The Savage Son (A Nick Williams Mystery Book 6)

by Frank W. Butterfield

  "What do you think?" I asked in reply.

  He shook his head. "We know where Ike is. I don't know if the ex can tell us anything new at this point."

  Robert asked, "But why is Ike hiding from his parents?"

  Andy said, "Yeah. That part I don't get."

  I looked around the room and thought for a moment before making a decision. "We've done all we're gonna do here. Let's call it a night and meet back here in the morning at 9."

  . . .

  On the drive home, Carter said, "You have a hunch about this that you didn't wanna say out loud at the office, right?"

  He was driving and I was looking out the window at the city lights.

  "Yeah. There's something about the hometown. But whatever he's up to, it's enough to make the kid just disappear without a word. He obviously loves his parents enough to lie to them about what he does during the day. So, whatever he's doing must be awful."

  "What do you mean?"

  "He'd rather have them believe he might be dead. He's got to know that's what they're thinking."

  "You gonna tell 'em you know where he is?"

  I shook my head. "Not yet. This kid is smart. He has a good reason. I wanna treat this case very carefully."

  Carter reached out, took my hand, and squeezed it.

  . . .

  My other thought, which I didn't want to say out loud to anyone, was that this kid was planning on murdering this Zbigniew guy, whoever he was. That, to my mind, was the reason he was hiding out. If his parents didn't know, then they wouldn't try to stop him.

  I was sitting up in bed at 3 a.m., once again unable to go back to sleep. I looked over at Carter, who was on his back and had one arm draped over his face. As he breathed in and out, I could feel all the love I had for him rolling in like the waves at the beach. As his chest rose, my affection for him peaked. As his chest fell, the relief I felt being near him washed over me.

  I put out my cigarette and slid down in the bed. Turning on my side, I watched him as he slept. I studied the stubble on his jaw that was noticeable even in the dim light of the room. I counted the hairs on his arm that rested on his head. I let the natural aroma of his body settle in around me. After a while, I fell asleep.

  . . .

  I heard the phone ring in my sleep. The instrument was on Carter's side of the bed and he picked it up. I heard him sleepily say, "Hello?"

  There was a pause. He asked, "What?"

  After another moment, he said, "Hold on." I leaned up as he passed me the phone.

  "Yeah?"

  A female voice asked, "Mr. Williams?"

  "Yeah."

  "This is the service. I'm sorry to bother you so early, but I thought you would want this message."

  "Sure. What is it?"

  "Well, sir, the caller identified himself as Sam and said that Ike had been arrested."

  This got my attention. "Did he say anything else?"

  "No, sir. He sounded upset when he called."

  "How long ago was that?"

  "I called you as soon as he hung up."

  "Thank you. I appreciate you doing so."

  "My pleasure, Mr. Williams. Goodnight."

  I handed the phone back to Carter who put the receiver on its cradle.

  I got up and walked into the bathroom.

  "What happened?" Carter asked as he followed me.

  "Sam says that Ike's been arrested."

  "He say what station?"

  "Nope. The service thought he was upset."

  "Is he in love with Ike?"

  "Yeah."

  . . .

  I got Mike on the phone and asked him to call the North Station. I was pretty sure that's where the kid would be. After we were dressed, Mike called back.

  "That's where he is."

  "What's the charge?"

  "First-degree murder."

  "Damn."

  "Who is this kid?" Mike asked.

  "This is that missing person."

  "Oh, right. Thought the name sounded familiar."

  "I'm gonna call Kenneth Wilcox and have him meet us down there. The kid's gonna need a lawyer. Do you mind coming along and greasing the wheels?"

  "Of course."

  "See you there." I put the receiver back and turned to Carter, who was fastening his garter. "You don't have to go."

  Pulling up his sock and attaching it, he said, "I couldn't go back to sleep anyway."

  . . .

  Kenneth Wilcox was my attorney. His office was on the floor above ours. He now had three lawyers who worked for him. He managed my personal affairs and was also known around town as the guy who represented the homosexual men and women rounded up in police raids on nightclubs and bars.

