Black and Blue and Pretty Dead, Too

by Mark Zubro

  “Obviously, he didn’t get fired,” Turner said.

  “Not even suspended. I’m not sure why. I don’t know if he knew why. I think Callaghan might have had some powerful friends in the department. It also might have had something to do with the fact that the guy they were questioning was suspected of molesting five- and six-year old girls. Nobody’s got sympathy for that. Guy deserved whatever he got.”

  Fenwick said, “But that kind of treatment could have gotten the case thrown out. Did they get a confession?”

  She rearranged the salt and pepper shakers which had been perfectly aligned. She shrugged, “I’m not sure. The case never went to trial. The guy they were trying to arrest just sort of disappeared. At least, that’s what he told me.”

  Turner figured either Callaghan or Belger or both must know someone very powerful. Complete cover-ups weren’t that easy. You needed cooperation from high in the department.

  “But you never found out the details?” Turner asked.

  “Nope. He just went to work, and ‘poof’ everything was just great. He and that idiot partner of his kept on being buddies, but I’m not sure they were as close as before. At least, we didn’t go out much socially as a foursome any more, but the two of them seemed welded together. And by that point, I didn’t care much. I got rid of him, got a good divorce settlement, and moved out of the city.”

  Turner and Fenwick left.

  In the muggy, middle-of-the-night air, Fenwick said, “Tasering somebody and the suspect goes missing? That takes balls.”

  “Or stupidity.”

  “That kind of cover-up means powerful friends. Something is very not right.”

  In the car Fenwick said, “He wanted her to strap on a dildo and fuck him. We found him with a dildo up his butt. Does that mean he’s gay?”

  “It means he wanted his wife to use a dildo on him and that either he or the killer was getting what he wanted in the end. So to speak.”

  Fenwick said, “That was one of your weaker attempts at a pun.”

  Turner said, “More of a play on words although I have been practicing. I guess I’ll never be able to catch up to you.”

  “For which the world is probably thankful,” Fenwick admitted.

  Turner said, “As long as we’re talking to the women in their lives, let’s check on the bartender, and we might as well add Callaghan’s wife.” He checked the data sheets. “Wives.”

  FOURTEEN

  The bartender, Stephanie Preston, sipped from her mug of coffee and sat down at a table in a breakfast nook of a bungalow kitchen in Marquette Park. She made no offer to share the coffee or for them to sit down. She still had bruises around her right eye. She was a hefty woman and Turner didn’t think it would take much of a stretch to call her ugly. No reporters had turned up to pester her. Yet. Turner hoped they left her alone.

  She said, “This is awfully early for you to be here. Usually I don’t get visits, I just get threats.”

  Turner said, “We know Barb Dams called you.”

  She took another sip, looked from one to the other of them. “The cops did it. His partner did it. That pig did it. They will do anything to get that shit-for-brains Callaghan off for hurting me.”

  Turner said, “We don’t know who killed him. Barry Callaghan is certainly a suspect. We’re trying to figure out what was going on between the two of them. We were hoping maybe you could tell us a little about both men.”

  She said, “I was having a relationship with him.”

  “With Belger?” Turner asked.

  “With Callaghan.”

  That hadn’t been in any press accounts.

  “Why did he attack you?” Fenwick asked.

  “Callaghan snuck up on me. Belger distracted me. I got sucker punched. Callaghan caught me looking the other way, or I’d have decked him. The cops would never have let that get on the air. Woman beats the shit out of asshole cop.”

  “What started it?” Fenwick asked.

  “I don’t know. Him and Belger were in a mood that night when they came in. Arguing about some silly shit. They were always arguing. Then they started razzing the other guys in the bar, and they kept pestering me. I got work to do. It was ‘bring me this’, ‘bring me that’, ‘gimme a kiss’. I’ve got time for that crap? Or they’d pinch my ass.” She clutched her coffee cup in both hands. Turner saw her knuckles turn white with gripping it. She took several deep breaths. Carefully placed the cup on the table and resumed.

