The Sons of Jude

by Brandt Dodson

  “Maybe not. Level with me. Did you guys plant the weapon?” He spread his hands. “I don’t care. I’ve had to do stuff myself. It’s a war out there. But this guy is leveling some serious stuff and if you didn’t do it, or even if you did, it don’t make no difference to us.”

  The two men eyed each other, but it was Dorchester who spoke first. “You said it, Frank. It’s a war out there.”

  “Absolutely,” Caine said. “It wasn’t too long ago that you lost your partner to the other side. What would you have done to protect him?”

  Campello scooped a handful of nuts from the bowl. “I killed the guy that killed him.”

  “Right,” Dorchester said. “But what if you couldn’t? What if the guy killed your partner, then tossed his weapon and threw his hands up?” He looked toward the still-preoccupied bartender before leaning across the table and lowering his voice. “What would you do then, Frank? Arrest the guy? Read him his rights? Or execute justice?”

  Campello tossed his head back and swallowed the nuts. “I’d kill him.”

  “Just like you did, right?” Caine asked.

  Campello nodded, washing the nuts down with a drink of the brew.

  “It was like those two guys in California a few years back. Remember?” Dorchester said. “They came out of the bank wearing armor and they had all this firepower and they was gunning at the LAPD. Cops going down all over the place and then, when the bad guys were shot and the cops gained the upper hand, they wanted ambulances and actually thought they should go ahead of the police.” He grabbed a fistful of nuts. “Imagine that, Frank. These guys start the trouble and shoot a bunch of cops and civilians, but when the cops give it back, they want the paramedics before the cops they shot.” His face was red.

  “Like you said,” Caine added, “it’s a war out there and we got no one we can trust except each other.”

  Campello spread his hands. “Hey guys, no argument here. If you planted the weapon on that guy, I’m up with it. If you didn’t, that’s cool too. I figure he fired on you or you wouldn’t have fired at him in the first place.”

  The two looked at each other.

  “That’s exactly right, Frank. He turned on us so we turned on him,” Dorchester said. “We did what we had to do, Frank. We took the guy down and we ain’t going down with him. You know?”

  “I do,” Campello said. “I’m with you.”

  CHAPTER 47

  Campello left the bar and drove back to the 28th. He had turned off his cell phone, not bothering to leave his location with dispatch, since he wanted to keep his meeting with Caine and Dorchester off the record for as long as he could. It was possible, of course, even likely, that the two would contact some of their friends at the 28th to declare what a solid guy he was, and that was fine. But with their implicit admission to having planted the weapon on the kid they killed, his view of them had changed. He could not support their actions.

  He reached the Castle shortly after noon and went directly upstairs to the squad room. It should have been quiet and nearly empty when he arrived, since most of the detectives would be at lunch or out chasing leads. Instead, Tertwiller and Silvio were congregated in Lopez’s office and a cluster of uniforms were gathered together in the squad room. Tertwiller caught sight of Campello and Silvio looked up, motioning for him to join them. Campello stopped at his desk long enough to hang his jacket over the back of his chair and deposit his weapon in the secured drawer of his desk, alongside the steno pad he had been using on his first day back. Rand’s Chicago Cubs cup sat there too.

  Lopez sat with his feet propped on his desk and his hands resting on his head. Tertwiller and Silvio occupied the chairs in front of the desk so Campello stood, leaning on the closed office door.

  “We’re deciding how to proceed now that Polanski is jammed up,” Tertwiller said.

  Silvio shook his head and snickered. “Seeing him go is almost as bad as seeing him come.”

  “The important thing for now,” Lopez said, “is that everyone in this office cooperates with Internal Affairs. Polanski has been their darling for a while now, and they aren’t going to take kindly to his having deceived them.”

