Despite bringing in a team of three renowned forensic pathologists, Drs Kemp of St Francis Hospital, Hennessy of St Michael’s Hospital and Robards of Stroger Hospital, Cook County Medical Examiner Charles McGarry announced inconclusive results in the autopsies of Beatrice Graves, 15, and her sister, Priscilla Graves, 12.
The sisters had not been sexually molested, the statement released by McGarry’s office stated. They were not strangled or poisoned, nor were there any signs of violence on their bodies. They appeared to have been subjected to cold temperatures for a number of days, though neither the doctors nor McGarry would hazard a guess as to how long that was without studying the weather records for the 25 days since the two sisters disappeared.
Three puncture wounds were found on Priscilla’s chest. They are of unknown origin, but were only one quarter of an inch deep, and thus too superficial to have caused death. The doctors believe they were inflicted post-mortem.
Beatrice’s stomach contained particles of food that indicated she’d eaten four to five hours before she died.
The doctors concluded that, because the bodies showed insignificant deterioration, they had been kept in some previous cold place between the hour of death and the time they were dumped where German Church Road crosses Devil’s Creek in unincorporated Cook County. Since that road is well traveled, the doctors theorized that the girls were dropped or placed there not much earlier than the night of January 2, when a foot of snow fell over parts of northern Illinois and drifts accumulated to two feet or more, covering their bodies. Last weekend’s thaw melted the snow and revealed the bodies.
Cook County Medical Examiner Charles McGarry postponed plans to open an inquest today, citing a need to spare the parents the strain of testifying so soon after the girls were discovered. His statement reads: ‘After all they have been through, they need time to be left alone. They have a tough enough cross to bear as it is.’
Cook County Sheriff Joseph Lehman announced he’d invited eight law enforcement agencies to plan a unified and integrated investigation into the murders, to be directed by his office. Lehman said this will forestall any inefficiencies between Cook County’s Lehman and McGarry and the heads of other agencies during the investigation into the murders of the Graves sisters. State’s Attorney Benjamin Bronkowski offered his support for Lehman’s move, stating that a lack of cooperation between law enforcement units had helped bring a dead end to the investigation of the Stemec Henderson murders, and cautioned that a repetition of such a lack of cooperation could bring a similar result to the Graves case.
Benten finished reading Rigg’s piece and turned away from his screen. ‘It’s two o’clock. When can we post to our site?’
‘Four o’clock. Glet made me promise when he called with the heads-up that I’d hold back until both Lehman’s and McGarry’s statements are released.’
‘He’s currying favor.’
‘Yes.’
Glet had called at eight o’clock that morning. Judith’s arms had already awakened him three hours before, beckoning from beyond the thick grid of black, flat iron bars. Every night, before he drifted off to sleep, Rigg begged the darkness to make her show him what she wanted. But, every night, she showed him nothing but her arms, gently beckoning.
‘No formal presser?’ Benten asked now.
‘They’re just releasing the written statements. They don’t want to answer questions.’
‘You contact these other agencies Lehman’s invited to join his investigation?’
Rigg laughed. ‘I spent the morning calling around. Nobody’s interested in being dragged into another mess of Lehman’s. They see it as a phony ploy, a way for Lehman to pass off blame in case his investigation collapses into another Stemec Henderson. They’re relieved it’s Lehman’s jurisdiction. They’re going to let him rise or fall alone with it.’
‘McGarry?’
‘He’s weak. Lehman will make him get on board,’ Rigg said. ‘Even worse for McGarry, he’s got young Corky breathing down his neck and reporting his every move back to the CIB. One false step and they’ll find a way to replace him with the kid.’
‘You think McGarry will run for re-election?’
‘Maybe if his ego demands it, but this case could threaten that. It’s a bomb, set to explode. That’s why he pulled in those three other doctors, to cover every inch of his ass. But that failed. The three wise men came up with zero, and that’s going to come down on McGarry. Too many false steps and the county Dems will boot him out of office, no matter how much money he gives to the party.’
