by Mark Zubro
Turner knew that the fight between Belger and Callaghan had not been on the news. Only the attack on the bartender.
“Who else was in the bar?” Turner asked.
“A couple uniformed cops. They just laughed at Callaghan and Belger and got out of the way.”
“Why did you start recording?” Fenwick asked.
“I don’t know. I guess I just did.”
Fenwick said, “You were upset enough to start recording, but you weren’t upset enough to call the police? You weren’t upset enough to leave the bar, but happy to make a movie? Bullshit.”
“Hey,” Dinning said. “I’m trying to help.”
Dinning’s failure to take alternate actions disturbed Turner as well.
“What the hell else was I supposed to do? There’s a huge fight, and I don’t know they’re cops. They weren’t in uniform. I didn’t even know it was a so-called cop bar. The cops in uniform who were there weren’t trying to get them apart.”
Fenwick said, “You mentioned being in the bar for a ‘first time’. And our understanding is that you knew the reporter Zuyland before that evening.”
“What? Who told you that?”
“He did,” Fenwick lied. He caught the man’s eyes and held them. “He told us on deep background. We’re not supposed to tell, but he trusted us.” He’d finished his salad.
Turner presumed Fenwick was extrapolating from what Ian had mentioned earlier. Or this was one of the bigger whoppers Fenwick had let out in the past few months. It was a risk. If Fenwick’s intuition was wrong, they could lose this guy.
Dinning hesitated. The three of them waited. Finally, Dinning muttered, “Some of us stopped in one time after a Cubs game. One of the guys was a rookie cop, and he took us there. I guess he knew about it. I didn’t know I wasn’t supposed to go in there without a cop escort. I didn’t know it was an exclusive cop bar. I felt safe with the cops in uniforms. The city can be dangerous. It was nice to have them around.” By the end of this statement, Dinning’s head was down, and he was mumbling into the table top.
Turner said, “Mr. Dinning, we’re not out to hurt you. We understand being harassed. But you’ve got to be honest with us.”
“How far has honesty gotten me so far?”
Turner said, “We will do what we can.” He caught Dinning’s eye and patted his arm.
Dinning looked near tears. He said, “You can’t trust anybody. Zuyland told me he wouldn’t tell.”
“We know,” Fenwick said.
Despite the coolness in the restaurant, Dinning broke out in a sweat. He did the hand across his jaw several times.
Turner asked, “How come none of the fight earlier was given to the media?”
“I gave it all to the reporter. I guess he used what he wanted to.” He shook his head. “I should never have agreed to do it.”
“It was a set up? You planned to be there?”
“Yes.”
“And you didn’t just happen to start recording?”
“No.”
“No earlier visit with a cop escort?”
“No.”
“Why did you call the cops that night?” Turner asked.
“Huh?” Dinning said.
“If you were there to trap Belger and Callaghan—and that’s what you were doing. That’s the proof you were getting—why’d you call the cops?”
“I didn’t,” Dinning said. “All of a sudden a bunch of them showed up.”
Fenwick and Turner glanced at each other. “Did the bartender call the cops?”
“I don’t think so. She was in a bad way. Someone else must have.”
Turner knew they’d have to find out who that person was.
Fenwick asked, “So how the hell did you just happen to be there?”
“Zuyland, the reporter, talked to me.”
“How did he know you?” Fenwick asked.
“He was doing a bit on the news about gay people being mugged.”
“You’ve been mugged?” Turner asked.
“I was walking down Clark Street one night with my boyfriend. These kids walked up behind us and began screaming faggot. We started to run, but they were too quick. Zuyland was real nice.”
“Is he gay?” Ian asked.
“I don’t know. I never tried to find out. You’ve seen him on the news. He’s not very attractive, but he’s kind of a bulldog reporter. He’s won all those awards, hasn’t he?”
The detectives shrugged. Ian said, “I know he’s gotten several.”
