Jimmy Parisi- A Chicago Homicide Trilogy

by Thomas Laird

  ‘I can’t even think of what I’d do besides this job.’

  ‘But you feel like you’re headed toward some kind of collision with whatever’s at the bottom of that slippery slope you’re gliding down. Right?’

  ‘That’s a fairly accurate description.’

  ‘You have another high profile, big deal case with this guy who drains his victims of blood. And you have another case that didn’t begin as high profile with the murders on the West Side ... have I got all this down accurately, now?’

  ‘Yeah, Doc. I’d say that fairly sums it up.’

  ‘This blood perpetrator. He’s making you feel impotent? Incompetent?’

  ‘I’ve enjoyed higher levels of self-confidence than I am currently. Yes.’

  ‘We both know that some cases never come to closure. We both know that you’ve been trained — mostly through street experience — to let go.’

  ‘I never let go, Doctor.’

  ‘Yes, I know. I think I know you pretty well, Jimmy.’

  He looked out his window once again. ‘You’re fifty-five, right?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You could take a leave of absence. Like your old partner, Doc Gibron, did.’

  ‘I don’t think he’s coming back. I think he’s going to finally do it and retire.’

  ‘You’ve got enough years to do the same, don’t you, Lieutenant?’

  Wilson still had his back to me. It was a way interrogators had of making you feel uneasy — by turning away from you as if you didn’t really exist.

  ‘I can’t. I won’t retire. I won’t leave with all this shit left for somebody else to clean up. My problem, my responsibility. I won’t pass these cases onto anybody. Not even Jack Wendkos.’

  ‘So how are you going to deal with all this stress we’ve been discussing, Jimmy?’

  He had turned back and faced me once more.

  ‘I can’t run, Doctor. There’s no place for me to hide. Vacation or sick leave won’t do it. The only cure I’m going to find is when these two items on my menu are locked up.’

  ‘What if you black out again?’

  ‘I won’t.’

  ‘What makes you certain?’

  ‘There’s no certainty. A healthy kid just out of the Academy could do the same thing. Unless you show me that there’s something medically wrong with me — and don’t give me that stress shit again because there ain’t anyone who doesn’t deal with that — I’m going to have to walk.’

  ‘I can prohibit you from duty, Jimmy.’

  ‘Then you just take my service pistol and shoot me in the head. Give me the same kindness you’d give to a lame horse.’

  Wilson sat on the edge of his desk.

  ‘All right. I won’t have your Captain put you on medical leave ... if you see me at least once a week.’

  I knew he could have me pulled off the job if he thought I was burned and gone, so I really didn’t have much choice but to consent to his demands.

  ‘Don’t take me off the job, Doctor, because then you might as well put me down.’

  He looked at me carefully, as if he were making sure he hadn’t missed anything.

  ‘One more blackout or similar kind of episode, Lieutenant, and it will be out of my hands altogether. I’m going to give you something for anxiety. Don’t take any alcohol with it.’

  ‘I don’t drink, hardly.’

  ‘Yes. I know, Jimmy. Take the meds, Lieutenant, and if you don’t feel better, let me

  know and we’ll try something else. But most of all remember that if your b.p. doesn’t improve in a month, I’m going to yank you in like the world’s biggest bass.’

  I got up, shook hands with him. and then I left.

  *

  We had not heard from Tactical’s plant, Earvin, in almost two weeks. He was still trying to find a way to bind Joellyn Ransom with Abu Riad in the killings of Arthur Ransom, Dorothy Beaumont, and the two faceless gangbangers. Joellyn was on the backburner. I was sorting things into piles of priority. Which I didn’t like doing because it seemed, then, that one vic’s death was more important than another’s. It wasn’t the way it was for me, but I was certain someone might perceive it as a sign that I was assigning more weight to one case over another. To me, all murders are equal. There’s nothing more heinous than stopping someone’s breathing for all time.

  It’s all anyone really owns. So it’s a theft of the ultimate magnitude.

