CHICAGO
ALBANY PARK NEIGHBORHOOD
DECEMBER 1965
The Tribune’s front page displayed a six-column photo beneath the headline 1ST INFANTRY BOLSTERS FIGHTING FORCE IN VIETNAM. The photo depicted hundreds of green-clad soldiers disembarking a landing craft in Cam Ranh Bay. Mimi shuddered as she edited a story about Viet Cong guerrillas setting fire to an Esso oil storage tank in Da Nang. Her desk phone rang. It was Christine, and she was frantic.
“Meems, you’ve got to help me. I can’t handle it. I can’t deal with it. I’m losing my mind.”
“Calm down, Chrissie. What’s wrong?”
“Everything. It’s Preston. It’s my father. I need to talk. Can you meet me?”
“I get off work in half an hour. I’ll meet you at home.”
Christine was already at the kitchen table when Mimi walked in the house. Her face was red; her jaw was quivering.
“What happened?” Mimi said.
“You know I haven’t been back to work in a week, not since Nicky slugged me. Since then, my father’s been all over me. He calls the house every night. He tells me that he talked to Nicky and nothing like that will ever happen again. But Preston put his foot down, and he won’t let me go back.”
“I don’t understand your father. Why wouldn’t he protect his own daughter?”
“It’s all about the contractors, his business associates, the rich men he hangs around with. They want me in the office watching over Nicky and reporting back to them. They say they don’t trust Nicky, and who could blame them?”
“Why don’t they just stop doing business with Nicky and use some other shipping company?”
Christine hung her head. “Meems, it’s not that simple. Nicky knows too much about the operation. They can’t afford to cut him out. He’s an asshole to me and probably to his wife, but to my father’s associates he’s essential. Mimi, the large amounts of cash—it all funnels through Nicky.”
“What happened today?”
“My father came into town two days ago. He left Washington and a committee meeting just to come in and pressure me. He said he wants to set up a meeting between Nicky and me and he’ll be there to make sure everything works out. He wants to meet tomorrow night. I can’t do it. Even if I could, Preston won’t let me.”
“Where is Preston?”
“At the office. He’s taking a lot of crap, too, but he loves me so much, he’s not letting my father bully me.”
“Preston still has a job?”
“He won’t lose his job. He knows too much. Everybody knows too much. My father is trying to put a lid on a boiling pot. He’s trying to put everything back the way it was a month ago, but too much has happened. Anyway, Preston will not let me meet with Nicky, and he refuses to let me go back to work.”
“Chrissie, I feel so bad for you. What can I do?”
“Just be my friend. Everything is so tense at my father’s office. There are several men over there right now. Preston says he overheard a lot of shouting.”
“Do you want to stay here tonight?”
“Thanks, Meems, but Preston is taking me out to dinner. It’s one year from the date he proposed to me. He’s such a sweetie. With all this going on, he wants me to know how much he cares about me. I should get home; I’ll call you tomorrow.”
A telephone call came into Chicago’s emergency number at 3:30 a.m. “Fire at 4932 North Karlov.” It was redirected to District 2, Battalion 10, Engine Company 124. By the time the first unit arrived, the flames were shooting through the front windows of the redbrick bungalow. Firefighters rapidly opened the pump panels, connected the hoses and pumped heavy streams of water into the house. Additional equipment quickly arrived on the scene. Curious neighbors came to the windows of their homes, and some even stepped out into the cold to watch from their front lawns.
Chicago Police Department patrol cars arrived minutes later. Red and blue emergency lights lit up the area. Neighborhood residents and members of the media continued to gather. When the fire was extinguished and the equipment was being loaded back into the trucks, television reporters who had flocked to the scene showered Battalion Chief Foster with questions. “I won’t have too much to tell you,” he said. “Everything is preliminary. We’ll have more later today.”
“Can you give us something?” a TV reporter said. “We go live in an hour.”
Foster reluctantly consented. “At three thirty this morning, the Chicago Fire Department responded to a call placed by a neighbor who reported seeing flames through the window of this building at 4932 North Karlov. It was a ‘still alarm,’ and the response at the time was two engines, two trucks and a battalion chief. When the fire was confirmed, we immediately initiated a working fire response, bringing in an additional truck and an ambulance. Because of the density of this neighborhood and the close proximity of the houses on this street, it was my judgment to initiate a three-eleven alarm. As you can see, we have four engines out here.
“The fire was attacked through the front and side of the structure. We were able to contain it to the east side of the building. My men entered the rear door to check for residents. Two adults were found in the rear bedroom and pronounced dead at the scene. Preliminary assessments required us to contact the Chicago Police Department. I don’t have anything more. I’m sure there’ll be a statement later today.”
“Can you give us the names of the deceased?”
“No, I’m sorry.”
“I know who they are,” said a woman in a robe and a nylon puff jacket. “They’re Preston and Christine Roberts. They just moved into that house a few months ago. Nice kids.”