Circle of Terror

by Larry Powalisz

  “Good luck with the game tomorrow night, kid. And knock ‘em dead.”

  “Thanks.” Demetrius shook George’s frail hand and pulled a chocolate bar out of his pocket. “Brought you a little something. Can you have it?”

  “Me, chocolate? Hey, my false teeth let me eat almost anything. I can’t tell you how much I enjoy having you around. Always loved chocolate bars. Thanks. See ya when I see ya.”

  Chapter 12

  SEARCH WARRANT: MILWAUKEE

  The four marked squad cars pulled into the District Two police parking lot on Milwaukee’s South Side neighborhood at five for the early briefing scheduled at five fifteen. The markings on the squads said TEU, which stood for tactical enforcement unit. Having gone through a number of changes since its inception by then Police Chief Harold A. Breier during the Milwaukee riots in August 1967, the full-time unit was still an integral part of the department. Many police departments and agencies called theirs SWAT; Milwaukee had the TEU.

  The ten police officers entered the assembly room and were readily noticed by several district uniform officers writing reports or drinking their morning coffees. The unmistakable TACTICAL ENFORCEMENT UNIT patch bearing a helmet with crossed shotgun and baton on the right shoulder of their navy blue uniform shirts and jackets was easily identifiable. The two TEU sergeants were already in the large room, speaking with several homicide detectives. Tomczyk walked in a minute or two later.

  “I’m always surprised when the department knuckle draggers can get up so early on their own and be here on time.”

  A tall and lean officer in his early thirties with close-cropped blonde hair smiled at Tomczyk. “C’mon, Ski, if it wasn’t for you teaching us how to set an alarm clock when you were on the squad with us, we’d still be catching our beauty sleep.” The comment was enjoyed by all.

  At promptly five fifteen, Homicide Detective Rickey Bernems stood in front of the group and asked for their attention. “Thanks for coming, men. I know it’s a little early, but we have information that our subject shacks up with his girlfriend, so we wanted to hit it early while they’re still lyin’ in bed. This case stems from a homicide in Gordon Park where the victim was found with one gunshot wound to the forehead and one to the chest. Evidence at the scene shows our suspect was there. His name is Matthew Elroy Wallk, with a birthday of April 15, 1991. He has a prior record for a couple burglary convictions and one carrying-concealed-gun arrest. He also has an outstanding felony warrant for reckless endangerment with a weapon. Wallk is 5’10”, 195 pounds with brown hair.” Bernems held up a large booking photo of a white male in standard orange coveralls.

  “His girlfriend is Amber Solie. They live at 2437B South California Avenue in Bay View. It’s a dark green and white-trim bungalow that sits along the alley behind a green duplex. We don’t have any info on dogs or fortification. As of a half-hour ago, Wallk’s beat-up, brown Chevy pickup truck was parked on a concrete slab in the alley. He may be in possession of a 9mm pistol, one of the guns used in the homicide. The sergeants will give you your assignment. We want to hit this place as close to six as we can. Finally, Detective Tomczyk’s here because Wallk may be connected to the bombing at Holy Cross Cemetery where Detective John Lemke was severely injured. If you see evidence of explosive materials during your room clearing, we have a bomb tech on standby. Any questions? Good. Thanks.”

  Bay View was one of the oldest neighborhoods in Milwaukee. It included large, old brick and wooden homes with remarkable views of Lake Michigan, along with a number of duplexes, bungalows, and businesses. Its lifeblood was South Kinnickinnic Avenue, or South KK, as it was known. Kinnickinnic ran diagonally from northwest to southeast, less than a mile west of the lake and on a similar angle.

  Sergeant Jim Olevo stood up from his chair. “Okay, here’s the lineup: Heine, hammerman; Novak, Halligan tool; Kotch, ballistic shield; King, MP5, behind Kotch; followed by Heinamann, Marcheesy, and Orlowske. Heine and Novak, you guys become rear guard and assist in prisoner control. Don’t forget, this is a no-knock search warrant because of the severity of the crime and high probability of a gun in the house. Treat anyone we find as armed until verified otherwise. Lindsey and Ryan, you’re outside perimeter. Suit up and be by the van in the parking lot by a quarter of six, and we’ll roll out from here. Questions?”

