by Thomas Laird
I pulled up to her curb. We were both tired. I figured we might skip dinner, sleep awhile, and then do what came naturally and next. I’d take her out for a fancy and early breakfast when morning hit.
There was a new fragrance in the air as we stepped outside the car. It was the scent of snow. We were due for our first snowfall. I thought I’d heard the forecast on the ride over to Natalie’s, but I’d still been a little preoccupied with my bride-to-be’s first encounter with the bad guys out on these streets. I’d have to resign myself, as the man said. I’d have to learn to live with the idea. She’d be encountering nothing but bad guys when she went to work, from here on out.
Chapter Nineteen
Doc picked up the information from the County Sheriff’s Office. They’d received the word from a neighboring county, sixty miles to the west of the city, and the three of us, Jack included, were on our way toward the State University that was located in that area.
She was waiting for us in the teachers’ lounge. School was on break for the end of quarter, we had been informed when all this was set up by the young woman we were going to interview and by the local Sheriff’s Office.
She had a black eye and a bruise on her cheek. Another pretty woman, nearly thirty. She was almost a clone of The Farmer’s first two victims. Like Stephanie Manske, she had survived her encounter with him.
We sat down at a round table in the lounge. A dean was in the room to introduce us to Diane Swanson, an Assistant Professor of Geology here at the University.
‘You’re sure this is a comfortable place to talk?’ I asked as we sat. ‘We could go off campus if it’d be easier.’
‘No. I want to get back to work. I want to get back to normal ... He’s been in my dreams.’
She looked at me as she explained it to me.
‘He’s been in my dreams,’
‘And in mine, too,’ I confessed. ‘But I haven’t been where you were, Ms Swanson ... You want to tell us what happened?’
She explained how a blond man had been wearing a maintenance outfit, how he’d come in and out of the lab where she worked, but how she had paid almost no attention to him.
‘This is a very safe campus. It’s isolated from the town next to us, and we’re rather enclosed. We don’t have this sort of thing. You can walk the campus at night and no one ...’
Her voice trailed off.
‘There is no history of this sort of thing around here. I was never afraid to work late at night, alone, but now, of course, I am.’
‘Yes. I understand,’ Doc joined in. ‘But we need to get all the information we can so we can make sure this man won’t hurt you or anyone else in the future.’
‘Do you think he’d come back?’ she asked Jack.
‘No, Ms Swanson. I don’t think he’d come back here. He hasn’t hit the same location twice yet,’ Wendkos replied.
‘Yet?’ she asked me.
‘It’s extremely unlikely he’d return. The Sheriff’s told you he’s going to keep an eye on you, hasn’t he?’
‘Yes, Lieutenant Parisi, but —’
‘He won’t come back,’ Doc reassured her. ‘He knows you’ll all be wary now, and he likes to take his victims by surprise ... Please, just tell us everything you can about him, physically.’
She gave us the same description that Stephanie Manske had provided. Except that Diane Swanson was positive this guy was a sandy-colored blond. The height and body size were identical to the previous rundown. She’d only caught a glimpse of him in the lab, and she’d seen nothing but the nametag on his gray work-shirt as she was knocked on her back by the fumes of the ether. She remembered only vaguely that she’d been sexually molested.
The Sheriff found the condom wrapper on her naked body after two students who were passing by saw her lying by the school’s lagoon. They found no semen when she was examined at the hospital. There were also no fingerprints on her or on any of her garments. As usual, The Farmer left no calling cards that could help us trace him.
Diane Swanson seemed to be very strong. She displayed very self-confident body language, the way I saw it. She didn’t quiver or shiver or weep. At least, not in front of three policemen who were asking her some extremely uncomfortable questions.
‘Would you be willing to undergo hypnosis in order to try and remember some more physical detail about this man?’ I asked her.
‘Absolutely. Yes. I would.’
‘We’ll get a man down this afternoon, then. I’ll call him and ask him to make an appointment with you at a time that’ll be convenient, if that’s okay.’
‘It’s okay, Lieutenant ... I want this man out of my head. I want my life back.’
Now there was moisture in her eyes. Her cheeks began to color.
I reached out and covered her hand.
‘We’re going to get him. He’s not going to hurt you again. I promise you he won’t.’
She looked up at me and attempted to smile, but she couldn’t quite pull it off.
Then the tears began.
‘I’m not going to let him win. I’m not. I’m not.’
‘No, you’re not going to let him. You’re right.’
I repeated the information about the psychologist-hypnotist that the Department was sending her way this afternoon, and then she finally managed a smile.
‘Maybe he can help me stop smoking,’ she grinned.
‘You’re going to be all right,’ Doc told her as he shook her hand.
‘Best of luck to you, Ms Swanson,’ Jack added.
She finally noticed the presence of our junior partner, and there was a slight blush on her cheeks.
We told her we had business with her County Sheriff. Then Jack asked me if we’d come back around and pick him up when we were through. I told him it was okay, and then I watched him approach the geology professor. It seemed he had more to say to her.
