by Rick Polad
“So dinner with Rosie?” Stosh asked.
“Yeah, for a change.”
He gave me a strange look.
I folded my cards. “What do you know about this Gabriel she’s been spending too much time with?”
“What I know is, I’ve been able to live to this ripe old age by minding my own business.” He dealt.
I picked up the cards, arranged them, and drew. “Gin.”
“Crap.”
“And what the hell kind of name is Gabriel?”
“Calm down, Spencer. The kid is new in town, and Rosie is being kind and helping me out. We’re still short-handed what with Steele pulling that trigger. She’d do the same if it was a woman.”
“Probably. But I bet her name wouldn’t be Gabriel.”
I shuffled and dealt. I knew I had no holds on Rosie, especially after the way I had treated her in the past, but we had something more than casual. I wasn’t sure exactly what that was.
“You’re not seeing anyone else, are you?” he asked.
I shook my head. “No, but it seems someone is seeing me.”
“Care to explain that?” He discarded the queen of hearts. I picked it up and told him about Loretta, or Jamie, or whatever her name was today, at the bar.
“I’m thinking you’re being stalked.”
“Yes, odd.”
“I’m also thinking you like it.”
“Who wouldn’t?”
He shrugged. “Maybe Rosie.”
“Yeah, well, Rosie’s busy these days.”
“Now, Spencer, you’re over-reacting.”
I shook my head and picked up his next discard. “I just don’t understand women.”
“Join the club. Francine was the only woman I ever understood, but only about 10 percent of the time.”
“What about the other 90 percent?”
“I read a lot.”
As I picked up another discard, he said, “Why don’t I just give you my hand?”
Before I could respond, the phone rang. Stosh threw down his cards in disgust and got up. His phone ringing was hardly ever a good thing.
“Powolski.”
His expression didn’t change as he quietly said one word—“Shit.” He hung up and headed for the closet. As he pulled out a coat, he said, “If you’re comin’ get your coat.”
Wondering what was going on, I scrambled as he grabbed his shoulder holster.
I knew better than to ask and waited as he drove west. As we ran through a yellow light at Cicero, he said, “Somebody shot our witness.”
I let that sink in before asking if he was dead.
“Not sure. Reynolds couldn’t find a pulse, but he couldn’t find his wallet if it was in his pants.”
I had ten questions but didn’t ask. He had enough to think about at the moment without dealing with me. His witness had been kept in a safe location that even detectives like Rosie didn’t know. It was the biggest secret since Hoffa’s disappearance. Obviously Stosh knew—we were on the way there. And evidently so did someone else. And obviously the safe location wasn’t all that safe. But I had shown them that a couple years ago.
As he turned right onto Kildare, I saw the street lit up like Christmas with an ambulance and plenty of police cars. The street was lined with parked cars on both sides squeezed in between piles of snow. Stosh stopped in the middle of the street behind four squad cars, and we walked three buildings north.
***
We walked up two flights to the top floor. The small apartment was full of cops. I exchanged nods with the ones I knew. Rosie was talking to Reynolds near the couch. Her back was to me. Another detective, who I assumed to be Gabriel, was listening. Stosh squeezed his way into the bedroom, and I followed. Next to the window, one brown shoe was sticking out of one end of a white sheet that covered the rest of a body. Broken glass covered the floor. The ME was packing his bag and looked up as Stosh stood next to him.
“Lieutenant.”
“Doc.”
Stosh knelt and picked up a corner of the sheet and pulled it back. The face of an old man looked surprised. I guess I would too.
“Anything special from the autopsy, Lieutenant?”
“Any question about this?” Stosh asked as he stood.
“Nope. Two shots into the heart. Somebody was a good shot. He was dead before he could think about it.”
“I’m guessing you have plenty to keep you busy, but please make it a priority.”
“Right.”
Two medics lifted the body onto a stretcher. The lieutenant ignored me as he followed Doc out of the room. I took a few steps to the window and looked across the street. The block was mixed apartment buildings and simple, single-family homes. The building directly across the street was four stories. With the angle the bullet had entered the body and the height of the victim, they’d be able to narrow down which window the shot came from. As I looked, two detectives came out of the apartment building across the street.
“Spencer.”
Careful not to step on glass, I turned around. “Hi, Rosie. I guess the secret got out.”
“I guess it did. The lieutenant won’t be fun to be with.”
“Nope. Glad I’m having dinner with you instead of him.”
She took a deep breath. “About that.”
I was sure my disappointment showed.
“Clements asked if we could stay and help process the scene. It’d be good experience for him.”
“Of course it would.” My tone wasn’t exactly supportive. I assumed Clements’ first name was Gabriel.
“Why are you answering like that?”
“Not your case, and you’re off in an hour. Sorry if I sound disappointed.”
“You sound more than disappointed.”
“I am more than disappointed. But you do whatever you need to do.”