  It was five-fifty-eight when the navy blue, windowless van pulled up in the alley four houses south of the target. The team piled out of the rear doors and moved in precision formation as they walked quickly in single file toward the house. The coolness of the still-dark morning and the adrenaline rush caused each member to shiver slightly as he moved. The “human snake” walked along the target house and came alive upon reaching the front door. Police Officer Les “The Black Adonis” Heine, at 6’4” and 240 pounds, quietly but quickly walked the four steps leading up to the porch. He was followed closely behind by Ted Novak, tightly holding the Halligan, a large pry bar used to forcibly open doors that pulled out instead of pushing in. Once in position, Heine swung back on the 80-pound “ram” and mightily struck the door just above the door handle. The wooden doorjamb splintered under the force of the strike, and the door burst open. “Milwaukee Police, search warrant, police, search warrant,” was heard as the loud voices split the silence of the quiet neighborhood. The officers methodically and swiftly entered the home behind the “shield-man” as they peeled off in teams of two, thoroughly searching each room and looking for the target, ready to take out any armed threat.

  “All clear,” echoed from several rooms. “Police! Put it down and get your hands up, now!” boomed a loud voice from a back bedroom.

  Heinamann had his loaded Remington 870 pistol-gripped, twelve-gauge shotgun with sensor flashlight fixed on the white male whose picture he had viewed a half-hour earlier. The suspect had a Bryco brand 9mm pistol in his hand, but quickly realized it wasn’t worth a large hole and immediately dropped the black semi-automatic to the floor. The Remington shotgun still remained a valuable weapon in the law enforcement arsenal because of the sheer power and damage the weapon sent out from its “business end.”

  Bob Marcheesy continued with his arrest procedures. “Now, slowly turn around. Place your hands behind your back and move two steps to your right. Do anything stupid and my partner will aerate your body.” The sure-footed officer approached the suspect and handcuffed him. “Very foolish. At least you wised up before you got yourself a free trip to the morgue.”

  “Screw you. What are you doing in my house?”

  “We have a search warrant. Are you deaf? Plus, there’s a warrant out for your arrest. My advice is to shut your mouth before you put your foot in even further.”

  “Give me a break, pig!”

  Police Officer Marcheesy placed a firm grip on Wallk’s right hand and twisted it upward, creating intense pain to the wrist. “Stop resisting.” People in similar positions appear to be able to nearly walk on air to avoid the excruciating pain.

  “Ow, let go of me! Police brutality.”

  The stocky, well-built officer put his face close to the suspect’s left ear. “First off, Mr. Wallk, I’m not a pig or any other farm animal. Second, if you want me to release my grip on you, you better drop the attitude. You’re lucky as hell you’re not bleeding out right now with several holes in you.”

  “All right, all right. Just let me talk to whoever I need to talk to.”

  “Hang tight with that. Where’s your girlfriend?”

  “She’s at work. Starts at five at The Coffee Joint on KK.”

  “Okay, anyone else here?”

  “No.”

  Just then they heard the final “all clear” signal coming from the officers who searched the basement.

  Bernems and Tomczyk walked into the room and looked at the suspect, who was maneuvering his feet to place a tennis shoe on his right foot, a challenging task with handcuffs on. Matthew Wallk looked over at the black detective. It was the micro expression of shock he showed upon seeing Tomczyk that to
ld the story. Like they had seen each other before under different circumstances, probably in a cemetery. Tomczyk made a mental note to visit that subject when they spoke to him later at police headquarters.

  Bernems pulled the booking photo out of a folder he was carrying and placed it close to Wallk’s head. “Not much change in a year-and-a-half.”

  “What the hell’s going on? I didn’t do anything. These cops are violating my rights.”

  Both detectives noticed the handgun on the floor in the corner of the room. “We’ll explain everything to you downtown. There was enough probable cause to get a search warrant for your house. Looks like we found what we were looking for. There’s also a felony warrant out for your arrest. For everyone’s safety, are there any other firearms in this house?”

  “How would I know? I just moved here a couple days ago.”

