best effort, are a reflection on my public school education. Thank you so very much Lynn for all of your hard work, patience, and advice. You are a unique lady.
Table of Contents
Acknowledgments
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
CHAPTER 24
CHAPTER 25
CHAPTER 26
CHAPTER 27
CHAPTER 28
CHAPTER 29
CHAPTER 30
CHAPTER 31
CHAPTER 32
CHAPTER 33
CHAPTER 34
CHAPTER 35
CHAPTER 36
CHAPTER 37
CHAPTER 38
CHAPTER 39
CHAPTER 40
CHAPTER 41
CHAPTER 42
CHAPTER 43
CHAPTER 44
CHAPTER 45
CHAPTER 46
CHAPTER 47
CHAPTER 48
CHAPTER 49
CHAPTER 50
CHAPTER 51
CHAPTER 52
CHAPTER 53
CHAPTER 54
CHAPTER 55
CHAPTER 56
CHAPTER 57
CHAPTER 58
About the Author
CHAPTER 1
The ringing telephone startled Mrs. Eleanor Flowers awake. She looked at the large red digital numbers on the clock radio on the night stand next to her bed, 5:00 a.m. She reached for the ringing phone “Hello?”
“Mrs. Flowers, this is Lieutenant Sam Potter from the Chicago Police Department. I’m the commander of the robbery unit at Area Central detectives. I have three detectives coming to your house to talk to you. We have information that there is going to be a robbery of your currency exchange this morning.”
“Oh, my God! What do you want me to do?” By now Mrs. Flowers was wide awake.
“The detectives will explain what we are going to do. They should be at your door any minute. Just be sure they identify themselves before you open the door. Make sure they show you their stars and identification cards.”
“All right. I have to get dressed now and check on my husband. He can’t get around by himself.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Flowers, just listen to the detectives and everything will be okay. You won’t be in any danger.”
“There is someone at the door right now.”
“Okay, we will talk more later when I see you. Just make sure who they are before you open the door.”
Mrs. Flowers got out of bed and put on her slippers and robe. She looked in her husband’s bedroom as she went past; he was still asleep. She walked to the front door and turned on the porch light. She looked through the window and could see two men holding up their stars and ID cards where she could see them.
She opened the door and let them in. “Please turn off that porch light Mrs. Flowers, someone might be watching the house” said the taller of the two men. “I’m Detective Marvin Strak and this is my partner Angelo Costos.” Both men were dressed casually in blue jeans, running shoes and light weight dark jackets. Costos had a portable radio in one hand.
“Could we go in the kitchen or somewhere other than here in your living room? I don’t think it’s a good idea to turn a light on where it can be seen.”
“All right, it’s this way but please be quiet, my husband is still sleeping.”
They walked down a short hallway to the kitchen and Mrs. Flowers turned on the night light on the hood over the stove. She was holding her robe tightly at the neck and they could see she was trembling. Detective Stark told her, “Mrs. Flowers, please relax; you are going to be perfectly safe the whole time. We received very reliable information late last night that two men are going to stick up your exchange when the armored car makes your money delivery this morning. We are going to be in the office with you and when they come into the outer office we will step out and arrest them. You will be safe and out of the way if they resist. There will be other detectives outside so as I said, you will be perfectly safe at all time.”
Mrs. Flowers was starting to calm down. “What do you want me to do?”
“We would like you to go with us now so we can get in the currency exchange before daylight and not be seen.”
“I can’t leave now. I have to wait for the woman that stays with my husband during the day when I’m gone. My husband has Alzheimer’s disease and can’t be left alone.”
“What time does she usually get here?”
“Six o’clock; that way I can get to the exchange by 6:30.”
“Our other partner is in the car. We can have him stay with your husband until this is over. Why don’t you call the lady and tell her to stay home today. But don’t tell her why; we don’t know if someone might have set this up.”
Mrs. Flowers made the call and told the woman her sister was going to sit with her husband today. She then went into her bedroom and quickly dressed. Detective Costos went outside and brought in the third detective. Mrs. Flowers explained to him where her husband’s medicine was and what time to give him the different pills. In the kitchen she filled the Mr. Coffee maker and started a pot of coffee for the detective. She poured herself a glass of orange juice and told the detective there was plenty of food in the refrigerator, to help himself when he gets hungry. “Will I be back in time to fix John’s lunch?”
“If it goes down as we expect it to we can have you back here long before lunch time. Are you ready to go now?”
“Yes, just let me get my purse and keys.”
“And you better call your alarm company and let them know you are going in early this morning. We don’t want them responding when you turn the alarm off earlier than usual.”
She made the call then went into her husband’s bedroom and leaned over and kissed the sleeping man.
“I’ll take good care of him until you come back, Mrs. Flowers.” He walked with them to the front door and locked it behind them when they left.