  Campello listened to the exchange, feeling like a man straddling the Mason–Dixon Line. On the one hand, he sympathized with the department and its need to discharge itself of someone like Andy, someone they admittedly would never be able to trust. On the other hand, he had a deeper appreciation for him and the predicament he found himself in. Standing up for Polanski was going to mean alienating friends that had stood by him throughout the length of his career, not to mention four divorces and the decline of his father. They were, as Tertwiller had said, a family. But not acknowledging Andy’s position would be wrong as well. Someone had planted those drugs. Campello was sure of that. And it had to be someone within the department.

  “Frank?” Lopez said. “Got any thoughts?”

  Campello shifted his weight from one foot to the other, crossing his arms. “Not really. I haven’t worked with the guy all that much. I say we let IAD do their thing. If they ease up on him, we know what we’re dealing with. If they fall on him, he’s out. Either way, we will know more than we do now.”

  Tertwiller nodded. “He’s right, Julio. We don’t have to be proactive on this. We can let Internal Affairs do that. We can just react to their initiative the same way we would with any other case they’d investigate.”

  “Except this isn’t like any other case they’d investigate, Shelly,” Silvio said. “This is a fink they’ve marked as one of their own. If they find fault with this guy, it’s going to be egg on their face. To me, it’s pretty much of a no-brainer. They’re not going to find anything wrong.”

  She eyed him with disbelief. “He had drugs in his car. A whole gang of dealers are lining up to testify he’s been squeezing them. And Caine and Dorchester were working narcotics when Polanski charged them with evidence tampering.”

  Lopez sighed. “It stunned me. I thought this guy was on the up and up. Maybe a little too tightly twisted, but a by-the-book kind of guy.”

  “I don’t care if he’s by-the-book or not. He’s made false allegations and ruined the reputations of some decent cops,” Silvio said.

  “Bob said that when word reached the 31st, the whole squad room cheered,” Tertwiller said.

  Silvio spread his hands. “There you go. The guy dug himself a grave and now he’s fallen into it.”

  “Well,” Lopez said, “let’s just make sure that no one else does. Frankly, I’m glad he’s gone. But as the district commander, I’m sorry to find out he’s such a putz and that he got caught here. It’d been much better if he got busted at the 31st.”

  “There’s going to be some press over this,” Silvio said to Lopez. “You know that, right?”

  The commander shrugged. “So? I’ve got to deal with it either way.”

  “They’ve portrayed him as a saint, now they’ll portray him as a martyr,” Silvio added.

  “Maybe not,” Tertwiller said, crossing one leg over the other. “They may pick up on his deception and write it up the way it really happened.”

  Silvio snorted. “That’d be admitting they were wrong about him in the first place. How many people you know can do that?”

  “One thing’s for sure,” Lopez said. “They’ll be at the hearing this afternoon.” He swung his chair in Campello’s direction. “You OK, Frank?”

  “Sure. Just taking it all in.”

  “No, I mean, are you OK for the hearing?”

  He shrugged. “I have to be. Nothing I can do about it now. Besides, Longhorse fired on me first.”

  “Well, be prepared. The board isn’t going to take kindly to Polanski and it could spill over on you.”

  “We’ll be behind you, Frank,” Tertwiller said. “Like I said the other day, we’re family.”

  CHAPTER 48

  Campello made it to the IPRA office on West 35th Street with only minutes to spare. He took his seat at the lead table, o
pposite the dais at which the review committee would be seated. Since this first hearing was all about Polanski, he was already there, and Jenny was seated at the rear of the room. Tertwiller, Silvio, Hughbanks, and Lopez were present, too, and so was Christy, sitting quietly among the few journalists allowed inside the room.

  The administrator of the IPRA, Dimitri Baranova, was a civilian, as all members were, and had been a recent appointment of the mayor’s in response to the previous administrator’s sudden retirement. He took his seat on the dais, flanked on each side by the other members, and gaveled the meeting to order.

  “The facts of the case have been reviewed by me and members of the Authority. We have reviewed the police investigation, and have received and read the coroner’s preliminary report, and the witnesses have been sworn.” He directed his attention to Campello. “Detective Frank Campello, would you please give us your version of the events, as closely as you can recall.”