When I saw the young woman look up at Jack, I knew that the two of them had made a more than professional connection. And Jack had that strange ability to get through to people who’d been touched by evil. I saw him do it when he was with me during Doc’s sabbatical. He got involved with the survivors on scene. I’m not saying he was trying to hit on a woman who had been recently raped. I’m saying he was touched by her. We were supposed to be professional with the human beings we encountered. We were not supposed to get wrapped up in their problems. But I knew from my experience with Celia Dacy that it happened. I almost lost my career on that case, but if Celia came along again, who knew what I’d do? I’d have liked to warn Jack Wendkos to back off, but I didn’t feel as if I was the right man to do it. And Doc tried to keep his distance, too, but he’d got himself all unraveled by the murders of two black girls on the South Side a few years back, and he’d had to take a leave of absence for two months to put himself back together again. The shit got to you. The people and their faces got inside you. It was inevitable. That was why Homicide cops usually worked in the department for less than ten years. Doc and I had already lasted longer than a decade, and, as I said, we had already had our temporary breakdowns.
Jack walked down the hall with Diane Swanson. I heard her laugh briefly, and I was already hoping the two of them wouldn’t wind up the way Celia Dacy and I did.
*
We talked to the County Sheriff briefly at his headquarters. He told us the same story the professor had. It was a safe college town. This kind of shit didn’t happen here.
‘Why the hell would they let those three out of jail?’ he asked when I showed him the jackets on my three suspects.
I was going to show Diane Swanson the photos of Repzac, Preggio and Karrios after the hypnotist tried to open up her memory.
‘I don’t know why we let predators loose,’ I told Sheriff Espinoza. ‘I wish I had an explanation.’
Doc shook the Sheriff’s hand and then we headed back toward the U to pick up Jack.
*
‘You find anything out?’ I asked Wendkos on the drive back to the city.
‘Yeah. She’s beautiful and she didn’t deserve this shit,’ Jack said.
‘You becoming more than an investigator on this one, Jacky?’ Doc teased from the back seat of the Ford.
‘I told her I’d be happy to help her any way I can.’
‘You’re not the local gendarme, Jack,’ I tried to explain.
‘That’s why there’s no problem, right? We’re not directly involved with her case. It’s County, no?’
He was not smiling, but I knew he was glowing inwardly behind that handsome Polish face.
‘You’re smitten, poor boy,’ Doc rejoined.
‘She’s a rape victim, Doc. Think I’ll start out by being her friend, and then maybe she’ll let me know if it’s okay to continue on in other directions ... I really liked her. Christ, did you see how tough she is?’
What was there to tell him? Like I said, I was no one to talk about getting mixed up in people’s lives. And Doc appeared too tired to continue ragging Jack about the interest he had shown in our latest survivor. Gibron pulled his Irish tweed hat down over his eyes and went to sleep. We still had a long way to travel to get back home.
*
I did some research on the families of Preggio, Repzac and Karrios. I found nothing on Karrios, although he’d given us the line about how he was the son of a Greek immigrant. Like the guy who ran against Bush, I think it was. Anyway, I came up empty on my first try with him.
Preggio’s parents were both dead, I found out as I researched the number two suspect. Repzac’s parents resided in the city, so I called the family home to set up an interview with them. When I called, I was surprised to hear that they wanted to talk to me voluntarily. Doc and I got in the car and headed toward the northwest side. Jack was headed back to the U this afternoon. Apparently it was on, with Diane the geology professor. The official reason he was traveling was to ‘reinforce’ our first talk with the teacher. But all three of us knew that Jack was full of shit and Jack was in love. ‘Smitten’, like Doc said.
*
Caroline Repzac opened the door for us. They lived in the middle apartment of a three-flat, here near Wrigleyville.
We walked in and sat in the living room. Mrs Repzac explained that the old man wasn’t at home. He worked twelve-hour shifts.
‘We’re still devastated by what happened to Dawson. I still cannot believe that he would be capable of harming any young girl. But I know he’s been straight ever since ... Would you like some coffee?’
‘You don’t have to apologize for him, Mrs Repzac. We’re not here about his previous problems,’ I told her. ‘We’re here to talk to you.’
‘Talk to me? About what?’
‘About your relationship with your son,’ I explained.
‘What is this? I don’t understand.’
‘We want to know if you had any particular difficulty with Dawson, say when he was young or when he was a teenager,’ Doc said.
‘Are you men psychiatrists or cops?’
‘We’re policemen,’ I told her. ‘But we need to know some things about several suspects in a murder case.’
‘Murder? Dawson wouldn’t — Murder?’
‘We’re not telling you he killed anyone, ma’am. We’d just like to know about his background, and you’re the expert,’ Doc explained.
‘He ... he had a typical teenager’s life. There was nothing out of the ordinary. He had no history of ... of molestation, if that’s what you mean.’
There was fear in her eyes. I knew she had something she didn’t want to tell me.
‘Are there other siblings?’ I asked.
That one lit her up.
‘I don’t think I want to talk to you anymore unless I have a lawyer here. I remember how they told me not to say anything to you guys unless I had legal —’
‘It’s all right, Mrs Repzac. We didn’t come here to bully you or upset you. But it’d be helpful if you just told us more about Dawson,’ I urged.