Turner rarely watched the network on which Zuyland did his newscasts. He’d caught several glimpses, thought the guy was more toad-like than bulldog, especially for the pretty-boy media age, but the man had won awards.
Turner asked, “So how’d you get to know him?”
“We met a couple times for coffee. He was real helpful. The cops who responded to the call when I got mugged were Belger and Callaghan.”
Turner knew plot thickener when he heard it.
“How did they handle your complaint?”
“Well, my boyfriend and I were both bloody and pretty shook up. The cops sneered at us. It was like they were in sympathy with those kids. We were furious.”
“How did Zuyland get you to go along with his scheme?”
“It wasn’t hard. I was still mad. He said he was investigating homophobic cops. He said he had some evidence that these guys had been rotten to gay guys. He claimed they’d tasered some gay guy in a washroom in a phony public-sex sting.”
“What did he tell you about that?”
“He wasn’t real clear on the details. He’d been on these guys’ tails for a while, I think. Months at least. I’m not much of an activist. He said this would be simple. He had one of these ultra-cool cell phones that record beautifully. We set it up.”
“How could Zuyland be sure they were going to fight that night?”
“I don’t know. The more I think about it, the whole thing was a set-up, me included. After I did it, he dropped me. Didn’t answer my calls. He’s as much of a shit as those cops were. Zuyland is devious. That’s not the worst.” He gulped. “I haven’t told anyone this. I didn’t know who to tell. Zuyland had abandoned me. The cops were against me.” He gulped again and did the hand/chin thing again. Dinning whispered, “He came to my house after the incident in the bar. He threatened me.”
“He who?” Fenwick asked.
“Callaghan.”
“What exactly did he say?”
“He said he’d get even with me if it was the last thing he did.”
“Was Belger with him?”
“No.”
“I didn’t know what to do. I know I couldn’t go to the cops. Not in this town anyway. I just did nothing. I knew there was nothing I could do.”
“Did you tell your boyfriend?”
“We broke up right after the attack. He couldn’t handle what happened to us. I couldn’t blame him. He was more hurt than I was.”
“When was this?”
“About two months before the incident in the bar. I’ve been a wreck ever since. The police get away with stuff all the time. Look at the headlines.”
Turner said, “Aren’t those usually about people who are caught?”
“After people have had to stick up for themselves and go through hell and file lawsuits and maybe win. And what about all the others that don’t get caught?”
Turner said, “We can’t help that, but we want to help you. We know it’s not easy.”
Turner could understand the fear. Turner could also sympathize with a gay man having been attacked. Fear of the police still had not been completely eradicated from the gay community. In some jurisdictions sting operations still occurred for nonsensical reasons.
Dinning said, “Anything you can do, I’d appreciate. Can you make them stop?”
Turner said, “We’ll do what we can. We’ve got a few more questions though.”
Dinning leaned forward.
Turner said, “We need to know where you were las
t night?”
Dinning said, “I was at the Black and Blue party.”
“Doing what?” Turner asked.
“Whatever I wanted. I’m into a bunch of different things.”
“Did you see Belger?”
“No. I would have remembered that. Am I in trouble?”
Turner said, “You sure it was just Callaghan who came to threaten you?”
“Yeah. Belger wouldn’t have a reason to. My video backed him up and made Callaghan look like the bad guy.”
They gave him what assurances they could. A few minutes later Dinning and his soulful eyes left.
Turner said, “Hell of a guess on his deliberately being there.”
Fenwick said, “You don’t just happen to walk into a cop bar. If I was right, and I’m never wrong, about there being a connection between him and the reporter, he had to have been there before. The reporter couldn’t guarantee a fight.”
Ian said, “Hardly a stretch. I told Paul about it earlier.”
“Yeah, he told me. Okay, it wasn’t much of a stretch.”
Turner said, “Unless he’s awfully lucky or awfully devious or awfully bright.”
“Or maybe all three,” Ian said. “I want to see the rest of that video.”