  When Carter and I walked into the lobby of the North Station, he was sitting on a bench waiting for us. He stood up and we all shook.

  "They say he doesn't want a lawyer."

  I asked, "You believe that?"

  "Not really. They're just stalling. Mike's in the back finding out what's really going on."

  I looked around and saw the desk sergeant was eyeing us in a very unfriendly way. I turned back to Kenneth. "There's an all-night diner at the corner. We'll be there."

  He nodded. "Smart. It's kinda chilly in here."

  Carter was out the door, and I was right behind him when a thought came to me. I turned around and walked back over to Kenneth. Whispering, I asked, "You see any reporters around here?"

  He shook his head.

  I looked over at the desk sergeant who was on the phone. "I think that's about to change. If you want to, send 'em over to me. I wanna keep the focus off the kid. Got it?"

  He looked at me for a long moment. "You're walking a fine line if you do that."

  "What do you mean?"

  "No one's been able to get to you yet. This could lead to all sorts of trouble."

  I put my hand on his shoulder and said, "Carter and me have a yacht and a plane. If it gets too hot, we can skip town."

  Kenneth smirked. "I forget about that."

  . . .

  We'd been sitting in a booth at the Cozy Cup for about thirty minutes talking about nothing much when Mike walked in and sat down next to Carter. Mike was leaner than Carter but taller by an inch. He had what I liked to call a monster handsome face. When he was happy, he was surprisingly good to look at. When he was upset, I always thought of the villagers fleeing their town as the monster came rampaging through.

  On this early morning, he just looked tired.

  "What's going on over there?" I asked.

  He shook his head. "They think they have him dead to rights and are trying to shake him down. But he says he didn't do it and I don't think he did."

  "Did Kenneth ever get in?"

  "Yeah. The kid exasperated the lieutenant so much that he finally just told him the D.A. was gonna throw the book at him for lying and obstructing justice, so he needed a good lawyer."

  I laughed. "Is that in the manual?"

  Mike shook his head. "No. Rostenkowski was really baked. I've never seen him so frustrated."

  "They let you watch?"

  Mike nodded. "Things have warmed back up a bit in the last couple of months since all that stuff went down at your Halloween party. I've been trying to feed them as much as I could scrape up off the street to build some trust. Seems to be working."

  I shook my head. I wondered when he'd had time to do this. He smiled wearily and said, "Look at the books. I've been building a small team of informants. Ten and twenty a pop. It's classified under 'Consultants.'"

  Both Carter and I laughed at that.

  Our waitress walked over and asked, "You want some coffee, hon?"

  Mike nodded. He looked at his watch. "Guess I could do with some breakfast, too." I looked down at mine and saw it was almost 6.

  After we put in our orders, she walked back into the kitchen. Pretty soon, the smell of bacon drifted out to us.

  Carter asked, "Any reporters, yet?"

  Mike lo
oked at him and then at me. "No. Why?"

  I said, "I'm sure I saw the desk sergeant calling in the story. I told Kenneth to send them over here. I don't want the kid's name in the papers if that's possible."

  Mike shook his head. "I doubt it. It's bad."

  Carter asked, "What happened?"

  "Around midnight, the neighbor next door on Lombard heard two shots. They called the cops. When the kid answered the door, he said he'd been asleep. Cops walk in, take a look around, and find the guy dead in the kitchen."

  "Who was dead?"

  "The guy who owned the house. Some god-awful Polish name that starts with a Z."

  I still had the piece of paper that Marnie had given me earlier. I pulled it out of my coat pocket and handed it to Mike. "This the guy?"

  Mike looked at it and said, "Sure. How'd you know?"

  Carter started to say something and I put up my hand. "Ever heard of a thing called a Chinese wall?"

  Both of them shook their heads.

  "It's a term the lawyers in a white-shoe firm use when they have to make sure one group isn't given information that another group might be privy to. That way the one group can't be called to testify in court about what the other group knows."

  Mike looked confused. "How does that apply to us?"