Detective Costos held her arm as he helped her down the porch stairs and to their car parked at the curb. A car came around at the corner and as it approached it slowed and the high beam headlights came on. Mrs. Flowers shielded her eyes and said, “That’s Mr. Johnson, he works nights for the railroad.” The car pulled to the curb near the other end of the block and parked. The detectives put Mrs. Flowers in the back seat of the unmarked car and pulled away.
It was a ten minute drive to the currency exchange on 51st Street. They parked a block away on a side street so their car wouldn’t be noticed. When they walked to the front door of the exchange, Mrs. Flowers called the alarm company again and said she was entering now. She unlocked the heavy glass door and as soon as the three of them were inside she went to the alarm panel on the wall, punched in her security code and turned off the alarm, then she relocked the front door.
The lobby area of the currency exchange is a large, almost empty room. There are four waist high writing stands where customers could fill out forms. On top of each stand are trays of blank applications for license plates, city vehicle stickers, and money order forms. Each stand has a desk calendar and a cheap ballpoint pen attached to the stand by a beaded chain. Waist high writing ledges run along both side walls. Large calendars showing the current month hang in several places along the walls. Straight ahead is a steel reinforced wall that separated this room from the office area. There are two bullet proof glass cashier windows with pass thru trays in the wall for the customers to conduct business. Also, there is a steel reinforced door in the wall that leads to the backroom. There’s a small window in the door with a two-way mirror. Mrs. Flowers punched another code into the pad mounted on the wall by the side of the door. The three of them entered the small office area and Mrs. Flowers turned on the office lights. There are four desks cluttered with stacks of state license plate envelopes, more blank forms, computer terminals and ledger books. A large double door safe stands against one wall, two tall stools are up by the cashier windows, and a small bathroom in the far corner.
Mrs. Flowers said she would start a pot of coffee for them. She told detectives she had another lady that worked with her that would be coming in at 7:30. “Should I call her and tell her to stay home?”
“No, everything should be over by then. Your armored car makes the delivery at seven o’clock and that’s when they are going to hit. If you give me your keys, in a few minutes I will go and unlock the front door and turn the lights on out there so everything looks normal and then all we have to do is sit and wait,” said Strak.
CHAPTER 2
It was a typical fall morning with a hint of winter in the cold October wind blowing the fallen leaves along the sidewalk on 51st Street as the Loomis Armored car pulled to the curb in front of the currency exchange near the University of Chicago and a few blocks from the President of the United States’ Chicago residence. The truck was right on schedule, 7:00 a.m.
The driver, Paul Babbit, a twenty year employee of Loomis, looked through the windshield, checked the side mirrors and the video display from the camera over the rear door; everything looked clear. His partner today, Mario Coletta, a retired Chicago police officer, has been with Loomis two years since he retired from the City at the mandatory age of 63. He has put on a few pounds since he retired and the arthritis in his knees bother him in this damp weather when he climbed in and out of the truck.
“Everything looks clear, Mario, you ready?” said Babbit over the intercom to the separate armored compartment behind the driver’s cab.
Coletta was sitting on the jump seat with a canvas money pouch pulled up in front of him; other money pouches were lined up against the wall of the truck in the order of the next stops. Coletta double checked the identifying tag to be sure he had the right bag for this stop. “Yeah, all set, open’er up.”
Babbit hit the electronic switch unlocking the side door of the truck and Coletta climbed out with the money pouch in his left hand. He pushed the heavy door closed and listened for it to click locked. He pulled his jacket collar up to cut the wind then reached down and unsnapped his holster. Company policy required the messengers to be ready, but not to draw his weapon until there is an actual threat present. He crossed the sidewalk and pushed open the heavy glass front door of the currency exchange and walked to the office door.
Coletta knew the manager; Mrs. Flowers could see him from the security camera mounted over the door. As he approached the door, he heard the electronic click as the door unlocked and started to open. “Good morning, Mrs. Flowers … ” He saw she was crying and looked scared, something was wrong … A man crouching next to Mrs. Flowers stood up, a black pistol in his hand. Coletta stepped back and was reaching for his pistol when the man fired twice; the first shot struck Coletta in the forehead, the second in the center of his chest. Coletta fell back against the wall and slid down in a sitting position, the money pouch at his side, his pistol still in the holster. The man pushed Mrs. Flowers to the side and stepped through the door. The second man that had been hiding in the office, shot Mrs. Flowers twice as she stumbled from being shoved. The second man picked up the money pouch and both men ran out of the currency exchange.
Paul Babbit was waiting in the truck for Coletta to return. He knew it would be a few minutes in spite of their tight schedule; Mario loved to chat with the people at each stop. Suddenly, the door of the currency exchange opened, two men came out and started running east on the sidewalk; one of the men was carrying the canvas money pouch. They turned at the corner and disappeared from Babbit’s sight.