She gave me a frustrated look and walked out. I spent another minute at the window, then sat on the couch in the main room and listened to Stosh talking to Reynolds and the detectives whom I’d seen coming out of the apartment building across the street. I had missed some of the conversation, but I wasn’t concerned about it… he’d fill me in at the dinner we were now going to have.
There were four apartments facing the street. Someone was home in two of them, the ones on the second and fourth floors. Their identification confirmed they lived there, and they said they had not been out of their apartments in the last hour and had not seen anyone strange. They had all heard what sounded like a shot but figured it was a car backfiring until the police showed up. No one was home in the other two apartments. The manager had opened the doors. Nothing appeared out of order, but the crime lab would go over them after they finished with the murder scene.
I got up and joined the group.
“May I ask a few questions?”
Stosh introduced me to the one detective I didn’t know and raised his hand, telling me to go ahead.
“How many detectives did you have here at any given time?”
Reynolds answered. “Me and West traded shifts. And there was a uniform and a detective in the apartment across the hall at all times. We had a camera put in the lobby and the back stairs. No one came in the building without our knowing about it.”
“There are two bedrooms. The interior one has no windows. I assume that was your witness room. What was he doing by the street?”
Reynolds shook his head. “That was our room. Glunner was told never to go in there.”
“So, why was he in there?”
“I don’t know. Maybe he was trying to make another phone call.”
Stosh interrupted, his anger showing. “Another? What the hell are you talking about? He made a phone call?”
Reynolds looked embarrassed. “I found him on the phone once. I was in the head, and when I came out I found him on the phone. He hung up when he saw me and told me he was just trying to call a friend who would be concerned about him.”
“Jesus, Reynolds,” Stosh said. “Get th
e phone records. He must have placed the call. Find out where to.”
“So, how did he get in there this time?” I asked.
“I drink too much coffee,” Reynolds said with a sigh.
“While you’re drinking your next cup,” Stosh said, “find out where Joey’s boys were an hour ago and which one of his flunkies saw them there.”
“Right, Lieutenant.”
As we walked to the squad car, I said, “If we had my car with the fancy phone I could find out about the boys.”
“How so?”
“I have tails on them.”
“And your tails have phones?”
“Yup.”
“Back upstairs. You can call from the apartment.”
I had my hand on the door handle, and we talked over the top of the car. “Well, I can’t.”
“You can’t?”
“I don’t know the number.”
“Well, that’s a big help,” he said as he got into the car.
I told him the number was in my car. I also told him he was buying dinner.
As we pulled away, he said, “We’ll stop at my place. You can call.”
I did. Chester said Joey, Mike, and Danny had been in the house all day. Lunch had been delivered a little after noon. Marty also had not left his house.
***
Stosh turned left on Cicero, headed north, and got on the Edens Expressway at Foster. Neither of us said a word. I knew he’d talk when he was ready.
“Do I get a say in what’s for dinner?” I asked.
“Nope.”
“Do I get to know where?”
“I’ve got a taste for ribs.”
I nodded. That was okay with me. Since we were heading north, I knew where we were going. Skokie. “I’ll never argue about Carson’s.”
The hostess seated us by the fireplace and said Ryan would be right with us. Saturday nights were always busy, but we were early. We ordered beer and a full rack each, and I watched him staring into the fire.
“Nobody knew about this, Spencer.”
I took a drink. “I assume you mean nobody you knew about. I also assume your statement is out of desperation rather than facts.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“Well, obviously there were people in your command who knew. And, unless one of them did this, obviously someone else knew too. At least they can’t pin this one on Joey.”
“Not directly.” He took a drink and swirled his beer.
“Tell me about him.”
“Martin Glunner. Seventy-three years old. Lived off of social security in a rundown apartment building.”
The fire felt good on my back. I was counting the days until spring. “How did all this happen?”
“He showed up at the station two days after the killing and said he saw who killed Schloff. He had no trouble picking Joey’s picture out of the book.”
“What was he doing there?”
“Said he used to hang there when he was on the street. He lived in an apartment now but would go back to see friends. Said he heard footsteps and was going to call out when he saw Schloff come around a corner, followed by Joey about twenty feet away. Glunner hid behind a concrete column and watched. He said Schloff swore to Joey that he’d pay next week. Joey didn’t say a word—just pulled a gun out of his pocket and shot him.”
“And you buy all that?”
He shrugged. “No reason not to.”
“Does he have a record?”
“Nope. Not even a traffic ticket.”
“Any ties to the mob?”
“Not that we know of. But Schloff was an errand boy for Giancana. After Giancana got it, nobody wanted anything to do with him. He didn’t fit in.”
“Yeah, most of humanity doesn’t fit in. I had a chat with Maggio. I asked him about Schloff. He didn’t mention the Giancana connection.”
Stosh smiled. “And you’re surprised by that?”
“No. Just interesting. And if Glunner was on the street, how did he end up in an apartment?”
“Says he was helping support a sick sister. When she died he had enough to rent a place.”
As I was thinking about all that, the ribs arrived. Part of the experience was taking in the look and aroma before the first bite. Garlic mashed potatoes and asparagus filled out my plate. My stomach could only take about a minute of waiting before I cut into the best ribs in town.
