by Rick Polad
“That means it’s a little messy. Whatever color it was, it’s now the color of dried blood, you know?”
He knew. “Okay, thanks, I’ll be there in ten.”
* * *
Stanley Powolski had been a sergeant for many years, working under Captain Manning in the 35th precinct on the south side of Chicago. He had been offered promotions regularly, but Stosh had turned them down. He was happy being one of the boys and wanted to stay that way. The extra money was not a lure. Francie, his wife of thirty-two years, thought he was crazy. But Stosh knew he would not have been happy higher up the ladder.
Then Francie had been diagnosed with ovarian cancer, and all of a sudden their lives changed. The prognosis was not good. She was given a year at the most to live. Medical bills piled up, and one day Stanley asked if he could still accept a promotion. It was granted retroactive to the last review, which was two months prior.
The extra money helped, and Francie was so proud. The precinct had a special ceremony and a dinner. There wasn’t one person on the force who didn’t like Stanley Powolski and wouldn’t have given an arm to keep Francie alive.
Stosh lived on the north side of Chicago. So did Captain Manning. The 35th precinct was on the south side. After the Mannings died in a car crash, Stosh asked for a transfer to a precinct on the north side. In September of last year, he was transferred to the 18th precinct amidst many tears and hugs from members of the 35th. The 18th welcomed him with open arms. Two months later, Rosie joined him. But Stosh had always been happier as a sergeant.
* * *
Stosh made it to the scene in eight minutes. He joined the crowd of people behind the laundry, which included two detectives, six officers, and two paramedics. The body was still on the ground between two dumpsters. A large puddle of blood darkened the concrete pad the dumpsters sat on.
* * *
Detective Spanell filled him in. Mr. Woo had found the girl when he had taken the trash out shortly before six. The coroner had been called. Stosh parted the crowd to have a look at the body.
Stosh’s stomach turned when he saw the girl. Her upper body was a bloody mess and there wasn’t much left that was recognizable. Deep blue eyes may as well have been glass marbles lying in a dish. Her hair lay matted in drying blood on the concrete, and what was probably once a pretty face was frozen in a twisted contortion of pain. Her organs were exposed, and her entrails had been pulled out and slung over her left shoulder like a string of sausages in a butcher’s display case. The top she was wearing was brown from the dried blood. It could have been any color. Stosh saw a button. Spencer had said his missing girl was wearing a red tube top. He also saw a stack of coins behind the girl’s left shoulder and what looked like a bloody paper towel next to her feet.
He asked Spanell, who was wearing gloves, to pull the top out of the pants. He wanted to see part of the top that wasn’t covered in blood. Spanell, who acted as though he didn’t care if his wrinkled and stained suit got any dirtier, stooped and gingerly pulled the top away from the pants.
“Okay,” said Stosh. “That’s enough.” It was white. Stosh felt some relief, but not enough to take away the horror of what had happened. He would never get used to it. He sighed and moved with Spanell away from the body.
“You got an ID?”
“Yup, Jane Deltine, Twenty-eight. Address on Lawrence.”
Noticing a sickly, yellowish puddle on the pad, Stosh asked, “What’s that?”
“Breakfast. Our laundry man doesn’t have a very strong stomach.”
Spanell moved a bit closer and studied the mess.
“Kinda looks like Cheerios, don’t you think?”
Stosh looked at him with disgust. “Jesus Christ, Spanell. You check out the coins?”
“Yup. Same five coins. Nickel, penny, dime, half, quarter.”
Stosh nodded. That fit the pattern. It was what they expected. The coins by the first body were stacked in order of size with the half dollar on the bottom. The stack by the second body moved the top coin, the dime, to the bottom, and the current stack, next to the body of Jane Deltine, had continued the pattern with the penny moved to the bottom. That left only two more combinations before the murderer got back to the starting point. But did that mean something?
* * *
Driving slowly to the end of the alley, Stosh honked and carefully eased out over the sidewalk. He looked both ways, but there was no one in sight. Early morning sunlight bathed Broadway with a false sense of cheer. Driving slowly south, Stosh noticed businesses that hadn’t been there just a few years ago. Restaurants, bookstores, upscale taverns, and mini-malls, had taken the place of rundown apartments, vacant lots, and boarded-up businesses long since vacated by their owners. The street used to be one of the highest crime areas of the city, and it had definitely changed for the better, but the change was only skin deep. At night, the bright lights and happy music spilling out into the street and throngs of people bringing money to spend was evidence enough of that change. Driving along past the sleepy storefronts, Stosh couldn’t help but feel sad and depressed because there was also evidence that crime still existed. Walk a block east or west, or into the alleys, and the picture wasn’t so pretty. He had just seen that picture at its worst. The bright lights and fancy storefronts had just pushed the sadness off the streets and into the alleys and gangways where it was harder to find and control.