Following company policy, Babbit immediately hit the alarm button on the dashboard setting off a piercing siren and a loud announcement saying the truck was under attack and to call the police. A yellow strobe light was flashing on the roof of the truck. The alarm also sent an instant alert to Loomis communication center that the truck was under attack. Loomis located the truck on GPS and was notifying the Chicago police at the same time Babbit was on the truck radio letting the company know what had happened.
It was 7:10 a.m. when the Chicago Police Department’s communication center was notified by Loomis Armored car of an attack on one of their trucks. GPS had located the truck just east of Drexel Boulevard on 51st Street. Three minutes later beat car 0233 from the 2nd District pulled up next to the truck. The siren announcement and flashing yellow light, were still operating.
Babbit saw the police car arrive and the officer get out, draw his pistol and using his car as a shield, signaled Babbit to open the door. Babbit waited until three more marked police cars arrived and he was sure they were the police and not a ruse to get him to open his door. He unlocked the armored door and climbed out.
Babbit told the officers his messenger had taken the money pouch into the currency exchange and has not come out. Two men did come out carrying the money pouch and ran east on 51st Street. He said he got a good look at them and gave the officers a quick description of what they were wearing. Two of the officers got back in their cars and went east looking for the two men. The patrol sergeant used his portable radio to contact the communications center and request a flash message be sent over Citywide 3 with the description of the suspects wanted at this time for investigation. The patrol sergeant and the assigned beat car officer walked to the currency exchange. Babbit got back in the armored truck and locked himself in to wait for supervisors from his company.
Both officers drew their weapons and cautiously entered the currency exchange. They were careful not to compromise any finger prints that might be on the front door. They found Coletta slumped against the wall in a sitting position. There was no need to check him for vital signs but they did anyway. Dead. Mrs. Flowers was lying on her left side partially blocking the door to the office. Her blouse was covered with blood and she was making a sucking sound, a lung had been punctured. The beat officer knelt and immediately applied direct pressure to the two wounds. The patrol sergeant made a quick search of the office area, no other offenders. He used his portable radio to upgrade the flash message; the two men were now wanted in a murder investigation and were probably armed. All beat cars and detective cars would hear the Citywide flash message. He also requested paramedics, the mobile crime lab, homicide detectives and the medical examiner.
Within three minutes the distinct sound of the siren on the fire ambulance could be heard. The beat officer continued the direct pressure on Mrs. Flower’s wounds until the paramedics arrived, wheeling in their litter. One paramedic knelt down, tore open Mrs. Flower’s blouse, examined the wounds and applied air tight dressings. The other paramedic spread a set of MAST trousers on the litter and they gently lifted her body onto the lowered litter. One paramedic wrapped the rubber trousers around her legs and velcro’d them tight, then started pumping the foot pedal to inflate them. It was urgent to force the blood in her lower extremities up toward the heart and brain to keep her alive. The air tight dressing gave the lung a chance to reinflate with air, but she would still be losing blood, they had to move quickly. The other medic had a saline drip in her arm. They raised the litter and ran toward the door, the police officer moving with them holding the saline bag high over the litter.
The ambulance was double parked next to the armored car, traffic was stopped in both directions on 51st Street. Mrs. Flowers was mumbling something to the paramedic near her head; he was leaning down to hear her. They rolled the litter into the ambulance and locked it in place and one paramedic climbed in the back with her. The other paramedic ran around to the driver’s door. He hollered to the police officer, “She said they were detectives and another one is at her house with her husband.” He jumped into the ambulance and headed to the County hospital which was the closest Level 1 Trauma Center.
A crowd of onlookers that had gathered on the sidewalk was moved farther back as officers strung crime-scene tape from the building to a parking meter. The beat officer found his sergeant and told him what the paramedic said Mrs. Flowers said.
“Jesus Christ! Why couldn’t this have waited another half-hour until I was off?”
The first crime lab technicians arrived and the sergeant explained what had happened and what they needed. “Get in there and get your pictures of the office as quick as you can, then find her purse. We need her home address. There is supposed to be another dogass holding her husband.”
“Sarge, there’s a lady over here that works in there,” said an officer standing by the crime scene tape. He was pointing to a middle age woman standing behind the tape. She was sobbing into a handkerchief she was holding up to her face.
The woman was allowed to come under the tape. She told the sergeant she was Mrs. Edna Parker and had worked in the currency exchange with Mrs. Flowers for ten years. Yes, of course she knew where Eleanor lived; she and her husband had been to Eleanor’s home many times for dinner and to play cards. She didn’t know the house numbers but she could certainly find it.
The Sergeant hollered to the lab technician to disregard his request to look for the purse and process the crime scene as they usually do. Then he went into the dry cleaners next door to the currency exchange and used their land-line telephone to contact the Communication center and tell them to make the necessary notifications for a SWAT incident response to a possible hostage situation and to make all notifications by land-line and not over the police communication system. He told them the offenders are probably monitoring the police radio frequencies. He didn’t want to say anything yet about sworn personnel possibly being involved in the crime. He said the incident address would be available shortly and it will be in the vicinity of the University of Chicago.
