Sunday 8:32 P.M.
An hour and a half later, they stopped in Molton’s office. “You guys see the evening news?” Molton asked.
They shook their heads.
Molton explained. “Our newest best friends, Pelagius and Drake, managed to get on three newscasts trashing the Chicago police department, sanctifying the dead guy along with the Cardinal, and the Sacred Heart of Bleeding Jesus Order.”
They decided to grab a late dinner. While driving over to grab sandwiches at Milly’s Diner on Division Street, Fenwick was in full grumble. “Who of these people we’ve interviewed so far has the money to hire burly strangers with expensive town cars? Or maybe they just have friends who are burly and rich. Or maybe a burly guy who is now rich was molested as a kid, owns an expensive town car, and now has the wherewithal to get revenge. Maybe they all got together and pooled their money. How much does it cost to hire a burly guy with an expensive car? People who try to hire killers aren’t usually sophisticated about it. They screw up more often than not.”
“The church would be sophisticated enough or maybe they’d have enough contacts they wouldn’t need to hire somebody. Or maybe the burly guy has nothing to do with the murder.”
“You’re the kind of cop who insists on a video of the murder with the killer smiling, waving, and confessing to us on the tape.”
“Just the kind of guy I am.”
“We’re being fucked over.”
“Can you say fucked over in a case about a dead bishop?”
“I don’t see any lightning bolts shooting down from heaven.”
“Lightning bolts in heavenly retribution aren’t what they used to be, and yes, we’re being fucked over.”
Turner’s cell phone rang. It was Ben. “Both the boys are fine. Nothing’s happened to them. You need to get to Sisters of Mercy Hospital.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Brian’s really upset. You know his friend, Shane, from the baseball team?”
“The one from Inauguration day? I remember him.” Ben and Paul had been watching President Obama’s inaugural address. As it was the Martin Luther King holiday, the boys had been home with knots of friends visiting both boys. Jeff’s buddies had been in his room, Brian and his crowd in the basement. When the President mentioned Seneca Falls, Selma, and Stonewall as historical Civil Rights moments, the two men had reached out and held each other’s hands. The moment had affected them deeply.
They’d looked up in time to see their older son’s friend Shane in the doorway. While looking at them with their hands clasped, he’d whispered, “I want to have what you have some day, be like you.” And then he’d disappeared. Neither man ever mentioned the moment to Brian. Paul had assumed the kid was gay, but that it wasn’t his business. And if he and Ben were some kind of a role model for the kid, that was okay. Certainly Shane had never said anything to them or asked to talk with them, and if the kid wanted to bring it up, fine, but Paul wasn’t going to.
“Yeah. He tried to commit suicide a couple of hours ago.”
“No.”
“Tried to hang himself in his backyard.”
“How awful.”
“Brian’s the one who found him and saved him.”
Paul gulped. “He’s a hero.”
“Not from the way he’s acting. I’ve never seen him so down.”
“How’d he happen to be there?”
“He was supposed to meet him to study. They still have a few finals this week.”
“Did the kid plan it so Brian would save him?”
“Brian didn’t say. He probably didn’t know. I’m here with Brian at the hospital. Jeff is at Mrs. Talucci’s.”
“I’m on my way.” He hung up.
“What’s happened?” Fenwick asked.
“Sisters of Mercy Hospital. Brian saved a kid from committing suicide.”
Fenwick turned the car around. Turner knew there were detectives who sacrificed their whole lives, family, kids, wives, to the pursuit of the killer, to bring the corpse closure and justice. Turner figured the corpse didn’t care anymore. It was dead.
Paul Turner cared even less about bishops of the church, living or dead, than he did about his sons. It didn’t take an instant to make the decision. He was going to be there for Brian at a moment like this. As a father with a child with spina bifida, this was not his first rush to a hospital. A few years back, Jeff’s shunt had clogged requiring an emergency hospital visit. Paul knew well parental fears. In this case it wasn’t directly his own child, but he was going to be on hand.
Fenwick yanked the rotating red light from under the seat, reached out the car window, jammed it on the roof, flipped the switch on their seldom-used siren. They rushed to the near west side hospital. They found Brian and Ben with a cluster of people on the fourth floor.
Brian stood up when he saw his dad. The boy looked crushed and worried. Besides Brian and Ben there were two other adults. Paul knew them as Shane’s parents, Dave and Betty Swearingen.
Paul asked, “How’s Shane?”
Betty Swearingen said, “He’s going to live.”
Dave Swearingen held out his hand to Paul and said, “Your son saved my boy’s life. We can never thank him or you enough.”
Paul looked at Brian, who didn’t look up.
The parents praised and fussed for a few moments. The doctor came to speak to them. The parents gushed a few more words of thanks their way and then hurried into a nearby room with the doctor.