‘You mean how much of his father’s money he contributes to the party.’
‘Inheritance buys its privileges,’ Rigg said.
‘CIB just upped the Stemec Henderson reward,’ Benten said.
‘They’re taking law enforcement into their own hands. Next step? Hiring private cops.’
Benten turned to his keyboard, typed Hold until four o’clock, and sent Rigg’s piece down to the Bastion.
And then Rigg’s cell phone rang.
Rigg’s headlights swept across the freshly plowed forest-preserve parking lot. It was empty.
He came to the Robinson Woods one of the three nights he was in from the dunes each week. He’d started right after the boys were discovered, hoping to jog a thought about something everyone had missed – and hoping that focusing on Stemec Henderson later in an evening might help banish the nightmares of Judith beckoning to him from beyond the black cage.
After the first few visits, when clarity didn’t come and the black cage still did, he began bringing a pint of any drug store’s cheapest whiskey. And, in no time at all, he found himself begging the dark to show him what he could not see.
He managed to quit the drinking, but still he came, one night in every short week, hoping for a nudge to what he knew, and didn’t know, about the murders of the boys who were found just yards from where he parked. There seemed so little else he could do.
He shut off the engine and cut his headlamps. Almost instantly, a fist beat hard on the passenger-side window. He jerked forward, banging his knee on the steering column. ‘Jesus, Glet!’
‘I hid my car a quarter mile in,’ the sheriff’s most senior deputy said, sliding his bulk on to the passenger seat. ‘I heard you chugging in nice and loud. This Taurus ain’t your regular heap. A ninety?’
‘Ninety-one.’ His insurance company had sold the Camry in which Judith was killed to someone who wouldn’t know its history. ‘What’s so urgent, Jerome?’
‘I haven’t forgotten the boys.’ He pulled out one of his foul cigars and raised it to his mouth.
‘Don’t dare to light that rope,’ Rigg said. Already the car stunk from Glet’s clothes and the man’s corruption, rumored though never proved. Like that of his boss, Lehman.
Glet lowered the unlit cigar amiably enough. ‘Your editor like the advance tip I gave you?’
‘He said it belongs at the Bastion,’ Rigg lied. He wasn’t in this yet, he wanted to tell himself. At least not all the way in, like last time.
‘Bullshit. People are getting laid off down there, like at the Trib and the Sun-Times. You’re all scrambling to save your jobs. Good tips on the hottest case in town can save your ass.’
‘I told you earlier: I’ve got no byline. I’m school boards, now – road improvements, local elections.’
‘You can do better than hiding out at the Pink or playing in the sand in the dunes.’
‘I just bought a new pail and plastic shovel, for when the beach thaws.’
‘And you were just in the neighborhood, back at that bridge.’ Glet turned to lean his foul breath closer. ‘I’m senior man at the sheriff’s. You can’t get deeper inside this Graves case than through me.’
‘Find another boy,’ Rigg said, but it was for show.
‘You’re the son of a bitch people remember.’
That might have been true, but only because they remembered more bad than good – his righteous near-hysteria, the shrillness he used to mask the grief he felt over Judith. And they’d remember the photos that drove Rigg – Chicago’s premier crime reporter, with a twice-a-week column of his own – out of the Bastion and into semi-seclusion at the Pink.
‘You think Lehman’s going to fumble again, like last time?’ Rigg asked.
‘Abbott and Costello – you remember their baseball routine, “Who’s On First?”’
‘No.’ Rigg reached to start his engine. Glet was trotting out riddles.
‘You got a TV, don’t you?’ Glet said.
Rigg relaxed his hand around the ignition key. ‘Abbott and Costello were before my time – like, decades.’
