“That young man is one of the nicest kids I’ve ever met. He better not be in trouble, or you will have to take me to jail. I’ll fight for Demetrius all day long and then some.”
Tomczyk shook his head. “That’s what I thought you would say. I just spoke to him for a half hour, and that’s the same impression I got. Guess we’ll both be his blockers so no one can tackle or hurt him.”
“Now you’re talking, Detective. What can I do for you?”
Tomczyk sat down in the chair close to the bed. “Do you mind if I ask you some questions?”
“Go ahead. I have to admit it’s been decades since I’ve spoken to detectives, and the last time wasn’t very positive.”
“I understand. Would you mind going over that interview with me and who it was with?”
“It was on a Sunday night in November 1935. The two detectives’ names were Harold Schlundt, S-C-H-L-U-N-D-T and Stanley Strychalewski, S-T-R-Y-C-H-A-L-E-W-S-K-I. I’ll never forget ’em. For many years, I thought they were a couple of sons of bitches, but I came to realize they were just doing their job. You may have heard the story at some point during your career. I’m not very proud to admit it, but we pulled off some bombings and some other things in Milwaukee, and one day my two best friends blew themselves up making a big bomb. All I ever did was drive the cars, but I was there when it all happened, so I’m just as much to blame for not telling anybody. That poor little girl was killed. Many people were injured. A whole lot more could have been killed, including some of your badge-wearing predecessors. I’ve had to live with that. Never told many people about my involvement over the years, but did tell a kid in this nursing home named Richie. He seemed like a smart kid who was rough around the edges. Reminded me of me.
I thought I’d share parts of my story and hopefully scare him into staying a good kid. He asked many questions, and I gave him most of the answers. He seemed to change a little, though. The last time I saw him, I remember telling him about the two detectives who interviewed me and how I wanted to urinate on their graves after they died. Didn’t get a chance to tell him I never went through with it and finally understood why they were so mean to me. This strange look came over Richie’s face, and he left. Never saw him again and didn’t give it another thought until the bombings at the cemetery and the police station. Please don’t tell me Richie’s involved in that stuff.”
“We don’t know yet, George. That’s why I’m here. Do you know where the detectives are buried?”
“One’s at Holy Cross and the other at St. Adalbert’s. I remember seeing an article in the paper years ago about Strychalewski dying and how he was one of the main detectives on the bombing investigation. Ya know, he and Schlundt were the only two Milwaukee detectives assigned to the ‘Dillinger Squad’ in 1934, so it means they were damn good at what they did. Guess I should take pride in knowing two of Milwaukee’s best put me away in prison for those years.” He chuckled. “They definitely showed me the light, and I got over my anger after a while.”
Declan wrote down the information. “What can you tell me about the police bombings you were involved with?”
“Like I told Richie and Demetrius, I was the driver on every one of the bombings and the robberies we pulled off at the pharmacies and was also involved with the stolen squad car in West Milwaukee. The West Milwaukee deal was a hoot. All the others were a little scary, but definitely an adrenaline rush. You have to understand the times, Detective. I can’t justify my stupidity back then, and I won’t try. Just glad Idzi didn’t invite me to help him make the bomb, or I woulda been blown up along with ’em. You wanna know the damnedest thing? Some old psychic predicted the bombings before they even started and how they were going to end, with a big explosion somewhere south of the Menomonee River. At the time, we laughed about it and thought the guy was a nut job. Guess he wasn’t.”
“I’m not a judging panel here, George. You paid your debt back to society by going to prison and serving your country. I have great respect for military. Was a grunt myself—seven years Force Recon, Second Marine Division. Urrahhh.”
“Well, I’ll be. Semper Fi, young man.” George gave Declan a solid “thumbs up” and continued his story, relating nearly all the details Demetrius described to Declan earlier, with a few that a seventeen-year-old didn’t need to hear. He paused for a drink from the large, white Styrofoam cup on the table in front of him.
