A Rose From The Executioner

by Edward Izzi

  “Not really. I have my friends that I typically go out with, and of course, I have my family as well. Until the right person comes along, I’m not interested in ‘dating around’ anymore.”

  “I can’t believe that after all of this time, you haven’t found a suitable beau,” I replied.

  “Believe it or not, I haven’t. Maybe I’m just too picky,” she replied, as she was really enjoying her glass of wine.

  “My compliments on the wine, Detective.”

  “Thanks. I’ve always enjoyed this Belle Glos brand. And by the way, if you call me ‘Detective’ one more time, I will arrest you,” I said, winking my eye.

  “On what charge, Detective?” as she smiled and kissed me...a wet and luscious kiss well placed on my mouth. Her kisses tasted wonderful, as the sweet smell of her perfume mixed well with the Lake Michigan air.

  We both sat there on the blanket, watching all the sailboats crossing Lake Michigan and the younger students playing and frolicking on the sandy beach below. It was a warm evening, and the wind from the urban lake felt pleasing, and mixed very nicely with bright sun setting across campus.

  She then took my half empty glass of Pinot Noir, placed it on the grass, and she started repeatedly kissing me again…on my cheeks, on my face, and on my neck. I was starting to get extremely excited as we fell onto the blanket, while I held her beneath me and returned the favor. Her well-toned, petite body next to my five-foot, ten-inch frame felt wonderful, as I continued to kiss her across her neck, placing kisses on where ever her skin was exposed. I started kissing her around her stomach and her well placed navel ring. I unbuttoned several buttons of her white blouse and placed more strategic kisses around her black bra, which were covering her well-endowed, tanned breasts.

  “Phil? The Evanston Police are going to arrest us,” she laughed, as my head was promptly buried in her chest.

  “Not to worry,” I explained between kisses. “The police extend professional courtesies between departments,” I jokingly clarified.

  We continued to kiss and embrace each other for what seemed like hours, as the darkened sky encircled the glistening Chicago lights along the Lake Michigan shoreline. The stars were bright and abundant, as they moved and danced across the urban, Midwestern sky. It was just past eleven o’clock when we both agreed that we should probably continue our ‘mash and grab’ session at another location, somewhere other than in a public place.

  We rolled up the blanket and packed up our basket and proceeded to walk back to our cars. We then held hands and began singing together, like two little children in grade school.

  We were laughing and singing practically every stupid, corny song that came into our heads. We were both having a great time, enjoying that warm, summer evening and each other.

  “Phil? You realize that you can’t sing. You know this, right?” she mentioned.

  “We can’t all sing like Sinatra,” I laughed, kissing her on the cheek while walking towards our cars.

  She opened the trunk of her car and began loading her over-sized wicker basket into the back of her BMW.

  “You’re going to follow me, right?” she eagerly asked, as we both knew without mention that we were going back to her hotel room.

  I only nodded my head and followed her back to the Sheridan Hotel on West Wacker Drive. We couldn’t have been in her hotel room more than five seconds before she assaulted me, unbuttoning my shirt as I eagerly undid her blouse and black bra. We were wildly undressing each other like two high school teenagers. She stood there naked, showing off her unbelievably, well-shaped body. Her abdomen looked like an athlete’s chiseled six-pack, as if she spent all her spare time doing sit-ups and core exercises. Her breasts were perfectly shaped, as her rosy nipples seemed to protrude with every kiss that I implanted on her chest. She was suntanned and very well-toned, as I placed wet, long kisses along every inch of her curvaceous body.

  We continued our love making for what seemed like hours. The curtains of her 28th floor hotel room remained wide open the whole time, overlooking the River North and all the amazing skyscrapers lined up and down along the Lake Michigan shoreline. It had been years since I had made love to a woman, especially a beautiful woman like Olivia, and it felt wonderful.

  We fell asleep in each other’s arms that night, hoping that the morning sunrise would never come.