Turner said, “It’s more than a little odd the whole thing didn’t get out. A cop fight and then a bartender beaten. Something is not right.”
Ian asked, “I don’t get the pool cue on the ass thing.”
“They were gay?” Fenwick asked.
Turner said, “It started a fight.”
“Belger thought Callaghan was coming on to him?” Fenwick asked.
Turner said, “Or he thought by doing that in public he was revealing something that he wasn’t supposed to reveal.”
“They were both closeted?” Ian asked. “They were both gay?”
Turner said, “Nobody says so. Belger may have liked his ass being played with sexually, but not in a bar by his partner. Does that action tell us who the murderer is?”
“No,” Fenwick said.
“Maybe motive?” Ian asked.
“Far as I can tell these were motiveless pigs,” Turner said.
“Harsh,” Ian said.
“The truth often is,” Fenwick said.
They speculated for several minutes but couldn’t come up with anything concrete about why the reporter would hold back the rest of the video. For a few minutes Ian and Turner concentrated on their food.
TWENTY-SEVEN
Turner asked, “What’s the deal on this reporter?”
Ian said, “Ralph Zuyland is to journalistic ethics as the Bush administration was to the Constitution. Neither has a lot of connection to fundamental principles like truth, honesty, or sense.”
Fenwick said, “Tell us how you really feel.”
“I’ve met Zuyland once or twice,” Ian said. “I doubt if he’d remember who I was. The main thing I’ve heard is that he’s wanted out of the Chicago markets for years. That he’s tried and tried to catch on nationally or at the least in New York or Los Angeles.”
“Why hasn’t he?” Fenwick asked.
“Supposedly people don’t like him. And you’ve seen him on the news?”
“Once in a while.”
“As the cliché goes,” Ian said, “he has a face made for radio.”
“Why did he agree to meet us?”
Ian said, “Why wouldn’t a reporter in this town want to meet with the two detectives working the Belger case?”
“Wouldn’t he be suspicious?” Turner asked. “You barely know him.”
“I told him I was following leads. That I knew you and that you might all be of use to each other.”
A short, dumpy guy, tie askew, thinning hair matted down and combed over, rushed into the restaurant. While he did look even less attractive in person, Turner recognized him from newscasts as Ralph Zuyland. He stopped at the bar, placed an order, paid, waited, was served, hefted the drink, and took a large gulp. Zuyland then squared his shoulders and marched toward them. He threw a painfully ugly gold and pink plaid satchel on the table and sat. Ian made introductions.
Zuyland said, “I’ve checked on you guys. You’re supposed to be good cops.”
Fenwick said, “I love unsolicited testimonials.”
Turner said, “But he solicited these.”
“You guys trying to be funny?” Zuyland asked.
Ian said, “I can’t tell you how trying they are.”
Zuyland sipped from his drink and asked, “Are we on the record or off the record?”
Fenwick said, “Off. This is a murder investigation, and we’re asking questions.”
“Am I some kind of suspect?”
More than you were half an hour ago, Turner thought. Aloud, he said, “You broke the story on the attack on the bartender. We’re hoping you can give us some background, maybe give us a direction to look that we haven’t so far.”
“I won’t reveal my sources.”
Turner said, “At the moment, we haven’t asked you to. Why don’t you wait until after we ask our questions before you decide you’ve got a First Amendment problem?”
Zuyland looked from one to the other of them. “What have you got so far?” the reporter asked.
Turner said, “A lot of questions and things we don’t understand. We’re really looking for some help.”
“I’ll have questions as well,” Zuyland said.
“Of course,” Turner said.
A waitress came by and Zuyland ordered coffee, the lunch special, and a Cosmopolitan with pomegranate juice. Turner was a bit surprised when the waitress didn’t blink about what Turner thought was an odd beverage choice.
Fenwick said, “We had an interesting talk with Raoul Dinning. He says there’s more video than was shown on the air. He says he recorded them fighting with each other and swinging pool cues and breaking things up. That the bartender tried to intervene.”
