Cold Justice

by Rick Polad

  I finished my soup and concentrated on the sandwich. “I wonder if there’s more going on than meets the eye.”

  She had put her spoon down and was just staring at the table. “Meaning what?”

  “Is there anybody who might have a grudge against you for anything?”

  “There’s always the people we’ve arrested, but nobody on the force.”

  “Maybe someone you put in jail has connections.”

  She let out a long sigh. “Who the hell knows. You know, we’re all supposed to be on the same team, but Internal Affairs isn’t part of the team. I get that there are bad cops, and there needs to be a way of dealing with that. But I’ve heard so many stories and seen good cops thrown under the bus by these morons. They just seem to be trying to justify their existence.”

  “I’m so sorry, Rosie. I’ll get the names of the people on the board and run them by you.”

  She just stared.

  “You need to eat, Rosie.” She had only taken one bite of her sandwich and not much soup. She absentmindedly took another bite.

  I tried to lighten up the conversation. “Have you heard about the cold front coming in tomorrow night?”

  She nodded. “Yes, a record low is predicted, along with wind chills in the minus fifties.”

  “Yeah, sounds like a good time to stay in. They’re already talking about closing schools.”

  “A bad night to be living in a warehouse.”

  I had thought about Angie and assumed it would be a night they would agree to staying in a shelter.

  Rosie ate some more soup. “Spencer, about Detective Clements.”

  I was wondering if she would get around to that. I just listened.

  “I’m sorry I’ve had to break some dates. I guess I’m spending more time with him than I have to, but he’s so energetic and excited. He’ll make a very good detective. I wish you wouldn’t take it so personally.”

  “I know you’re just trying to help, but it’s hard not to take personally. He’s a good-looking guy who gets to spend a lot of time with you. I’d rather it were me.”

  She reached out and took my hand. “That’s sweet. And when we figure out these two killings, things will calm down. You’re busy now too, you know.”

  “I am. But I’m not the one who broke the dates.” As soon as I said it I wished I hadn’t. Sometimes my mouth opens before my brain has a chance to process. My brain always wonders how that happens.

  She took her hand back. “I’m too tired to argue about it. And with this IA hearing this isn’t a good time to have a talk like this. I’m already at the end of my rope.”

  “I’m sorry, Rosie.” I pushed away from the table. “I’ll clean up and get going so you can get some rest.”

  She didn’t respond.

  I rinsed the dishes and put them in the dishwasher. She was still sitting at the table.

  “Well, I guess I’ll get going. If the hearing happens on Friday I’ll get back to you with the names.”

  “Why wouldn’t it happen?”

  “The cold.”

  She nodded. “Oh… I forgot. Sure, thanks.”

  I gave her a kiss on the forehead and then had a thought. “How about dinner Friday, and I’ll fill you in then. I’ll pick you up at—”

  She wearily held up her hand. As she slowly lowered her head she said, “I can’t, Spencer. I’m so sorry, but there’s a district dinner for new officers and detectives.”

  I tried to smile, but it wasn’t a good one. “Last I checked, you’re not that new.”

  She gave a feeble laugh. “No. I’m… well…”

  “You’re going with good old Gabe.”

  “Spencer, I… he had no one else to go with. I didn’t want him—”

  “That’s enough. I get it.” I wanted to take back my kiss on her forehead. I turned and let myself out. I stood outside the building and stared at the dark sky. It had never looked darker.

  The radio had been on in the kitchen, and the announcer had said the temperature was nineteen. There was no wind. When the front arrived, the wind would pick up and bring the deep freeze with it. I found it hard to think that in another day I’d be wishing it was nineteen again.

  ***

  The light on my answering machine at home was blinking. I pressed the play button and listened while I looked through the unopened mail. Jimmy had gone out again after dinner. Morrie and Rebecca had followed him back to the pool hall. Morrie followed him in and saw him talking to the bartender who picked up a phone. Jimmy sat at the bar for two minutes but didn’t order. After the two minutes a door at the rear of the hall opened and the bartender nodded toward it. Jimmy slid off the stool and disappeared into the back room. That was at seven thirty. He had come out a little before eight and headed home.

