All the Dead Fathers
Read All the Dead Fathers Online
Authors: David J. Walker
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Contents
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To Ellen, who loves radish sandwiches
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
This is a work of fiction and the persons, places, and organizations appearing herein are either imaginary or depicted fictitiously. On the other hand, without the happening of certain real-life incidents, this imaginary and fictional world could hardly have been conceived.
And without the help of certain real-life people, the conception could hardly have become viable. These real-lifers include: Jay Daskal, M.D., for help with some medical issues; David Case, a police sergeant and a writer, for help with some firearms issues; Kelley Ragland, my editor, for pointing out so many things I hadn't noticed; and Danielle Egan-Miller, my agent, for providing both opportunity and direction.
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Chi-ca-go
(shi-kaw-go)
n., a city in northeast Illinois, on the shore of Lake Michigan; the name is said to be derived from the Native American
chicah goo,
literally “stink root,” or, perhaps more elegantly, “wild onion.”
1.
Debra Moore drove in behind the man and went on past him when he parked near the building where the restrooms were. Two-thirty in the morning, and no one else around. No one. God had given her this opening. It was time to get started.
She had followed him in here before, several times, and had studied the layout. There was a slight rise back toward where people walked their dogs, and once over that, on the downward slope, you couldn't be seen from the parking area. She pulled into the very last space and walked all the way back to the buildingâat least fifty yardsâand waited.
Plenty of light here, and nothing about her would cause anyone concern. Besides, with men like this one, their special needs so often overrode their sense of caution. Not to mention that he'd been drinking.
She watched him come out the door. “Hi there, big fella,” she said.
“What?” He was actually a rather small man, sixty-something, old enough to be her father ⦠and depraved enough, she knew.
“I said, âHi.'” She smiled. “I ⦠uh ⦠I saw you back there.”
That shook him. “I don't know what you're talking about.” A man burdened with less guilt would simply have walked on by. “Back where?”
“At that store,” she said. “Looking at the books and tapes and DVDs. It's nothing to be ashamed of. Still ⦠I know what you were
really
wishing you'd find. I could tell, because that's my business.”
“What, backseat blow jobs? Forget it.” He turned toward his car.
“Wait.” She touched the pervert's back, just lightly, and he turned around. “I'm not a hooker,” she said. “I sell things. Helpful things.”
“I gotta go.”
“But I have what you want. What you
need.
Books, videos.” She had his attention. “I handle the stuff you don't dare go near on the Internet.” The hook was in now, she could tell. “They're in my van.” She pointed. “Take a look, at least. Can't hurt.”
She walked and he came with her. He seemed nervous, and she spoke soothingly about how she understood his needs. But then, way back, a car pulled in off the highway and the headlights shone on them from behind.
“I don't know,” he said. “I better go.” They both turned and watched the car pull into a space the other side of his.
“Just someone here for the washrooms,” she said, stepping between him and the way back to his car. “It's all right, c'mon.”
“No, I really have to go home.” He was
whining
now. “I gottaâ”
“Shut up!” She slid the gun from under her coat. A nine-millimeter SIG Sauer, silencer attached. Enough to frighten far more of a man than this maggot. “If you move, or say one word, I'll kill you.”
His eyes bulged and his mouth fell open, and if he hadn't just emptied his bladder she knew he'd have peed down his leg.
“Turn around,” she said, and he did. “Now ⦠walk.” They started walking and she heard car doors open and close behind them. She glanced back and saw two people, a man and a woman, heading toward the restrooms. She prodded the pervert with the gun and he walked faster. They were almost to her van when she looked back again, and saw the couple disappear into the building.
This wasn't the way she had planned it. The stripping and the slicing were to come first. But one must be both strong
and
flexible. “Stop walking,” she said. “Stand very still and I won't hurt you. I promise.”
He stood there, trembling, but otherwise as still as Lot's wife. Debra held the gun with both hands, the elongated barrel aimed midway between his shoulder blades. She crouched slightly and angled it up, almost touching the nape of his neck. “Please,” he said. “I don't wantâ”
“I promise,” she repeated, and carefully squeezed the trigger.
2.