  The Count taunted Jack and me. He knew we were waiting for him inside Theresa Meecham’s apartment and that was why the pizza man showed up. That was why we rousted and scared hell out of that poor fucking baker on his way to work. Samsa thought he could come and go and blend back into the background like a chameleon.

  He was still not clear enough in my head. The only time I felt I had an advantage over a murderer was when I thought I could predict his next move. Samsa wasn’t like anyone I’d ever sought before. He was kinkier, weirder, and maybe more intelligent. The Count was into mocking me, the police. He would try to do it again. He’d let me come close, and then he’d evaporate like the light fog does over Lake Michigan when the sun burns it away.

  Samsa thought he could go on indefinitely, hitting and running. It was guerrilla warfare. Something I should have thought about sooner. Something I’d been involved in, thirty years ago in a Lost War.

  How would Jack and I nail him before some other police agency caught up with him first? I had to get better acquainted with Maxim Samsa. I had to know what he wanted, what he really desired. What he was after.

  There was little to nothing known about that blood ritual we’d interrupted at Fisherman’s Slough. The talk had been silenced in the chatrooms, so Wally couldn’t help us there.

  There were, however, some individuals who were conversant with the occult. I got the information via a phone call to the relaxed-sounding ex-partner of mine, Doc Gibron.

  ‘There’s quite a bit of literature about vampires, Jimmy P,’ Doc had said during the call the morning before this April Thursday.

  ‘What? You mean somebody studies these geeks?’

  ‘Generally, yes. There’s a splinter of the Psychology Department that deals with paranormal literature. Ghosts vampires, werewolves. All the garden variety of horror critters ... Talk to Dr Joseph Benniman at Northwestern on the Evanston campus, Jimmy. He might be able to help you.’

  *

  Benniman worked in a cluttered if not outright messy cubicle of an office at NU in Evanston, a northern township, right above Chicago on the map.

  He was short and stocky. He sported a Fu Manchu moustache and long, very dark brown hair. Dr Benniman struck me as a relic and leftover of ‘flower power’ and the early seventies. But there was a Chopin etude playing as Jack and I tried to clear the junk off two folding chairs in order to sit opposite this paranormalist or whatever he called himself.

  ‘Actually I have an MD and a PhD in clinical psychology. I’m what they used to call a lifetime student. I’m going after a Master’s in Anthropology, nowadays ... What can I do for you two gentlemen?’

  We explained about the Samsa case. He was aware of The Count through newspaper accounts.

  ‘You think this killer is really involved with vampirism?’ Benniman asked us.

  ‘We caught him and a group of others in the middle of some kind of ritual. I’m not sure, but I thought I heard Latin being invoked.’

  All I had was two years of high school Latin, so I couldn’t be positive what Samsa and his friends had been moaning and chanting.

  ‘But they were using blood in the rite?’

  ‘Yes,’ I told the Professor.

  ‘Sounds like a Satanic cult. Lots of these kids just make it up piecemeal as they go along, after one of them buys a paperback on Satanic ritual. The real cults would probably never have allowed themselves to be observed. They work in strict privacy. It sounds like you were breaking up the amateur hour, Lieutenant.’

  ‘This amateur has murdered at least two women by
draining their blood via a needle of some kind. These two young women took about three days to terminate, Doctor. They were so weak they couldn’t lift their heads off the pillow. We know that because the third victim didn’t die.’

  He blushed apologetically.

  ‘Have you interviewed the young woman who survived?’ Benniman asked me.

  ‘We can’t. She’s in critical condition at St John’s Hospital in Winnetka.’

  ‘I’m very sorry. I didn’t mean to sound flip about all this, Lieutenant.’

  ‘Can you tell us anything about cults in this area, northern Illinois?’ Jack asked.

  ‘Yes. I’ve interviewed Satanists, would-be werewolves and vampires.’

  ‘Are they for-real?’ I asked. ‘What I mean to say is, do they genuinely believe they’re —’

  ‘Yes,’ Benniman said. ‘They’re very sincere about their psychoses, I’m afraid. It is very real to these shapeshifters and vampires and blood ritualists.’

  ‘Do you have any documented material on them?’ Jack asked.