Paul walked over to Brian. “You okay?”
“I’m not sure.”
“It must have been scary.”
Brian looked up at him for the first time. There was little trace of the teenager in the anguished look his son gave him. “I’m still scared.”
“Do you want to talk about what happened?” Paul asked.
Fenwick idled in the background out of hearing. Ben stood with his husband and son.
Brian said, “It might help.” He pulled in great lungfuls of air, let them out. “We were supposed to have a study session at seven. I was late. His mom was supposed to be home from work, but she was late, too. I got there. He’s got this basketball hoop set up in the backyard.”
The doctor came out of Shane’s room without the parents. He came over to Ben, Paul, and Brian. “Another couple of minutes and that teenager would have been dead. Your son’s a hero.”
They thanked him. He left.
Brian’s phone buzzed. “Everybody wants to talk to me.” He glanced at the readout, turned the phone off, then continued his story. “I always go around to the back door. So I went around. While I was walking along on the side of the house, I heard the basketball net kind of clink. He’s got one of those outdoor, metal nets. I turned the corner of the house and saw him.”
Brian breathed deeply for several moments, looked at his dads. “I don’t remember thinking anything. I rushed up and grabbed his knees and sort of lifted him up. I held him like that and didn’t know what to do. I could tell he was breathing. The rope was tied around his neck and connected to the backboard. I couldn’t let go to try to find a knife to cut him down. I sort of leaned him against the basketball pole and held him up at the same time with my shoulders and arms. I yelled fire, like you always told us to do if you wanted people to come running. But I didn’t hear anybody coming. I was desperate. So I kind of held him up with one hand, shoulder, and arm and braced him against the pole. I didn’t know if I could hold him up with just one arm like that, but I managed. I had to be so careful. I was afraid if I moved wrong, he might slip and…” He gulped and drew several breaths. “Somehow, I managed to get my cell phone out and called 9-1-1.” He was very pale. “I think I need to sit down.”
They moved to a set of plastic chairs. Each dad held one of his hands. Brian had moved beyond the early teenage phase of having difficulty touching his dads.
“The paramedics showed up a few minutes later and got him down.”
Brian trembled and pulled in more deep breaths. The men kept hold of his hands and put their other arms around him. They huddled close until Brian stopped trembling and his breathing eased.
Paul said, “You thought quickly. You did right. You were very brave.”
“I was scared shitless. I still am a little bit.” He pulled in deep breaths.
The Swearingens came out of Shane’s room and walked up to Brian and his dads. Mrs. Swearingen had tears in her eyes. “Thank you, thank you, thank you for my boy.” She hugged Brian. Mr. Swearingen shook his hand. Mrs. Swearingen unclinched and said to Brian, “He’d like to see you.”
“Uh, sure.”
“You want us to go with you?” Paul asked.
“Sure, it’s okay.”
Brian and the assembled parental units crowded into the hospital room. Shane saw Brian and got tears in his eyes. Brian stood by the bed. Shane clutched his hand. “Thanks, dude, you saved me.”
“You okay?” Brian asked.
“Yeah.”
A nurse came in and bustled them all out.
In the hall Paul said, “We’ll go home and get settled.”
Brian said, “You don’t have to hover. You can go back to work.”
“I think I should be with you.”
“For what?” Brian asked.
“I’m concerned about you.”
“I’m fine. Ben will be there.”
Fenwick had waited quietly in the background the whole time. Now he joined them. “Fuck the case. I called the Commander. You want to stay? Or I can drive you back to the station and you can pick up your car. You do what you need to do.”
Brian said, “There’s nothing more to be done. He’s saved. I’m fine. The emergency is over.”
Paul said, “Buck, I can get a ride over in the morning so I don’t need my car tonight. I’ll go home, and we can get settled.”
Fenwick said, “If you need anything, call me.”
They got home. Brian turned his phone back on, examined the readout list of calls, then turned it back off. Jeff was falling asleep in his wheelchair.
After the boys were settled in their rooms, Paul and Ben sat at the kitchen table.
Ben said, “Could this have been another gay kid trying to commit suicide?”
“Could have been. Maybe we should have tried to talk to him after he saw us Inauguration day.”
“It’s so hard to know when to talk to a teenager or what to say.”
Paul said, “So the boy was expecting someone to be home earlier or Brian to come over. He was hoping to be saved?”
“Or hoping to punish one of them.”
“For what?” Paul asked.
“Brian may know or not. Shane may not have told anyone. Maybe Brian is feeling guilty for not recognizing the signs. Same for the mom and dad.”
Paul said, “Shane was one of the kids who was going in their group with them to the prom.”
“We’ll get him through tonight and then figure out what to do next.”