‘No. That’s it. You got no warrant and I’m through talking. You have to leave now.’
I looked over at Doc, but he knew the show was over.
We walked toward the front door. I turned to Caroline Repzac one more time.
‘Two women have been brutally murdered. One man has been mutilated also. If you have something we need to know, you’d better call me. Here’s my card.’
I placed my card on her coffee table, and then we were out of her door.
*
‘She’s got something she wants to tell us,’ Doc confirmed.
‘It has to do with the rest of the clan ... Looks like I need to do some more research.’
We got into the car and Doc pulled us away from the curb.
Maybe he had something traumatic with a brother or a sister. Maybe it had to do with Caroline herself.
Thirty-year-old women. If it were Caroline, that would put whatever it was back about twenty or twenty-five years. I’d have said she was in her early or middle fifties. If it was a sister ... A sister made the math harder to figure. So I’d have to get into the computers and the paperwork again.
It was as if Caroline Repzac had been glad we were there, at first. And then something had changed her mind and the door was slammed in our faces. Cold. Slammed shut.
Something had happened to Dawson. Something had happened to one of those sons of bitches. Or to some son of a bitch we hadn’t even spotted yet. But the notion resonated in me like truth itself. I just knew I was not going off wrong on this one. It was always the age of the female, the general physical makeup. Those two tiny threads held the whole fabric of this case together.
‘Where shall we take lunch?’ Doc asked.
Without even looking over at him, I already knew the answer. I headed us toward Berwyn and the Garvin Inn.
The hypnotist came up almost empty. Diane Swanson had never got a clear look at her attacker’s face. All she remembered was the name ‘Ralph’ on the tag on the shirt the supposed maintenance man was wearing. ‘Ralph’ popped into her classroom and popped back out. She got a look at the back of his head as he left the room. She saw the color of his hair and the height of his body, but she couldn’t even be certain about his build or approximate weight.
We heard from the psycho-hypnotist downtown, but Jack Wendkos had been to see Diane in person.
‘She’s dry, Jimmy. There’s nothing there. She never really got a look at this bastard.’
‘Whoa. Are you taking all this personally, young man?’ Doc teased.
‘Yeah. I am.’
There was no amusement in Wendkos’s tone.
‘Oh-oh,’ Doc murmured.
‘Yeah, I’m personally involved, but like I already said —’
‘It’s still on the border, Jack. And I know I’m not the guy who should be telling you, but I took a hell of a risk when I walked over the line.’
‘But she was part of your case, Jimmy. Diane’s not on our board. She’s in another goddamned county!’
‘All right. I’m not complaining. But you better keep your travel plans private from here on out. The Captain won’t give a shit if we’re indirectly involved with this woman as a witness in a murder-rape case.’
‘Okay, okay. I’ll keep it to myself ... It isn’t anything romantic yet, anyway. At least, not on her end. She’s scared. No matter how tough she tried to look. She’s on the edge and I think I can help her.’
‘It’s all right with me. I surrender,’ I told him. ‘Just don’t let it get in the way of what we’re doing around here. Yeah, I’ve been where you are. And a lot deeper into it than you are. Just don’t let the two of you get in the way of business and I’ll hope for the best.’
He was in this personally, all right. I’d seen anger on him before. His face read like an open script. He couldn’t disguise gut-level reactions. Like love.
Or hate.
He had a personal thing for The Farmer. This cutter’d hurt one of his own. At least, Jack thought so. I didn’t know what the teacher fel
t toward the man who had nearly ended her life and her career, but my young partner had been bloodied on the inside. He didn’t respond for givingly to that kind of insult. He’d only known Diane Swanson for a few days, but it didn’t make any difference. It was what we guineas call the vendetta — the vengeance. It was in his eyes, in his voice. It was an obsession that got hold of your insides and twisted them all in one direction. Then there was nothing left to do but go after the point of your hang-up. It was a holy crusade, once it started. All that pain was housed in that pretty professor, and Jack had taken it upon himself to cut her loose, to free her. Falling for a woman did that to you.
I ought to know.
Chapter Twenty
I take her out to the dancefloor. The rhythm obliges her to begin to sway. The music is not from her generation. It’s a decade older than she is. It comes from the time that I was out of the country. We heard this music over the Armed Forces Network. It’s called ‘Classic Rock ‘n’ Roll’ to her and to all the other thirty-year-olds who have no music of their own.
The Rush Street bar is loaded with out-of-towners. She’s one of them. A stewardess out of the Bay Area. When she began to talk to me at the bar, she asked me if there were any good seafood-sushi bars in the Rush Street district. I told her I didn’t know, but I’d find out if she danced with me.
‘You know, that dark hair and mustache don’t go with your eyebrows,’ she tells me when she gets up close for a slow dance.
I feel a burn of anxiety over the lack of a match. I put the hairpiece and the mustache on in a hurry and I neglected to color the eyebrows. But it’s too late now. She’s not as drunk as I thought she was. No one else in this disco-lounge is sober enough or close enough to be as observant as she’s being.
