They drove to the address they had for Evon Teasdale, Judy Wilson’s contact in the Ninth District out of which Callaghan and Belger worked.
Teasdale lived in the Wicker Park neighborhood. She was a tall, slender, African-American woman. They sat at her kitchen table. She offered them tea, which they accepted.
She said, “Judy Wilson told me you’d come by. I talked to Barb Dams, Molton’s secretary as well. We secretaries, us good ones anyway, keep in touch. They both said you can be trusted. How can I help?”
Fenwick asked, “What the hell is the real story with Belger and Callaghan?”
“You’ve read their files?”
The detectives nodded.
“That gives you a lot of the essentials.”
“Callaghan’s seemed pretty clean,” Fenwick said.
“Nonsense. I do the filing. He had at least twenty public complaints against him. I know. I put them in there myself. I’ve worked in that station for thirty years. I know everything. I don’t screw that up.”
“They’re gone,” Turner said.
Fenwick asked, “Who has access to them?”
“Each person can see their file, but under supervision, and they can’t take anything out.”
“Who else?”
“Just Boyle. And I guess people from downtown.”
“Boyle has gotta be the guy behind all of this,” Fenwick said.
Teasdale said, “I wouldn’t be so sure.” She took a sip of tea. “Boyle is in the grand tradition of Commander Burge.” She mentioned a CPD commander notorious for supposedly covering up for officers in his command who beat suspects. “Boyle just hasn’t been caught yet. He’s been investigated internally, but nothing sticks. He barely conceals his ambition to be superintendent. I always thought it was such a joke, him wanting to be the top cop in the city.”
“Why’s that?” Turner asked.
“I know who goes in and out of his office door, and Internal Affairs and lawyers and assistant superintendents have been in there constantly. That kind of guy doesn’t get promoted.”
“Why haven’t they demoted his ass?” Fenwick asked, “Or fired him?”
“His clout is powerful. Whoever it is must be high up in the administration.”
Turner noted that she used ‘clout’ in its correct Chicago incarnation, not necessarily having power, but your ‘clout’ in Chicago was having someone who was your godfather in the department.
“Who is it?” Fenwick asked.
“That I don’t know.”
“What kinds of things has Boyle done to prisoners?” Turner asked.
“He certainly condoned prisoners getting the hell beat out of them.”
“Kill them?” Turner asked.
“That’s tougher. Like the beatings, he wouldn’t be doing them himself. Boyle does a lot of bluster. He’s got a violent reputation. He lives by it, but I’m not sure there’s lot of bite behind it. He tried that bullying crap with me his first day on the job. I put him in his place. He’s the kind who thinks he’s still back in high school where drinking beer, scratching your balls, farting, and not ratting on your friends are the cardinal virtues. He strikes me more as a guy who would cover up what someone else did rather than someone who would commit the crime himself.”
“Have prisoners died under his command that he wasn’t directly responsible for?” Turner asked.
“I have no direct evidence of that.”
Fenwick asked, “Did he cover for Belger and Callaghan abusing suspects and prisoners?”
“They’d get written up, but nothing bad ever really happened to them.”
“What kinds of things did Belger and Callaghan do?”
“Mean, when they didn’t need to be. Brutal, when a gentle touch would have solved a problem. Hit people.”
“Taser them?”
“Once they got the reputation, it would be hard to separate fact from fiction. I believe they would do that, but I have no proof that they did it.”
“And if they did, so far they’ve gotten away with it,” Fenwick said.
Teasdale nodded, then said, “You didn’t notice the other thing in their files?”
“What?” Fenwick asked.
“Too many arrests.”
“Huh?” Fenwick said.
“The two of them would have contests each shift, each week, each random set of time, to see who could arrest the most people.”
“I didn’t catch it,” Turner said.
“Me neither,” Fenwick said.