“Can’t say I’m proud of it, but can’t go back in time to change my life.”
“Amen to that, sir.”
“I’m not sure where Idzi learned how to wire up and detonate the dynamite. We had an auto mechanic class at Boy’s Tech High School, and he did well, but the rest of his grades were bad. Always wondered what went wrong for that last bomb to detonate. Forgot to mention something. For some reason, we liked this one stolen car and even put the siren and light from the stolen cop car in the back of it. We also left a shotgun from the pharmacy robberies and a couple extra bombs in it—in case we decided to blow something else up. We kept a second stolen car in another garage as a backup.”
“Unbelievable. Demetrius said you told him about how the cars were found in different garages?
“Yeah, about a month after the bombings, the police found the cars and recovered everything we had in ’em. There were even pictures in the Journal newspaper. I was still in the county jail because I couldn’t make bail. Those two detectives came to my cell and grilled me on it, but I had my story down pat and stuck with it. They were mad as hell and woulda just as soon beat me like a dog than talk to me. Can’t tell you how happy I was to get that interview over with. They nearly broke me. All I kept thinking about was going to prison for the rest of my life.”
“That’s a good motivation. What can you tell me about Richie? Can you give me a description, any scars, marks, or tattoos you may have seen on him? Did he ever tell you where he lived?”
“Detective, you sound like Agent Gibbs from NCIS. I still love that show.” He smiled and thought for a couple seconds. “Like I said, he seemed like a good kid. He was one of the maintenance guys here. I’d say he’s about six foot, average build, maybe a buck ninety or two hundred. Really short, brown hair. Noticed he had an earring hole in one of his ears. Don’t think they let men wear earrings at work in this place. He always wore long sleeve shirts, but this one time he rolled his sleeves up, and I noticed tattoos on both of his arms. I asked him about them, but he shrugged it off. Said he got them when he was younger.” George closed his eyes and thought for a moment. “On the left inside wrist was a black ‘A’ inside a circle. On his right inside forearm, right about here, he had the letters ‘TMB’ with some sort of design underneath it. I have no idea what either of those mean. I have my own tattoos from my Army days, so I’m not one to judge anyone from tattoos. Mine were a bond to my ‘band of brothers.’ They have sure popularized that statement recently. Used to talk about it during the war, especially when things got tough.”
“Been there, done that, George.” Declan raised his right sleeve revealing a bold tattoo on his upper arm. It read, “Force Recon” and had a skull with wings behind it. The skull donned an air hose, signifying air and water capable. In the spaces on the bottom part of the circle around the skull were the words swift, deadly, silent. “There was a day when I lived, breathed, and ate Marine Force Recon. Had to leave that life to become a loving spouse, taking care of a wonderful woman with cancer.”
“Sorry to hear about your wife, young man. So you were a hardcore charger! Glad guys like you were on our team. I was 101st Airborne. They teamed us up with a unit of Marines on a couple missions in the South Pacific late in the war. Solid warriors. My hat went off to those guys.”
“Means a lot coming from you. Read a book or two about your generation’s exploits during the war. Had to be bad.”
“Yeah, it was, Detective. Made a man out of me, though. Stand tough or die.”
Declan patted George’s shoulder. “Thanks for your service.” He put his he
ad down briefly, then brought it back up. “Did Richie ever mention where he lived?”
“All I know is somewhere around Eightieth and Hampton. Wait. He told me the last day I saw him that he was moving in with a woman he’d been dating. Said she lived somewhere in Rivereast, Riverwest, something like that—by the Milwaukee River.”
“Very good; it’s the Riverwest area?”
“Said she was a bartender and worked at night. What was the name of that bar? Some short, beer-related name. Float, Suds, something like that.”
“How about Hops?”
“Yeah, yeah, Hops, that’s it!”
“Fantastic. See, you still have a mind like a steel trap.”
“Yeah, but I wish my body was a little more cooperative. Works more like a car with a dead battery.”