CHAPTER 3
The first detectives’ car to arrive at the currency exchange was a team of robbery dicks, Tom Corburn and Doug Hoffman. The patrol sergeant quickly explained everything to them and they escorted Mrs. Parker to their car and took her to point out the Flower’s home.
Five minutes later homicide detectives Jim Ryan and his partner, Brian Dwyer from Area Central Violent Crimes Unit, arrived at the currency exchange. They were the next team up on the rotation schedule and had been in their offices at 51st and Wentworth, less than ten minutes from the currency exchange.
As the patrol sergeant began to explain everything to Ryan and Dwyer, the head of security for Loomis Armored Car arrived with a relief crew for the armored car and introduced himself to the officers. At that time Babbit unlocked the door and got out of the truck again and told what had happened and what he saw. The head of security asked if he could put the relief crew in the truck and get it back in service since there would be no forensic evidence on the truck. The lab technician took photographs of the truck and its proximity to the currency exchange and Ryan allowed the other crew to take the truck. The driver, Babbit, would be taken to the detective area to give a formal statement to the detectives.
Ryan and Dwyer walked into the currency exchange, the crime lab technicians were still processing the crime scene and that would take several more hours. Coletta’s body was still slumped against the wall. “Poor bastard never had a chance to defend himself.” Dwyer said, pointing to Coletta’s pistol still in his holster.
They saw the large blood stain on the cracked and worn gray linoleum floor where Mrs. Flowers had fallen. Ripped open plastic bags and blood soaked compresses and bandages were strewn on the floor starkly documenting the efforts to save her life.
They stepped into the doorway of the office and watched one of the lab technicians at work. They saw the safe doors were standing open, empty cash drawers, and broken rolls of coins were scattered all over the floor. “It looks like they got all the paper money and left the coins.” Dwyer said.
“Too heavy to carry plus they got that money pouch,” Ryan said. He asked the tech, “Find any shell casings, Randy?”
“No, they either picked them up or they had old wheel guns.”
Dwyer saw the computer equipment on top of the desk had been badly smashed. “The video surveillance camera is probably wired into the computer. Do you think there might be something salvageable on the hard drive? There might be pictures of those guys coming or going from that camera in the outer room.”
“It don’t look promising but we will take it with all the other evidence and have the computer people see what they can do with it.” The technician said.
An assistant Cook County medical examiner arrived with one of his investigators and after talking with the detectives and evidence technician, he quickly examined Coletta’s body and officially pronounced him dead. The ME’s investigator took several pictures of the body and then inventoried Coletta’s pistol and everything in his pockets. All of Coletta’s personal effects were now in the custody of the medical examiner.
Two men from a private removal service had been waiting outside. They were brought in pulling a litter. They lifted Coletta’s body and put him in a body bag; rigor mortis had not set in yet and they were able to lay him flat and zip up the bag and wheel him out. They would take the body to the morgue. The police department no longer moved dead bodies unless there is a danger to civilian transport people or an urgent need to clear the scene quickly. Another exception is when a police officer is killed on duty. In that instance a Chicago Fire Department ambulance will transport the officer’s body to the Medical Examiner’s officer. The ambulance will be led and followed by several marked and unmarked police cars. A police honor guard will meet the ambulance and form an honor guard as the officer is carried into the building. A police chaplain will say a brief prayer with the group.
As Ryan and Dwyer followed the men moving Coletta’s body out of the currency exchange, Detective Hoffman was just parking his squad among all of the other police vehicles blocking the street. He hurried over to Ryan and Dwyer, “Where’s your partner, Doug?” Dwyer asked.
“We’re the guys that took the lady over to point out Mrs. Flower’s house. It’s really a cluster fuck over there. I just came back to take Mrs. Parker home. She is really in bad shape, I wanted to let you know what we got over there and then I gotta get back there.”
“Is SWAT on the scene?” Ryan asked.
“They weren’t needed. When we got there the fire department had the street blocked off and had put out a house fire. Mrs. Parker told us it was Mrs. Flowers’ house. The fire had been struck and they were rolling up the hoses. I talked to a fire department lieutenant who told me it was definitely an arson; the fire was started in three separate locations, the kitchen, front room and one of the bedrooms. That’s where the body was found.”
“Body?”
“Yeah, the lieutenant said it was an elderly black man lying in the bed, still in his pajamas. The cause of death will be either smoke inhalation or the gunshot wound in the forehead.”
“Jesus Christ!” Dwyer said.
“We made all of the notifications and we’re waiting for the fire department to turn the scene over to us. Your lieutenant sent two homicide teams to help out there until you got there. They said since it was all part of this here,” motioning toward the currency exchange, “You guys will end up with that one also.”