  “Okay, but if we find any others, you’ll be charged with additional counts of felon in possession of a firearm. That would be bad for you.”

  “Spike called last night and said he wants us to pick out two police stations to set off explosives at—kind of a little tandem of two in Milwaukee and two in Chicago. Already checked the web to see if Dillinger was ever held in any Chicago police stations, but couldn’t connect anything. Too bad. We’ll have to get back to him with locations. Let me do a little more research so we can make a statement here. He’s bringing up his history, so we might as well bring up ours. Now’s our chance to bring Dillinger back from the dead.”

  “You and that Dillinger craze. Could be kind of fun blowin’ up police stations, though.”

  “C’mon, little brother. You know he was a rock star in his day. What’s wrong with having a little fun?

  “Okay. Let me think about it. We’ll talk some more when I get home from work, but I already have a couple ideas. Later.”

  The next time Detectives Bernems and Tomczyk saw Matthew Elroy Wallk was in an interview room on the fifth floor of the Police Administration Building. There are several ways to interrogate prisoners. Because of the read they got from Wallk at the house, along with his prior, non-violent criminal record, they chose to stack the deck and put many of their cards on the table by laying out the evidence against him before reading Miranda rights. The rules of the Miranda decision state that the warnings against self-incrimination must be given to a person in custody before asking any questions about a crime.

  They explicitly told Wallk to remain silent until they fully explained all the evidence against him. He was informed of the two additional firearms and six ounces of marijuana located in the house during the search. Each count of felon in possession of a firearm carried a five-year prison term. Tomczyk went extensively into the psychological importance of micro expressions. He went into how the brief look Wallk gave upon seeing Tomczyk at the house was because they had seen each other before. Tomczyk related how Wallk was in the stolen car at the cemetery when Detective John Lemke was hurt. He spoke of the ramifications and maximum prison terms for attempted homicide of a police officer and manufacturing improvised explosive devices. Finally, Bernems laid out the homicide scenario in Gordon Park where Harold “Squirt” Carter was killed. He explained how Wallk’s fingerprints were on four beer cans and, most important, the dented one found in the grass by the .40 caliber casings. Bernems closed the scenario with Wallk’s fingerprint being found on one of the three 9mm casings, but stressed how .40 caliber bullets were removed from Squirt’s dead body, so Wallk obviously didn’t fire the murder weapon.

  Using this approach can be problematic. If the suspect lawyered up, he would know the evidence against him right away. The detectives were convinced Wallk would waive his right to a lawyer and speak to them. Wallk was visibly shaken and gave up his Miranda rights when they were read to him. He admitted the handgun was his and contemplated getting into a gun battle with the officers during the search warrant, but realized it would have been suicidal. The other two guns belonged to friends, whom he declined to name. He related how the marijuana was for him and his girlfriend’s personal use, even though six ounces was a significant amount. He admitted they smoked marijuana multiple times daily and had gotten a great price for the big bag. Wallk confessed to the shooting he was wanted for on the warrant, saying it was more of a misunderstanding between two former friends who took it to a potentially deadly level. He expressed remorse, but held they were both at fault to varying degrees.

  Wallk hesitantly confessed to being in the back seat of the SUV at the cemetery when Madman detonated the bomb from a cell phone he was carrying. He revealed the mastermind as some “genius crazy dude” with the nickname of Spike who drove the SUV. Wallk was good friends with Carter and had joined TMB, or “The Mad Bombers” as Spike referred to them, a week or two earlier. The only thing he could say about either Spike or Madman was that they lived somewhere in the Riverwest area near the Milwaukee River. No other names were ever mentioned. He gave the detectives a detailed physical description of both suspects.