Glet chuckled. ‘Abbott and Costello are talking nonsense about a baseball game, see? Abbott’s asking who’s on base. “Which base?” Costello asks. “Any base,” Abbott says. Costello’s not getting it. Back and forth, back and forth, they’re talking past each other. Neither of them can agree who’s on what base. It’s hilarious.’ He turned to face Rigg. ‘It’s not funny when coppers do it. And, instead of just two comedians, we had all kinds on Stemec Henderson – us at the sheriff’s, of course, but also Chicago cops, locals, forest-preserve rangers, state police, not to mention that putz McGarry. They all talked nonsense to each other, nobody was calling the shots, saying who was on first. And we all got clobbered for that in the press, mostly by you, Milo. This time, nobody wants to play. They’re giving Lehman a pass to do it all on his own. And that’s dangerous, because Lehman’s the most crooked guy in town.’
‘What have you got that’s new, Jerome?’
‘Remember the guy Lehman picked up – Lanz?’ the deputy said.
‘The psychic dreamer who said the Graves girls were being held in the construction near the old Santa Fe Park? Lehman gave him a lie-detector test. He passed. He was let go.’
‘He didn’t pass, he didn’t fail,’ Glet said. ‘The results were inconclusive. Lehman was in a panic to show progress in searching for the missing girls. He knew Lanz was a moonbeam, but he was better than nothing. He was showboating to impress you queens, showing that he was doing something.’
‘You’re still not telling me anything new, Jerome.’
‘It’s desperation time, Milo. He’s got all of us chasing our tails. The latest? I got sent to talk to a goofy broad at a Starbucks who swears both girls were in her place, sipping five-dollar lattes while the whole town is looking for—’
‘Damn it, Glet!’
‘Moon dancers – cops, witnesses, all of them. Lehman’s petrified. McGarry’s worse, dodging his own shadow.’
‘It’s Lehman who’s leading the charge, not the medical examiner.’
‘They’re both watching Corky Feldott. Straight up righteous, he’d kill for the CIB. We all got to watch out for him.’ He shifted his bulk on the seat to stare out the windshield. ‘Look, Milo, I know you had a rough time that last go-round, what with your wife, then the killings, then those photos and having to take a leave because of that Mrs—’
‘I was only helping sort the leads she was getting in the mail.’ He stopped, realizing he sounded defensive. ‘I got set up with those pictures, Jerome.’
‘She’s a fox, ain’t she, Milo? Gorgeous face, boobs like twin torpedoes.’
‘Her sons were murdered. Her husband dropped dead viewing one of the bodies.’
‘I need you on this. Tell your editor your source will deal only with you.’
‘Because you need Mr Integrity to spruce your career?’
‘Beatrice might have been penetrated,’ Glet said, staring out into the darkness.
‘What the hell, Glet? McGarry’s release said just the opposite. No sexual molestation.’
‘And nobody’s going to say nothing about it for the time being, including you. Besides, maybe the results were inconclusive. It’s just something McGarry passed on to Lehman.’
‘Who knows this?’
‘About Beatrice? The three pathologists, McGarry, Corky Feldott, likely the whole Citizens’ Investigation Bureau, Lehman, me – and now you. And your editor, if you need to use it to get assigned to the story. But, so far, nobody’s leaking. Nobody wants the extra uproar. So, you don’t write it now. It’s for later, if ever.’
‘I don’t write it at all; I’m suburban.’ Rigg started his car, but it was just to spur the man along. The deputy’s foul cigar smell was giving him a headache.
Glet didn’t budge. He lit his cigar fast, blowing noxious smoke at the windshield. ‘I got something maybe you can use tonight, something hush-hush that I wasn’t supposed to come across. A cabbie named Rocco Enrice. Called in a tip. He works Midway Airport from that cab lot south of the terminal.’
Rigg powered down his window and Glet’s. ‘What’s the deal with him?’
‘Maybe nothing, like I said. It was a name on a piece of paper Lehman’s secretary seemed too quick to cover up.’
‘Why not chase him down yourself?’
‘I don’t need to be accused of grabbing stuff meant for Lehman. Plus, I got something else working.’
‘Something better?’
‘I’ll let you know.’ Glet got out and disappeared into the night.