  "We know things about this case that, if you were to know, could get you in trouble with your buddies at the North Station. So, how about we ask you questions, but you don't ask us any?"

  Mike nodded thoughtfully. "Right. Got it."

  "So, what happened after they found the body?"

  "They asked the kid about it. He goes bonkers. Says he doesn't know anything. Didn't hear anything. They arrest him. That's his story. And he's sticking to it."

  I nodded. "So, you believe him?"

  Mike thought for a moment and finally said, "I do."

  Right then, I saw Kenneth come through the door of the diner. He made a beeline over and sat down next to Mike just as the waitress brought us our food. He put in his order as we started eating.

  Kenneth looked at me and was about to speak when I said, "Let's talk about something else."

  . . .

  After we'd finished eating, Kenneth and I got into his '52 Mercury and headed over to 335 Turk Street to talk to the Kopeks while Carter drove to the office. Mike went back to the station to see what else he could discover.

  Kenneth said, "He'll be arraigned today on murder. That means no bail."

  I sat and thought for a moment. Finally, I said, "Mike thinks he's innocent. How about you?"

  "His story is consistent. He was asleep until he heard the cops banging on the front door. They found the body. He had no idea anything had happened."

  "They treating him OK?"

  "Sure. I'm not sure they know yet that he's in the life. I don't know what will happen when they figure that out."

  "How does he explain his presence in the house?"

  "Simple. The man is his cousin."

  I let that sink in.

  "Are you sure?"

  Kenneth glanced at me briefly. "That's what he says. Why?"

  As we drove down Van Ness, I quickly filled him in on the missing person angle.

  "So, you think the guy might not be a cousin?"

  "Yeah. I don't know why Ike moved in with this guy and let his parents believe he might be dead. When you meet the parents, you'll understand why that seems almost crazy."

  Kenneth drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. "You have a theory, don't you?"

  I nodded. "Yeah. My theory as of 3 this morning was that he was planning on killing the guy because of something that happened in Czechoslovakia, which is where they're from."

  "Jewish?"

  "I dunno. They left in '35. The parents said it was because of what they thought Hitler would do. But, somehow, I don't buy that. That's what makes me think there was something else going on."

  "So, they're Polish but were living in Czechoslovakia?"

  "Right. You know. One of those places where you get a new government every year or so depending on what the map looks like."

  When Kenneth didn't respond to my obvious joke, I asked, "What?"

  "If Ike was sleeping with the guy, and there's proof, that makes this a capital crime automatically. Sodomy along with murder is bad news."

  I sighed and looked out the window.

  . . .

  It was 7:30 when we pulled into a spot on Turk Street about a block away from the apartment. As we walked up Turk towards the building, we crossed Leavenworth. Although it wasn't open yet, I could see a light shining in the back of the Maryland Market.

  "This is where Mr. Kopek works. I think he's in there."

  Kenneth nodded and waited on the street while I walked up and banged on the door. After a minute or so, a red-headed kid peered through the glass at me. He said, "Closed until 8."

  I said, "I need to talk to Mr. Kopek."

  He shuffled away. Another couple of minutes went by. Mr. Kopek came to the door and looked through the glass. His eyes were narrowed in suspicion until he recognized me. Then they widened and his mouth made a little "O."

  He unlocked the door and asked, "Yes, Mr. Williams. What is it?"

  I said, "Can you come with us to your apartment? We have some news about Ivan."

  He looked from me to Kenneth and back. "Who is this?" he asked.

  I said, "This is Kenneth Wilcox. He's a lawyer." Kenneth extended his hand but Mr. Kopek didn't take it. He stood there for a moment, thinking and nodding. Finally, he turned towards the interior of the store and said, "Wally! Going home for few minutes. Call if you need anything."

  I heard the kid reply, "Sure thing, Mr. Kopek."

  With that, the older man pulled the door closed, locked the deadbolt, and led the way across the street and upstairs to their apartment.

  Chapter 7

  335 Turk Street, Apt. 5-R

  Thursday, December 17, 1953

  About a quarter til 8 in the morning

  Once we were inside, he called out something in Polish. Mrs. Kopek came out from the kitchen dressed very much as she had been on Tuesday night. She nodded at me.