  “I hate when Callaghan does that. I had to slap his hand a couple times. After the third time, I told him if he did it again, I’d throw his ass out. He laughed. He pinched. I punched. No, I didn’t throw him out. I hit him hard enough. He got the message. After that, I stayed out of his way. It wasn’t the first time Callaghan hit me. Not in the bar. He shoved me around once or twice at my place. That night was the first time any kind of fight got caught on camera. I was surprised when Belger stopped him.”

  “Why were you surprised?” Turner asked.

  “He usually laughed about it, even cheered his partner on.”

  “But this time Belger intervened. What was different?”

  “Like I said, they were in a mood. Pissy with each other all night.”

  “What happened after the fight?”

  “I don’t know. I was knocked unconscious. By the time I came to, the paramedics were working on me in the ambulance.”

  “Who called the cops?”

  “I don’t know. I was surprised when the video showed up on the news. I figured this would be covered up by the cops.”

  “Had there been cover-ups before?”

  “I’ve lived in this city long enough. I’ve worked in a cop bar a long time. I know what goes on.”

  “You ever hear about them abusing suspects, or witnesses, anybody?”

  “They all told stories about how tough they were. Cops brag, male cops especially. I guess they’re making sure everybody knows how tough and macho they are. I listen with half an ear and keep smiling. I get bigger tips that way.”

  “Did Belger and Callaghan get along?”

  “They were kind of rough about teasing each other, but nobody got violent. Like a couple weeks ago, they’d been playing pool, and one of them got pissed off. They started swinging the pool cues at each other. Nobody got hit, not really.”

  Fenwick asked, “What does ‘not really’ hit mean?”

  Preston said, “Well, I think maybe one might have whacked the other guy in the arm.” She poked at her bicep. “Not much harder than that, and there was no blood.”

  Turner said, “So they’d been at each other before this.”

  “Even though I think him and his buddy had some kind of fight earlier that night, they didn’t go after each other until about half an hour after they got there. Callaghan took his being pissed off out on me. Belger got drunker than usual. Then the incident happened. It’s as much Belger’s fault as Callaghan’s. He shouldn’t have intervened. The customer shouldn’t have reported it.”

  Fenwick said, “The tape I saw didn’t show them fighting.”

  “The guy with the cell phone didn’t catch what went on between the two of them. He came in a few minutes after they came out of a booth swinging at each other. I tried to stop them. Callaghan decked his buddy. Then he went after me. He’d hit Belger pretty hard in their fight.”

  “Did you know the patron?”

  “No. I’m not even sure who did the taping. That reporter, the one who does all those investigative things, the famous guy, you know the one. He put it on the air. I know he wasn’t there. I’d have recognized him. There were a couple guys I didn’t know in the bar that night. Doesn’t matter. The guy who took the video is probably dead by now, too.”

  “Why do you think that?” Turner asked.

  “Reporting cops in this city? You kidding? You’re taking your life in your own hands.”

  “Were they fighting over you?” Fenwick asked.

  “I doubt it. Maybe. Not over t
he pinching. Belger didn’t care. I never actually dated Belger.”

  “You had a relationship with both guys?” Fenwick asked.

  “With Belger, it was more of a few sort of one-night-only, one-time-only fun times together. Nothing serious.”

  “Maybe he thought they were serious,” Fenwick said.

  “Serious? With these guys? Ha!”

  “How long had they been coming into the bar?”

  “Since before I started working there. Callaghan was fun enough to date. He’d take me places on the back of his motorcycle.”

  “Why’d you break up?”

  “We weren’t totally broken up.”

  “But you didn’t date Belger?” Turner asked.

  “I know I’m not pretty, but neither one of them was a prize either. I went out with each of them a few times. It wasn’t a big deal. At least it wasn’t to me. They were both married. It was more just fun.”

  “Was it a big deal to them?” Turner asked.