  Finally, Wallk delved into the events at the park. He related how he and Squirt picked up Madman and Spike at a bar over in that area in Squirt’s car at about eleven o’clock. Spike told them he would give them money for a case of beer, which they bought and placed in a cooler in the car. They all drove over to the park and were drinking and partying around by the campfire pit. Squirt was slamming down beers along with smoking marijuana, then started stammering stupidly about how he was going to tell his girlfriend they “effed up the detective” in the cemetery with the explosive device. Squirt mentioned how he couldn’t wait to blow up more stuff and tell his girlfriend about it. Wallk looked over at Spike and saw him getting really pissed off. Suddenly Spike pulled out a gun, started swearing at Squirt, then shot him twice. Wallk told the detectives he got freaked out thinking Spike might shoot him next since he and Squirt were friends. He threw his full can of beer at Spike, pulled out his gun, and started shooting as he ran toward the trees. He heard a couple more shots being fired as he ran, but wasn’t hit. Finally, Wallk summarized that he followed a trail leading straight down to the river, walked home, arriving at about five in the morning. Spike and Madman only knew him as Elroy, and they always referred to Carter as Squirt, so he was sure they wouldn’t be able to track him down.

  Bernems told Wallk about a witness seeing two guys drive out of the park in a green Toyota after hearing shots fired. He looked over at both detectives, tears slipping down his face. “Them son-of-a-bitches killed my best friend and stole his car.”

  Chapter 13

  PULASKI FOOTBALL STADIUM, MILWAUKEE

  Tomcyzk arrived at about four-thirty for the five o’clock start of the game. The early morning wake-up call for the search warrant was wearing on him, but he promised himself he would make it. He paid his five dollars and entered the stadium. It had been nearly twenty years since he played here, and his mind flooded with memories. This was his home stadium when he played high school football for his alma mater, the Hamilton Wildcats. He started at both running back and linebacker, earning All-City and All-State nominations. Located in the heart of Milwaukee’s South Side, Pulaski High School and Pulaski Stadium were named after Casimir Pulaski, who emigrated from Poland to fight in the Revolutionary War. He was credited with saving George Washington’s life and appointed a general in the Continental Army.

  “Take a break, you old superstar-has-been. You don’t own this place anymore. Let the younger generation have their time in the lights.”

  He turned around to a familiar face. “Thanks for the invite, Bobby. Looking forward to seeing Junior play,” Tomczyk said as they shook hands.

  Bobby Heard was a police officer in the intelligence squad and a friend of Tomczyk’s. They had been squad partners for two years at District Five when both were police officers. Whenever they saw each other at work, football was the first subject discussed. They also bounced work-related information off each other. Bobby possessed an encyclopedic mind for the names and faces of Milwaukee’s North Side
gang members. Bobby’s son, Junior, was the star running back in his senior year at Rufus King High School. Bobby tugged on Tomczyk’s jacket.

  “They’re nine and one, Ski. A win today takes them into regionals against Cudahy High School. They’re no joke.”

  “Nothing’s changed then. The Cudahy Packers were always a thorn in our side when we got into tournament play.”

  “Ada and James are already up in the stands. Both my boys are gonna freak when they see you.”

  “Come on, Bobby, I went to two of Junior’s games last year—and two of Little Man’s soccer games. My schedule screwed me up this year. I couldn’t make any games. Bummed me out.”

  “You’re right. And no hitting on Ada like you did last time. Just because you’re a studly detective who’s been on the cover of GQ three times doesn’t land you a date with my wife.”

  A big grin rushed over Tomczyk’s face. “So you subscribe to the magazine, too?” he kidded. Tomczyk ran his hand through Bobby’s wavy perm. “She just wants a guy who uses real hair shampoo and not all that gel and chemical crap.”

  “You’re lucky I feel sorry for you, or I’d sick my homeboys on you.”

  “I know, I know.” Declan put his arm around Bobby’s huge shoulder, and they walked up the stadium’s concrete steps together.

  “Uncle Ski, you made it!” Bobby’s ten-year-old son, James, ran over to Tomczyk and wrapped his arms around his waist.

  “Great to see you, little buddy. Make a muscle and let me see if those exercises I gave you are making a difference. I want to see you get as big and strong as your old man.”

  James put both arms up in a bodybuilder pose. “I did twenty-six pushups yesterday,” he told him.

  “Fantastic! I’m proud of you. Keep it up. How’s your big brother playing this year? Is he going to tear up the football field again today?”

  “You said it! He’s leading the conference in rushing, just like last year. Sure’s great, ain’t it?”