The Sons of Jude
Page 14
“You think someone could’ve been in the apartment while you were there?” Lopez asked.
Campello shrugged. “I hope not. But it could explain her demeanor.”
“Did she have her baby with her?” The district commander asked.
Campello shook his head. “Not in her arms. Not in the same room. When I asked, she said the baby was sleeping in the other room. The door was closed.”
“Someone may have been there with her,” Polanski said.
“Longhorse?” Lopez asked.
Campello shrugged. “Maybe. He would’ve had enough time to get across town, but why not just whack me there?”
“It’s like you said,” Polanski added. “He didn’t want you. He wanted me.”
“Where is Juanita?” Lopez asked.
Campello spread his hands. “I don’t know. I don’t know if she’s in danger or part of the setup.”
Lopez turned to Polanski. “Andy, is Longhorse willing to testify to what he told you?”
“He wants to deal, but… yeah. He’ll do it.”
To Campello Lopez said, “Frank, will Gloria testify in court?”
Campello shrugged. “I don’t know, Julio. She’s scared.”
“Talk to her, offer her protection. It sounds like she might need it. Get her to agree to talk. If I’m hearing you guys correctly, she could corroborate Longhorse’s story. If we find that hoodie in his apartment, it will be difficult for Longhorse to retract his testimony.” He focused on Polanski. “Longhorse can turn on you at the drop of a hat. Don’t take anything for granted.”
Polanski nodded. “Longhorse changed clothes at Peter’s place. It’s likely the hoodie is there and now we have a witness willing to testify,” Polanski said.
“We have a witness, Julio,” Campello said. “The state’s attorney can’t ignore that.”
Lopez sighed. “No, I guess not.”
Campello glanced at Polanski. Lopez’s reluctance was understandable, given Aaron Green’s clout. But it was no longer possible for the commander to ignore the obvious. The two detectives rose to leave.
“Just be sure we keep Longhorse talking,” Lopez said. “And Frank?”
“Yeah?”
“Get Gloria to talk.”
A phone call to the warehouse revealed that Peter Green was not at work, but at home. Campello and Polanski drove to his residence on Lake Shore Drive.
He occupied the southeastern corner of the thirtieth floor of Quantum Towers, the city’s newest – and most elite – residential complex. The building afforded him a panoramic view of the lake and was within easy walking distance of Navy Pier. Campello and Polanski took the elevator to the thirtieth floor in silence, along with two uniformed officers, Rebecca Klein and Tom Jared, who carried the bludgeon that they would use to open Green’s door. The device was normally reserved for raids or other instances where a forced entry was met with resistance. Peter’s previous arrest had been spontaneous. But Campello was uncertain who would be in the apartment with Peter and so decided to take back-up. Also, he was still chafed from the ambush, convinced that Peter was behind the assault. He felt he owed the trust-fund twerp some shock and awe of his own, courtesy of the CPD.
The uniformed officers were the first to emerge from the elevator when it reached the floor, and they stood to each side as the detectives exited. Scanning the wall directory, Polanski pointed to the right and gestured for the arrest team to follow him. They traversed the hallway to Peter’s condo, pausing at the door in silence when Campello held his index finger to his lips and listened at the door. He silently mouthed that the television was playing and then moved Jared into place. They would enter in a diamond formation, with each officer and detective taking their individual positions. It was a standard police tactic and one that ensured the safety of the suspect as well as the arresting officers.
When Campello counted three, Jared swung the bludgeon, striking the door near the lock. Despite the fact that the condo had probably cost upward of a million dollars, many times the combined annual salaries of the officers at the scene, the door flung open easily, and Jared tossed the heavy instrument into the room, pulling his pistol.
They rushed into the condo with Jared on point, Campello keeping his pistol trained on the left side of the room, Polanski on the right and Klein on the rear. Campello yelled that they were police and told Peter to get on the floor. Green was the only one in view, and he was watching television in his underwear. He had a bottle of scotch on a nearby table.
“What is this?” he asked, standing. “You got no right to—”
Polanski reached Peter first and grabbed him by the neck with one hand, while keeping his pistol trained on him with the other. “On the floor.” He forced Green forward and down and he complied. Once on the ground, Polanski holstered the gun and knelt over Green with his knee in the man’s back. He cuffed Peter’s hands behind him.
“Anyone else here?” Polanski asked.
Green cursed him.
Polanski raised his head to check on the others and saw that Campello had already begun a search of the bedrooms. Jared and Klein were taking the other areas, searching through drawers, closets, even tossing the sofa’s cushions.
“I’ll have your badge for this, Polanski,” Green said.
Polanski kept his knee on the man’s back and his eyes trained on the officers searching the condo.
“Bingo,” Campello said, coming out of master bedroom with a printout in hand. “He’s got the same information on his computer that Rita had on hers.”
Polanski took the printout and scanned it. He called to Klein. “Can you take this and his computer to the lab? See what you can find out? More names, connections, that sort of thing?” He turned to Campello. “Maybe she’ll be more successful than you were.” He grinned, but suddenly became aware that Klein had not moved. He turned to her again. “Officer?”