  As I closed my eyes, I could feel that solid, concrete wall crumbling down.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Gospel According to John

  I managed to slip out of Olivia’s Sheridan Hotel Suite very early that morning without waking her up and grabbed a cup of coffee near the concierge’s front desk. I ran home and showered, and I was at my desk by seven that morning. I probably wasn’t sitting there at my desk no more than ten seconds before Commander Callahan was knocking at my office door.

  “Good morning, Dorian,” as he made himself comfortable on the old wooden chair in front of my desk.

  “What’s your progress on these ‘Pedophile Priest Murders’?” Callahan calmly asked. I was surprised that he was even approaching me after the way I stepped around him at Rush Hospital.

  “Detective Morton and I have made a considerable amount of progress,” I stated, touching up briefly on some of the evidence points that we uncovered. Because of the amount of time Morton and I had been putting into these serial homicides, Callahan put in for Detective Morton’s transfer into our district from the Seventeenth.

  “Well, first, I owe you an apology, Dorian. I leaned way too hard on you when you had suspicions regarding Kilbane and these murders. It looks like he was the murderer all along.”

  “Still not sure, Commander. He’s gone missing now since being released on bail, and I’m not sure how all of this relates to these homicides,” I casually mentioned. I didn’t want to completely brief him because I only had an unconfirmed hunch on some of the facts of these serial murders. I then asked Commander Callahan a personal question, not knowing how he would respond.

  “Commander, how well do you know Detective Russo?”

  “Fairly well. I’ve worked with him for several years in solving many homicides and some other difficult cases. He’s a very good police officer, and an excellent detective. He manages to get a lot done and solve a lot of murders, along with his Intelligence Unit at the Twenty-First District. Why are you asking me this, Dorian?”

  “He’s been no help to us on these homicides, and we’ve received no assistance from either himself or the Twenty-First.”

  “They’ve been pretty jammed up, with all the ‘bangers’ and ‘dealers’ going down,” he replied.

  “Perhaps, Commander. But there have been several ‘intel requests’ which I’ve made to his unit that he has never responded to,” I pointed out to him. “It’s almost as if he’s trying to stall this case. And as soon as Kilbane was picked up on murder charges, he has pretty much assumed that the ‘Pedophile Priest Murderer’ is now off the streets. I’m not convinced that he is.”

  I was in dire need of some real coffee that morning, as I didn’t have time to make my Dunkin’ Donuts run. That was probably the reason why I was beginning to slur my speech in front of the Commander. I then decided to make a request of Callahan, knowing that it will probably get me into more trouble.

  “I would like to put a ‘tail’ on DiMatteo’s Controller, Sal Marrocco,” I eagerly asked.

  “Why? We’ve had a ‘tail’ on DiMatteo, and that’s turned up nothing. Patrolman DiNatale has been watching ‘The Capo’ for almost two weeks now, and we’ve got nothing to show for it. What do you think you’re going to find on his controller?”

  “I’ve got a substantial lead, and I’m not at liberty to say what it is.” I did not want to tell him my thoughts and suspicions regarding those ‘SRC’ rings that both he and Russo are wearing, and how they may be related to the ruby red crossed gold ring the suicide victim was wearing while he was in lock-up.

  “Well, I can’t justify any more surveillance
on this case, Detective. As far as I’m concerned, Kilbane needs to turn up and take the rap on these murders,” he said.

  When he said that, I knew that asking to put a ‘tail’ on Detective Paul Russo was going to be completely out of the question. Besides, I didn’t want to tip off the Commander of my suspicions, as I had a gut feeling that he was far closer to Russo than he was letting me know.

  ‘Be careful of what you say, and who you say it to,’ has always been a cardinal rule of mine, and it’s helped me survive being a cop in the Chicago Police Department. I’ve always been very leery of trusting anyone, especially within the department. If I would have told Callahan what my real suspicions and theories were regarding these homicides, he would have put me back on the streets, wearing my ‘blues’ and writing up parking tickets.