“You’re just a bundle of good news, Doug,” Ryan said.
“I gotta get back there and help. Tom started to canvas the neighbors to see if any of them had seen anything.” Hoffman ran back to his car and eased it through the maze of police cars parked haphazardly in the street. Both the east and west end of the street were blocked off and all traffic had been rerouted. There was a group of onlookers standing behind the yellow crime scene tape strung across the sidewalk at each side of the currency exchange front, and a crowd of more than fifty people were gathered on the sidewalk across the street. At the front of the crowd were television news reporters from Channels 2 and 7 with their handheld microphones up where the station logo could be seen as they broadcast live from the scene. Camera men were filming them live with the currency exchange across the street as a back drop.
A patrol lieutenant from the 2nd District was talking with two of her sergeants when Ryan and Dwyer walked over to her. She turned and asked, “What do you need, gentlemen?”
“We have another crime scene that is related to this one and we need to get over there. Could we use some of your officers to start canvassing these businesses around here to see if anyone saw anything or if they might have security cameras that caught the two guys running toward that corner?” Ryan said, pointing to the east.
The lieutenant saw four tactical officers standing by their cars talking. She signaled them to come over. “Tell them what you want them to do and they’ll get started,” she said.
Ryan explained what he wanted them to do and told them if anyone had seen anything of importance, transport them to the violent crimes offices and keep them separated so they don’t start talking to each other and get confused about what they saw. Also, if any security cameras had pictures of the fleeing men, let Ryan and Dwyer know and they will come back and pick up the tapes or disks and inventory them at the detective area.
When they finished briefing the officers, the lieutenant asked, “Anything else you need?”
“That’s it for right now, Lieutenant,” Dwyer answered.
When a homicide occurs, everybody and everything is at the disposal of the homicide detectives. Even though sergeants, lieutenants, captains, and district commanders out rank homicide detectives, no one refuses their requests at the scene of a homicide. Ultimately, the homicide detectives are charged with the responsibility of the investigation. If anyone fucks it up, regardless of rank, heads will roll and careers will end.
Ryan and Dwyer walked to their car and drove to what was left of the Flower’s home and Mrs. Flower’s husband.
CHAPTER 4
It was a ten minute drive to the Flower’s red brick bungalow in the middle of the block on Kenwood Avenue. Most of the well-kept homes on the street were single family with a few two-flats mixed in. The middle window of the three-window bay front of the Flower’s home was broken out and black soot covered the yellow wood framing and bricks above the window where the fire had vented.
The fire equipment was gone and a few neighbors were standing on the sidewalk behind the police tape talking with a uniformed officer who was laughing and watching two little girls that were giggling and running under the yellow tape. He would turn one around and the other would try to sneak past him a few steps away from a horrible murder.
One marked SUV was parked in front of the Flowers’ house, and two detective cars and the mobile crime lab SUV were parked along the curb. Ryan saw a parking place on the opposite side of the street and parked there. A forensic investigator, carrying several brown paper evidence bags, was coming down the front stairs as Ryan and Dwyer got there. “It’s a mess in there, Brian,” said the technician.
“Okay to go in?”
“Yeah, one of your partners is in there, the other guys are canvassing the neighbors.”
Homicide detective, Joe Morgan, came out the front door and Dwyer said, “We’re here to offer you whatever assistance you need Joe.”
“Bullshit Brian. The boss already told us this was yours when he sent us over here. He thought there would be a better chance of clearing it if we were here to guide you two.” He was still laughing when he went back in the house with Ryan and Dwyer. Everything in the front room was soaking wet from the firemen and the stench of burnt furniture filled the house. “The M.E. was here and gone, he was the same one you had at the currency exchange. The body was removed about a half hour ago. I’ve got notes on everything you need. The firemen said the fire started there,” he pointed to the charred remains of an overstuffed couch, “and spread to the curtains and drapes. They think it was started with newspapers or magazines, no smell of gasoline. Same thing in the bedroom and kitchen. I don’t think he was trying to hide the murder. He wanted to destroy any physical evidence in any part of the house where he was.”
Ryan and Dwyer spent a few minutes in the front room then Ryan asked, “Which bedroom?”
“Come on, first one on the left. The next one looks like it might be the wife’s and the kitchen is at the end of the hall on the right, bathroom to the left.”
They stopped at the bedroom door and looked in; the smell from the burnt bedding was enhanced by the stench from the partially burnt body that still lingered in the air. Most of the fire had been concentrated on the bed. With the exception of under where the body had laid, the sheets and blanket were badly burned and wet from when the fire was extinguished.
“Did it look like a single gunshot?” Ryan asked.
“Yeah, so far, but parts of the body were badly burned so you’ll have to wait for the ME report. It looked like one wound in the forehead and we couldn’t find an exit wound. The lab guys are going to take all of the bedding to the lab to be sure they didn’t miss anything.”