  Version? The spin was slight, but noticeable. Campello inched toward the microphone on the table and began by giving the facts of the events in as much detail as he could remember. He did not tell them that he had decided to pursue the lead on his own or allude to his confrontation with Polanski only minutes before the events transpired. He saw no benefit to giving them more than they had asked for. When he was done, the administrator thanked him and then directed his attention to Polanski.

  “Detective Polanski. Would you please give us your version of the events?”

  Polanski gave a concise description of the events, how he had decided to tail Campello, and how the sound of gunfire aided him in locating his partner. He described how he managed to flank Longhorse before finally overtaking the DJ just as he was about to shoot a disarmed Campello, taking him into custody without firing a shot. His testimony complete, he pushed the microphone away and sat back in his chair.

  Baranova was about to speak when he was interrupted by a woman who had entered the hearing-room through a side door. She handed him a note, and whispered in his ear as he held his hand over the microphone. She left the room as quickly as she had entered.

  “We will recess this meeting for fifteen minutes in light of some new developments. I will remind everyone to not discuss this meeting with anyone outside this room and that all witnesses remain under oath.” He stood and everyone stood with him as he exited the room with the other members in tow.

  “What was that all about?” the attorney asked. He turned to Polanski. “Did someone approach you? File a complaint?”

  “Nothing. I haven’t heard a thing.”

  Campello had a sinking feeling.

  The attorney said, “Well, something’s happened. This hearing is only about the relevant facts related to the shooting. It has nothing to do with the recent allegations against you, Andy.”

  Allegations, Campello thought. It is a very different word than charges, which had also been filed.

  Campello rose to stretch. From the back of the room, Shelly Tertwiller gave him the thumbs up. Silvio grinned.

  Polanski sat with his head lowered and his hands folded on the table.

  “You guys want something?” the attorney asked.

  Polanski shook his head. Campello asked for a Coke.

  As soon as the attorney left, Campello leaned toward Polanski and said, “Bobby Longhorse and Delgado are working together.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “I talked to Terri Williams, a dancer at the club.”

  Polanski groaned. “That means regardless of what happens to Longhorse, someone could still be gunning for me.”

  Campello said, “Maybe. Maybe not. I talked with Vincent earlier.”

  Polanski stared intently. “And?”

  “I told him we were after Delgado and that we knew he was behind the attempted hit on you.”

  “We do?”

  Campello shrugged. “Never hurts to stir the water once in a while.”

  “What’d he say?”

  Campello chuckled. “What do you think?”

  Polanski paused to think, drumming his fingers on the table. “Deny, deny, deny.”

  “Yep.”

  Polanski nodded toward the door that the administrator and the review authority members had gone through when recessing. “What do you think happened?”

  Campello didn’t want to tell him that Longhorse was likely going to retract his testimony. Besides, he could be wrong. The situation had become dynamic, changing as often as the tide of Chicago politics. He looked over his shoulder and saw the attorney returning with two cans of Coke. “This thing is cut and dried. It should’ve been a no-brainer.”

  The attorney took his seat between them and handed one of the cans to Campello and opened the other for himself. The members of the review board returned to the room as Campello pulled the ring tab on his can. He rose with the others in the room as the board took their seats on the dais, then sat and took a long slow swallow of the soft drink.

  Baranova began, “Some new testimony has come to our attention that—”

  Polanski’s attorney jumped to his feet. “I object, sir. I have not been—”

  “I understand, counselor,” Baranova said, holding up his hand. “But this isn’t a court of law. It is a fact-finding body charged with the responsibility of determining the appropriateness of police conduct. All police-action shootings, or any police violence, for that matter, default to this body for review. If new information has developed, we will evaluate it.”

  The attorney sat, mumbling to himself.

  The administrator gestured to an officer standing at the rear of the room.

