Ring of Silence

by Mark Zubro

  She rarely lost to Jeff when they played chess.

  Although the temperature and humidity were cloying, Mrs. Talucci wore a summer dress and a white summer shawl she’d knitted herself. The sky was bright blue. The wind an occasional puff. Storms were predicted for the afternoon.

  Paul leaned his butt against the porch railing. They exchanged pleasantries. Paul said, “We may finally be rid of Carruthers.”

  “It’s about time.” She rocked for a moment then said, “Be careful of him. His kind may be stupid, but they have a native cunning. He’s the kind that would try something furtive, but in his case, undoubtedly inept. Unless he’s got friends in the department.”

  “As far as I can tell, he has no friends.”

  “How as he kept his job?”

  “Clout.”

  “Then someone, somewhere has a connection that involves power, money, friendship, or family or some combination of them. Beware.”

  “Did you see someone watching, maybe a Chicago cop car, protecting on the street last night?”

  “For a while, there was a car that was not from one of the local Districts.” She rocked her chair for a moment. “You’d want to think it was a benign reason, but right now, I’d be as suspicious as I suspect you already think you should be.”

  He nodded.

  “Is Buck okay?”

  “Some of his fat got disturbed. Little more than a scratch or two.”

  “Tell him I’m thinking of him.”

  “I will.”

  They listened to the noise of the neighborhood for a few moments.

  Mrs. Talucci said, “You got the protesters case.”

  “Yeah. You know any of these people?” He handed her his phone, loaded to a page with a list of convention goers that he’d downloaded from the Internet.

  She perused it, shook her head, “I haven’t been in a demonstration since the fifties. I’ll see if anyone I know has a notion. Back in the day, I used to know all the protesters in town. I can check with the few who are still alive from that time and see if there are any tendrils of information to be found.”

  “Thanks.”

  “You think the powers that exist in the city might be involved in the murder itself?”

  “We’re just starting.”

  “You guys going to be hassled for saving that boy?”

  He told her about the incident between Fenwick and the beat cop.

  When he finished, Mrs. Talucci stopped her gentle rocking and met his eyes. “How are you holding up?” she asked.

  “It’s going to be a little delicate.”

  “If you need help, let me know.”

  Paul was never quite sure about Mrs. Talucci’s connections. Her “talking to people” could mean anything from being connected to the most powerful mafia don in the country to gossiping with the neighbors. Often, amazing things seemed to get done when Mrs. Talucci talked to people.

  Several years ago, a gang of street kids had been harassing older women returning from the neighborhood grocery store on Harrison Street. One of the kids had been found hanging naked upside down from the front of the store the day after Mrs. Talucci had “talked to someone.” The problems at the store never recurred. The kid was fine, but never said a word about who attacked him. Turner also knew that the local alderman had Mrs. Talucci on speed dial. Politicians tended to recognize real power when they saw it.

  Friday 8:57 A.M.

  Turner strode into the station, up the stairs, crossed the room, and plunked himself down at his desk.

  Fenwick looked up and said, “Ian did it.”

  Turner gave a great, gulping Fenwickian sigh. He said, “Maybe.” He told him about Ian’s visit the night before.

  Fenwick’s first reaction was, “Our buddy lied to us.”

  Turner nodded. He said, “He’s still lying.”

  “Why do you think that?”

  “He says he went there to kill Shaitan. Fine. Why? I get nothing close to a motive for murder.”

  “We’ve never had a case where someone killed the other person because he had a tiny dick.”

  “Something else is going on. For now, he’s back in the asshole category. He’s got some making up to do.”

  Fenwick said, “He was really going to kill Shaitan?”

  “I think it was an impulse. Who knows? I don’t think he would, but there’s been a lot of anger brewing since the election. Ian sees Preston Shaitan as a traitor to not only his cause but to the human race.”

  “Well, he is.”

  Turner nodded. “Why did you say he did it before I told the story?”

  “The more I thought about it, the odder he sounded to me. Turns out it was odder than either of us knew. Although having sex with both guys who got murdered within twenty-four hours, that moves from odd to beyond weird.”

  Turner said, “We’ll have to talk to him some more, but we’ve got all kinds of people to get to today, including Bettencourt and Preston’s co-workers, friends, enemies, and family.”

  Friday 9:17 A.M.

  A rush of clattering on the stairs caused them to turn. Fong leapt up the last step and rushed over to them. His hands were full with a bundle of electronics, wires, and routers, and chargers, and Turner knew not what-all else. He fumbled with the mass clutched between his folded arms. Fong stopped, juggled the electronics so he could free a hand, then put his finger to his lips in a hush gesture.

  Fenwick said, “What the hell?”

  Fong banged his hand on Fenwick’s desk and repeated the ‘hush’ gesture.

  The detectives gaped at him for an instant. Fong waved his right arm in a gesture that Turner interpreted as ‘follow me.’ He looked at Fenwick. In silence, they stood up and followed.

  They trooped down to Fong’s lair in silence. Fong dumped all the electronic gear on his desk and threw himself into his chair. The detectives settled onto four legged stools.