  It was now close to nine, and it was time to have another chat with Jimmy. I called Morrie and asked for a suggestion of how to make that happen. He told me Jimmy had breakfast every day at a quarter to eight at a little joint called the Blueberry Diner, halfway between home and work. He gave me the address, and we chatted for a minute about the cold. I told him I might be shutting things down for a few days. He said if I wanted him on the job he’d be on the job. Evidently double pay trumped cold.

  While I had the phone in my hand I called Stosh, told him I got the letter, and asked for advice.

  “Two things. Just answer questions. Don’t volunteer any extra information. And for God’s sake leave your smart-ass comments at home.”

  “Me? Smart-ass comments? You must have me confused with someone else.”

  “Right. They are going to piss you off. Remember Detective Lonnigan is in their hands.”

  “I got it, Stosh. I’ll behave. This is all so idiotic. It makes no sense.”

  “No argument there. The real issue is what was Steele doing there? They should be investigating him, but that’s obviously not possible.”

  “He was rescuing a kid from a kidnapper and breaking up that ring.”

  “Obviously. And it’s also obvious that he threw procedure under the bus when he teamed up with you.”

  “But he—”

  “I know. The job got done, but you don’t do things by the book, and a detective who is supposed to do things by the book joined you in that.”

  “That was his choice.”

  “Yes, and also obviously he decided to do it knowing he would never be investigated.”

  “Then there’s the history with his son.”

  “Yup. Sad and complicated.”

  “And it has nothing to do with Rosie.”

  “It does now. Keep that in mind.” He hung up.

  While I had the phone in my hand, I opened my notebook and dialed Cyrus Jennings. My brain had finished working, and I figured if he had been willing to take that dog in out of the cold he’d be willing to help. He wasn’t only willing… he was thrilled. That dog lady sure was good at making enemies.

  I went to bed with Stosh’s book and read the first chapter about unsolved murders in Chicago. The preface stated that the book would concentrate on the more interesting of the thousands of unsolved murders on the Chicago police books. Chapter one dealt generally with murder history in Chicago and stated that there had been around one thousand mob murders since 1900. There were seventy-nine mob murders during the reign of Sam Giancana, mob boss from 1957 to 1966. Giancana was reported to have said that seven out of ten hits were the wrong guy, but the other three made up for it. It didn’t take a lot of evidence, or even any, to order a hit. If a boss thought the mob had been wronged, a hit was ordered without any investigation. The mob was the judge, the jury, and the executioner of the death warrant. FBI agent William Roemer had said that Giancana would kill someone at the “flick of an eye.” I read for another fifteen minutes but had to reread the last two pages as I realized I was thinking about Rosie and didn’t remember what I had read.

  Chapter 19

  At seven in the morning Thursday, the temperature had climbed a bit to twenty-
two… the calm before the storm. I parked across from the diner and listened to WGN. All Wally Phillips talked about was the coming cold. Schools were closing on Friday, and the weather experts were telling people to stay in if at all possible.

  Jimmy was a minute late. I followed him in. He slid into a booth with his back toward me. As I walked by his booth I did a double take and acted surprised to see him.

  “You eat here?” I asked.

  He didn’t look surprised to see me. More like wary. “Evidently.”

  I gestured at the seat. “Mind if I join you?”

  “Do I have a choice?”

  “Sure. We all have choices. You just have to live with the consequences.”

  “Yeah. Thanks for the wisdom.”

  A waitress arrived just as I slid in.

  “The same for you, Jimmy?” she asked.

  “Sure, Wanda. Thanks.”

  “How about your friend?”

  He just stared at me.

  “I’ll have coffee and two eggs over easy with bacon and wheat toast.”

  “Got it,” she said with a warm smile.

  Jimmy was still staring. I figured I might as well get to it.

  “So, Jimmy, I hear you’ve been out making the rounds.”

  His eyebrows raised. “What are you talkin’ about?”

  “Your evening activities. I hear you’ve been making new friends.”