  This ‘secret society’ theory, Arezzo’s history lesson, along with these ‘SRC’ rings floating around, has made me believe that there was more than one killer out there, and Kilbane wasn’t one of them. The Monsignor should have stayed put at Twenty-Sixth and California, as he was far safer there. I had a gut feeling that Little Tony took his grade-school buddy on a ‘one-way trip to parts unknown’.

  If there anyone can make anybody disappear without a trace, it’s Little Tony DiMatteo. He’s done it before. I was sure ‘The Capo’ was getting nervous about Kilbane getting leaned on by us, that we supposedly had him on surveillance tape over at the hospital, and that we were pushing him hard and heavy about his ‘Murder for Hire’ scheme. He wanted the Monsignor out of the way for good.

  “Keep me apprised, Detective,” were Callahan’s last words, as he got up and left my office.

  The rest of that morning was rather uneventful, as I continued to try to track down information regarding this ‘secret society’, and to pull out as much information as I could from the internet, our department library and other outside sources. It was almost noon when I decided to call up my favorite insurance executive.

  “Good morning,” she managed to exclaim as she had gotten up rather late that morning. “You snuck out of here early, I see.”

  “Some of us have to work and make a living,” I replied.

  We continued to make small talk, flirting with each other and talking about our prior evening’s favorite events. We decided to make dinner plans later that evening over at the ‘Bella Luna’ restaurant on Grand Avenue. We met up around six o’clock later that evening, and of course, had a wonderful time.

  During the next several days, Olivia and I continued to see each other, as we were both getting to know each better. We were starting to develop a very close, personal relationship, and I thoroughly enjoyed spending time with her. Between all the ‘wining and dining’ and the deep, personal conversations we were enjoying, my ‘solid, concrete wall’ had totally disintegrated.

  We went to a Chicago Cubs game on Friday night, as they were playing the Milwaukee Brewers. The Cubs won 6-5 in extra innings. We spent that wonderful night together, and every evening thereafter, talking and making love for hours on end. I finally asked her to give up her hotel suite and bring her things over to my place, as long as she was staying in Chicago. Olivia didn’t seem to be in any hurry to return to her executive job position at the Great Lakes Life Insurance Company in Detroit, and she spent a considerable amount of time working from her lap top and calling into her office. During that time, she managed to turn my living room into her ‘home away from home’ office, and had papers, documents, and file folders scattered everywhere.

  “I’m sorry I’ve trashed your living room,” she apologized a few times, but I really didn’t mind. It was nice to come home to someone other than my yellow lab Ginger, and it was great having her around.

  Another benefit of having Olivia around was that she was an amazing cook. She had made my favorite Italian dish, pappardelle con sugo di manzo for me one evening, and I thought I had died and gone to heaven. I really was enjoying coming home to a wonderful, home cooked meal on the nights that we weren’t going out and enjoying the Chicago summer. Most every night, we went on the rooftop of my building after dinner, with two glasses and with a bottle of wine. We had long, intimate conversations and stared at the evening stars, enjoying the various phases of the bright, summer moon.

  But there was one thing that I couldn’t get out of my mind. I had asked her several times to come into my office and give me an ‘official statement’ on that ‘Attorney James Gleason’ visit that she had received at her office in Detroit.

  She promised to do so, but other things always came up for her. She seemed to never find the time to follow through with my request. She was always too busy, or on other days, claimed that she had just completely forgotten about it. Olivia was giving me the impression that she was stalling, as she was continuously making excuses. It was almost as if she didn’t want to go on record.

  I decided not to push it with her, as we were getting along so well and having such a wonderful time with her being here in Chicago. I wrote up a memo in the incident report and put it in my investigation files, thinking that I would review it with her later whenever she decided to come in and give me her statement.

  During all of time I was spending with Olivia, I came to realize that she was extremely religious. She was a devout Catholic, and she often fell asleep at night holding a red beaded rosary in her hands. She explained that her mother had given it to her a long time ago, and often prayed the rosary whenever she could. So, when Sunday morning came around, Olivia wanted to go to early morning mass.