The mutilated body of a man was found shortly after five
A.M
. by Mort, a Doberman pinscher who'd been dragging Alvina Martin by a leash along the edge of the southbound rest stop on I-90, just south of the Wisconsin border.
Dugan was in the kitchen eating breakfast and saw the news report.
“My husband used to say that the dog walks
me,
” Alvina told the woman who stuck the mike in her face. “Anyway, like I told the troopers, all the sudden Mort goes into a crouch and starts one of them low growls, like it's somethin' up ahead there and he don't like it? And so I shorten up on the leash,” she went on, “and go and look down into this here ditch, like a culvert? And when I seen it I said to myself, âOh, my God,' and ran back and hopped Mort in the truck and called it in. And after that I ⦠you know ⦠I throwed up all overâ”
“Authorities have identified the victim as one Thomas Kanowski,” the TV reporter said, “but are releasing no further information. Meanwhile, police say this rest stop will be closed to traffic for several more hours while officers comb the scene of this horrific crime.” The reporter gave the camera what Dugan figured was her best version of grim-and-solemn, and turned it “back to your local station.”
Jim and Carol in the studio in Chicago did their own imitation of grim-and-solemn, and then Carol promised, “Up next, startling new claims from Viagra users.” She gave a sly wink and they broke for commercials.
Dugan went back to his oatmeal and just then Kirsten stepped into the kitchen. She took the remote from the table and hit the mute button.
“Not interested in startling new claims?” he asked.
“No, but
you
mightâ” She shook her head. “Forget it. What was that business about a murder ⦠on I-90?” She poured herself a mug of coffee and set it on the table.
“I might what?”
“That murder,” she said, dropping half an English muffin in the toaster. “I didn't get the victim's name.”
“Thomas Kanowski. I mightâ”
“Kanowski?” She seemed stunned. “Are you sure?”
“That's what they
said.
Thomas Kanowski. So what did you mean when you said I
might
something?”
“I know that name,” she said. “I mean, it's possibly not the sameâ”
“Jesus, I might
what,
dammit?”
She popped the muffin prematurely out of the toaster and sat down across from him. “You might ⦠I don't know ⦠might listen to what I'm saying and not fixate on something I
didn't
say.”
“But you started to say I
might
something ⦠about Viagra. I mean have you noticed anyâ”
“Don't be silly. I don't remember
what
I started to say. God, is it just you macho lawyers? Or are all men so sensiâ”
The phone rang and Dugan grabbed it. “Hello?”
“Hey, Doogie pal, how they hangin'?” The day wasn't starting well.
“Christ, Larry, it's only eight o'clock.” Larry Candle, one of the three lawyers who worked for Dugan, was a pain in the ass sometimesâin fact,
always
âbut he could work his round little butt off when he wanted to. The caller ID showed he was already in the office. “What's so important?”
“Nothing. I'm calling forâ Hey, hold on.” There was a pause and then Larry said, “I got the TV on here, and there's this doctor on, talking about Viagra. He says a lotta guys who use it discover theyâ”
“Yeah, that's interesting, Larry,” Dugan said. “But I hope to God you didn't call me about some bullshit you saw on TV.”
“Actually, it
is
about something on TV, but I'm calling for Kirsten. 'Cause I think this guy they foundâ”
“It's for
you,
” Dugan said. He handed the phone to Kirsten and went to take a shower.
*Â Â Â *Â Â Â *
Half an hour later, Dugan and Kirsten were in a cab on their way downtown. It was a bright, warm September Monday and Dugan would have been happy to go anywhere other than his office. But he was the boss, after all, so he
had
to show up.
He'd given Kirsten the business section of the
Tribune,
but she just held it on her lap and stared out the window. Finally he couldn't out-silence her. “So ⦠you gonna tell me what he wanted?” he asked.
“What?” She seemed startled to find another person in the same cab with her. “Oh, you mean Larry?”
“No, I mean Moe.”
“He wanted to know if I'd heard the news about the body on the interstate, wondered if I recognized the name.”
“And you did, right?”
“Yes, and Larry's wondering if it's the same Thomas Kanowski I know. I mean, not
know.
Just know
of.
”
“Really? Who is he? Or was he?”