  The door opened and Bobby Longhorse marched in the room with a uniformed officer on each side. His hair had been cut, he had shaved, and he wore a navy-blue, double-breasted blazer over a pale-blue shirt with a blue-and-gold tie, and khaki dockers. This was not the Bobby Longhorse that had been trying to kill them in an ambush, and Campello cast a sideway glance to Polanski.

  Longhorse took his seat to the right of the dais and within easy visibility of Campello and Polanski.

  “Sir, would you please state your name for the record?” Baranova asked.

  “Robert James Longhorse.” He spelled it for the court recorder.

  “And you are employed by a local establishment known as Silk ’n Boots. Is that correct?” Baranova asked.

  He nodded, but was immediately told to answer verbally. He did.

  “Mr. Longhorse, would you please tell this board about the facts in your possession?”

  He seemed confused by the question. “Sir?”

  “Tell us what you know that is relevant to the proceedings, Mr. Longhorse,” Baranova said, clarifying his previous question.

  The DJ cleared his throat and focused his eyes on the floor. “Detective Polanski came to the club a few days ago. I had just come off the floor and was fixing myself a drink at the bar when he approached me and said he was taking control of the loop territory and that I could work with him or I could leave town.”

  Polanski shook his head and whispered into the attorney’s ear.

  “And what do you think he meant by ‘the loop territory’?” Baranova asked.

  Longhorse sighed. “The loop is the area that is run by me.”

  “You are dealing in illegal drugs, is that correct, Mr. Longhorse?”

  “Yes.”

  “Have you had contact with Mr. Polanski before?”

  Longhorse shifted in his seat, as though the testimony was uncomfortable for him. He kept his eyes on the floor. “Yes, sir.”

  “Please elaborate on that, Mr. Longhorse.”

  “Well, sir, I’ve had difficulties with officers of the 31st on several occasions. Most of the time it—”

  “Let the record show,” Baranova said, “that Mr. Polanski was formerly of the 31st district. Go ahead, Mr. Longhorse.”

  “Most of the time my problems came from two vice cops. They would—”

  “And who were they?” Baranova asked. />
  “Caine and Dorchester. I never knew their first names.”

  “Go on.”

  Longhorse continued, “They’ve intercepted several shipments that guys like me depend on. I’ve had personal run-ins with them, but was always clean at the time and they had no reason to hold me.”

  “Are you familiar with one Tacquiel Sherman, otherwise known as The Tacker?”

  “Yes sir, he worked for me. He was a mule. He shuttled deliveries between me and customers.”

  “Did he carry a weapon?”

  “Yes sir. He was always armed. Most of us are. He had several clashes with the officers from the 31st and told me he would never let them take him. But I told him he didn’t need to worry about those guys because another cop at the 31st had approached me about a deal.”

  “A deal?”

  “Yes, sir. The officer said if I would cut him in for twenty-five percent of my total take, he could personally see to it that I would not have to deal with those officers again, so long as I kept my business in the 31st.”

  “And that was a good deal for you?”

  Longhorse nodded. “Yes, sir. I was taking significant losses because of those two guys, Caine and Dorchester, and it seemed like a better deal to eat a regular twenty-five percent.”

  “And who was the officer that offered you the deal?”

  For the first time since entering the room, Bobby Longhorse looked toward the witness table. “He’s right there.” He pointed directly at Andy Polanski.

  CHAPTER 49

  Polanski was exonerated of any wrongdoing in the shooting incident and Longhorse was remanded back to the custody of the authorities. Baranova expressed his “abiding concern” that Polanski had more for which to answer and indicated he would forward the information that Longhorse had supplied in his testimony to the department and to Internal Affairs. As soon as the hearing was over, the press rushed forward to get statements from the two officers, but both exited the room by way of a side door into a closed hallway. They left the attorney to handle the PR.

  “What was that all about?” Polanski asked, stunned. “He did a complete turn-around in there.”