Declan admired this guy, quick witted and a wealth of information. “George, I have a police officer coming up here with something called a photo array. There are going to be six different pictures on a piece of paper. I’m going to ask if you see Richie on that piece of paper. If you do, great; if you don’t, great. That sound okay to you?”
“Sure does. I’ll help as much as I can.”
“Excellent. It’s very important that you’re 100 percent positive. Do you understand?”
“Completely.”
“Anything else you feel might be important to us about Richie?”
He thought about it for a couple seconds. “Detective, I have to tell you I’m very upset over this. I keep feeling this whole thing is my fault and that all I did was possibly create a monster.”
“A wolf in sheep’s clothing, my friend. By the tattoos you saw, Richie was already on his way. It was bound to happen one way or another. Don’t take it out on yourself. I can tell you about a young, high school football player who thinks the world of you. You’ve reinforced his good values by volumes.”
“Thanks for that. Demetrius means a great deal to me also.”
At that moment, a police officer in a navy blue uniform with River Hills Police Department patches on both shoulders entered the room.
“Good afternoon, gentlemen. I’m Officer Hancock, River Hills PD.” He looked directly at the younger of the two men and smiled. “Detective Tomczyk?”
They shook hands, and the officer produced a piece of paper from a brown manila folder that he handed to Declan. “Didn’t want it to get bent up or anything.”
“Good idea. Appreciate the help.” Declan looked closely at the photo array, which consisted of two rows of three photos. The men were all similar in hair color, features, facial hair, and build. All were wearing standard Milwaukee County Justice Facility orange-colored coveralls. He needed to ensure it would be a fair representation of individuals, as the courts considered the process a reasonable and fair one for making positive identification. As he looked at each photo on the page, an eerie feeling washed over him as he realized they had their man. It was the eyes, even at that distance in the cemetery, which gave away the driver of the car that horrible day. The eyes are the window to the soul!
“Is it okay, Detective?” asked the young officer.
“Perfect.” He showed the array to George, holding it about a foot away from him. “Are any of these guys the man you know as Richie?”
“Well, this is simple enough.” He pointed to the male in the center photo on the bottom row. “This is him; I’m 100 percent sure. No question about it.”
“Very good. Officer, you’re my witness.” Declan turned the paper over and wrote down the date, time, and location, then handed his pen to George. “If you could sign your name below the information I wrote.”
“Hope you’re not wanting good penmanship. Been a while since I’ve signed anything.”
“No worries. Just want to make your identification official. I’ll put the rest of the details in my report.” With that, he shook George’s hand. “Can’t tell you how much I enjoyed speaking with you. You’ve been a tremendous help.”
“Detective, it’s been a long time since I’ve spoken to the police. It’s been a pleasure conversing with you also. Thanks for your comments.”
“I’m giving Demetrius a call later today. Anything you want me to tell him?”
“Yeah, that he’s the best friend a guy could ever have.”
“Fair enough.” Declan left the room with the police officer.
While walking out into the parking lot, the officer asked what it was about.
“A couple homicides and bombings in our city. You’ll be reading about this one in the papers real soon. Might explode right onto the front page. Thanks again for the help.” Declan got into his squad and drove off to a bar in his old squad area.
Chapter 25
PUZZLE PIECES START FALLING INTO PLACE
Some detective is asking about me where I used to work. Time to split, man. I’ll meet you in thirty minutes in front of the building. You ready to roll?”
“Not really, man. How ‘bout forty-five to an hour?”
“I’ll give you forty-five. See you at six. Pack a bag for a week or two ‘cause we’re going south.”
“Got it. Later,” Madman responded and hung up the phone. Shit, bad timing. Not ready to leave yet. Got myself into this mess, so I better suck it up and go.
“What do you mean you’re going for a week or two? Where do you think you’re going? And what’s this about a detective asking about you? What’s going on, Richie? Talk to me!”
Spike turned around and saw Angela standing in the middle of the bedroom doorway. “I may have gotten myself in a little trouble. No problem.”