  “They never said. Neither one of them was that great in bed. It was the kind of relationship where they’d stay for an hour or two, drink a beer, watch a game on TV, sit in their boxers. It was more casual. More like ‘you’re not doing anything tonight, stop over.’”

  “Belger was found at a gay leather party.”

  “Belger was gay?”

  “We don’t know.”

  “Nah,” she said, “He wasn’t gay. He wasn’t great, you understand. Neither was Callaghan for that matter. But gay? Nah. Neither one of them was a prize. I think they’d have done it with anything that didn’t move. Animal, vegetable, mineral. Or even if it objected much and moved a little, that wouldn’t stop them.”

  Fenwick said, “Belger was in a leather outfit when we found him. He ever talk to you about using a dildo?”

  Her eyes got wide. “No. That I’d remember.”

  “Ever hear about him being into S+M?”

  She whooped with laughter. “Him? Tough? That might have been hot. If I’d known.”

  “Did either of them know about the other going out with you?”

  “Nah. Nothing was real formal. I just wish this shit was over. Neither guy was that big a deal. This time some idiot patron called the police. Some moron do-gooder. And my boss showed up and some guy from the press. The recording got made. It got on the Internet. It got on the news. My life has been hell since then. I’m probably going to move from Chicago soon. I can’t take this. I don’t care if Callaghan goes to jail.”

  “Maybe he killed his partner,” Fenwick suggested.

  She shrugged. “That’s not my problem.”

  “How did they fight?” Turner asked.

  “I always thought it was more play-like, friendly, male roughness. You know how they say rude things to each other, you know your mama wears combat boots, that kind of shit. But then they started swinging the pool cues. They smashed a couple lamps so I went over to try and get between them.”

  “Kind of brave,” Turner said.

  “Or dumb. I’d gotten between them before. Usually I could kid them out of it. My boss likes when I do that with the more aggressive guys. So, I got over there and right away I could see they were really pissed. All I did was tap Callaghan on the arm. He called me a ‘cheap whore’ and shoved me out of the way. I shoved the mother fucker back, as hard as I could. He banged into Belger and Belger went flying. That’s when the fight moved into the center part of the bar. That’s when Callaghan went after me. That’s when it got caught on that fucking cell phone.”

  Turner said, “Let me make sure I’ve got the sequence of events clear. They were verbally going at it, then physically fighting in and around the booth. You intervened. They stopped. Then they played pool. And fought again. And you intervened again, but the last time was the only one caught on tape.”

  “Yeah.”

  Fenwick said, “I’m confused. What the hell are you trying to say to us? What my partner just described isn’t what you said at first. Are you lying to us?”

  “No, absolutely not,” Preston said. “I’m trying to remember everything. I’ve been asked a million times. I’ve gone over it a million times. And some of those cops have been mean. They want me to forget. They want me to doubt myself. Sometimes I’m not ever sure what happened anymore.”

  Hell of a witness on a stand, Turner thought.

  “Did you lose your job?” Fenwick asked.

  “I’m on medical leave.”

  “Bars have benefits?” Fenwick asked.

  “This one didn’t, but the owner wants this to go away. He’s a good guy. He’s got a conscience. He knows I got a raw deal. He probably also knows I can sue his ass.”

  “For what?” Fenwick asked.

  “My lawyer said he’d think of something if I wanted to sue.”

  Fenwick asked, “Did you ever hear of them beating confessions out of suspects?”

  “They never mentioned it in front of me.”

  “Where were you tonight?” Turner asked.

  “I’ve got a job at a nice diner at Navy Pier. I work the six to midnight shift.”

  She knew no more.

  When they got up to leave, she said, “I like you guys. You probably already know this, but you know you should be careful. Cops are gonna be really pissed at you.”

  They thanked her for her help and left.

  In the car Fenwick said, “She was banging them both?”

  “According to her.”

  “And they’re both married to other women.”

  “I hope they weren’t married to the same woman. That would make things very complicated.”

  “I’m the one who tries to be funny in this relationship.”