  From the left breast pocket of his cargo shirt, Fong took out, then held up, an item the size of a child’s toy brick. Turner thought of the clothing Fong wore as ‘cargo’ everything. Each item tended to have as many pockets as possible, even his socks and sometimes his boots in winter. On a few of these garments, he was known to hand-sew extra pockets. Today, he wore khaki cargo shorts and a Marine green cargo shirt.

  “That the device from the hotel room?” Fenwick asked.

  Fong shook his head then said. “From under your desk.”

  Fenwick said, “Huh?”

  Turner asked, “Is it ours?”

  “You mean is it Chicago police department issued, no. That does not mean someone from the Chicago police department didn’t put this device there, but whoever placed it got it from some other organization.”

  “How’d you find it?”

  “Dumb luck. Earlier, I was bringing the results of the device from Bettencourt’s hotel room to leave on your desk. I happened to have with me my newest detection device. It was sitting in my shirt pocket. It started to go off. I found that under Fenwick’s desk.”

  “I feel special.”

  Turner asked, “If you found it, why did we have to keep silent and come here?”

  “Because I need to do a full sweep of the whole building. I got this one about half an hour ago. I rushed down here, checked it out, and was on my way back up just now. I’ve got more to do.”

  “How long has it been there?”

  “Not sure.”

  “Hours, days, weeks, months?” Fenwick asked.

  Turner said, “Maybe they’ll have a record of all of your farts, belches, and grumbles.”

  Fong said, “Something to record for the ages.”

  Fenwick said, “I see an HBO special in my future. A mini-series at least. And more dramatic than half their stuff.”

  Fong said, “A dream come true.”

  Turner asked, “What about the one in the hotel room?”

  “Like this one, an audio device that recorded for a short while then sent a signal to a remote location, so
me computer somewhere on the planet, which presumably was also saving it somewhere.”

  “That’s what I like,” Fenwick said, “specific.”

  “I’ll work on the origins of both devices and try to get their remote hubs. I don’t hold out much hope. Here.” From the top of his desk, he picked up two objects that looked like pagers out of the ‘80s. “Hook these to a belt loop. Wear them at all times. They’re old but effective. They’ll block anybody’s signal who is trying to record you in any way.”

  “Can they tell us who is doing it?”

  “No, they just jam signals of any kind, but don’t record. You want to wear recorders or cameras? I can wire you up so that you’d get a 360° view and perfect audio. I can do lapel, belt buckle, shoe laces, whatever.”

  “Why would you need 360°?” Fenwick asked.

  “It would cover everything. It’s really cool.”

  Turner and Fenwick shook their heads. Turner said, “Maybe some other time.”

  Fenwick said, “Not yet.”

  “Up to you guys. I also downloaded all the video from the public areas here at the station. You can look at them to see if you notice anything suspicious. I’ve gone through them and don’t see anyone out of place.” Area Ten headquarters had cameras in all public areas, but none anywhere else.

  He handed that flash drive to Turner, then plugged a separate one into a USB port on his computer. “This is the data from the hotel room.”

  Fenwick said, “Was that one there all the time, or was this just put there in that hotel room in time for the conference?”

  Fong said, “Couldn’t have been there long since it only has this little bit of two separate guys arriving on it.”

  Turner said, “If it was deliberate, someone would have to know the guests lists and the room assignments.”

  “We’ll have to find out who knew that,” Fenwick said. “Maybe they all knew where everyone was. An egalitarian protest group.”

  Fong said, “I’ll see if there’s security camera devices in the hotel. Later, you or I or both can check them against the security devices here to see if someone was in both places. Won’t prove they put it there, but if someone here is out of place in the hotel, you might be a step ahead.”

  “If they even had cameras, or devices that saved the recordings.”

  Fong added, “I’ll get more work done on all the stuff you gave me, after I sweep the whole station and all the cars in the parking lot.”

  Fenwick asked, “Our homes, our phones?”

  Fong said, “I’ll take care of it.”

  Turner said, “Should we leave this under Fenwick’s desk. They won’t know we know it’s there?”

  Fong held it up. “I already turned it off. They know it’s been compromised. Sorry.”

  “You tell Molton?” Fenwick asked.

  “He’s not in. Another meeting at downtown headquarters. Barb Dams said she texted him to call her immediately after the meeting.”

  Fenwick said, “Let’s try the hotel room tape.”

  Fong tapped at his keyboard for a few seconds and the flash drive began to disgorge data. Fong pointed, “Nothing. And there’s lots of it until you get to here.” He moved the cursor forward.

  They heard a door opening. A few minutes later a toilet flushing. Faint footsteps. A zipper maybe on a backpack.

  Fong asked, “How much nothing you want to listen to?”

  “Not much,” Fenwick said.

  “Same for the other guy?” Turner asked.

  “Yep.”

  Westerman said he arrived last.

  Turner asked, “Anything on the dash cams we found under the desk in Shaitan’s room?”

  “Those are good enough to be encrypted. I can’t tell by whom. I’ll keep at it.”

  Fenwick said, “What the hell would he be doing with them, and if they are official and if from some department, then which official and which department?”

  They all shrugged.