  He bit his lower lip and lowered his hands under the table. I was pretty sure they were clenched again. He looked away, and I could see him trying to decide.

  When he looked back he asked, “So, what do you want?”

  Wanda brought my coffee, and I wrapped my hands around the cup. Nice and hot.

  “I’m a curious fellow. Just looking for some answers to satisfy that curiosity. I figured a talk with you was the best way to do that… since you were the one doing the visiting.”

  “And what if I don’t feel like talkin’?”

  I took a sip. “Hey, no problem. If my curiosity isn’t satisfied when I walk out of here I’ll ask Joey if he knows.”

  I knew his hands were working because his shoulders were moving, and I wondered how he was going to eat with his hands under the table.

  “Okay, okay, don’t get all excited. I’ll talk.”

  But he didn’t talk. He looked around the room, and his shoulders kept moving. I figured he was trying to decide how little he could say to shut me up. He didn’t have to worry about anyone else hearing. The place was full… and noisy.

  I sipped my coffee. “How about this, Jimmy. Joey is paying me well. I’ve got a hundred in cash to help satisfy my curiosity.”

  He laughed—not long and not loud, and it wasn’t because he thought it was funny. “Dead men can’t spend money, Manning.”

  I couldn’t argue with that. “Are you worried about Marty?”

  “Wouldn’t you be worried about Marty?”

  I shrugged. “Not particularly.”

  He looked around some more. Every five seconds or so his eyes darted back to me. Our food arrived, and he had to show his hands when the waitress handed him the plate. He made a show of putting butter and syrup on his pancakes and took a bite.

  I started on my eggs. “Listen, Jimmy, I’m going to find out about what’s going on with Marty. The only question is how I find out and whether or not Joey finds out. You’re involved in something. If it has nothing to do with the murders—”

  “Murders! I got nothin’ to do with any murders. It’s just business, that’s all.”

  “You sure about that?” I swallowed toast and washed it down with coffee. “I’m working on the murders and the frame. I don’t care about business. What you and Marty do is not my concern if it has nothing to do with my case.”

  He put his fork down, looked around some more, and leaned toward me. “Okay. He’s just covering his bases. If Joey goes to jail, Marty wants to be ready to take over. He wants to expand the business. He thinks Joey is being too soft on some of these guys, just taking a percentage. He thinks there’s more money in a syndicate.”

  “With him sitting in Joey’s chair.”

  “Yeah.”

  “And you sitting on the couch instead of behind the counter serving ice cream.”

  He took a deep breath. “Yeah.”

  I nodded. “I can see why you’re talking to Marty. But I can also see a couple of problems.”

  He didn’t ask. Probably didn’t want to know, but I was going to tell him. I ate some egg first.

  “One, you may not be involved in the frame and the murders, but somebody is. And that somebody might be Marty. If he is, then you’re an accessory.”

  He stopped his fork halfway to his mouth and all of a sudden looked older. “Hey, I got nothin’—”

  I held my hand up. “I know, you got nothin’ to do with it. But what you don’t know might hurt you. Second, I wonder what Mr. Maggio might think about all of this.”

  He set his fork down. “I wondered that too. I asked Marty. He said it wouldn’t be a problem. All Mr. Maggio is concerned about is money. If Marty brought in more money, Mr. Maggio would be happy.”

  “Perhaps. Perhaps not.”

  “What do you mean, not? Why wouldn’t he be happy about more money?”

  I ate the last of my eggs. “No reason, but he might not like the way it was done. I think he likes Joey. And if it gets out that Marty was making moves to take over while Joey was still sitting in the chair… well…” I spread my arms out, palms up.

  “Jesus, Manning. I didn’t think of that.”

  “I guess not.”

  He looked worried… real worried.

  “You’re not going to say anything to Joey, are you? I mean now that I helped?”

  “Don’t see any need to, but better be careful who you’re seen with. If I were you, I’d be happy serving ice cream for a while.”

  “But what am I going to tell Marty?”

  Wanda asked if we wanted anything else. We didn’t. She left the check.