“Find any casings?” Dwyer asked.
“No, and the lab guys were as thorough as always but they are going to keep looking.”
The three detectives walked down the hallway, glancing in Mrs. Flower’s bedroom and went to the kitchen. “The fire never did catch too good in here but it looks like the guy threw a lot of cooking oil and grease around to contaminate any prints or DNA,” Morgan said.
After an hour in the house, Ryan and Dwyer had a good sense of the crime scene and would better understand the photos of the scene. As they walked down the front stairs, Morgan’s partner was helping an elderly lady into the back seat of a detective car. Ryan and Dwyer walked over to the car. “Anything helpful?” Dwyer asked.
“Could be.” The detective got the lady settled in the seat and helped her with the seat belt and shut the door. “Ms. Washington was taking her dog for its morning walk at about 7:15 a.m. She said a car came around the corner there,” he pointed toward 61st Street, “and drove slowly past her. She said there were two men in the car. She said they parked down there at the other corner and she didn’t pay any more attention to them. Then after the dog did his business, she went back in her house and looked out the front window. She saw the same car come by very fast and stop in front of the Flower’s house and a man came out walking very fast down the stairs and got in the backseat and the car went back toward 61st Street.”
“Was she able to describe any of them?” Ryan asked.
“She said she was sure the driver was a white man and so was the man that came out of the house. She couldn’t see the man in the passenger seat that well. She said the one coming out of the house was wearing a warm-up jacket, jeans and a ball cap. All she saw was a profile of him for a few seconds. She said she might be able to identify him. Another thing, she said was she thought they were police officers. She said they looked like the ones you see in the neighborhood making drug raids and chasing the gang bangers, and she said the car looked like one of ours.”
“Jesus, wouldn’t that be a bitch!” Dwyer said. The elderly lady in the car knocked on the window with her ring and motioned she wanted to go. The detective nodded to her and held up one finger. He turned back to Ryan and Dwyer.
“It gets worse. The other team found a guy that lives near the corner that works nights for the Burlington Railroad. He was coming home about 6:00 a.m. this morning and saw Mrs. Flowers getting in a car with two white men. He wasn’t sure who it was until he hit his bright light and saw it was her. She gave him a little wave and they helped her into the back seat. He didn’t get a good look at them, they kept their heads turned. He can describe their clothes and he said he thought they looked like cops and the car was like ours.”
“This is turning to shit quickly,” Ryan said.
“Will you guys take her statement?”
“Yeah, Brian, the other guys were going to take the railroad man’s statement. Anything else you need right now?”
“No, get her into the Area and get started. I think we still have to interview the armored car driver. I think he got the best look of the two dogasses at the currency exchange and it sounds like they’re the ones that picked up the guy that stayed in the house.”
“Okay, I got to get moving before she changes her mind.” He walked around to the driver’s side, got in and eased away from the curb.
“We better get into the Area Brian and talk to that driver, he’s been sitting there a long time.”
“Yeah, and we still have to interview that paramedic that Mrs. Flowers talked to and Mrs. Flowers if she makes it.”
“There was a lot of blood on the floor back there, I wouldn’t bet on her making it.”
As they walked to their car, another detective walked up to them. He handed Dwyer a list of names and said, “Here’s a list of the names and addresses of the people we did, and didn’t talk to. Those with the one X didn’t see or hear anything until the fire trucks arrived. The ones with the two X’s are the ones that weren’t home and leave early for work according to the neighbors we talked with.”
“Okay, we’ll come back later tonight and try to talk to them.”
When they were in the car, Dwyer said, “Let’s swing by the currency exchange again and see if any of those guys found any witnesses or good pictures from a surveillance camera.”
“Okay, and as soon as we get in the office and talk with the boss, I want to call IAD (Internal Affairs) and get a CR number (complaint register number) indicating the victim thinks the offenders were police officers.”
“Jesus, I hate dealing with those assholes.”
“So do I, Brian, but we have to cover our asses so nobody can say we tried to cover anything up.”
“We won’t cover up anything or anybody because we’re going to get these assholes and I’ll bet they ain’t coppers!”
“From your lips to God’s ear, Brian.”
CHAPTER 5
It was after 4:00 p.m. when Ryan and Dwyer walked into the 2nd District police station offices at 51st and Wentworth. The detective offices share the second floor with a branch of the Circuit Court of Cook County. The entire first floor houses the 2nd District police station.
Several day watch detectives were still at their desks keying progress reports into computer terminals. Afternoon watch detectives were getting new assignments; those that didn’t receive new assignments would be going out to follow up on their open cases.
Ryan and Dwyer stopped at one of the unit secretaries, Joan Ronsky’s desk to pick up any telephone messages for them. She said, “The commander wants you two to stop in and see him as soon as you come in.”