Turner asked, “Where is the entire video?”
Zuyland took a gulp of his drink. His eyes swiveled from one to the other of them. He put the drink down carefully. Turner would bet his paycheck that what was coming was at best a lie, certainly not the whole truth.
“I...” Zuyland began and stopped.
Zuyland did this several times until Turner said, “Why don’t you skip the lies and tell us what the hell was going on?”
Zuyland said, “I was investigating Belger and Callaghan.”
“Why those two?” Fenwick asked.
“The station received complaints. I handled the calls. I do the investigative reporting at the station. I have a staff.”
Probably one assistant barely out of college, Turner thought.
Fenwick said, “You must get lots of complaints about cops. Why did you follow up on these two?”
Zuyland took another pull on his drink. “What did Dinning tell you?” he asked.
“Everything,” Turner said.
“Everything what?” Very suspicious now.
“That they’d done something to you,” Turner said.
More drink-gulping ensued. He caught the eye of a waitress and ordered a third.
“This cannot get out,” Zuyland said. “It just can’t. I’ll get fired. I know I will. You guys have to understand.”
Fenwick said, “You’re gay.”
Ian said, “They don’t fire people for that any more. Not in metropolitan Chicago.”
“I’m not gay. And they don’t have to fire you. You should know that. You work for that gay paper.”
Turner wasn’t sure if he thought Zuyland was gay or not. He didn’t have a lot of faith in gaydar. While effeminate men might be gay, and studly guys might be gay, he was never sure what might be a dead giveaway. Sure, put a rainbow sticker on your car, but deducing from that is not gaydar. He was sure he didn’t care if Zuyland was gay, unless it had something to do with solving the murder.
Ian said, “I didn’t think you knew the paper, or I, existed.”
&nbs
p; “I keep tabs on every paper published from Green Bay to South Bend. I watch everything. I’m not gay.”
“What happened to you?” Turner asked.
Zuyland’s eyes roved around the room. He leaned forward. “I can’t tell you. I just can’t.”
“They caught you in something illegal,” Turner said, “and they were using it to blackmail you.”
“Who told you that?” Zuyland asked.
Turner said, “It’s logical. You’re afraid to tell us. You’re pissed at cops. What would piss off a reporter, yet keep him from revealing it on a newscast? They got something on you.”
“It’s so embarrassing.”
Turner said, “We’re not trying to ruin your career. We’re just trying to catch a murderer.”
If Zuyland had had thoughts of coming away with a scoop, they seemed to have fled. He inched his chair as close to the table as his stomach bulge would allow. He whispered. The three of them leaned in close.
“It was in a washroom.”
Turner kept a neutral look on his face, and he deliberately did not look at his other two companions. He kept eye contact with Zuyland. Mentioning a washroom and cops, he was now expecting a Larry Craig explanation.
Zuyland said, “I got tasered.”
A bit of a twist on public humiliation. “It didn’t make the news,” Fenwick said.
Zuyland’s new Cosmopolitan arrived. He gulped a third of it.
Turner said, “The Chicago police haven’t done washroom patrols in years.”
“It was cops all right. But it wasn’t connected to any sting operation. I’m not sure any more they were really on duty.”
Turner asked, “What exactly happened?”
“This is confidential?”
Turner, Fenwick, and Ian nodded. Turner knew they weren’t out to ruin this guy.
“This was two winters ago. I was doing some snooping around about that big scandal with the NFL quarterback and his mistress and his wife when their team was in town. It was at the Hotel Chicago. I was leaving. On that level of the parking garage there was a washroom. I stopped in. I was in the stall. One of them did this ridiculous two step on the floor.”
Ian said, “I’m thinking of starting a Larry Craig School of Tap Dance and Inter Species communication. People will tap dance instead of using speech.”
Zuyland said, “This is not funny.”