  “No clue. But if it helps any, I’ll buy breakfast.” I picked up the check and handed him my card. “Call me if you see or hear anything you think I should know concerning the Joey issue.”

  He looked at my card. “Thanks for the grub. You still think it’s a frame?”

  “Most of me does, but I’m not totally convinced.” I slid out and gave him a two-finger salute. When I walked along the front windows he was still sitting in the booth. I had ruined his day, but I got what I was looking for. The only question left was whether Marty was just playing the possibility or had he had a hand in setting it up.

  ***

  I got to the office just before nine thirty and asked Carol to call everyone and tell them to stay home Friday and Saturday, with pay, and we’d meet again Monday at noon. I told her to have them back to work on Sunday if the temperature warmed above ten. If not, take Sunday off also. And I wanted to talk to Morrie, Paul, and Rebecca. I told Morrie and Rebecca about the chat I had with Jimmy. I asked Morrie to stay with Jimmy, but I was reassigning Rebecca. I asked her to start surveillance on the Belden house from seven a.m. to noon but to be at the meeting. I reassigned Paul to the house from noon to seven and asked Chester to start at seven instead of five. I was no longer concerned about Marty. He was still a possibility, but we wouldn’t learn anything more by following him. If I wanted more I’d have to think of something else.

  The temperature had risen to twenty-two, but the forecast hadn’t changed. The temperature would start to drop by early afternoon. I called the number on my Internal Affairs letter and asked if the hearing would be postponed. No such luck. When I had first learned about the investigation I was ready to charge in on my white horse and rescue Rosie. The facts were still the facts, and I would report those, but I couldn’t stop thinking about her Friday night dinner date, and I no longer felt like saddling my horse. What I felt like was having dinner at McGoon’s. But I didn’t make a reservation. Nobody in their right mind would be out in
the deep freeze, including Miss Hand.

  I told Carol to leave at noon, but she said she could brave a walk across the street and would stay until Billy got home from school. I took the rest of the day off and went home to read.

  ***

  I made a ham sandwich on rye and watched the noon news, which was mostly Tom Skilling talking about the weather. A big dip in the jet stream was going to funnel arctic air into the Midwest. At twelve thirty the temperature had already dropped to ten. Skilling wasn’t sure about breaking the record, but he was guaranteeing we’d get close. The record low of twenty-six below had been set in 1982. I decided to reserve the right not to go out for dinner.

  I cleaned up lunch and settled in the recliner with Murder in the Big City. I was on the second chapter, which was about the bungled hit on Ken Eto, known as “Tokyo Joe,” two years ago in 1983. Eto had set up a gambling racket in 1949 that had netted up to two hundred thousand dollars a week, less three thousand in payoffs to corrupt cops. The FBI arrested him in 1982. Afraid that he would talk, John Gattuso and Jasper Campise, a Cook County deputy sheriff and mob associate, were given the task to make sure he didn’t. In February of 1983, Eto was invited to a dinner party. He never made it.

  Campise and Gattuso attacked him while he was sitting in a parked car and fired three shots into his head. They left him for dead, but all three bullets only grazed his skull. They had handloaded their ammunition to keep it from being traced, and it was thought they hadn’t used enough gunpowder. Eto agreed to turn informant and entered the witness protection program. He identified Campise and Gattuso, with Gattuso being the triggerman. They were arrested and charged with attempted murder.

  The FBI offered witness protection to Campise and Gattuso in exchange for who had ordered the hit, but they said they weren’t in danger and refused. Five months later their tortured bodies were found in a car in Naperville. Eto helped to put away fifteen mobsters and corrupt policemen and was still in witness protection. The murders of Campise and Gattuso had not been solved.

  I got up and uncapped a bottle of Pabst Blue Ribbon, also brewed in Milwaukee. By 1980 Pabst had passed Schlitz in sales. At a little after two, I had just started on chapter three about the murder of Sam Giancana, killed in the basement of his Oak Park home in 1975, when the phone rang. Mike had left the parlor, taking the Lincoln, and Rebecca had followed him to the house on Belden. He was parked in front and had entered the house.