  Turner said, “I can’t tell you how trying you are.”

  Fenwick said, “Doesn’t anybody keep their prick in their pants anymore?”

  “I’m not sure the problem is when they take it out, as much as where they put it when it gets out.”

  “Oh. Right.”

  Turner said, “Fighting over a woman. That’s motive for murder.”

  Fenwick said, “It doesn’t sound like anybody was passionately in love.”

  “I’m not sure anyone has to really be passionately in love, not with this crowd. I think whatever got into Callaghan’s head would be more important than reality. I’m not sure he’s got a good grip on much of anything. Except a shot and a beer.”

  Fenwick said, “She said she thought they were omni-sexual.”

  “I can believe that. I could believe just about anything about these two guys.”

  Fenwick said, “Birds, trees, a variety of barnyard animals? How about Scanlan?”

  Turner said, “A kid? I’d find that hard to believe. Whatever they were sexually, we’ve got no proof any of it was connected to the murder.”

  “If he was abused,” Fenwick said.

  “Earlier he certainly wasn’t complaining about being abused by them. If he complains, then we can beat the shit out of them.”

  “We could beat the shit out of them on general principles.”

  “Not today. No, I want to know what Callaghan and Belger were fighting about that night.”

  “Sex, drugs, rock and roll? Their favorite sheep? What do cop partners fight about? I don’t know. We never fight.”

  “That’s because I don’t get between you and your food.”

  Fenwick said, “That’s because you are a wise and sage man. Except when you disparage my humor.”

  Turner said, “Cops fight about petty stuff. Who’s going to drive? Somebody doesn’t wear enough deodorant. Somebody always wants sushi, and the other wants burnt burgers. Not enough to murder over.”

  Fenwick said, “We got plenty enough to murder over in this case.”

  Turner said, “I get no clear picture of these guys. They fought. They were friends. They sort of liked the same women. They were unfaithful to their wives. And Preston? She’s a piece of work.”

  “She’s right to leave town. Lawyers from both
sides might destroy her on the stand. How many different versions of what happened was she going to tell us?”

  “They didn’t differ completely,” Turner said.

  “Enough that I bet a good lawyer could crucify her.”

  FIFTEEN

  Turner and Fenwick stopped by Cook County Morgue on the way back to Area Ten headquarters. Three A.M. No hint in the eastern sky that dawn would ever arrive. The oppressive humidity continued.

  They entered the morgue through the front entrance, where the bodies came when they first arrived. It was a twelve-by-twelve room tiled halfway up then the rest of the way to the ceiling was clear glass. Down a corridor to a classroom-sized space with desks topped by computers where morgue workers ate snacks and meals while staring at screens. Then they went through a room the size of a small gymnasium, which was filled with floor to ceiling metallic bookcases, each shelf filled with dead bodies in plastic covers. Occasionally they could see a foot or hand sticking out. The back wall was filled with four-foot-by-six-foot cardboard boxes, some labeled feet, others arms, legs. The random leftovers from the criminals of Chicago.

  They entered the pristinely clean autopsy room. The ME had Belger’s body opened on the stainless steel slab. The ME saw them and raised an eyebrow. “You’re not dead.”

  “Should we be?” Fenwick asked.

  The ME said, “You’re investigating a cop killing in Chicago in which another cop is most likely the killer. I’d consider every new breath a triumph.”

  “He’s kind of right,” Turner said. “Breathing is part of the job description.”

  Fenwick said, “Okay, I’m pro-breathing. What have you found so far?”

  The ME said, “We’ve got an interesting case here. His butt tells an interesting story.”

  “An unfortunate picture,” Fenwick said. “That I would not give up a thousand words for.”

  Turner said, “Gives meaning to the term blow it out your ass.”

  The ME harrumphed. “Something very large, presumably the dildo, went up there just before his death. I presume it was the dildo although it could have been other things not in evidence that went up there as well. Whatever it was, it tore him up. The dildo got rammed back up his butt after he was dead.”