  I took her to eight o’clock mass at Assumption Church located on Illinois and Franklin Streets on that Sunday. The old, small Catholic Church was established and attended by St. Francis Xavier Cabrini in the late nineteenth century and had a lot of old history surrounding the quaint, marble church.

  We arrived there early Sunday morning, and we were both following along with the morning service. During the whole time in church, my mind was wondering. I kept thinking about the ‘Pedophile Priest Murders’, and the three ex-priests had been brutally murdered and killed on my watch. I was still trying to make the ‘secret society’ connection in my head, and how all of this pointed away from Kilbane as the murderer. There had been three murders so far, and I kept thinking that, if numbers and religion were a relevant part of this case, that perhaps, another execution of an ex-priest might be in the making.

  My mind kept wondering off, as the priest was saying the early morning mass. He then walked from the front of the white, marble altar to the podium off to the left side of the church to begin reading the gospel.

  “A reading of the gospel according to John,” he proclaimed, as everyone in the almost crowded church crossed themselves to listen to his reading.

  ‘The gospel according to John’ I repeated to myself, remembering that our first ‘Pedophile Priest’ murder victim was the former Fr. John Marquardt.

  ‘The gospel according to John’ I said to myself again, trying to recall the names of the other murder victims, the former Fr. Lucas Senopoli, and the former Fr. Matthew McDougall.

  ‘The gospel according to John’ I said to myself again, not paying any attention to whatever bible scripture the priest was reading. I said it to myself again…and again…and again.

  Suddenly, it hit me like a ton of bricks, as if some miraculous, outside influence had suddenly impaled my whole body. A thousand different thoughts began running through my mind.

  “Holy Shit” I verbally said out loud, as a startled Olivia gave me the dirtiest of looks in the middle of mass. The other parishioners next to us must have heard me as well, as they also seemed startled. They were probably thinking that I was having some divine intervention in church.

  “Olivia, I have to leave. I need to make an important phone call and it can’t wait. I’ll call you later,” as I immediately excused myself. She had a startled look on her face, as I ran out of the church’s front entrance on Illinois Street and proceeded to find a nearby Starbucks. I needed to immediatel
y contact Detective Tommy Morton, who was my loyal partner, and the only one I could trust in these ‘Pedophile Priest Murders’.

  “Tommy…its Phil. We need to talk.” He was still groggy, as he was trying to wake up while answering his cellular phone.

  “Phil? Don’t you ever sleep? It’s Sunday,” he remarked.

  “Can you meet me at Starbucks? ASAP…I need to talk to you face to face,” not trusting the cell towers or the possibility that my cell phone calls might be monitored.

  “Well…yeah…okay…I guess.” I gave him the place and time of where I was at, and I then texted Olivia, profusely apologizing for my hurried, sudden departure from church.

  I wasn’t sure if I wanted to share whatever was on my mind regarding these ‘Pedophile Priest Murders’ with her just yet. I needed to talk to Detective Morton, just to make sure that I wasn’t losing my mind.

  Morton strolled into the Starbucks in the West Loop on the corner of West Madison and Morgan Streets, no less than twenty minutes later. He had his ‘bedhead’ hairdo and was wearing an ugly Jimmy Buffet tee shirt and his red pajama bottoms. I quickly ordered him a ‘Caffé Americano’ coffee, knowing that he wasn’t going to be very appreciative of getting him out of bed early on a Sunday morning.

  “This better be good, Phil,” he immediately remarked, without even giving me a ‘good morning’ greeting.

  “Tommy, who were the four evangelists who wrote the gospels in the Bible?” I eagerly asked.

  He looked at me with a dazed stare for a few long seconds.

  “You got me out of bed early on a Sunday morning to ask me that?” he asked.

  “Tommy, hear me out. Again, who were the four evangelists who wrote the gospels in the bible?” I asked him again.

  Tommy grew up in the Logan Square neighborhood and I remembered him mentioning that he also had an extensive Catholic school education, graduating from St. Patrick High School.