“It’s subtle. At first glance, they look like good cops. Maybe there are some complaints, but some supervisor looking at their records would see all these arrests. But you look a little deeper. This is the kind of thing secretaries, good secretaries, or secretaries that don’t like you, notice. They arrested more people than just about everybody else. But they had the lowest conviction rate of any two other cops in the District. It would take you a while to get the exact statistics. I’ve worked in that District a good long time, and I’m telling you, I know what I know.”
Turner wouldn’t dream of doubting her. A good secretary was worth Fenwick’s weight in doughnuts. A mean, vicious one could make your life hell on Earth.
Turner said, “I don’t know how to ask this politely, if you knew this abuse was going on, why didn’t you turn them in?”
“Who says I didn’t?”
“What happened?” Turner asked.
“Nothing. I knew what that meant. After the first time, I knew to keep my mouth shut. When nothing happens, that has significance as well.”
“I understand,” Turner said.
Fenwick asked, “Anything else you can tell us about Callaghan and Belger?”
“I already have the rumor from the staff that you were asking the guys about Belger being on some porn site.” She tittered. “So I looked this morning. I suppose I shouldn’t have laughed. He looked silly with his ass hanging out of those chaps. I kept wondering if the whipping was fake or real.”
“No one knew about this until now?”
“As far as I can tell, no.”
“How did Callaghan and Belger get along?”
“They were competitive about everything. I mentioned the arrests. It was like watching a couple of high school boys. They just never seemed to grow up. At times they seemed to be best friends. Other times they fought like mad.” She sipped more tea then said, “Here’s another example. You know they both got divorced?”
Head nods.
“They competed about who was going to get remarried first.”
“Gives another meaning to trophy wife,” Fenwick said.
Teasdale said, “I have no idea if Belger really loved his second wife. I doubt it.”
Turner asked, “But what did they win?”
“I’m not sure. It wasn’t as if they had a trophy case. It was more in their heads. Or maybe they were gambling on it. I just don’t know. It just seemed so silly.”
“How’d they get along with Boyle?”
“Everybody got along with Boyle the same way. We avoided him. You didn’t knock on his office door unless it was a dire emergency. He’d emerge once in a while, mostly to appear at community functions with local politicians. He always smiled for those. He never smiled for us. Never said good morning. Never brought flowers or doughnuts. No presents for secretaries’ day or for holidays. I know those aren’t really in his job description, but he was cold beyond rudeness. If I was going to pick anybody in the district that Boyle came close to being friendly with, it would have been Callaghan.”
“What kind of scheme could Belger and Callaghan have hatched? Something that, despite their differences, would have kept them together?”
Teasdale thought for a minute. “I’m not sure. It would have to be money, but I heard no rumors about that. If they were involved in a property theft ring, I sure never heard about it. Then again, I doubt if they’d have confided in me.”
Turner and Fenwick thanked her for her time and tea. As they got up to go, she said, “You two should be careful, you know. You’re investigating cops. That can be dangerous. And this crowd is dangerous. Boyle is dangerous.”
They thanked her and left.
The mid-morning humidity slammed into them. Not a leaf in the trees moved. Turner thought he might be able to give Fenwick a run for his money in the who-could-sweat-more derby. They stopped at a nearby convenience store and stocked up on bottled water. Fenwick guzzled two waters in the time it took Turner to finish one.
They stood next to the car. Turner splashed water on his face. He said, “I need sleep.”
Fenwick grunted.
“We’re getting nowhere,” Turner said. “And we’ve got to catch up on several tons of paperwork to record our lack of success.”
Fenwick took another swig from a third bottle. He said, “We’re learning shit.”
Turner said, “Hooray for education.”
Fenwick said, “I think the next person who warns me about these people is going to get punched.”
“They’re trying to be helpful.” Again, Turner poured water over his head, let it run down his neck.
“Each time it adds to the spookiness. They all know we should be frightened.”
“Are you?”
Fenwick said, “No. You?”
“No. Well, maybe a little.”
“Maybe I am a little, too.”
“Or a lot. This thing is dangerous.”
“Let’s solve it.”
“And maybe that will make it less dangerous. Or not.”