Joan had been a secretary in the office when it was Area One. She moved as the unit secretary when the Central Intelligence Unit was formed with many of the same detectives from Area One, and when the unit was disbanded under the last superintendent of police she and the detectives were transferred back to Area One. The newly appointed superintendent of police, in an effort to put more officers on the street and out from behind desks, closed two of the five detective area headquarters, consolidated them into three and renamed them. He also closed three of the twenty-five district patrol stations and consolidated them into other districts.
Dennis Banahan looked up when Ryan and Dwyer walked into his office. He took off his reading glasses and set them on the report on his desk and rubbed his eyes. “Grab chairs and sit down; tell me something good. You have the currency exchange offenders in the lockup downstairs?”
“The police are baffled but arrests are imminent, boss,” Dwyer said.
Banahan took a drink of his cold coffee, made a sour face and said, “I’m hearing we might have some embarrassment with the investigation. Sworn personnel might be involved.”
“Supposedly that’s what the victim and several of the witnesses think, but nothing for sure yet. We should know more when we talk with Mrs. Flowers,” Ryan said.
“I called the hospital about an hour ago. She’s out of surgery and in intensive care but it doesn’t sound good,” said Banahan. He pointed to the report on the desk under his glasses. “I’m reading the armored car driver’s statement. He thinks he might be able to identify the two guys and Ms. Washington might be able to also.”
“We’re going back to the Flower’s neighborhood later this evening and interview the neighbors we missed this morning and see if they can add anything. We also got two surveillance camera disks that show the two guys running east on 51st. The pictures are from across the street and not that great but I think our computer people might be able to make them clearer. At least they should be able to give us their height in comparison to the wall next to them,” Ryan said.
“You’re going to get a CR number aren’t you?”
“Yeah, as soon as we get to our desks I’ll call IAD.”
“They aren’t coppers,” Dwyer said.
“I hope you’re right. I had Joan make an extra copy of all of the statements and reports for you guys; they should be on your desk. Stay on top of this but don’t let any of your other jobs slide. You know we are so short handed I can’t even pull you out of the rotation. We’re six investigators short right now and Emmett said he’s planning on retiring at the end of the year.”
“I ought to retire too.”
“Brian, you have the years and the age and could have retired two years ago, you love the job too much. They will have to force you out when you turn 63,” Banahan said.
“It isn’t like it use to be and who knows what else this new superintendent is going to do. I hear he wasn’t very well liked where he came from.”
“We will just have to wait to see what he does about picking his own top staff. There’s a rumor that he might bring back some of the guys that Gonzales dumped and one of them might be Bill Murphy again as chief of detectives or possibly as a deputy superintendent.”
“Jesus, if he does that I’ll definitely stay,” Dwyer said.
“When the last superintendent of police retired, the first deputy superintendent, George Gonzales, became the acting superintendent until a permanent replacement could be selected. Gonzales had aspirations of filling the job permanently and looked around to see who his competition might be. He moved them from key exempt rank positions, returned them to their civil service rank and buried them in less prominent positions. In the parlance of the department, they got dumped. Gonzales’ master plan turned to shit when the mayor didn’t run for reelection and a new mayor was elected. The new mayor brought in a top police administrator from another large department. Gonzales had burnt so many bridges in his quest for the top job, he retired.”
“Do you think Murphy would want the chief of detective’s job again?” Ryan asked. “It’s a lot of headaches and pressure supervising 900 detectives. Now he’s just a watch commander in one district. At the end of the watch he goes home.”
“We’re down to 700 detectives city wide because of all the retirements and hiring and promotion freezes and the city is almost broke. Bill would take the job again in a heartbeat if this guy offers it to him,” Banahan said.
“That was a helluva party they had for Murphy last month at the Rosemont exhibition hall; there must have been three thousand people there.”
“That’s the only place that could handle a crowd that large other than McCormick Place and they were booked with a trade show,” Ryan said.
“In all my years on the job, that’s the first time anyone ever held a party for someone that got dumped. It was more like a retirement party,” Dwyer said.
“It was held to pay tribute to Murphy, one of the best bosses on the job. He sure had a cross section of the city there: business people, labor leaders, politicians, even the last mayor, the new mayor and our new superintendent. And Murphy did a lot of personal favors for most of them over the years,” Banahan said. He added, “And I did see Murphy huddle in conversation with our new mayor.”
“Bill knew him years ago when he was a congressman,” Dwyer said. “I don’t think anyone is organizing a retirement party for Gonzales and if they do, they could hold it in a phone booth.”
“They don’t have phone booths any more Brian.” Banahan laughed and looked at his watch, “I gotta get going, supper is waiting and then Grace and I have to get to the kids’ school for parents night. Oh, one more thing I forgot to mention. That paramedic that heard what Mrs. Flowers said came in around one o’clock and I had Anthony Walker take his statement. It will be with the other ones on your desk. He said Mrs. Flowers told him the men were police officers and one of them was caring for her husband. She didn’t say anything else in the ambulance or while he was with her in the emergency room; she wasn’t conscious. He didn’t think she was going to make it. She lost a lot of blood.”