“No problem? I heard you talking on the phone earlier to some Maggie chick about her hot bod. You’re shacking with me, and I’m paying most of the rent, utilities, and food. Then you got some hoochie mama on the side? That’s bullshit.”
“It’s not like that, babe.” As Spike approached her, she didn’t see the knife he pulled from the sheath on the right side of his belt. It was over in a second as he pushed the six-inch blade deep into her left chest.
Tomczyk parked his unmarked squad in front of the corner tavern, one of over one hundred in this once bustling, blue-collar neighborhood. Walking in, he noticed a couple older men at the bar, drinking glasses of beer with empty shot glasses in front of them. A shot and a beer, still alive in this old rust-belt town. Declan identified himself and asked the bartender for the name of the female night bartender and if she was around.
“Her name’s Angie. She starts at seven and works till close. Can I help you with something?”
“Nah, just need to talk to her.” He looked at his watch. “Do you have her address or cell phone? It’s an emergency.”
“Can’t do that. Confidential. I’ll give her a call, and if she gives me the okay, I’ll give it to you.”
“Tell you what. Give me her last name, then go ahead and give her a call. It’s been a while since I’ve handled tavern violations, but I’m sure I can find a couple here.” Declan didn’t like the option, but everyone’s a lawyer, and he had to choose his battles. It was too late to get a subpoena.
“Okay, okay. I’ve had enough trouble with city hall. Her full name is Angela Culbertson. She lives in an upper duplex on Weil just south of Clarke. I don’t have her address here. It’s at my house.” He speed dialed her number but received a recording. “Not answering. Here’s her cell number.”
Declan wrote down the number in his memo book. “Do you know who she lives there with?”
“Some guy moved in with her a couple months ago. Never saw him. Said his name was Richie. Don’t have any other info on him, but she said he was a decent guy. Angie’s a reliable employee. She smokes weed and drinks a little, but wears tight clothing and is easy on the eyes. All the customers like her.”
Declan obtained the information on the owner and left. He drove straight to District Five to get on a computer. While there, he found out John Birke was working and asked the sergeant to call him into the station.
“Yo
u got it, Declan. Said he’ll be here in ten.”
He logged on to the computer and plugged Angela Culbertson into the Milwaukee Police databases for criminal record history and field interviews. He obtained her birthdate and noticed she had a minor criminal record from a couple years ago. Bingo! A recent traffic stop showed an address on North Weil Street. Too late to contact his postal inspector buddy for current address confirmation on where she received mail. He went into the City of Milwaukee property tax website and entered the address. It listed a property owner living on the East Side, near the University of Wisconsin-Milwaukee campus. He called the number listed and a female answered.
“Hello.”
“Yes, I’m looking for Thomas or Gabriella Barker.”
“This is Gabriella Barker. Who’s this?”
“Detective Declan Tomczyk, Milwaukee Police. I’m checking to see if you still own the duplex at 2596 North Weil Street.”
“Yes, I do. Is something wrong?”
“No, Mrs. Barker. I’m inquiring as to the people who live there. We’re in the middle of an investigation and could really use your help.”
There was a short silence. “How do I know you’re legit? You could be Joe Blow from Idaho for all I know.
“Understood. You can call my supervisor, or you can look up the District Five telephone number in your phone book and give them a call. I’m there now, and they can verify who I am. I’ll spell my name so you’ll know who to ask for.”
“No need for that, Detective. You sound like you’re on the up and up. We have an elderly couple with the last name of Thompson living in the lower. Upstairs is a young woman named Angela Culbertson. She’s been there just over a year. She notified us several months ago that she picked up a roommate to help her with the rent. Angie never gave me his name and mentioned it was a boyfriend. We didn’t have a problem with it since she’s been an excellent tenant, and the upper is a two bedroom anyway. Doubt if they’re using two bedrooms, though.”
Circle of Terror Page 18