  “What were all the rest of the electronics in his suitcase?”

  “I’m still working on that as well.”

  They helped Fong drag electronic equipment up from the basement. Turner and Fenwick stood out in the parking lot while he swept the detectives’ squad room. The wind was now a breeze with occasional puffs of gusts. A few high clouds scudded with the currents of air high above.

  Friday 9:47 A.M.

  Molton’s car, tires squealing as he took the turn into the lot, came to an abrupt halt five feet from them. He jumped out.

  Turner had never seen him look so angry.

  Molton said, “You’re out here.”

  Fenwick said, “Fong’s sweeping the squad room for listening devices.”

  “Who the hell?”

  Turner said, “Fong’s working on it.”

  Molton shook his head then sighed. “There is some news from the usually useless meetings at headquarters. Carruthers has been relieved of his police powers and assigned to administrative duties. All the dash-cams from the incident on Harrison have been collected. They have to download all that footage as well as anything that may be found from non-police people during the canvass.”

  Such investigations were currently done by the Independent Police Review Authority. It replaced the often criticized Office of Professional Standards. The new group rarely found misconduct by police, and yet millions got paid out by the City Council to victims of that same misconduct. The mayor had now proposed a Civilian Police Accountability watchdog agency.

  Nowadays, any department employee may have violated police department policy by discharging their weapon. Just because you discharge your weapon, didn’t mean you were going to be reassigned. Although Turner remembered the idiots a few months back who were caught on tape firing at a fleeing car. Firing randomly into the streets was a big no-no. It seldom actually stopped a fleeing vehicle, presumably the point of the operation, but even more it was a danger to every random passerby or people sitting watching television in the chairs in their own homes.

  Fenwick asked, “You gonna evacuate the whole place?”

  “Only if I have to.” Molton left and stormed into the station.

  Barb Dams came out of the building and walked over to them and said, “You heard about the speech the Commander is giving at each roll call?”

  They shook their heads.

  “He was talking about the damage to Rodriguez’s car and I quote, ‘If you want to walk a beat in the dead of winter and the heat of summer from here to the end of your career, let me find out it was you.’”

  “Will it help?” Fenwick asked.

  Barb shrugged. “I don’t know. A few seconds ago just before I came out here, he told me to order new surveillance cameras throughout this building inside and out.”

  Fenwick said, “I hope it catches some asshole.”

  Three cars pulled up and took the three spaces marked for handicapped parking. Five sport coat wearing men emerged from the separate cars. There was one woman in a back business suit. None evinced any need for using such a designated spot.

  They strode into the station. All had briefcases capable of carrying laptops.

  Dams said, “Review board. They’re meeting with everyone here.”

  “Carruthers will be here again?” Fenwick asked.

  “Him specifically, not sure,” Dams said, “but I am going to make sure each of those cars gets tickets for parking in those spots.”

  “Will it do any good?” Fenwick asked.

  “The question is will having done that make me feel better, and it will.” Dams added, “I know you know this, but you need to call a union rep.”

  Turner said, “Already called before I left home.”

  Fenwick nodded, “Me too.”

  She smiled at them. “I thought you might. I guess I just mean I’m worried, or at least concerned.”

  “Neither Buck nor I did anything wrong.”

  “And since when did that ever stop the Chicago Police department from fucking things
up?”

  The use of the profanity was rare from Barb.

  A portly older gentleman in faded jeans and khaki shirt shuffled up to them. He lowered his sunglasses and peered at them. He said, “I’m looking for Detectives Turner and Fenwick.”

  Fenwick said, “You found them.”

  “I’m your union rep, Frank Yutka.”

  Dams left.

  Turner and Fenwick answered his questions. He nodded a lot. Early on, he took off his backpack and, using the trunk of the nearest car as a table, took notes.

  When the detectives finished, he said, “During the meeting, keep your goddamn mouths shut unless I tell you to speak or ask you a specific question then keep your answers short and to the point. Do that, and you’ll be fine.”

  As direct as a Fenwick grouse but more effective than most.

  Turner and Fenwick nodded acquiescence.

  Friday 10:01 A.M.

  The three of them walked into the station.

  The meeting with the Independent Police Review Authority was in the Commander’s conference room instead of an interrogation room. The main difference was this had fake wood panel walls, two windows that let in outside light, a larger table, and slightly more comfy chairs.

  The six board personnel were arrayed on one side of the table. All had their laptops open.

  Before he even sat down, Yutka took his time replacing his sun glasses with a pair of trifocals that glinted in the sunlight from outside. Finished with this ritual, or annoying habit, or affectation that gave him time to think, he said, “Six of you. That strikes me as odd. Very odd. Is there a problem here?”

  The man furthest on the right end said, “I’m Lyal DeGroot. These guys are heroes. We all wanted our picture taken with them.”

  Turner wondered if there was any sarcasm left anywhere on the planet since DeGroot had imbued his crack with vats and vats of it.

  Yutka harrumphed. “So we can all just go home?”

  “No,” DeGroot snapped. “I’ll be leading the interrogation today.”

  Yutka took the central chair on the opposite side of the table. Turner and Fenwick flanked him one on each side.