Brightly colored canopies hung over doorways of upscale coffee shops and trendy boutiques. Slowing to a stop as a light turned yellow, Stosh surveyed the facade of a used bookstore. The walls were the subdued green color of spring lily leaves, and large glass windows were framed by gold trim. But under the fresh paint was a hint of dinginess. Influenced by what he had seen in the alley, Stosh felt a struggle between the facade and the tired, rotting boards beneath the paint, and he wasn’t sure that the paint would win. In front of the store were two black, wrought-iron benches where people could leisurely sit and pass the time of day. Just five feet away from the empty benches, a mangy, brown-and-white dog gnawed at something dead lying in the gutter. A safe distance away, five pigeons waited patiently for the leftovers of the dog’s breakfast. As he stared at the dog, an impatient honk let Stosh know that the light had turned green.
Maybe a day of sunlight would burn off the sins of the night before, Stosh thought. Some of those sins were legal, committed by people just out to have a good time. Some weren’t. And there were some the sun couldn’t fix, like the dark bloodstains that had soaked into the concrete pad behind the laundry.
On a whim, he turned left and headed for the lake. He pulled into the parking lot of the Belmont Street marina and stepped out of the car. A pair of joggers passed on the blacktop path that snaked through the park along the lakeshore. Walking slowly with his hands in his pockets, and turning into the breeze blowing onshore, Stosh made his way to the granite boulders at the north end of the marina and sat on the nearest one.
The marina was dotted with wooden docks, floating in a lonely dance. The docks housed a myriad of expensive toys filling the marina with all the colors of the rainbow like an artist’s palette, one blending into the other in an arrogant slap at the world Stosh had just left. He looked out over the lake and took a deep breath of fresh air, trying to force out the stale, heavy air of the alley. The sun was about twenty degrees above the horizon, long thin arrows of light scattering off high cirrus clouds. Looking into the glare, he thought he saw the outline of a freighter far out on the lake, making its way down to the steel plants to the south. As he listened to the waves gently lapping against the rocks, Stosh tossed pebbles into the lake and thought about his first date with Francie.
The years were many, but the memories were vivid. They had left some boring party and walked along the lake. They had ended up sitting on rocks just like these, but it was at night and farther south, and the night had been warm and muggy. They had talked and watched the boats come into harbor and tie up for the night. They had talked long after the onbo
ard lights winked out, and he had known then that he had found the right woman.
A gull screeched and circled down to the beach with wings spread wide. It landed next to a dead fish washed up on the beach and began pecking. Within twenty seconds it was joined by three other gulls. Before long the fish would be torn open. Nature has a use for everything, he thought. A dead fish becomes breakfast for hungry gulls. He watched with growing irritation, and then picked up a rock and threw it at the gulls. They flew off and landed down the beach a ways. They’d be back.
The alley killer would be back too, unless of course they could catch him first. Stosh walked slowly back to the car and headed home, wondering what was wrong with the world.
Chapter 23
Charles woke up with a slight headache, something that he was certainly used to. He knew he had spent part of his fortune, but, after seven or eight beers, he had stopped keeping track. He did want to get the money out of his pocket and into a safe hiding spot before Sarah found it or there would be hell to pay. She would never believe where he got it.
The telephone rang three times before Sarah answered it. Charles wasn’t ready to get out of bed yet, but figured if she was tied up on the phone that would be a good time to hide the money. It would be safe under the mattress until he could think of a better spot.
He swung out of bed and sat for a minute rubbing his temples. With the light to his back, the pain wasn’t quite as bad. His clothes were in a heap next to the nightstand. Dressed in just his underwear, Charles confirmed that Sarah was still on the phone downstairs. He picked up his pants and stuck his hand in the left-hand pocket. No money. There was only the key to Miss Brock’s house. He tried the right side and pulled out a business card from a taxidermist. Where the hell did that come from? His wallet was in the back left, and that had eight dollars folded in the key compartment. The other back pocket was empty.
Starting to panic, Charles sat back down on the bed and tried to think, something he was not very good at under the best of circumstances. There were only three possibilities: he had spent it all, and he was sure that was not the case; someone had picked his pocket; or Sarah had found it. He rocked back and forth and prayed that he had been robbed.
Charles heard footsteps coming up the stairs. Hurrying back under the covers, he turned his head away from the door and pretended he was asleep. He heard her come in the room and held his breath, hoping she would go away. He wasn’t that lucky.
“Get outta bed!” she yelled.
He didn’t move.
“I heard the floor creaking. I know you’re awake.”
He still didn’t move. This woman, who was two-thirds his height and half his weight, scared him to death.
Sarah Lamb picked a book off the dresser and threw it at his head. It missed, but it got his attention. He jerked away from the pillow and sat up.
“Hey! What the hell is wrong with you?”
“Wrong with me? Wrong with me? I’ve been dragging your lazy ass around for eight years while you bounce from one worthless job to another and you want to know what’s wrong with me?” She picked up one of his shoes and threw it at him. “I told you what would happen if I ever caught you gambling again,” she said with fiery eyes.
Charles scrambled out of the other side of the bed, his head pounding. “Calm down, Sarah. I can explain.”
She picked up the other shoe and raised it above her head.
He raised his arm in case she threw it. “I wasn’t gambling. Honest.”
“Then where did you get the money?”
“I earned it,” he said as he kept an eye on the shoe and slowly crept toward her.