“We’ll read all of the statements, take another look at the two surveillance disks and then go hit her neighbors before it gets too late.”
“Need I remind you the Department’s overtime budget for the year is just about gone?”
“You know where it went. They’ve been hiring back 200 officers a day on overtime to saturate the high crime districts because the Department is almost 2000 officers short. They’re retiring at 500 a year and the city isn’t hiring. And the homicide rate is double what it was last year. Just in this Area last weekend, eleven shootings, seven homicides and we’re how many detectives short?” Dwyer asked.
“Six.”
“Each dick in this unit is carrying almost three times the open cases we carried last year at this time!”
“You aren’t telling me anything I don’t know, Brian.”
“I know, but it feels better to bitch about it.”
Banahan got his coat and left. Ryan and Dwyer read the statements for the next two hours. The office was almost empty and quiet. Dwyer finished reading Ms. Washington’s statement and laid it on the desk. “Jimmy, you know we haven’t eaten all day. Let’s grab a bite and go interview the neighbors.”
“Okay with me, where do you want to go?”
“Well, we could go to Ricobene’s on 26th Street, for a sandwich, or Chinatown, or the Dixie Kitchen and Bait Shop for some Cajun and Creole food. What do you feel like?”
“Let’s go to the Dixie Kitchen, it’s right there in Hyde Park not too far from the Flowers’ neighborhood.”
After dinner they spent three hours recanvassing the Flowers’ block interviewing all of the neighbors that were missed in the morning and reinterviewing Ms. Washington and the man that worked nights for the railroad to see if they thought of anything new that could be helpful. No worthwhile leads were developed. A check with the hospital, no change in Mrs. Flower’s medical condition.
It was almost midnight when they returned to their offices. Ryan turned in the key for their unmarked car; it didn’t need gas. They walked to Ryan’s personal car, a twenty year old Ford Crown Victoria and pulled out of the parking lot. At this time of the night it was a twenty minute drive to where they lived in the Bogan area on Chicago’s southwest side. Dwyer lived alone since he had to put his wife in a nursing home after her Alzheimer’s disease worsened. Ryan sublet an apartment a short distance from Dwyer’s house. Ryan had been separated from his wife, Donna, for almost two years. Donna still loved Ryan but she got tired of the twenty years of being a policeman’s wife: the job always came first with him, or so she thought. The separation turned into an on again, off again divorce, and she finally decided on a divorce and it is almost final in the court. Donna and their two daughters live in the family home less than a mile from Ryan’s apartment.
Ryan pulled to the curb in front of Dwyer’s house, “Seven o’clock?” he asked.
“Yeah, I’ll be ready. You going to the apartment or stopping at Marge’s?”
“No, I’m, draggin’ my ass. I’ll call her when I get to the apartment. I’ll see you at seven.”
The Fireside is a tavern on 87th Street east of Pulaski. It’s owned by Marge Caruso, a widow. Her husband, Joe, had been a Chicago firefighter who was killed on the job when the roof of a burning warehouse collapsed on him and several other firemen. He had owned the tavern but the license was always in Marge’s name. After his death everyone just started calling the place “Marge’s.” A few months after the Ryans separated, Ryan started having dinner with Marge, which turned into a love affair, and they are now planning to marry after his divorce is final.
CHAPTER 6
It had rained during the night and the sky still looked threatening when Dwyer came down the front porch steps and to the car.
“Do you want to stop for breakfast on the way in?”
“Not unless you do Jim, I had coffee.”
“Okay, we’ll go in and see if there is anything new.”
They took 87th Street east to the Ryan expressway and north to 51st Street. It was Saturday so there was no rush hour traffic. If it was a week day, it would be bumper to bumper traffic creeping along as everyone headed to their offices in the Loop.
It was 7:45 when they walked into the detective office. Several of the midnight watch detectives were at their desks finishing reports. Two detectives came out of one of the interview rooms with a handcuffed youth who looked to be about nineteen. He was wearing a navy blue hooded sweatshirt and baggy jeans that he held up from falling with one of his handcuffed hands, and a pair of $200 basketball shoes. Long tightly braided hair framed his sullen face. One of the detectives that was steering him to a chair next to a desk was carrying a clear plastic evidence bag containing a small nickel-plated revolver. A third man was trailing the detectives out of the interview room. Ryan recognized the man, an assistant state’s attorney. One of the detectives and the ASA walked to the room next to the interview room to get the videotaped recording of the interview.
Ryan asked the detective with the youth, “Busy night, George?”
“Our friend here was kind enough to generate some activity for us in the 10th district shortly after midnight. He thought they were cheating him in a card game so he went home, got his gun, went back and shot and killed the mope running the game and the big winner.”
“Sounds justified to me, George,” Dwyer said.