She ignored him and said to Campello, “What do you want me to do, Frank?”
Campello looked from her to Polanski and then back to her. “Do what my partner says.”
CHAPTER 36
Aaron Green received word of Peter’s arrest before he was taken to the Castle for booking. Within minutes, the alderman was on the phone to Superintendent Mayron who declined to intervene this time, given the mounting evidence and the fact that he had been instrumental in securing Peter’s earlier release.
Not to be stymied, and with resources at his disposal, Aaron Green called his attorney, insisting the man drop everything and rush to protect Peter’s interest. Tony Delgado would protect Aaron’s.
The alderman paged the enforcer again, passing the same code as before, then drove to the Chicago Board of Trade office. Delgado had not yet arrived, and Aaron fixed a drink before collapsing behind his desk.
He began thinking on how to lay the groundwork for excising his son from the business while also ensuring Peter’s future financial security.
Peter was unable to meet the challenges of life. His mother had been the primary parent, and when she died, the responsibility passed to Aaron. Although he knew he had provided well for his son, he understood that he had not been the kind of father the boy needed. Discipline, tempered with love, would have been far more beneficial than luxuries given with an occasional disciplinary hand. His parenting had been intermittent, often manifesting only as intervention when the boy was in trouble, followed by punishment. There had been no parameters, no guidance. He hadn’t had time. The demands of the business, his political career and the city had taken precedence. Peter was largely left to raise himself. The alderman felt acutely aware of that as he nursed his drink; knew that he had failed. But he would make it up to Peter. If he failed as a father when Peter was young, he would not fail as a father when Peter was a man. Things would turn out OK. Life had a way of correcting itself.
He finished the drink just as Delgado entered the office, wearing his black leather coat over a blood-red shirt, a black-and-red tie, and black pants. His shoes
were shined to a gleaming finish, outdone only by the sheen of his hair.
“What is it, Aaron?”
The alderman raised his glass in offer of a drink. This time, the enforcer agreed and Aaron left the desk to go to the bar. He fixed another scotch and soda for himself and a whiskey sour for Delgado. He handed the drink to the man before settling behind the desk again.
“I need your help.”
Delgado sipped the drink, pronounced it good, and then said, “Peter?”
“How’d you know?” he said, allowing a wry grin.
“Isn’t it always?”
The remark stung. “This cop, Polanski, has a thing for him.”
“Isn’t that the cop who was involved in the shooting?”
The alderman nodded. “You didn’t know that?”
Delgado gave him a penetrating look. “No, Aaron, I didn’t know that. I had nothing to do with it. We don’t work that way. There are better and less intrusive ways of dealing with our problems.”
“Someone did.”
“Peter. Isn’t that clear by now? Peter had the DJ at the club attack the cops.”
“And you know this to be true?”
“What do you think, Aaron? That I sit around all day waiting for you to call? You have your sources and I have mine. It’s why our partnership works so well.” He drank the whiskey.
“They have arrested him and are going to charge him with the murder of that little skank at the pier.” He drained the scotch, but continued to hold the glass in his pudgy hand.
“You have contacts, Aaron. You practically run the government in this town. Pull in some chits. Make some threats.”
“I did some of that yesterday. I spoke with Mayron again today.”
“And?”
“He’s afraid. He’s backing away.”
“Then put the heat to him. You can shut off the money flow with a stroke of your Mont Blanc.”
Aaron shook his head. “It isn’t that simple. I have City Hall to deal with, political pressures and obligations.” He set the glass on the desk. “I need your help,” he said again.
Delgado sighed. “How?”
“I have my attorney on the way to the 28th. I am confident he can take care of Peter’s legal issues, but I’m afraid this cop won’t quit.”
“It isn’t just one, Aaron. There’s an entire department. Even if we eliminate Polanski, we would have Campello to deal with and the others who would eventually follow him.”
Green shook his head. “Eliminating them in the traditional sense will only raise further suspicions and cause more headaches. You’ve said it yourself, Tony. The old ways don’t work anymore.”
“You want Polanski out of the way, but you don’t want him dead.”
“Yes.”
“And how do you propose we do that, Aaron? It’s one thing to buy off a witness or lose a piece of evidence, but getting a cop out of the picture is a different matter. And more to the point, what’s in it for us?”
“Polanski’s reputation is virtually non-existent as far as the rank and file is concerned. He turned on his own and that is something no cop ever does. The men he’s preparing to testify against are well-respected, seasoned cops, cited for bravery on many occasions. If Polanski were to be tainted, the men and women in blue would not be upset.”
“And those two cops would go free because the charges would be dropped.”
Green continued, “And the riots may cease because it would clearly appear that Polanski’s allegations are false. Most of the looting stems from the belief that the cops lied and planted evidence on the kid they shot.”
Delgado laughed. “Most of the looting stems from greed, Aaron. It has nothing to do with civil unrest.”
The alderman acknowledged the veracity of the statement. “At any rate, if Polanski goes, so do his suspicions. The department will be glad to be rid of a rogue cop… and the riots.” He paused. “Can you do this for me?”