After the first bite, I said, “And you realize that if Joey was set up, all that is crap, right?”
Stosh was further into his dinner than I. We had discussions about looking at good food several times in the past. He just nodded.
“You checked out his story?”
“Of course. He even described the graffiti on the pillar next to where where Schloff was shot. He described how the body was lying on the floor.”
“And if Joey was set up that picture looks a lot different.”
I thought some more as I ate.
“Did you check on the sister?”
He said a muffled “what?” through a mouthful of food.
“His sister. Did he have one?”
Ryan stopped to ask if we wanted more beer. We did.
“That was on one of my detective’s list.”
“And?”
“Still working on it,” he said, somewhat aggravated. “Spencer, this was an airtight witness. Everything we checked was perfect.”
“How often is something perfect?”
“Not often, but sometimes we get a gift.”
“One of Dad’s rules was beware of gifts.”
He nodded again.
“Would you let me know about the sister question?”
“Sure. I’ll put Glunner’s murder aside and put everybody on that for you.”
I thanked him without returning his sarcasm. “So, two dead. If we assume Schloff was killed to frame Joey, then Glunner was part of the frame and a victim of the first rule of murder—don’t tell anyone, and if someone else is involved get rid of them before they can talk about it.”
“Yeah, not very pretty, and maybe the answer to your apartment question.”
I nodded as I ate. “It would have been easy. I’ll fix you up in an apartment. All you gotta do is say you saw someone get shot. Of course whoever did it would have left out the part about dying.”
“Yeah, a minor detail.”
I was still slowly savoring the ribs as Stosh finished his last bite.
“So, tell me about this Gabriel,” I said.
“He’s a new detective. What else do you want to know?”
Before I could answer, Ryan started clearing the table and asked if we wanted dessert. We both declined.
“Rosie seems to be spending a lot of extra time with him.”
He gave me his tough cop look. “Ah, I should have known. I forget, how many years did you keep Rosie wondering?”
“Beside the point.”
“Not at all. Rosie is helping out her partner because Rosie is dedicated to her job. She’s dedicated to you too, but you evidently haven’t figured that out yet.”
Ryan dropped off the check. I finished my beer and pushed away from the table.
“Don’t worry about Rosie, Spencer. Let it go.”
I wanted to point out that this was advice from a guy still sleeping in his recliner because he couldn’t face the bed he and Francine had slept in, but I did realize that even if it was the same point, the situations were a lot different. I just nodded.
We talked about the murder of Glunner on the ride home.
“Would you pass on the bullet information when you get it?” I asked.
He ignored me. “Back to your stalker.” He took the entrance to the expressway and headed south. “Who knew you’d be at McGoon’s?”
“Me and Ben. Why?”
“Three possibilities. She has been stalking you. Someone told her about your dinner. Or she just happened to be there, and you don’t like coincidences. So, who else?”
“Nobody, I…”
“Who else?”
“Carol. She made the reservation. But there’s no connection there.”
“That you know of. Come on Spencer. They go to the same hair dresser, they met at the laundromat, their kids go to the same school. They—”
“Okay, okay. I’ll ask.”
He pulled into his drive and let me out. There was a light dusting of snow on my Mustang.
“Cards Wednesday?” he asked.
“Okay. But I’ll talk to you before that.”
“I am blessed.”
“You’re a pain in the ass.”
“I’m a pain in the ass?”
I slammed the door and he pulled up to the garage.
As I waited for the car to warm a bit I made a mental list of things I was waiting for. The bullet trajectory would just be interesting. They had already narrowed down the apartments. There was nothing I could do that the police wouldn’t do, but it would be good to know where the bullet came from. The phone number would be more interesting. And I needed to talk to Carol. I looked at the phone under the dash and decided not to put a frozen block of plastic up to my ear.
I had planned to spend Sunday hibernating with the paper and a book. I was in the middle of The Long Goodbye. I had read it several times, but a reread of Raymond Chandler was better than many other books I had read just once. A part of me was intrigued by Jamie, or Loretta or whatever she was going by today. Maybe I’d brave the cold, have lunch at McGoon’s, and see if she showed up. I knew I might be walking into the lion’s den, but Abraham Lincoln had put his political enemies in his cabinet so he could keep an eye on them. I didn’t know if Jamie was a friend or foe. If she was a foe, I’d learn more by spending some time with her. And she would be a pretty pleasant foe. If she was a friend… well, I wouldn’t turn down another friend. And Rosie was busy.
***
There was a message on my machine from Rosie. She’d call back tomorrow. While I was at the phone, I called Carol. She had just put Billy to bed. He had asked about the dog. I’d have to make time to look into that some more. I told her about Jamie and asked if anyone else could have known about the dinner reservations.
“No, I don’t… wait, there was a woman who came in as I was dialing McGoon’s and sat in front of my desk.”
“Shorter than you, bobbed black hair and a round face?” I asked.