  I said, "Mrs. Kopek, this is Kenneth Wilcox. He's a lawyer. We have some news about Ivan."

  She started to cry. Mr. Kopek guided her over to the armchair by the RCA radio that she had used on Tuesday night. Kenneth and I sat down on the sofa. Mr. Kopek took his chair. He asked, "What is this news?"

  Kenneth handed the man his card and said, "Your son has been arrested for murder."

  Neither of them spoke. Mrs. Kopek sniffled and wiped her eyes on her apron. Mr. Kopek looked at the card for a long moment and then asked, "Can we see him?"

  Kenneth said, "He'll be arraigned at 10 a.m. in Superior Court. You can see him them."

  I asked, "Did anyone from the Call-Bulletin ever call about him missing work?"

  Mr. Kopek turned and looked at me. Something seemed to dawn on him. "No. No one has called."

  I nodded. "I have another question for you, and then I'm going to tell you what I discovered over these last two days. I have to warn you, though. You're not going to like it."

  Mrs. Kopek sat quietly nodding. I got the feeling she knew what was coming. In contrast, Mr. Kopek's eyes were getting bigger by the moment. "What is your question?" he asked.

  I pulled out the piece of paper Marnie had given me and held it out for them to see.

  Mr. Kopek leaned in, looked at it, and then let out a string of words in Polish. If he'd been speaking English, I was sure he would have added at the end, "Pardon my French."

  Mrs. Kopek just sat there nodding. Her face held an odd expression. She kept pursing her lips together and jutting out her chin. It looked like vindication. Finally, she said something in Polish. Mr. Kopek threw up both his hands.

  I put the note back in my pocket and asked, "Who is this man?"

  Mr. Kopek shook his head but didn't answer. I looked over at his wife. She looked right at me with an
intense anger. I knew she wasn't mad at me, but she was certainly mad at somebody.

  "He comes from our hometown."

  I said, "Petervald."

  For a brief moment, she smiled. She corrected my pronunciation but in a way I couldn't possibly repeat.

  "How you know this?" she asked.

  "That's my job."

  She smiled briefly again. "This man is the reason we leave. Why we come to this country."

  I nodded. "So, it wasn't Hitler?"

  Mr. Kopek exploded. "Why does it matter!? We come here to get away from evil men. His name is Hitler or his name is Korkowski. They all the same!" He stood up and began to pace the floor in front of the dining table.

  Mrs. Kopek said, "This man. He take our farm. It was in the family for hundreds of years. You see, Tobias is my cousin. His grandfather and my grandfather are brothers. When we marry, we take two farms and make them one big farm. You see?"

  I nodded. I glanced over at Kenneth who was taking it all in.

  "So, we marry in 1928. Big wedding. Everyone in the village is invited. This Korkowski, he dances with me at the wedding. It was a wonderful night." She looked at her husband who had stopped pacing to listen to her tell the story. He walked over and put his hand on her shoulder which she lightly touched with her own hand before continuing.

  "So, all is good. Even when the Depression happens in America and Germany, we are fine. We have healthy cows. We grow wheat. Many men work for us. But this Korkowski. All the time he is watching. He is waiting." Her voice took on a sinister tone.

  Mr. Kopek sat down in his chair and sighed.

  His wife said, "One day in the summer of 1934, this Korkowski comes to the house. He brings wine. He brings me flowers. He says that we are related. From many years ago. We celebrate. Who is not happy to know their relations, no?"

  I smiled, thinking of my own family and how very happy I was to never see or speak to any of them.

  "So, we think this is good. He has been at the church, reading all the books. He goes to Poland to find out many things. He goes to Prague. He even goes to Vienna, from when our town was in Austria. All of the 1934, he is going. He is sending us letters all about our ancestors. Then, in November, we hear nothing. No letters. No visits. My husband, he asks in town what has happened to this Korkowski. No one knows. One says maybe his is in Germany. Another says, no, he is in Bratislava. No one knows."