“You earned it?” Throwing back her head, she laughed with a wicked cackle. “There’s almost a hundred dollars! There’s nothing you can do that someone would pay you that much money for one day’s work. How stupid do I look?”
Wisely, Charles didn’t answer. He desperately wanted to tell her that there was someone who thought he was worth that much.
“Sarah, you know I can do handy work. Right?”
“Sure, when you want to and you’re not drunk, which isn’t often.”
“Okay.” He moved closer and was only a few feet away. “Well, I got a job doing some handy work.” He reached for the shoe.
Sarah pulled the shoe away and spat through clenched teeth, “If you touch me I’ll call the cops again. You know I will.”
He did know. She had before. “She’s paying me twenty dollars an hour to...”
“She! How long does it take you to make up these lies?”
He backed off slowly, carefully eyeing the shoe. “It’s not a lie. A lady hired me to work at her house.” Charles was close to begging her to believe him.
As he moved back to the bed, Sarah lowered the shoe but she didn’t drop it. “Okay, let’s say some crazy lady hired you to work at her house,” she said in a calmer voice. “Where is this house?”
“On the north side,” Charles said as he grabbed his pants and struggled to put them on.
“I assume this is some old lady you’re taking advantage of?”
Knowing she wouldn’t believe him, Charles decided to try the truth anyway. His lies had never worked. But then he saw the crazy look on her face and changed his mind. If he told her how pretty Amanda was, the shoe and everything else within reach would come in his direction. “I’m not taking advantage of her, she offered twenty dollars an hour.” Charles was dying to tell her that she was also beautiful and that this beautiful woman had treated him like a real person.
Sarah dropped the shoe, leaned back against the dresser, and ran her fingers through her long hair. She laughed again and Charles winced as the laugh cut through him like a knife. He wanted to kill her and imagined his hands around her throat.
“So some old lady is paying you twenty dollars out of the kindness of her heart. How stupid is this woman?”
Charles crossed his arms over his chest. “She’s not stupid. And she treats me nice.”
Sarah shook her head and asked with a frown, “And where did you meet this angel?”
Charles knew he was fighting a losing battle but figured he might as well get it all out. “I met her at a gas station,” he said quietly. “She was...”
“I don’t care what she was.” She stood straight up and pointed an unwavering finger at him.
“Now you listen to me, Charles Lamb. How you even start to think I would believe any of this crap I don’t know. And I told you what would happen if you started gambling again. I give you a roof to sleep under and food to eat, and I pay for you to go out and get drunk on the weekends, and I don’t ask you where you disappear to or how you spend your days. But if you’re gambling, that means you’re losing more than you make, and I will not finance your habit. And you’re even too stupid to take the money out of your pocket.”
The phone rang. She ignored it. So did he. Something about what she had said bothered him, but he couldn’t remember what it was.
Sitting down on the bed, he got up the nerve to ask, “Where’s my money?”
She laughed again. “Your money? It’s my money now.”
“I earned it,” he said with the last bit of backbone he had left.
“With what? A pair of dice?”
He looked dejectedly down at the floor.
“And you’d have to do a lot of earning to make up for your share of things around here.” She turned away from him and began searching for something in the top drawer of the dresser.
Charles bent over, put his elbows on his knees, and squeezed his head on both sides with the heels of his large hands. The pain intensified and then lessened as he dropped his hands. He stared at dust particles floating through a square of light from the window and said, “I was going to give some to you.”
Looking over her shoulder, Sarah said strongly, “You’d better give me more than some.” Her eyes narrowed. “If I find out you made money and didn’t give it all to me, you’ll be sorry. I pay the bills around here
. You’re lucky I don’t throw your ass out. I control the money and I control you and don’t you forget it.” She closed the drawer and, as she left the room, Charles figured out what was bothering him.
“Hey, how did you know I made that in one day?”
She stopped in the hall and turned back to him. Placing her hands on skinny hips, Sarah said, “How the hell do you think I know? Jesus Christ, you’re stupid.” She walked away mumbling something about putting up with him.
Her sister often asked her why she did. What she didn’t tell her sister was that Charles had a rich brother who was dying, and Charles was his only relative. That’s why she had married him in the first place.
Charles touched his pocket and thought about the money. He decided the only way she could have known was if she went through his pockets every night, and for some reason that shocked him. When he thought about it, he figured that was something she would do, but they were his pockets and he wanted some privacy. He was thinking of giving her some of the money, but there was no way she was getting any of it now.
But what would he do with it? Where could he put it so she wouldn’t find it? By Monday, he would find a good hiding place and Sarah could go to hell.
And, thankfully, she hadn’t found the key to Amanda’s house.
Chapter 24
He told her he was going to run errands. She asked why he waited until Saturday to run errands when stores would be less crowded during the week. She didn’t consider him a genius. He really didn’t have any errands. He just wanted to get out of the house.
While driving, he listened to the news and the account about the dead girl found behind the laundry. He was as disappointed as he was the first two times. They reported the incident but didn’t talk about the real problem, the immoral activity on the streets. The police arrested women once in a while, but they always came back. There were now three who would not come back. And still no mention of the coins. He slammed his fist on the dashboard.