Delgado nodded thoughtfully. “It’ll take some work. But that leads us to the other half of my question. What’s in it for us?”
“Besides stabilizing our partnership and securing our mutual interests?”
Delgado’s eyes narrowed and homed in on him. “That sounds dangerously close to a threat, Aaron.”
Green shook his head. “The threat doesn’t come from me. The threat is a mutual one and it comes from one rogue cop.”
Delgado studied him. “OK,” he finally said, setting the empty glass on the desk and rising from the chair. “I will see what we can do. But this is the last time, Aaron. You see to it that Peter never causes us embarrassment again.” He lowered his voice, stressing his point. “Ever.”
CHAPTER 37
As part of their new compact, Campello had promised to keep Polanski informed. His personal feelings about Polanski had changed as a result of the ambush, but had not totally abated. He still disliked having to work with him. But the initial hearing before the IPRA was scheduled for later in the day and since both of them would eventually be on the line, it made sense to present a unified presence to the board.
It was unusual to have the hearing scheduled so soon after the shooting, but no one had been hurt and Longhorse admitted to being at the scene. The hearing had also been expedited by a request from the highest levels within the department. Such requests were unusual at best and suspicious at worst, but with Polanski’s pending testimony, it was likely the Chief and his cohorts wanted to maintain the impression of character that was above suspicion. It was also likely they wanted to protect themselves from liability. Polanski’s charges and willingness to state them publicly at trial had put the department’s brass in a quandary. Aaron Green had asked the commissioner to hold off on the firings and investigation, citing the sacrifices the two officers had offered during their long careers and the need for a proper review of the facts surrounding the charges.
Campello called Polanski and outlined a conversation he had with Jimmy Small.
“That guy you saw at the warehouse, the tall dude?” Campello said.
“Delgado?”
“He’s been tagging along with Peter Green. Comes into the club.”
“I knew that. The question, though, is why?”
“I have the same question. So I’m going to ruffle his feathers a bit. I’m going to go talk to Vincent. If I’m lucky, Delgado will be there. But even if he isn’t, word will get to him. We should be hearing from him soon,” Campello said.
Polanski’s end of the line was quiet. “Are you ready for the review?” Campello asked, taking a different tack.
“As ready as I’ll ever be.”
“I want to suggest that you not sweat this, but the fact is, the hearing is important. It can go either way.”
“I let God sweat things.”
“God?”
“The Creator? His Son is Jesus?”
Campello was speechless.
Polanski continued, unabashed. “I don’t think I could face the barrage of criticism, the attacks, without Him.”
Polanski’s end of the line was quiet again, but Campello was stymied.
“At any rate,” Polanski said, finally breaking the silence, “I’m going back downstairs to interview Longhorse again. The state’s attorney is willing to cut the deal he wants, but he’s going to want more.”
“I wouldn’t get my hopes up.”
“It’s his loss,” Polanski said. “We might have a problem, though.”
“What?” Campello asked.
“Longhorse said you threatened him. Told him he was a dead man.”
“Not exactly. I told him if word got back to his cohorts that he’d… oh.”
“Yeah. He’s taking it as a personal threat from you, but either way, his attorney is requesting segregation for him.”
“That shouldn’t be a problem,” Campello said.
“None. And the state is prepared to sweeten the deal, maybe even get the feds to drop the weapons charges if he gives us what we want.”
“Let’s hope so,” Polanski said. “If he rolls over, we can wrap this thing up.”
“Except for the hearing,” Campello said.
“Except for that.”
CHAPTER 38
Campello drove to the complex of brownstones on the near North Side. Paulie Vincent occupied a condo housed in one of the buildings on north dearborn, minutes from the club.
Traffic thickened once Campello crossed Oak Street, a path with which he was familiar, since he lived on North LaSalle, a scant five minutes from the head of Chicago’s most notorious crime family. Despite the close proximity and the antagonistic nature of their chosen career paths, Campello had never met Vincent, but knew the man’s biography in minute detail.
Paulie Vincent rose to the head of what Capone had once termed “the outfit” by a schizophrenic combination of stealth, candor, blind luck, careful planning, aggression and patience. His criminal career began as most begin, with petty crimes escalating to more significant ones. Despite numerous brushes with the law, he served very little time and his contemptuous disregard of the judicial system grew. He progressed in a steady and focused vector through his increasingly honed talent for organization. His meteoric ascent began when he infiltrated the city’s unions. Before long, his crew obtained such a grip on Chicago’s labor force that when Vincent said “strike”, they struck. CPD’s intelligence held strong suspicions that the current workers’ strikes in all their various quarters were somehow tied to Vincent, but could not prove it. nevertheless, the man remained virtually untouchable because of the significant influence he wielded – or purchased – within the city’s political structure. Because of his innate power and tremendous influence, particularly in the face of an apathetic public, Vincent was seldom molested by the CPD or by anyone else. But that didn’t mean he had no vulnerabilities. Most of those arose from within his ranks. A man in Vincent’s position often had to live his life looking over his shoulder, trusting no one, and eliminating those who could expose him. It was a precarious perch on which he sat, and no one knew that better than Vincent.