  ‘I have the galleys of my book about them. The book is going to be published in New York next month, as a matter of fact.’

  ‘Could you ... Would you let us look —’

  ‘Of course, Lieutenant Parisi. As long as you don’t quote me without permission. You’re aware of copyright laws, I’m sure.’

  ‘We won’t steal your stuff, Doctor. We just want to have a handle on where these people are.’

  ‘I’ll make a Xerox copy of the galleys for you if you’ll promise not to re-copy them and return my copy to me in two weeks.’

  ‘It sounds like a deal,’ I told him.

  We walked out of his office, out of his paranormal sciences wing, and out onto the gorgeous campus that was nestled close to a still-frigid Lake Michigan.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  My son and I walked out of the downtown office after Michael gave his statement to the Prosecuting Attorney’s Office. Three other boys from Michael’s old grade school were there to make their statements against Father Mark, as well.

  ‘You did the right thing. I admire you,’ I told Michael as I started up the family van to take us home.

  ‘Did I, Pa? Did I really?’ he asked.

  ‘There is no doubt in my mind,’ I returned as I looked over to him.

  He watched my eyes and then a slight grin took over his face.

  ‘I wish there were no doubts in my own head,’ he said as I pulled out of the headquarters parking lot.

  *

  Benniman’s galleys were a series of interviews with cult members, self-proclaimed vampires and supposed werewolves — among an assortment of other mental cases who imagined that they were spawned by ‘the dark side’

  All of the interviews were done with anonymous subject. No one seemed to be very proud of their ‘situation’ in life. At least not proud enough to give their real names and addresses.

  However, it appeared that a number of these self-proclaimed vampires had a loose sort of organisation that met from time to time at the various clubs and bars that Jack and I had already visited a few times. The clubs weren’t named, but it was pretty obvious that Merlin’s was a haven for these wannabe bloodsuckers.

  ‘We need to have surveillance on the bar,’ I told Jack.

  ‘We’ll need the green light from the Captain,’ he replied.

  We took a walk from my office down the hall.

  When we walked into his cube — the door was always open — he motioned with his forefinger to give him a moment. He was reading some file or other.

  ‘Yeah? What do you need?’

  ‘We need a stake on Merlin’s for the next few days,’ I told him.

  ‘You want to help me out here, Jimmy?’

  ‘We read that guy Benniman’s book. He says these so-called vampires, like Samsa, meet on the full moon at what he called specialty clubs. One of those places is called Merlin’s. We’ve been there before, so we know that there’s no lack of monkey-whackers in that joint. I figure it’s a good bet that Samsa will try to attend, or he’ll send someone who’s close to him.’

  ‘What’ll you do with the members of this Mickey Mouse Club when they show up, Jimmy?’

  ‘Interview them. Try to get a handle on where this guy Samsa likes to spend time.’

  ‘Those Goth girls frequent the place, Captain,’ Jack added.

  ‘You haven’t persuaded any of them to talk about Samsa so far, Jimmy.’

  ‘We’ll get to one of them, sir.’

  ‘I hope so. How much manpower is involved in this thing?’

  I explained to him about two-man, six-hour shifts, round the clock for the three days including the full moon.

  ‘Full fucking moon?’ he asked.

  ‘Their rules, Boss. Not mine,’ I smiled.

  *

  The full moon was to rise in two nights. We had forty-eight hours to prepare. I didn’t think Samsa would be dumb enough to appear in a public place like Merlin’s. He already knew we’d seen his girlfriends there, so he’d know it was likely that we would be hanging around.

  We only needed one talker. Just one who was willing to spill everything he knew about this ex-reformatory punk who had graduated to the big leagues of Murder One.

  *

  We eliminated the day watch because we were aware that nothing went down at Merlin’s until the sun did. The Captain was relieved at the reduction of coppers it would take to eyeball the vampire hangout.

  Jack and I drew the later shift of the two remaining watches — the shifts were 4:00 p.m. to 10:00 p.m. and 10:00 p.m. to 4:00 a.m. We didn’t actually draw that later shift — we took it because we figured nothing would percolate until the very wee hours near dawn.

  I started to bring headphones and jazz CDs on stakeout. It reminded me of Doc Gibron and it passed the time.

  ‘How’re we going to know the vampires from the Goths?’ Jack asked as we settled in for hours of waiting and doing little or nothing.

  ‘I had a talk over the phone with our friend Leonard Bliss. He acknowledged that these sorts of lovely folks do indeed people the late night hours of Merlin’s — usually around three or four in the morning on the date of the full moon. Leonard himself is rather spooked by these vampires. He was reluctant to come forth with any goodies about them until I reminded him of my close relationship with the parole officers in his district. Then he spewed forth with what I just told you.’

  ‘We picked one bar out of a hat, Jimmy.

  ‘They could be almost anywhere.’

  ‘I don’t think so. They might be in a few other joints, sure, but these guys seem to favour places where there’s a high comfort level. Most of the other places we scoped out discourage these people from coming in. They run off mainstream business. Most bars want young females to show their tits and the rest of their equipment to entice young males to come in and swill it up before they take their shots at the mating call.’

  ‘Merlin’s is definitely not mainstream.’

  ‘They don’t have many havens in the public venue, Jack. We saw three or four likely spots in Samsa’s hunting grounds — or at least where he’s looked for victims to date. Merlin’s is as good a place to start as any.’

  I put the headset on and let Jack take a nap. I bought a couple of Dave Brubeck CDs because Brubeck was one of the jazzmen that I didn’t mind listening to when Doc forgot his earphones and played the all-night jazz station out of Evanston on the squad radio.

  I watched the entry to Merlin’s. They had a sign with a few lights on it that barely illuminated a five-pointed star.

  I was midway through the first Brubeck CD when the Goth girls walked into Merlin’s. It was eight o’clock — early for these young women. Nothing usually popped around here until after ten p.m., Leonard had explained to us the last time we were here.

  I nudged Jack, but he was still awake.

  ‘I saw them,’ he said. ‘Want to go in and corner a few of them?’

  ‘No,
’ I replied. ‘Let’s see if there’s any new blood going to join them tonight.’

  Jack lay back against the passenger’s-side seat. I was behind the wheel.

  I returned to my jazz. It wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be. I hadn’t been a fan of beebop. Not like my partner, Harold Gibron. But the music seemed more appealing, now that I was left alone by my ex-partner. Jack was a rock fan, so there was no use trying to proselytize him.

  *

  It was after ten, so I woke Wendkos from a sound snore. He sat up and rubbed his eyes.

  ‘Anybody new?’ he asked.

  ‘No more Goth girls. But some black leather females who look like they know the ass end of a Harley pretty well.’

  ‘Biker bitches?’ Jack grinned.

  ‘You ever called them that, your nards’d be ascending via the tips of their steel-toed bootery.’

  ‘I’m sure you’re right.’

  I took off the head set. I’d been through the two Brubeck compact discs more than twice. I got out of the Taurus pushed the front seat forward, and climbed into the back so I could lie down. It was too cramped in the driver’s seat.

  I lay down and closed my eyes.

  I dreamed the dream about the gators or crocodiles snapping at me while I stood precariously above them on a very narrow ledge. ‘Jimmy,’ the voice said.

  It sounded very far away. The voice was almost a whisper.

  ‘Jimmy ... I think he’s here.’

  I sat up as if I’d been shocked by a naked electrical wire.

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Samsa. Asshole himself.’

  ‘We’re not calling for back-ups. Not yet. We’re not embarrassing both of us with another false alarm.’

  ‘I know. It’s okay. Let’s go in after him.’

  I pushed my hair back with my fingers. I got up and reached for the front door handle and then I opened the driver’s-side door. I pushed the driver’s seat forward, and then I crawled out of the unmarked Ford.

  Jack was already on the sidewalk, waiting for me. I pulled down my black leather coat, and I checked to see if I had all three weapons — they were in place, the entire trio.

  ‘Don’t pull anything out — including your dick — until we’re sure it’s him.’